[fic] shiny violent killing toys
Title: shiny violent killing toys
Fandom: Inception
Pairing(s): Arthur/Eames
Rating: NC-17 (violence and sex)
Summary: Written for inception_kink
Original prompt: Arthur comes home to Eames after killing someone in the real world for the first time. He literally has blood on his hands, and Eames is prepared to reassure him and calm him down.
Instead, Arthur shoves him up against a wall and starts rubbing against him like a horny teenager, because Arthur is one sick little puppy who may have enjoyed it a bit too much. At first Eames is like O_O but then he decides he approves entirely.
Notes: WRITTEN ON A WHIM. Idk, I felt like writing smut. Title was taken from Ayria's The Gun Song. ENJOY~
The job had gone straight to hell.
It was one of those lessons in Murphey’s Law-anything that could have gone wrong, did. No matter what Arthur did to brief the rest of the team on the possibilities of what could go wrong, it all compiled into a giant shitstorm and ended in them ripping needles out of their wrists and running for their fucking lives. The extractor-a slippery, wiry man named Edmunds-took the car and drove off before any guns could be fired his direction. The architect, a jumpy, stocky woman named Loretta, managed to get bludgeoned in the head and dragged off by the mark’s bodyguards as they surrounded the building.
Eames and Arthur managed to get the PASIV and run as fast as they could.
“Eames,” Arthur hissed, shoving the silver briefcase into Eames’s chest, “take the PASIV and get it somewhere safe. We’ll split up, I’ll lead the guards away, you run for the exit. I will meet you back at the hotel.”
“If you don’t-”
“If I’m not there in two hours, hide the PASIV and come find me. Because I know there’s no keeping you away, but for fuck’s sake, keep that thing safe,” Arthur growled, eyes narrowed dangerously. He reached into his suit and pulled out the concealed 9mm pistol. He checked the clip for ammo before sending Eames a look. “I have to go get Loretta, then I will come find you.” He noticed the flash of concern in Eames’s eyes and shook his head. “I’ll be fine.”
Eames sighed and nodded. “I know,” he hummed, looking around the corner. He couldn’t help but feel his heart beat a little faster as Arthur’s hands tightened around the gun. “They’re coming. You best be off.”
Arthur hummed and took in a slow breath. “Two hours.”
“Two hours.”
Arthur was off before he could say anything else. Eames cringed as he heard the guards shouting from around the corner, feet pounding on the ground as they chased Arthur down. He was off soon after, bolting towards the exit and to the street.
Arthur headed them off up several floors of the abandoned building before very nearly diving behind one door. He knew they were keeping Loretta up at the top floor, with the mark. Probably trying to wring names of the team and the employer out of her. The mark was some slimy CEO of a crooked software firm named O’Brien-insane and not below killing her if she didn’t talk. He let out a slow breath and counted to five as he heard the men pass the door. He let it out quickly as he silently swept it open and ran towards the staircase again, climbing as fast as he could.
When he reached the top, he kicked the door open, gun poised and finger squeezing the trigger.
There stood the mark, eyes wild, gun pressed to Loretta’s bleeding temple, matting her short hair. “Ah,” the mark laughed, sounding manic, “are you Mr. Edmunds, then?”
Arthur raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, keeping his gun at head-level with the mark.
“She has been screaming for you, Mr. Edmunds. She wouldn’t say anything except for your name, pleading you to come and rescue her. Afraid for her life.” He grinned, teeth white and sharp. “But that’s what you get for trying to steal from me. It’s not very polite, you see, and I don’t take very kindly to it,” he hissed, grin suddenly falling as he pressed the barrel of his gun against Loretta’s temple harder.
Loretta let out shrieking sob, body wracked with her cries, tears streaking down her red cheeks. “Arthur, please help me, Arthur please,” she begged, green eyes wide and rimmed with red. The mark traced the pistol down her jaw and she all but screamed. “Arthur, please!”
“Arthur?” O’Brien blinked, pausing. “Ah. Yes. You’re quite famous, you know. You’re one of those criminals wanted in almost every country. Only go by ‘Arthur’, yes, I’ve heard of you.”
Arthur narrowed his eyes, gritting his teeth. Fuck. This was taking longer than he had hoped. If he didn’t hurry this along, the guards would be up here and he and Loretta would both be fucked. His gun was pointed directly at O’Brien’s head, he had a clear shot, so why was he hesitating?
