[Fic] Adrenaline High
Fandom: Inception. Eames/Arthur. MA / Nc-17. 1,624 words.
There are at least five more hours of flight to go.
---
The mission is over; Eames crashes back to reality, adrenaline shooting into his veins when he recalls everything that just happened. He's jittery, legs jumping up and down with pent up energy and he's not sure what to do about it.
Well, he knows what he'd like to do about it, but a small jet isn't quite the place for such things.
His eyes wander around the small space to his team-mates, all of which are silent and keeping to themselves. Eames knows that it's necessary not to give away the fact that they're all together, but the silence is becoming fairly irritating and a part of him needs to talk to someone. He wants to be reassured that everyone made it out sane, he wants to know what happened with everyone else, and he wants to celebrate the victory of a completed job.
He has at least five more hours of flight to go.
Usually in this situation he would let his mind drift off and allow a whole different kind of dream to wander through his waking mind, but the cloud outside his window looks remarkably phallic and he knows exactly what kind of daydreams his mind would bring him.
Eames watches with slight interest as wind currents whip the cloud into an unnatural curl and decides that perhaps it is a flamingo instead.
When another flamingo seems to rise out of the wispy white he turns his head, observing the rest of the people on the plane with him. Ariadne looks exhausted, the stress of her first job catching up with her. Saito looks incredible relieved as he begins dialing a number into the phone by his elbow. Cobb's face is about as expressionless as ever while he stares forward at the seat in front of him. A careful shift forward in his seat and he can see the mark's bewildered gaze, another inch forward and suddenly he's looking at the seat behind him and into dark brown eyes.
Eames can feel his right eye brow arch upwards towards his hairline as his mouth curls up into an amused smile, his tongue licking his lips in an exaggerated fashion moments after.
Arthur rolls his eyes; something that shouldn't make Eames so pleased, but it was more of a reaction that he usually recieved. He gives a slow wink beore turning back to his window, the two flamingos now crossed in an awkward "x".
Eames slouches down in his chair, his legs stretching out into the isle and old leather loafers waving at the rest of the passengers. His hands clench at the armrests until he suddenly heaves himself out of the seat with a mumbled "Right, then." and then he's in the tiny bathroom, water from the tiny sink splashed across his face as he shifts in too-tight trousers.
A gentle knock on the door draws his attention from the running water. He quickly shuts off the tap, drys his hands and moves to open the door.
He barely registers that Arthur is standing in the doorway before he has a handful of an expensive tie and he's hauling the slighter man into the bathroom and against his lips. The door closes and the clicks and Eames knows Arthur is responsible because his right hand is tangled in previously perfect hair and his left hand is gripping onto a thin hip.
The kiss is rough. Fast and a little sloppy. Arthur's lips are soft; it's obvious that he takes care of them just as much as he does the rest of his body, and Eames is fairly certain that the slightly waxy taste of the younger man's chap-stick is disappearing quickly. The scrape of teeth against his bottom lip leaves him gasping and damn it if he can't remember the last time he enjoyed kissing as much as he did now.
And then suddenly he's left kissing only air.
"Hard day at the office, dear?" Arthur asks, in that smooth tone that just barely reveals the sarcasm in his statement, and suddenly Eames is laughing into the other man's rumpled shirt collar and smooth neck. Arthur sighs. "I came in to ask what was wrong, but I think I've already realized the problem."
Eames gives a low, growling note of agreement as he rubs said "problem" against one of Arthur's thighs.
Eames is close to crying out in frustration when Arthur pulls more than just his lips away from him. Arthur can't actually go far in the tiny bathroom, but only their knees are touching and it's not enough for Eames. He sighs. "Please don't tell me I'm going to have to convince you to help me out." He steps forward so his right thigh is pressed snugly between the other man's legs. "I can be very persuasive." He claims, nodding in agreement with himself.
Arthur looks down at him, eyes considering. "I'm sure you can. I'm just not entirely sure what you want me to do for you."
Eames pulls back slightly, hands shuffling through his pockets as he responds. "I couldn't care less at this point." He shoves an aluminum wrapper into the other man's hand. "You're move."
"Do you always keep a condom with you?" Arthur asks, smirking when he receives a nod. "Well aren't you confident."
"Look around you, Darling. You never know when you might need it."
Eames watches as Arthur nods in grudging agreement, blinks, and suddenly he's right where he wants to be and Arthur is willingly being pressed against the wall as Eames shamelessly grinds his hips forward against the hardening appendage in the younger man's fine suit slacks.
