[Inception fic] Killing Kittens for the Greater Good [6/6]
Part six, fin.
Title: Killing Kittens for the Greater Good
Fandom: Inception
Author: saintdogstreet
Pairings/Warnings: Arthur/Eames. Language, violence, and sexual situations.
Summary: Arthur is the receptionist at sperm bank, Eames is a regular donor with a crush.
A/N: Apologies, I haven't written very much porn before. I'm working on it, though.
The lift doors dinged open again a moment later on the proper floor, and Eames stepped out, leading Arthur with his fingertips curled in his hand. He unlocked the door to his flat with one hand and ushered Arthur in with a bow.
"Oh," Arthur said, breath catching in his throat. Sheets of glass made up the far wall, the city spread out below like a million lazy fireflies. He walked up to the huge windows, breath collecting in a halo of pale silver, fingertips resting on the cool glass. "You have a lovely view."
"Yes," Eames said from behind him, "I do."
"I spend all my money on suits, see," Arthur continued. "I've never had anything like this."
"Absolutely worth it, love," Eames said, hands crawling up under the jacket of one of said suits. Arthur turned around in Eames' hands, palms warm on his waist, until his back was pressed to the window.
"Drink?" Eames offered.
Arthur's brain was still humming from the wine. He shook his head. "I'll wait."
"Fantastic," Eames breathed. He threaded his fingers through Arthur's, dragging them up so the backs of Arthur's hands skidded against the glass, and pinned them above his head. "Because I'm fairly certain I can't wait any longer, Arthur dear."
"Patience is a virtue, Mr. Eames."
"I've never been one for extolling virtues."
"Highly overrated," Arthur agreed. He kissed him, let his mouth skate away from Eames' perfect lips and graze his jawline. Eames' grip tightened in his hands, fingers curling into the glass.
"As much as I love this suit you spent all your money on, Arthur darling," Eames muttered into his skin. "What say you we decorate my floor with it?"
"I did warn you, Eames, I wasn't going to let you stretch out my tie." He slipped one knee between Eames', rubbing his thigh against him.
"Fine," Eames gasped, bucking forwards into Arthur. "You can leave it on."
He untwined his fingers from Arthur's and ran his hands down Arthur's arms, over the pulse in his veins and the smooth muscles lying beneath his skin. His hands slid over to his the center of his chest and fumbled with the little buttons on Arthur's shirt.
"You'll kill me if I just rip this open, won't you?" Eames said, cursing quietly as one stubborn button refused to cooperate.
"Yes," Arthur nodded. Eames pulled open Arthur's shirt as far as he had gotten and ran his tongue down from Arthur's throat to his sternum, skipping over the still-knotted tie. He straightened up and ground his hips against him.
"Okay," Arthur said, eyes half-closed, head cocked back, and breathless. "Okay, okay, whatever, get rid of it."
"I'll buy you a new one," Eames assured. He grabbed the edges of the shirt and yanked, the buttons making little clicks as they scattered across the floor.
He made a little noise deep in his throat as Arthur's skin was exposed to him, every muscle in his chest and the shadowed V of grooves disappearing into his trousers. He splayed his hands over Arthur's ribs, under his unbuttoned shirt, let his fingers graze Arthur's nipples so they tightened beneath his touch.
There were bruises on Arthur's chest. Eames thought of masked men and guns and how Arthur always seemed to be in the wrong place in the wrong time.
"Last time I miss a Tuesday," he said, tracing a blackish-purple bruise. Arthur smiled.
He grabbed the edges of Arthur's shirt and his jacket lapels, pulling them back over Arthur's shoulders and down his arms. For a moment Arthur's hands were tangled in his clothes behind him and Eames kissed him again, pushing him back again the window so his spine arched over his trapped hands, chest pressing up against Eames. Eames held onto Arthur's lower lip with his teeth as he pulled away.
Arthur freed his hands, casting the shirt and suit jacket to the floor. He pulled off the tie, too, throwing it away from them so it landed like a sunbathing snake on the hardwood. He moved to Eames' buttons and started undoing them one by one, with far more aptitude than Eames had shown.
"You make it look so easy," Eames huffed, sliding his hands over Arthur's hips and down to cup his ass.
"Practice," Arthur said, pushing Eames back and tugging off his shirt and leather jacket.
"Take off people's clothes a lot then, Arthur?" Eames asked.
There was the sharp buzz of a zipper and Eames' trouser were down about his ankles. Arthur followed them down, sliding his hands over Eames' legs and lowering himself to his knees.