“I could kill her right now, you know. But I have a feeling that if I did, then you would kill me, so it seems we are at a bit of a stalemate,” O’Brien hummed, lips curled into a sneer. “By the way you’re hesitating, you’ve probably never shot anyone before, have you?”
“Shut up,” Arthur hissed.
It was true, though. He had never had to kill someone before outside of a dream. Projections were one thing but killing someone-an actual person-was something else entirely. He tried to keep his hands from shaking as he held his position. He wasn’t afraid so much as conflicted.
“Arthur, Arthur please, help me....”
“Help me, Arthur, please!” O’Brien imitated Loretta in a high-pitched sneer. “Yes, Arthur, help her! She’s afraid!” He laughed. “You can help her by telling me the name of your employer,” he hummed, moving the gun back to her temple, “or I kill her.”
Arthur’s eyes darted from Loretta’s shaking form to O’Brien’s unwavering smirk. He kept silent.
“Alright, if that’s what you want,” O’Brien purred, finger tensing around the trigger and squeezing and just about to pull-
Arthur leaped forward, knocking the gun just far enough away from Loretta so that the resounding shot only skimmed the back of her head. He pushed O’Brien to the ground, using his entire body weight to pin him down, trying to pry the gun from his fingers. O’Brien let out a furious snarl and bucked his torso until he overpowered Arthur and rolled him over, wrenching his wrist away and pistol-whipping Arthur across the cheek. He tasted metal and copper and felt a trickle of blood leak out of the corner of his mouth and then fuck suddenly there was the gun pressing against the back of his throat and-
“I am going to be the last person you ever steal from, Arthur dear,” O’Brien hissed.
Arthur’s eyes widened a fraction as he squirmed, his arms trapped between both their torsos and all he could taste was cold metal and suddenly there was a loud shot but he didn’t feel anything.
And then he realized that O’Brien had frozen in place. His face fell blank and his hands had gone slack. He let out a cough and there was blood in it and flecks spattered across Arthur’s face.
Arthur pushed him off and stood up, calm as he could manage, and saw the growing blood stain at O’Brien’s stomach. He looked down at his hands and saw the blood on his fingers, on his palms, staining his shirt cuffs. He had done it. He watched as O’Brien coughed and choked and his face paled before... nothing. He lay there, still and cold and blank and white and dead. Arthur numbly holstered his 9mm and untied Loretta, nodding at her to follow.
They ran out of the room before the guards could run up to see what had happened.
Loretta could barely speak as they parted ways. She had mumbled a hurried “thank you” before running away into the city night. Arthur walked along the streets, back straight, to the hotel where he said he would meet Eames. An hour and a half had passed by the time he opened up the door to their room.
“Arthur,” Eames sighed, sounding relieved and grinning before noticing the drying blood on Arthur’s hands. “Darling....”
Arthur took off his jacket and hung it on the back of a chair in the room, brushing past Eames. He toed off his shoes, pulled off his socks methodically, unclipped his cufflinks and shoulder holster.
“Arthur,” Eames whispered, stepping closer, like he was being careful. “You...” he paused as Arthur started undoing his shirt. “Are you alright?”
Arthur stopped suddenly and considered this. His hands were shaking, yeah, but not from adrenaline or fear or shock or anything like that. He stared down at the blood on his hands, felt his own heart pumping in his chest, breath coming shorter, stomach clenching....
He spun around and shoved Eames against the closest wall and kissed him as hard as he could. It was all teeth and tongue and too much bite, but fuck did Arthur want it. The dried blood on his hands, the feel and smell made him thrum with arousal. He ground his straining erection against Eames’s hip, panting against his lips and groaning.
“Jesus Christ, Arthur-”
“Shut up,” Arthur hissed, mouthing at Eames’s neck, sucking at the skin there and running his tongue along it. “Need you,” he panted, “now.”
Eames blinked, confused and conflicted all at once. He obviously didn’t know what to say in this situation, expected Arthur to be a sobbing, shaking mess, so Arthur decided to give him a little hand in deciding. “Eames,” he whispered, squeezing Eames’s crotch and rubbing with pure, naked need, “please.”
“Bloody hell, Arthur,” Eames growled. It seemed that was all it took to get Eames into it as he grabbed Arthur’s shoulders and kissed him again. Arthur moaned and shivered at the feeling of Eames’s stubble scratching his chin, of his hands roaming over his bare chest, of his clothed erection grinding against his. Fuck it was all too much, he felt so entirely breathless and light-headed and decided that maybe-
“Fuck me, Mr. Eames,” he growled, turning them so Eames was pressing him against the hotel wall.
