THIS HERE IS A FILL - Arthur/Eames
anonymous
August 12 2010, 16:01:15 UTC
i suck at writing porn... so. that said. onwards!
**
It just is common knowledge among the team that Arthur simply Is Never Late.
So when Eames lets himself into the house, he's extremely surprised to find Arthur nowhere to be seen. Usually, Arthur would be standing in the middle of the foyer (because God forbid anything get on his precious suit if he leans against the wall), wearing an expression that usually meant, "You're late. Again. Now let's get going before I start bitching at you." But no, no Arthur. Odd.
Eames toes off his comfortable brown leather shoes before he pads softly up the stairs, appreciating the smooth mahogany banister beneath his fingers. Arthur certainly had good taste. His Arthur had good taste, he thinks, as he approaches the master bedroom, and the corner of his lips quirk up into a smile.
He's got a hand on the doorknob when he hears a loud raps coming from inside, like something knocking over and over again on the floor. His Arthur would NEVER harm the flooring. In fact, Arthur's always bitching at him for wearing shoes upstairs, afraid that it might scuff the polished wood.
So Eames rolls his sleeves up, curls his right fist into a ball, and throws open the door with his left, ready to beat the shit out of whoever's in there, keeping his boyfriend hostage, and ---
Eames' arms drop to his sides at the sight before him. There's no one else in there but Arthur, sitting on the bed, stroking himself. With nothing on but a pair of four-inch, black come-fuck-me stiletto heels. Oh. Oh. Eames almost moans out loud. It's probably one of the most hottest things he's seen in his life.
"Darling, what happened to minding the floor?" he says with a smirk, shutting the door behind him. Arthur doesn't respond, just moans.
Eames crosses the floor over to the bed, and takes hold of Arthur's right foot in his hands. "Prada, love? I knew you had good taste," he whispers, and then proceeds to kiss his way up Arthur's thigh. Arthur moans even louder, and then doesn't say anything at all as Eames kisses the tip of his aching cock.
"Let me, darling," Eames whispers, and then wraps his mouth around Arthur's cock and sucks.
After that, Arthur doesn't bitch at Eames for a week.
**
It just is common knowledge among the team that Arthur simply Is Never Late.
So when Eames lets himself into the house, he's extremely surprised to find Arthur nowhere to be seen. Usually, Arthur would be standing in the middle of the foyer (because God forbid anything get on his precious suit if he leans against the wall), wearing an expression that usually meant, "You're late. Again. Now let's get going before I start bitching at you." But no, no Arthur. Odd.
Eames toes off his comfortable brown leather shoes before he pads softly up the stairs, appreciating the smooth mahogany banister beneath his fingers. Arthur certainly had good taste. His Arthur had good taste, he thinks, as he approaches the master bedroom, and the corner of his lips quirk up into a smile.
He's got a hand on the doorknob when he hears a loud raps coming from inside, like something knocking over and over again on the floor. His Arthur would NEVER harm the flooring. In fact, Arthur's always bitching at him for wearing shoes upstairs, afraid that it might scuff the polished wood.
So Eames rolls his sleeves up, curls his right fist into a ball, and throws open the door with his left, ready to beat the shit out of whoever's in there, keeping his boyfriend hostage, and ---
Eames' arms drop to his sides at the sight before him. There's no one else in there but Arthur, sitting on the bed, stroking himself. With nothing on but a pair of four-inch, black come-fuck-me stiletto heels. Oh. Oh. Eames almost moans out loud. It's probably one of the most hottest things he's seen in his life.
"Darling, what happened to minding the floor?" he says with a smirk, shutting the door behind him. Arthur doesn't respond, just moans.
Eames crosses the floor over to the bed, and takes hold of Arthur's right foot in his hands. "Prada, love? I knew you had good taste," he whispers, and then proceeds to kiss his way up Arthur's thigh. Arthur moans even louder, and then doesn't say anything at all as Eames kisses the tip of his aching cock.
"Let me, darling," Eames whispers, and then wraps his mouth around Arthur's cock and sucks.
After that, Arthur doesn't bitch at Eames for a week.
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my biggest kink is men in heels.
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