Fic: Waistband
Title: Waistband
Author: kaylynnkie
Disclaimer: Not mine
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Summary: Arthur's hiding something under that suit, and Eames gets a peak at it.
Word Count: 748
Warnings/Rating: lace fetish
Notes: Written for natural_blue_26's prompt over at comment_fic; “ Any, any, lace-edged ”
Eames was in a meeting, jiggling his foot anxiously up and down when he first noticed. There wasn't anything particularly fetching about Arthur. If anything, he looked more tired than usual and his shirt cuffs were slightly wrinkled. The pressed look was beginning to fade as the day approached 5 AM. They had been in this building, planning the job since 8 AM the previous day. It was no surprise that even unruffled Arthur was fraying. He sipped his coffee, listening to Arthur list out potential responses to something their architect had asked. Arthur had bought if for him and brought it back when they had all taken a two hour break. There was an extra shot of espresso in it and rich dark chocolate with hazelnut shavings and whip cream. Trust Arthur to lavish something as simple a coffee for an all-nighter.
This crew wasn't bad either. They were experienced and highly specialized: a point man, forger, architect and extractor. He had worked with their extractor before, Lily Sung, efficient and to the point. The architect was an old friend of Arthur's. A man from his military days. Neither of them said anything about it, but they occasionally exchanged glances. Eames didn't enjoy being left out of whatever they were communicating to each other even though he was sure that it had nothing to do with him.
When they adjourned just after 7:30, it was a relief all around. Eames and Arthur were the last to leave because Arthur had driven. Eames sat on his desk while Arthur meticulously adjusted his notes and packed up his suitcase.
“Why don't you just pack up the whole desk, yeah?”
Arthur didn't look up. “That would deprive me of indulging my OCD.”
“Wouldn't want that.”
“Damn,” he said softly as his pen slipped from his breast pocket and rolled across the floor underneath a heating unit. “Can you get that?”
Eames stretched and smirked. “And deprive myself of the pleasure of watching you pick it up on hands and knees? Course not.”
Arthur glared at him, but he knelt down and groped for it. Eames gave Arthur's tight rear an appreciative once over, enjoying how the tight dress pants he was wearing rode down. The waistband slipped just enough to reveal a length of frilly lace.
“What the hell are you wearing?”
Arthur snatched his pen up and rushed to his feet, blushing. “None of your business.”
“None of my business doesn't make you red like that. Show me.”
“Eames, leave it alone.”
“No,” he said softly, crowding into Arthur's space. He rested his cheek on the hollow of Arthur's throat, yielding. “Lemme see.”
Arthur's voice softened, breathless, he said, “Okay.”
Arthur reached down and undid the front of his trousers. His hair fell in sections across his face. The gel was wearing down but a few stubborn clumps remained. Eames stroked his fingers through it, then down Arthur's cheek before sliding his hand down Arthur's side and slipping it under the waistband of his trousers. His breath stuttered.
He whispered, “You're wearing lace panties in the office?”
He nodded.
“You like them?”
Arthur swallowed when Eames cupped his ass, at the point where his left thigh and buttock met. There was lace there, too. The flesh felt vulnerable, and he could feel the throb of his veins against Eames' hand. He pressed himself against Eames' body, enjoying the friction.
“Yeah.”
“Let me?”
The question hung in the air, and Eames cupped Arthur's face in his hands and kissed him. Their lips were dry, and Eames nipped a little too hard, but it felt nice. It was nice to be held and comforted, to be touched and wanted, to not have someone disgusted by his indulgence. Arthur ran his fingers through Eames' hair.
“It's not gross?”
“No. Why would it be?”
“I don't know.”
Eames twisted Arthur's tie into his fist and pulled him on the desk. With the morning light streaming in, the lace-edged black panties were exhilarating and the tryst exciting. They made it back to their hotel room and didn't leave the bed before Eames saw Arthur in his black slip as well. Eames made a note to stop by Frederick's of Hollywood. He wanted to see Arthur in something with boning and trim.