Something like hunger flashed in Eames’s eyes and he grinned widely. “Right away, darling,” he purred.
He quickly shoved Arthur’s pants down, throwing them across the room once they were off and hauled him up the wall. Arthur growled and wrapped his legs around Eames’s hips, leaning down and biting at his swollen bottom lip, tugging at it. “Hurry up, hurry up,” he hissed, rutting against Eames’s bare torso. The smell of blood was still pungent in the air and coupled with the scent of Eames it was utterly intoxicating. “Fuck... Eames,” Arthur groaned, squeezing his eyes shut.
Eames fumbled in desk drawer beside them and tugged out a condom and lube, fumbling with them with shaking hands.
“Need you, come on, hurry up,” Arthur panted against Eames’s earlobe, taking it into his mouth and sucking at it, nails clawing his back and tracing over tattoos. “I need you inside me, Eames, come on.”
“Jesus fuck, Arthur,” Eames hissed, pulling the zipper of his pants down and pulling his erection out. He tore the condom open with his teeth and rolled it over his cock, slicking it up with lube. “Stay still,” he groaned, pushing Arthur harder against the wall and stilling him.
He grabbed one of Arthur’s legs and hiked it further up his body, resting it on his shoulder and spreading his thighs further apart. He wasted no time aligning himself with Arthur’s entrance and pushing in with only some resistance.
Arthur threw his head back, ignoring the pain as it cracked against the wall. He let out a breathless whine, the burn traveling through his entire body. He felt so full, so mindless, so complete. He moaned brokenly as Eames shoved in roughly. He felt his thighs shake as they squeezed around Eames’s hips and shoulder, felt his toes curl as the zipper of Eames’s pants scratched against his ass like electric shocks.
Eames set a brutal pace, pushing in and out so fast and fuck that was what Arthur wanted. He grit his teeth, jaw set tight and he pushed down to meet each of Eames’s thrusts. He felt the ache in his lower back, numbed slightly by the sheer need that he felt for this. He felt Eames’s cock pulse inside of him, moving in him, grinding into him.
Arthur took one of his own hands-still caked with dried blood-and brought it to his mouth, licking the blood off. He moaned around his fingers as he tasted coppers, sucking on them hungrily. Eames stared openly and the fact that Eames was watching made Arthur shake with the sudden spike of arousal. He whimpered and ground down in Eames’s cock, thrusting frantically.
“Arthur, you sick fucking freak,” Eames groaned, tearing Arthur’s hand from his mouth to kiss him. His pace became frenzied, hands gripping Arthur’s thighs hard enough to leave bruises. Arthur could only taste blood and sweat and Eames and the taste was so fucking sweet that Arthur nearly came then. “Not yet, darling,” Eames growled, feeling him tense.
“Eames,” Arthur whined, reaching down and stroking at his cock with his one still bloodied hand.
“Fuck,” Eames groaned, watching the sight with wide eyes. He thrust harder, mouth wide open. He scratched Arthur’s thighs, panting heavily against his mouth, licking at his lips. “Fuck, darling, gonna come...” he hissed.
“Yeah... yeah,” Arthur moaned, unable to say anything else as he squeezed his own dick, thumb brushing over the head. Flecks of dried blood were coming off and sticking to his skin, leaving red dots of someone else’s blood on his own skin and just seeing that sight-
He jerked as he came into his own hand, spine locking and body shaking uncontrollably. He didn’t even feel Eames’s own orgasm, only vaguely heard the shout of his own name over the thrum of blood racing through his ears.
He came to in a heap on the floor with Eames slumped over him.
“You’re sick, darling,” Eames grumbled, tying off the condom and tossing it into the trashcan, “if that’s how you react to killing someone.”
Arthur only smiled and stared at the ceiling. He felt the amazing pulse of pure arousal through him at the memory of the gunshot, of the wet, sticky blood coating his hands and speckling across his face, how it was so different than in dreams, so fucking real....
He remembered the blossoming red patch on O’Brien’s shirt. He remembered watching as his eyes flickered between alive and dead before finally blinking out completely. He remembered the sheer satisfaction at the sight of that cold, lifeless body, the red bullet wound, the blood on his hands.
He ran his hands over his body and laughed lightly.