He looked up at Eames with dark eyes that glittered in the low light. "Would that surprise you, Mr. Eames?"
Eames swallowed hard. "You always surprise me, love."
"I aim to, Mr. Eames," Arthur said, and his hands were toying with the elastic on Eames' boxers.
"Going to suck me off, Arthur darling?" Eames asked, struggling for casual. Beneath the thin material of his boxers he was hard.
"Maybe," Arthur said, slipping the cloth down Eames' hips. "I did tell you I was quite talented with my tongue."
"Or maybe," Eames said, tearing his eyes away from Arthur down on his knees in front of him and staring out at the night view. The glow of the city turned the sky orange. "I could fuck you against this window."
Arthur paused. Half-unconsciously, Eames tangled his fingers in Arthur's hair. "Right in front of the whole damn city and they'd never even know."
"Would you like that, Arthur?" Eames continued, voice shaking a little in his control. "Would you like me to fuck you?"
Arthur looked up at him with his dark shiny eyes and licked his lips contemplatively. Eames watched his tongue flicker out and leave his skin glistening and wet. "Yes."
"Come on up, Arthur," Eames said. He helped pull him to his feet. "What happened to my jacket?"
Arthur pointed to the floor behind him and Eames rummaged through the pockets until he found what he was looking for.
"Lube? You keep lube in your jacket?" Arthur demanded.
"I like to be prepared. Condoms too, see?"
"Oh yes, you're a regular boyscout. So sure you were getting lucky?"
"Not at all. What can I say, love, I'm a gambling man."
Arthur shrugged. "Me too. We'll have to play something sometime."
"Strip poker?"
"I'll bet you play to lose."
"Doesn't everybody?"
"I prefer dice games. Craps."
"I've never played strip-craps before."
"I'm sure we'll find a way."
"Sounds like a plan. Now, take off your pants."
"So demanding."
"Well darling, you had me at an advantage. We're on more even ground now."
"More naked ground, at any rate."
"Same thing."
"Do you. . . am I. . . Do you like what you see?"
"Oh, Arthur darling. So much."
"It's a bit chilly in here, isn't it?"
"I'll warm you up."
"You have the worst lines."
"You fell for them."
"Indeed. What does that say about me?"
"That you have marvelous taste."
"Eames? Come over here and warm me up already."
"Certainly, love."
Eames moved forward, skating his hands over Arthur's hips. He paused.
"What?" Arthur asked.
"Er. . . just wondering about the semantics of all this, is all." Eames said, cocking his head to the side and studying Arthur.
"Perhaps this was a bad plan." Arthur said. He shifted under Eames touch.
"It's a fantastic plan, don't worry. Just going to require a bit of upper-body strength."
"Are you sure?"
"I'll be fine. It's a great plan."
"Glass is a bit cold."
"Won't even notice it in a minute."
"And kind of slippery."
"Stop finding flaws in the plan!"
"Eames, we'll work it out. Don't worry. I just would rather not either of us end up in the emergency room."
"Would kind of put a damper on the date, wouldn't it?"
"I've had worse."
"I have a couch?" Eames suggested after a moment's thought.
"I was rather fond of the window plan," Arthur said a little wistful. He glanced sideways at the dark view.
Eames looked outside at the sparkling night, then back in to where the moonlight was pooling on the hardwood. "Floor?"
"Floor." Arthur agreed.
"Lie back," Eames said. Arthur did, spreading his legs. Eames sucked in a breath through his teeth.
"You're beautiful, love," he said. He moved his fingertips over Arthur's thigh, stroking down him. He glanced up and saw Arthur's cheeks were flushed. "Beautiful and here with me now. Do you want me, darling? Do you want me to fuck you?"
There was a harsh, needy noise that scrabbled its way out of Arthur's throat and his fingers slid on the hardwood floor as he curled his hands into fists.
"Yes," he panted as Eames touched him "Yes. . . I-- I want. . ."
Arthur's spine bowed.
"I want you. I want you, all of you. I want. . . I want you to fuck me." Arthur was whimpering.
"Shh, darling, it's all right," Eames said, drawing his hand away. Slowly he moved his hand down, shifting Arthur's leg up into a better position. He slipped his slicked fingers in one by one. Arthur keened.
"God, yes. . . you. . . Eames, I," Arthur said. His eyes fluttered open and closed. His skin was pale in the moonlight, shadows dark in every quivering muscle. "I want. . . please. . ."