Eames fumbles awkwardly with the buttons at the top of their trousers, hands trapped between them because he refuses to move his hips away for even a second. A slender hand pushes his own out of the way, moving quickly and undoing both buttons much quicker than Eames would have managed. When the warm hand slips between the open zipper at Eames' front he has to fight the urge to clasp his hands together and pray to the gods in thanks.
His mouth latches hungrily onto Arthur's long neck, the hand down his front sliding along his erection in firm strokes, its partner curling into his sandy brown hair possessively. Eames has one hand beneath Arthur's shirt, the white cloth hiked up over his elbow as the thumb strokes over shoulder blades; his other hand sliding down and slipping under the waistband of the younger man's boxers. His slightly calloused fingers slide through thick curls, blunt fingernails scratching lightly against the skin before his fingers wrap around the base of Arthur's smooth length.
Arthur's hands tighten on Eames' cock and scalp before pushing him away and against the sink. His trousers drop around his ankles and when he steps out of them it's right back into Eames' arms, hard flesh dragging across hard flesh as they continue.
"You're not going to fold them?" He's out of breath, but he never passes up a chance to tease.
"I think after a ten hour flight," Arthur shudders as his voice fails him before returning with a sharp breath, "a few wrinkles will be justified."
Their hips move against each other as the cabin conceals their gasps and groans, the occasional moan bouncing against the white walls and back at them. It isn't long before Eames realizes why the neat man removed his pants and does the same, barely breaking the rhythm between them when he does. He lasts just over a minute afterwards before the burn in his abdomen explodes and he's flying over the edge.
As the white spots in his vision begin to fade Eames' hand returns its post at the other man's crotch and in two jerky pulls the flesh in his hand swells and his hand fills with warmth, the hands now resting on his shoulders tightening painfully as Arthur finishes without a sound.
Eames leans backwards slightly as he watches Arthur recover, amusement shining in his eyes. When Arthur notices he gives a little shrug. "You're very quiet." He states, voice slightly rough from exertion.
"Only when I need to be."
That small comment has Eames purring as he returns his pants back to their rightful place around his hips. When Arthur slides the still-wrapped condom back into his pocket and Eames gives him a questioning glance he smiles. "I think you're going to need that when we land."
When Eames finally leaves the bathroom it's with a jaunty tune whistling through his lips and a noticeable bounce in his steps, and if he notices Arthur pinching the bridge of his nose he doesn't show any sign of it. He's over-acting, but only a little; a very large part of him wants the entire group to know and he's sure his previously mentioned performance has gotten the message across nicely.
There are at least five more hours of flight to go.
---
The mission is over; Eames crashes back to reality, adrenaline shooting into his veins when he recalls everything that just happened. He's jittery, legs jumping up and down with pent up energy and he's not sure what to do about it.
Well, he knows what he'd like to do about it, but a small jet isn't quite the place for such things.
His eyes wander around the small space to his team-mates, all of which are silent and keeping to themselves. Eames knows that it's necessary not to give away the fact that they're all together, but the silence is becoming fairly irritating and a part of him needs to talk to someone. He wants to be reassured that everyone made it out sane, he wants to know what happened with everyone else, and he wants to celebrate the victory of a completed job.
He has at least five more hours of flight to go.
Usually in this situation he would let his mind drift off and allow a whole different kind of dream to wander through his waking mind, but the cloud outside his window looks remarkably phallic and he knows exactly what kind of daydreams his mind would bring him.
Eames watches with slight interest as wind currents whip the cloud into an unnatural curl and decides that perhaps it is a flamingo instead.
When another flamingo seems to rise out of the wispy white he turns his head, observing the rest of the people on the plane with him. Ariadne looks exhausted, the stress of her first job catching up with her. Saito looks incredible relieved as he begins dialing a number into the phone by his elbow. Cobb's face is about as expressionless as ever while he stares forward at the seat in front of him. A careful shift forward in his seat and he can see the mark's bewildered gaze, another inch forward and suddenly he's looking at the seat behind him and into dark brown eyes.
Eames can feel his right eye brow arch upwards towards his hairline as his mouth curls up into an amused smile, his tongue licking his lips in an exaggerated fashion moments after.
Arthur rolls his eyes; something that shouldn't make Eames so pleased, but it was more of a reaction that he usually recieved. He gives a slow wink beore turning back to his window, the two flamingos now crossed in an awkward "x".
Eames slouches down in his chair, his legs stretching out into the isle and old leather loafers waving at the rest of the passengers. His hands clench at the armrests until he suddenly heaves himself out of the seat with a mumbled "Right, then." and then he's in the tiny bathroom, water from the tiny sink splashed across his face as he shifts in too-tight trousers.
A gentle knock on the door draws his attention from the running water. He quickly shuts off the tap, drys his hands and moves to open the door.
