Prompt Post No. 19
Welcome to Round 19 of the Inception Kink Meme.
Prompting System
Prompting System
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“It’s a bit early for complaining, isn’t it?” Eames asks, nestling his face against the warm skin of Arthur’s stomach. “Hormones go mad when you’re pregnant, you know. I won’t be able to keep my hands off you.”
“So you say.”
Eames lets his teeth graze at the edges of Arthur’s navel, looking up when he hisses. “Out of curiosity, were you planning on banishing me to the guest room when I started to show?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Then why are you acting like I’d do something like that to you?” It’s not quite fair to ask him this just prior to slipping two fingers into him and crooking them just so, but Eames rarely plays fair.
“Fuck.” Arthur writhes against him, groaning as Eames stretches him open. “I didn’t mean that. I think you would’ve looked amazing with our baby in you. You know that.”
“Right, I do. I’m not sure why you think I feel any differently about you.” He slides in a third finger, working him wider still. It’s something Eames has done many times before and under many different circumstances, but never like this, never with the express purpose of getting Arthur ready for his cock so he can fill him with come as many times as it takes before there’s a baby beginning to grow inside him. That unsettling scrunching sensation seizes up in Eames’ throat again, the kind he previously associated only with tear gas and pepper spray. “I’ll still make love to you for hours no matter how far along you are.”
Arthur happens to be a little vain, though he’ll deny it to the grave, so Eames has to remind him of these things. He still can’t fully grasp why in the world Arthur needs reassuring in that area. Then again, Eames has been known to go to the shops in sweatpants and sandals when he can’t be arsed to make any effort beyond that, but Arthur refuses to so much as check the mail while he’s still wearing his pyjamas despite managing to look like a catalog model while he’s in them. He’s adamant about this even though his pyjamas are neat little affairs in stripes or solids with nary a frayed drawstring or threadbare knee among the lot of them.
“I’m going to get that from you in writing when we’re done,” promises Arthur. “There yeah, oh fuck.” He screws himself on Eames’s fingers, every muscle in his stomach straining and clenching as if to make a point. “I can’t have you backing out on me for anything that crucial when I’m in week twenty-five or whenever.”
Now he’s doing it again: imagining Arthur lying spread on his back, the firm swell of his belly, breasts starting to bud on his narrow chest. Eames is still dying to know much the sensitivity would increase there, if it would make him tremble and cry out just from Eames brushing the pads of his fingers across them, if he’d arch up and come just from one careful little bite to the tip of one.
“Arthur,” he says solemnly, “I’ll hire a sodding skywriter if it makes you happy.”
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AMAZING I TELL YOU
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MOOOOOOOOAR, anon, pleeeeease! I'm not a big fan of mpreg usually BUT this is so lovely and intimate and real and in character and "I think you would’ve looked amazing with our baby in you." <3_<3
Anon, ILU!!!
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Did you abandon this story? Please let us know. I check every day and every day I die a little bit inside.
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