"Okay, Arthur, it's okay," Eames said. He drew out of Arthur and Arthur scratched at the floorboards as he pulled away. His hands moved to himself and he closed his eyes. He could still see Arthur, spread-out and open and wanting, in his mind. "I'll give you anything you want, love, it's okay. Anything at all."
Arthur's chest pitched in the cool air of Eames flat, and he drew himself up. Eames watched him as he rolled over on the smooth floor, settling on his knees and bending over himself.
"Come on, Eames," Arthur said, voice more contained but still with an edge of wildness in it. "Mr. Eames."
Eames pulled himself over, gripping Arthur's hips. His skin was hot to the touch. Carefully he lined himself up and slowly, with just an edge of frantic needy desperation he couldn't control, he pushed himself into Arthur' tight warmth.
He pulled back a bit and thrust again, again, some kind of rhythm in his movements but mostly just something uncontrollable. His fingers sank into Arthur's skin.
Arthur made noises during sex, little gasping noises and high cries and a tangle of words, Eames and god and more and want and please. Eames had never felt so good as when he listened to Arthur fall wonderfully apart.
The city-lights quiet below them, cold window inches away, they came.
Eames pulled out with a sigh and let himself drop to the floor, scooting until he was next to Arthur. Arthur stretched out slowly, working his twisted muscles.
"Good?" Eames asked, when he caught his breath, brushing Arthur's sweat-soaked hair back.
"Indeed, Mr. Eames," Arthur said. He leaned in and kissed him.
"Washroom's down the hall," Eames said, waving his hand in the hall's general direction. "And I've a bed."
"Glad to hear it," Arthur said. Slowly he pulled himself into standing and stretched up on his toes. He held out a hand and helped Eames up.
Soon enough they were in Eames' bed, twisting up in the colourful sheets. Eames rested a hand on Arthur's hip.
"If I wake up short a kidney, Mr. Eames, I will be very displeased." Arthur muttered into his pillow.
Eames pulled him closer, kissing the back of his neck. "Just a little something to remember you by, darling?"
"No need, Mr. Eames," Arthur said, tucking Eames' arm around him. "I'm not going anywhere."
"You just want me for my view."
"And you just like me for my suits."
"And your lips and your fingers and your shoulders and your arse."
"My shoulders?"
"They're very sexy shoulders, love."
"You're not so bad yourself, you know that, Eames?"
"Oh, stop it, you're making me blush."
"Good night, Mr. Eames. Sleep well."
"I will, Arthur darling. I will."
Friday nights were as good as Tuesdays.
Title: Killing Kittens for the Greater Good
Fandom: Inception
Author: saintdogstreet
Pairings/Warnings: Arthur/Eames. Language, violence, and sexual situations.
Summary: Arthur is the receptionist at sperm bank, Eames is a regular donor with a crush.
A/N: Apologies, I haven't written very much porn before. I'm working on it, though.
The lift doors dinged open again a moment later on the proper floor, and Eames stepped out, leading Arthur with his fingertips curled in his hand. He unlocked the door to his flat with one hand and ushered Arthur in with a bow.
"Oh," Arthur said, breath catching in his throat. Sheets of glass made up the far wall, the city spread out below like a million lazy fireflies. He walked up to the huge windows, breath collecting in a halo of pale silver, fingertips resting on the cool glass. "You have a lovely view."
"Yes," Eames said from behind him, "I do."
"I spend all my money on suits, see," Arthur continued. "I've never had anything like this."
"Absolutely worth it, love," Eames said, hands crawling up under the jacket of one of said suits. Arthur turned around in Eames' hands, palms warm on his waist, until his back was pressed to the window.
"Drink?" Eames offered.
Arthur's brain was still humming from the wine. He shook his head. "I'll wait."
"Fantastic," Eames breathed. He threaded his fingers through Arthur's, dragging them up so the backs of Arthur's hands skidded against the glass, and pinned them above his head. "Because I'm fairly certain I can't wait any longer, Arthur dear."
"Patience is a virtue, Mr. Eames."
"I've never been one for extolling virtues."
"Highly overrated," Arthur agreed. He kissed him, let his mouth skate away from Eames' perfect lips and graze his jawline. Eames' grip tightened in his hands, fingers curling into the glass.
"As much as I love this suit you spent all your money on, Arthur darling," Eames muttered into his skin. "What say you we decorate my floor with it?"
"I did warn you, Eames, I wasn't going to let you stretch out my tie." He slipped one knee between Eames', rubbing his thigh against him.