He barely registers that Arthur is standing in the doorway before he has a handful of an expensive tie and he's hauling the slighter man into the bathroom and against his lips. The door closes and the clicks and Eames knows Arthur is responsible because his right hand is tangled in previously perfect hair and his left hand is gripping onto a thin hip.
The kiss is rough. Fast and a little sloppy. Arthur's lips are soft; it's obvious that he takes care of them just as much as he does the rest of his body, and Eames is fairly certain that the slightly waxy taste of the younger man's chap-stick is disappearing quickly. The scrape of teeth against his bottom lip leaves him gasping and damn it if he can't remember the last time he enjoyed kissing as much as he did now.
And then suddenly he's left kissing only air.
"Hard day at the office, dear?" Arthur asks, in that smooth tone that just barely reveals the sarcasm in his statement, and suddenly Eames is laughing into the other man's rumpled shirt collar and smooth neck. Arthur sighs. "I came in to ask what was wrong, but I think I've already realized the problem."
Eames gives a low, growling note of agreement as he rubs said "problem" against one of Arthur's thighs.
Eames is close to crying out in frustration when Arthur pulls more than just his lips away from him. Arthur can't actually go far in the tiny bathroom, but only their knees are touching and it's not enough for Eames. He sighs. "Please don't tell me I'm going to have to convince you to help me out." He steps forward so his right thigh is pressed snugly between the other man's legs. "I can be very persuasive." He claims, nodding in agreement with himself.
Arthur looks down at him, eyes considering. "I'm sure you can. I'm just not entirely sure what you want me to do for you."
Eames pulls back slightly, hands shuffling through his pockets as he responds. "I couldn't care less at this point." He shoves an aluminum wrapper into the other man's hand. "You're move."
"Do you always keep a condom with you?" Arthur asks, smirking when he receives a nod. "Well aren't you confident."
"Look around you, Darling. You never know when you might need it."
Eames watches as Arthur nods in grudging agreement, blinks, and suddenly he's right where he wants to be and Arthur is willingly being pressed against the wall as Eames shamelessly grinds his hips forward against the hardening appendage in the younger man's fine suit slacks.
Eames fumbles awkwardly with the buttons at the top of their trousers, hands trapped between them because he refuses to move his hips away for even a second. A slender hand pushes his own out of the way, moving quickly and undoing both buttons much quicker than Eames would have managed. When the warm hand slips between the open zipper at Eames' front he has to fight the urge to clasp his hands together and pray to the gods in thanks.
His mouth latches hungrily onto Arthur's long neck, the hand down his front sliding along his erection in firm strokes, its partner curling into his sandy brown hair possessively. Eames has one hand beneath Arthur's shirt, the white cloth hiked up over his elbow as the thumb strokes over shoulder blades; his other hand sliding down and slipping under the waistband of the younger man's boxers. His slightly calloused fingers slide through thick curls, blunt fingernails scratching lightly against the skin before his fingers wrap around the base of Arthur's smooth length.
Arthur's hands tighten on Eames' cock and scalp before pushing him away and against the sink. His trousers drop around his ankles and when he steps out of them it's right back into Eames' arms, hard flesh dragging across hard flesh as they continue.
"You're not going to fold them?" He's out of breath, but he never passes up a chance to tease.
"I think after a ten hour flight," Arthur shudders as his voice fails him before returning with a sharp breath, "a few wrinkles will be justified."
Their hips move against each other as the cabin conceals their gasps and groans, the occasional moan bouncing against the white walls and back at them. It isn't long before Eames realizes why the neat man removed his pants and does the same, barely breaking the rhythm between them when he does. He lasts just over a minute afterwards before the burn in his abdomen explodes and he's flying over the edge.
As the white spots in his vision begin to fade Eames' hand returns its post at the other man's crotch and in two jerky pulls the flesh in his hand swells and his hand fills with warmth, the hands now resting on his shoulders tightening painfully as Arthur finishes without a sound.
Eames leans backwards slightly as he watches Arthur recover, amusement shining in his eyes. When Arthur notices he gives a little shrug. "You're very quiet." He states, voice slightly rough from exertion.
"Only when I need to be."
That small comment has Eames purring as he returns his pants back to their rightful place around his hips. When Arthur slides the still-wrapped condom back into his pocket and Eames gives him a questioning glance he smiles. "I think you're going to need that when we land."
When Eames finally leaves the bathroom it's with a jaunty tune whistling through his lips and a noticeable bounce in his steps, and if he notices Arthur pinching the bridge of his nose he doesn't show any sign of it. He's over-acting, but only a little; a very large part of him wants the entire group to know and he's sure his previously mentioned performance has gotten the message across nicely.