Prompt Post No. 15
Welcome to Round 15 of the Inception Kink Meme.
Prompting System
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This is peculiar in and of itself. When Eames gathers up details of a person’s life, it’s normally so he can use them to bring about that person’s destruction, definitely not because he cares.
Arthur, Eames knows now, has half a dozen pairs of his favorite boots in case they end up getting ruined or lost or somehow become impossible to replace. He can’t stand the smell of cabbage, garlic, or patchouli. He’s an American to his fingertips and still bitches incessantly about Brits and their backwards driving as if he expects everything to warp itself to his own expectations if he just frets about it enough. Too much time spent dreaming will do that to a man.
Eames, God have mercy on his soul, is hopelessly infatuated with him.
Arthur’s request comes up again when Eames is preparing to sit in on a chemical engineering seminar and monitor the keynote speaker, since he’s been recruited to help expose his dodgy past. Or at least fabricate enough evidence to make it look as if he’s had one.
When Eames stops him to ask about dinner, Arthur’s on his way out the door to drop off the dry cleaning. Eames still isn’t used to how fascinating it is seeing Arthur doing something so commonplace, even though their dry cleaner of choice is a woman Eames met after getting recommendations for businesses that would be discreet about removing blood and repairing other unconventional damages. “I can make a proper grocery run over the weekend,” he says, “but if you’ll just pick up a few things that strike your fancy while you’re out, I’ll throw something together for this evening.”
“Is there anything you’re dying to eat?” says Arthur, distractedly tugging a shirt back onto its hanger.
It’s too easy. Eames can’t resist giving him a leer.
Arthur gets a bit flustered from there, glaring and tensing with such delectable indignation that Eames can’t help but feel a little bad for him.
“You know that isn’t always a necessary procedure, right?”
“Yeah. I did some reading.” Of course he did. Eames feels a surge of affection. “It just…I think I’d feel better about letting you…” Arthur gives an ambiguous waggle of his fingers.
“Letting me what?” Eames presses merrily.
“You know what.”
“Put my tongue up your pretty arse? Is that what you mean?” He leans in, kissing him on the cheek, maneuvering Arthur’s back to the wall so he can wedge a thigh between his legs and enjoy the way he squirms. It shouldn’t turn Eames’s crank as much as it does, the way Arthur still manages to find things to be embarrassed about after everything else they’ve done together. “Why didn’t you just say so?”
The dry cleaning ends up in a heap on the floor so Arthur can grip a double handful of Eames’s jacket. “Just shut up.” And the next thing Eames knows, Arthur’s wrenching him in to slide a kiss against his mouth and both arms around his neck. Eames rhythmically rides his thigh into Arthur’s groin all the while, feeling how diligently he tries not to give in and rut against it.
Now, while he has his palms on the seat of Arthur’s jeans and his lips on his ear, is as good a time as any to hash out the details. “Would you want a hand with it or am I better off leaving you to your own devices?”
“Have you done it before?” Arthur asks after a moment’s hesitation. He dips his lashes, averting Eames’s gaze with genuine reserve, not the false coyness it would look like on most people.
Eames cups his chin. “Done what?”
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