Author: kaylynnkie
Disclaimer: Not mine
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Summary: Arthur's hiding something under that suit, and Eames gets a peak at it.
Word Count: 748
Warnings/Rating: lace fetish
Notes: Written for natural_blue_26's prompt over at comment_fic; “ Any, any, lace-edged ”
Eames was in a meeting, jiggling his foot anxiously up and down when he first noticed. There wasn't anything particularly fetching about Arthur. If anything, he looked more tired than usual and his shirt cuffs were slightly wrinkled. The pressed look was beginning to fade as the day approached 5 AM. They had been in this building, planning the job since 8 AM the previous day. It was no surprise that even unruffled Arthur was fraying. He sipped his coffee, listening to Arthur list out potential responses to something their architect had asked. Arthur had bought if for him and brought it back when they had all taken a two hour break. There was an extra shot of espresso in it and rich dark chocolate with hazelnut shavings and whip cream. Trust Arthur to lavish something as simple a coffee for an all-nighter.
This crew wasn't bad either. They were experienced and highly specialized: a point man, forger, architect and extractor. He had worked with their extractor before, Lily Sung, efficient and to the point. The architect was an old friend of Arthur's. A man from his military days. Neither of them said anything about it, but they occasionally exchanged glances. Eames didn't enjoy being left out of whatever they were communicating to each other even though he was sure that it had nothing to do with him.
When they adjourned just after 7:30, it was a relief all around. Eames and Arthur were the last to leave because Arthur had driven. Eames sat on his desk while Arthur meticulously adjusted his notes and packed up his suitcase.
“Why don't you just pack up the whole desk, yeah?”
Arthur didn't look up. “That would deprive me of indulging my OCD.”
“Wouldn't want that.”
“Damn,” he said softly as his pen slipped from his breast pocket and rolled across the floor underneath a heating unit. “Can you get that?”
Eames stretched and smirked. “And deprive myself of the pleasure of watching you pick it up on hands and knees? Course not.”
Arthur glared at him, but he knelt down and groped for it. Eames gave Arthur's tight rear an appreciative once over, enjoying how the tight dress pants he was wearing rode down. The waistband slipped just enough to reveal a length of frilly lace.
“What the hell are you wearing?”
Arthur snatched his pen up and rushed to his feet, blushing. “None of your business.”
“None of my business doesn't make you red like that. Show me.”
“Eames, leave it alone.”
“No,” he said softly, crowding into Arthur's space. He rested his cheek on the hollow of Arthur's throat, yielding. “Lemme see.”
Arthur's voice softened, breathless, he said, “Okay.”
Arthur reached down and undid the front of his trousers. His hair fell in sections across his face. The gel was wearing down but a few stubborn clumps remained. Eames stroked his fingers through it, then down Arthur's cheek before sliding his hand down Arthur's side and slipping it under the waistband of his trousers. His breath stuttered.
He whispered, “You're wearing lace panties in the office?”
He nodded.
“You like them?”
Arthur swallowed when Eames cupped his ass, at the point where his left thigh and buttock met. There was lace there, too. The flesh felt vulnerable, and he could feel the throb of his veins against Eames' hand. He pressed himself against Eames' body, enjoying the friction.
“Yeah.”
“Let me?”
The question hung in the air, and Eames cupped Arthur's face in his hands and kissed him. Their lips were dry, and Eames nipped a little too hard, but it felt nice. It was nice to be held and comforted, to be touched and wanted, to not have someone disgusted by his indulgence. Arthur ran his fingers through Eames' hair.
“It's not gross?”
“No. Why would it be?”
“I don't know.”
Eames twisted Arthur's tie into his fist and pulled him on the desk. With the morning light streaming in, the lace-edged black panties were exhilarating and the tryst exciting. They made it back to their hotel room and didn't leave the bed before Eames saw Arthur in his black slip as well. Eames made a note to stop by Frederick's of Hollywood. He wanted to see Arthur in something with boning and trim.