"Fine," Eames gasped, bucking forwards into Arthur. "You can leave it on."
He untwined his fingers from Arthur's and ran his hands down Arthur's arms, over the pulse in his veins and the smooth muscles lying beneath his skin. His hands slid over to his the center of his chest and fumbled with the little buttons on Arthur's shirt.
"You'll kill me if I just rip this open, won't you?" Eames said, cursing quietly as one stubborn button refused to cooperate.
"Yes," Arthur nodded. Eames pulled open Arthur's shirt as far as he had gotten and ran his tongue down from Arthur's throat to his sternum, skipping over the still-knotted tie. He straightened up and ground his hips against him.
"Okay," Arthur said, eyes half-closed, head cocked back, and breathless. "Okay, okay, whatever, get rid of it."
"I'll buy you a new one," Eames assured. He grabbed the edges of the shirt and yanked, the buttons making little clicks as they scattered across the floor.
He made a little noise deep in his throat as Arthur's skin was exposed to him, every muscle in his chest and the shadowed V of grooves disappearing into his trousers. He splayed his hands over Arthur's ribs, under his unbuttoned shirt, let his fingers graze Arthur's nipples so they tightened beneath his touch.
There were bruises on Arthur's chest. Eames thought of masked men and guns and how Arthur always seemed to be in the wrong place in the wrong time.
"Last time I miss a Tuesday," he said, tracing a blackish-purple bruise. Arthur smiled.
He grabbed the edges of Arthur's shirt and his jacket lapels, pulling them back over Arthur's shoulders and down his arms. For a moment Arthur's hands were tangled in his clothes behind him and Eames kissed him again, pushing him back again the window so his spine arched over his trapped hands, chest pressing up against Eames. Eames held onto Arthur's lower lip with his teeth as he pulled away.
Arthur freed his hands, casting the shirt and suit jacket to the floor. He pulled off the tie, too, throwing it away from them so it landed like a sunbathing snake on the hardwood. He moved to Eames' buttons and started undoing them one by one, with far more aptitude than Eames had shown.
"You make it look so easy," Eames huffed, sliding his hands over Arthur's hips and down to cup his ass.
"Practice," Arthur said, pushing Eames back and tugging off his shirt and leather jacket.
"Take off people's clothes a lot then, Arthur?" Eames asked.
There was the sharp buzz of a zipper and Eames' trouser were down about his ankles. Arthur followed them down, sliding his hands over Eames' legs and lowering himself to his knees.
He looked up at Eames with dark eyes that glittered in the low light. "Would that surprise you, Mr. Eames?"
Eames swallowed hard. "You always surprise me, love."
"I aim to, Mr. Eames," Arthur said, and his hands were toying with the elastic on Eames' boxers.
"Going to suck me off, Arthur darling?" Eames asked, struggling for casual. Beneath the thin material of his boxers he was hard.
"Maybe," Arthur said, slipping the cloth down Eames' hips. "I did tell you I was quite talented with my tongue."
"Or maybe," Eames said, tearing his eyes away from Arthur down on his knees in front of him and staring out at the night view. The glow of the city turned the sky orange. "I could fuck you against this window."
Arthur paused. Half-unconsciously, Eames tangled his fingers in Arthur's hair. "Right in front of the whole damn city and they'd never even know."
"Would you like that, Arthur?" Eames continued, voice shaking a little in his control. "Would you like me to fuck you?"
Arthur looked up at him with his dark shiny eyes and licked his lips contemplatively. Eames watched his tongue flicker out and leave his skin glistening and wet. "Yes."
"Come on up, Arthur," Eames said. He helped pull him to his feet. "What happened to my jacket?"
Arthur pointed to the floor behind him and Eames rummaged through the pockets until he found what he was looking for.
"Lube? You keep lube in your jacket?" Arthur demanded.
"I like to be prepared. Condoms too, see?"
"Oh yes, you're a regular boyscout. So sure you were getting lucky?"
"Not at all. What can I say, love, I'm a gambling man."
Arthur shrugged. "Me too. We'll have to play something sometime."
"Strip poker?"
"I'll bet you play to lose."
"Doesn't everybody?"
"I prefer dice games. Craps."
"I've never played strip-craps before."
"I'm sure we'll find a way."
"Sounds like a plan. Now, take off your pants."
"So demanding."
"Well darling, you had me at an advantage. We're on more even ground now."
"More naked ground, at any rate."