“Yeah,” he murmured, “I guess so.”
Fandom: Inception
Pairing(s): Arthur/Eames
Rating: NC-17 (violence and sex)
Summary: Written for inception_kink
Original prompt: Arthur comes home to Eames after killing someone in the real world for the first time. He literally has blood on his hands, and Eames is prepared to reassure him and calm him down.
Instead, Arthur shoves him up against a wall and starts rubbing against him like a horny teenager, because Arthur is one sick little puppy who may have enjoyed it a bit too much. At first Eames is like O_O but then he decides he approves entirely.
Notes: WRITTEN ON A WHIM. Idk, I felt like writing smut. Title was taken from Ayria's The Gun Song. ENJOY~
The job had gone straight to hell.
It was one of those lessons in Murphey’s Law-anything that could have gone wrong, did. No matter what Arthur did to brief the rest of the team on the possibilities of what could go wrong, it all compiled into a giant shitstorm and ended in them ripping needles out of their wrists and running for their fucking lives. The extractor-a slippery, wiry man named Edmunds-took the car and drove off before any guns could be fired his direction. The architect, a jumpy, stocky woman named Loretta, managed to get bludgeoned in the head and dragged off by the mark’s bodyguards as they surrounded the building.
Eames and Arthur managed to get the PASIV and run as fast as they could.
“Eames,” Arthur hissed, shoving the silver briefcase into Eames’s chest, “take the PASIV and get it somewhere safe. We’ll split up, I’ll lead the guards away, you run for the exit. I will meet you back at the hotel.”
“If you don’t-”
“If I’m not there in two hours, hide the PASIV and come find me. Because I know there’s no keeping you away, but for fuck’s sake, keep that thing safe,” Arthur growled, eyes narrowed dangerously. He reached into his suit and pulled out the concealed 9mm pistol. He checked the clip for ammo before sending Eames a look. “I have to go get Loretta, then I will come find you.” He noticed the flash of concern in Eames’s eyes and shook his head. “I’ll be fine.”
Eames sighed and nodded. “I know,” he hummed, looking around the corner. He couldn’t help but feel his heart beat a little faster as Arthur’s hands tightened around the gun. “They’re coming. You best be off.”
Arthur hummed and took in a slow breath. “Two hours.”
“Two hours.”
Arthur was off before he could say anything else. Eames cringed as he heard the guards shouting from around the corner, feet pounding on the ground as they chased Arthur down. He was off soon after, bolting towards the exit and to the street.
Arthur headed them off up several floors of the abandoned building before very nearly diving behind one door. He knew they were keeping Loretta up at the top floor, with the mark. Probably trying to wring names of the team and the employer out of her. The mark was some slimy CEO of a crooked software firm named O’Brien-insane and not below killing her if she didn’t talk. He let out a slow breath and counted to five as he heard the men pass the door. He let it out quickly as he silently swept it open and ran towards the staircase again, climbing as fast as he could.
When he reached the top, he kicked the door open, gun poised and finger squeezing the trigger.
There stood the mark, eyes wild, gun pressed to Loretta’s bleeding temple, matting her short hair. “Ah,” the mark laughed, sounding manic, “are you Mr. Edmunds, then?”
Arthur raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, keeping his gun at head-level with the mark.
“She has been screaming for you, Mr. Edmunds. She wouldn’t say anything except for your name, pleading you to come and rescue her. Afraid for her life.” He grinned, teeth white and sharp. “But that’s what you get for trying to steal from me. It’s not very polite, you see, and I don’t take very kindly to it,” he hissed, grin suddenly falling as he pressed the barrel of his gun against Loretta’s temple harder.
Loretta let out shrieking sob, body wracked with her cries, tears streaking down her red cheeks. “Arthur, please help me, Arthur please,” she begged, green eyes wide and rimmed with red. The mark traced the pistol down her jaw and she all but screamed. “Arthur, please!”
“Arthur?” O’Brien blinked, pausing. “Ah. Yes. You’re quite famous, you know. You’re one of those criminals wanted in almost every country. Only go by ‘Arthur’, yes, I’ve heard of you.”
Arthur narrowed his eyes, gritting his teeth. Fuck. This was taking longer than he had hoped. If he didn’t hurry this along, the guards would be up here and he and Loretta would both be fucked. His gun was pointed directly at O’Brien’s head, he had a clear shot, so why was he hesitating?
