Prompt Post No. 6

[inception_anon]

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Re: Filled: Table Stakes. Arthur/Eames, WiP 8/?

[anonymous]

"Are you going to fuck me with your clothes on?" he asks, and is proud of the fact that he sounds nothing more than curious. He set himself up for this, but he'll be damned if he'll give Eames anything to work with that he could possibly hold back.

"Oh, sweetheart, no," Eames answers, sounding honestly surprised. "That's for when you can't wait, when everyone is ready and willing and wanting."

He puts a warm hand on Arthur's back, stroking gently, and Arthur has been telling himself that he's not affected but this time he can't, just can't, keep the sob from bursting out of his throat, and this is not what he'd bargained for, sex is sex and there's something else going on now.

"Oh, oh my love," Eames whispers, and then his hands are gone, both of them, and Arthur feels like shaking apart, like closing his legs and crossing them for good measure, like crawling out of the bed and leaving the room and... he doesn't even know. "Oh darling, who did that to you?" Eames asks, and his voice sounds dark and strained, and there are other sounds, fabric sliding over skin, and Arthur realizes that Eames is shucking his clothes as fast as he can. Eames definitely has Arthur figured out far too well for comfort.

"Eames," he whispers, and in the absence of Eames' clever fingers on his skin he doesn't even have to work very hard to keep his voice flat. "This is just sex, so just fuck me. Take what you want and be done with it. Please."

There is a long silence before Eames drapes himself over Arthur's back, that sinful mouth brushing the top of Arthur's spine, and Eames, whispering into his neck; "If you'd let me, darling, I'd never be done with you." He's naked, now, not a stitch of clothing on him; Arthur can feel warm, naked skin pressed up against his own and that and Eames' words make him want to do something rash and stupid.

"Eames," he says instead, half in protest, and Eames shakes when he chuckles.

"You don't have a romantic bone in your body, do you?" he asks idly, and then he's sitting back and his hands are on Arthur's hips and he's leaning in again, licking into the mess he's made of Arthur's ass, absolving Arthur from the need to answer, thankfully, both because he doesn't actually want to answer the question and because with Eames' tongue sliding into him, he's not sure he could operate the English language.

"I want it to be good for you," Eames breathes into Arthur's thigh when he's thoroughly satisfied his need to drive Arthur crazy. "I want you to..."

He doesn't go on, and the silence stretches between them for a while, nothing audible but their harsh breathing. "You can still tell me to stop," Eames finally says, and it's clear in his voice that he will stop, if Arthur tells him to, even if it'll cost him. That, more than anything, is what has Arthur stating, surprising himself more than Eames; "I want you to fuck me, darling." It's the first time he's used the endearment, and he tries to make it ironic but isn't quite sure he makes it all the way there.

"Okay," Eames says, sounding downright shaky, now. "I can do that." And then, to Arthur's surprise, he adds, "Turn over."

Arthur isn't sure why he does it, all he knows is that he does; and then he's on his back with Eames on his knees between his legs, and Eames may have sounded unaffected, but he looks wrecked, pupils blown and his lips red and bitten, color high in his cheeks.

"God," Eames says, "you look gorgeous, Arthur," and Arthur shakes when Eames puts a hand behind his knee and pushes his leg up and doesn't tell him he was thinking exactly the same thing.