“I could kill her right now, you know. But I have a feeling that if I did, then you would kill me, so it seems we are at a bit of a stalemate,” O’Brien hummed, lips curled into a sneer. “By the way you’re hesitating, you’ve probably never shot anyone before, have you?”
“Shut up,” Arthur hissed.
It was true, though. He had never had to kill someone before outside of a dream. Projections were one thing but killing someone-an actual person-was something else entirely. He tried to keep his hands from shaking as he held his position. He wasn’t afraid so much as conflicted.
“Arthur, Arthur please, help me....”
“Help me, Arthur, please!” O’Brien imitated Loretta in a high-pitched sneer. “Yes, Arthur, help her! She’s afraid!” He laughed. “You can help her by telling me the name of your employer,” he hummed, moving the gun back to her temple, “or I kill her.”
Arthur’s eyes darted from Loretta’s shaking form to O’Brien’s unwavering smirk. He kept silent.
“Alright, if that’s what you want,” O’Brien purred, finger tensing around the trigger and squeezing and just about to pull-
Arthur leaped forward, knocking the gun just far enough away from Loretta so that the resounding shot only skimmed the back of her head. He pushed O’Brien to the ground, using his entire body weight to pin him down, trying to pry the gun from his fingers. O’Brien let out a furious snarl and bucked his torso until he overpowered Arthur and rolled him over, wrenching his wrist away and pistol-whipping Arthur across the cheek. He tasted metal and copper and felt a trickle of blood leak out of the corner of his mouth and then fuck suddenly there was the gun pressing against the back of his throat and-
“I am going to be the last person you ever steal from, Arthur dear,” O’Brien hissed.
Arthur’s eyes widened a fraction as he squirmed, his arms trapped between both their torsos and all he could taste was cold metal and suddenly there was a loud shot but he didn’t feel anything.
And then he realized that O’Brien had frozen in place. His face fell blank and his hands had gone slack. He let out a cough and there was blood in it and flecks spattered across Arthur’s face.
Arthur pushed him off and stood up, calm as he could manage, and saw the growing blood stain at O’Brien’s stomach. He looked down at his hands and saw the blood on his fingers, on his palms, staining his shirt cuffs. He had done it. He watched as O’Brien coughed and choked and his face paled before... nothing. He lay there, still and cold and blank and white and dead. Arthur numbly holstered his 9mm and untied Loretta, nodding at her to follow.
They ran out of the room before the guards could run up to see what had happened.
Loretta could barely speak as they parted ways. She had mumbled a hurried “thank you” before running away into the city night. Arthur walked along the streets, back straight, to the hotel where he said he would meet Eames. An hour and a half had passed by the time he opened up the door to their room.
“Arthur,” Eames sighed, sounding relieved and grinning before noticing the drying blood on Arthur’s hands. “Darling....”
Arthur took off his jacket and hung it on the back of a chair in the room, brushing past Eames. He toed off his shoes, pulled off his socks methodically, unclipped his cufflinks and shoulder holster.
“Arthur,” Eames whispered, stepping closer, like he was being careful. “You...” he paused as Arthur started undoing his shirt. “Are you alright?”
Arthur stopped suddenly and considered this. His hands were shaking, yeah, but not from adrenaline or fear or shock or anything like that. He stared down at the blood on his hands, felt his own heart pumping in his chest, breath coming shorter, stomach clenching....
He spun around and shoved Eames against the closest wall and kissed him as hard as he could. It was all teeth and tongue and too much bite, but fuck did Arthur want it. The dried blood on his hands, the feel and smell made him thrum with arousal. He ground his straining erection against Eames’s hip, panting against his lips and groaning.
“Jesus Christ, Arthur-”
“Shut up,” Arthur hissed, mouthing at Eames’s neck, sucking at the skin there and running his tongue along it. “Need you,” he panted, “now.”
Eames blinked, confused and conflicted all at once. He obviously didn’t know what to say in this situation, expected Arthur to be a sobbing, shaking mess, so Arthur decided to give him a little hand in deciding. “Eames,” he whispered, squeezing Eames’s crotch and rubbing with pure, naked need, “please.”
“Bloody hell, Arthur,” Eames growled. It seemed that was all it took to get Eames into it as he grabbed Arthur’s shoulders and kissed him again. Arthur moaned and shivered at the feeling of Eames’s stubble scratching his chin, of his hands roaming over his bare chest, of his clothed erection grinding against his. Fuck it was all too much, he felt so entirely breathless and light-headed and decided that maybe-
“Fuck me, Mr. Eames,” he growled, turning them so Eames was pressing him against the hotel wall.
Something like hunger flashed in Eames’s eyes and he grinned widely. “Right away, darling,” he purred.
He quickly shoved Arthur’s pants down, throwing them across the room once they were off and hauled him up the wall. Arthur growled and wrapped his legs around Eames’s hips, leaning down and biting at his swollen bottom lip, tugging at it. “Hurry up, hurry up,” he hissed, rutting against Eames’s bare torso. The smell of blood was still pungent in the air and coupled with the scent of Eames it was utterly intoxicating. “Fuck... Eames,” Arthur groaned, squeezing his eyes shut.
Eames fumbled in desk drawer beside them and tugged out a condom and lube, fumbling with them with shaking hands.
“Need you, come on, hurry up,” Arthur panted against Eames’s earlobe, taking it into his mouth and sucking at it, nails clawing his back and tracing over tattoos. “I need you inside me, Eames, come on.”
“Jesus fuck, Arthur,” Eames hissed, pulling the zipper of his pants down and pulling his erection out. He tore the condom open with his teeth and rolled it over his cock, slicking it up with lube. “Stay still,” he groaned, pushing Arthur harder against the wall and stilling him.
He grabbed one of Arthur’s legs and hiked it further up his body, resting it on his shoulder and spreading his thighs further apart. He wasted no time aligning himself with Arthur’s entrance and pushing in with only some resistance.
Arthur threw his head back, ignoring the pain as it cracked against the wall. He let out a breathless whine, the burn traveling through his entire body. He felt so full, so mindless, so complete. He moaned brokenly as Eames shoved in roughly. He felt his thighs shake as they squeezed around Eames’s hips and shoulder, felt his toes curl as the zipper of Eames’s pants scratched against his ass like electric shocks.
Eames set a brutal pace, pushing in and out so fast and fuck that was what Arthur wanted. He grit his teeth, jaw set tight and he pushed down to meet each of Eames’s thrusts. He felt the ache in his lower back, numbed slightly by the sheer need that he felt for this. He felt Eames’s cock pulse inside of him, moving in him, grinding into him.
Arthur took one of his own hands-still caked with dried blood-and brought it to his mouth, licking the blood off. He moaned around his fingers as he tasted coppers, sucking on them hungrily. Eames stared openly and the fact that Eames was watching made Arthur shake with the sudden spike of arousal. He whimpered and ground down in Eames’s cock, thrusting frantically.
“Arthur, you sick fucking freak,” Eames groaned, tearing Arthur’s hand from his mouth to kiss him. His pace became frenzied, hands gripping Arthur’s thighs hard enough to leave bruises. Arthur could only taste blood and sweat and Eames and the taste was so fucking sweet that Arthur nearly came then. “Not yet, darling,” Eames growled, feeling him tense.
“Eames,” Arthur whined, reaching down and stroking at his cock with his one still bloodied hand.
“Fuck,” Eames groaned, watching the sight with wide eyes. He thrust harder, mouth wide open. He scratched Arthur’s thighs, panting heavily against his mouth, licking at his lips. “Fuck, darling, gonna come...” he hissed.
“Yeah... yeah,” Arthur moaned, unable to say anything else as he squeezed his own dick, thumb brushing over the head. Flecks of dried blood were coming off and sticking to his skin, leaving red dots of someone else’s blood on his own skin and just seeing that sight-
He jerked as he came into his own hand, spine locking and body shaking uncontrollably. He didn’t even feel Eames’s own orgasm, only vaguely heard the shout of his own name over the thrum of blood racing through his ears.
He came to in a heap on the floor with Eames slumped over him.
“You’re sick, darling,” Eames grumbled, tying off the condom and tossing it into the trashcan, “if that’s how you react to killing someone.”
Arthur only smiled and stared at the ceiling. He felt the amazing pulse of pure arousal through him at the memory of the gunshot, of the wet, sticky blood coating his hands and speckling across his face, how it was so different than in dreams, so fucking real....
He remembered the blossoming red patch on O’Brien’s shirt. He remembered watching as his eyes flickered between alive and dead before finally blinking out completely. He remembered the sheer satisfaction at the sight of that cold, lifeless body, the red bullet wound, the blood on his hands.
He ran his hands over his body and laughed lightly.
“Yeah,” he murmured, “I guess so.”