"Same thing."
"Do you. . . am I. . . Do you like what you see?"
"Oh, Arthur darling. So much."
"It's a bit chilly in here, isn't it?"
"I'll warm you up."
"You have the worst lines."
"You fell for them."
"Indeed. What does that say about me?"
"That you have marvelous taste."
"Eames? Come over here and warm me up already."
"Certainly, love."
Eames moved forward, skating his hands over Arthur's hips. He paused.
"What?" Arthur asked.
"Er. . . just wondering about the semantics of all this, is all." Eames said, cocking his head to the side and studying Arthur.
"Perhaps this was a bad plan." Arthur said. He shifted under Eames touch.
"It's a fantastic plan, don't worry. Just going to require a bit of upper-body strength."
"Are you sure?"
"I'll be fine. It's a great plan."
"Glass is a bit cold."
"Won't even notice it in a minute."
"And kind of slippery."
"Stop finding flaws in the plan!"
"Eames, we'll work it out. Don't worry. I just would rather not either of us end up in the emergency room."
"Would kind of put a damper on the date, wouldn't it?"
"I've had worse."
"I have a couch?" Eames suggested after a moment's thought.
"I was rather fond of the window plan," Arthur said a little wistful. He glanced sideways at the dark view.
Eames looked outside at the sparkling night, then back in to where the moonlight was pooling on the hardwood. "Floor?"
"Floor." Arthur agreed.
"Lie back," Eames said. Arthur did, spreading his legs. Eames sucked in a breath through his teeth.
"You're beautiful, love," he said. He moved his fingertips over Arthur's thigh, stroking down him. He glanced up and saw Arthur's cheeks were flushed. "Beautiful and here with me now. Do you want me, darling? Do you want me to fuck you?"
There was a harsh, needy noise that scrabbled its way out of Arthur's throat and his fingers slid on the hardwood floor as he curled his hands into fists.
"Yes," he panted as Eames touched him "Yes. . . I-- I want. . ."
Arthur's spine bowed.
"I want you. I want you, all of you. I want. . . I want you to fuck me." Arthur was whimpering.
"Shh, darling, it's all right," Eames said, drawing his hand away. Slowly he moved his hand down, shifting Arthur's leg up into a better position. He slipped his slicked fingers in one by one. Arthur keened.
"God, yes. . . you. . . Eames, I," Arthur said. His eyes fluttered open and closed. His skin was pale in the moonlight, shadows dark in every quivering muscle. "I want. . . please. . ."
"Okay, Arthur, it's okay," Eames said. He drew out of Arthur and Arthur scratched at the floorboards as he pulled away. His hands moved to himself and he closed his eyes. He could still see Arthur, spread-out and open and wanting, in his mind. "I'll give you anything you want, love, it's okay. Anything at all."
Arthur's chest pitched in the cool air of Eames flat, and he drew himself up. Eames watched him as he rolled over on the smooth floor, settling on his knees and bending over himself.
"Come on, Eames," Arthur said, voice more contained but still with an edge of wildness in it. "Mr. Eames."
Eames pulled himself over, gripping Arthur's hips. His skin was hot to the touch. Carefully he lined himself up and slowly, with just an edge of frantic needy desperation he couldn't control, he pushed himself into Arthur' tight warmth.
He pulled back a bit and thrust again, again, some kind of rhythm in his movements but mostly just something uncontrollable. His fingers sank into Arthur's skin.
Arthur made noises during sex, little gasping noises and high cries and a tangle of words, Eames and god and more and want and please. Eames had never felt so good as when he listened to Arthur fall wonderfully apart.
The city-lights quiet below them, cold window inches away, they came.
Eames pulled out with a sigh and let himself drop to the floor, scooting until he was next to Arthur. Arthur stretched out slowly, working his twisted muscles.
"Good?" Eames asked, when he caught his breath, brushing Arthur's sweat-soaked hair back.
"Indeed, Mr. Eames," Arthur said. He leaned in and kissed him.
"Washroom's down the hall," Eames said, waving his hand in the hall's general direction. "And I've a bed."
"Glad to hear it," Arthur said. Slowly he pulled himself into standing and stretched up on his toes. He held out a hand and helped Eames up.
Soon enough they were in Eames' bed, twisting up in the colourful sheets. Eames rested a hand on Arthur's hip.
"If I wake up short a kidney, Mr. Eames, I will be very displeased." Arthur muttered into his pillow.
Eames pulled him closer, kissing the back of his neck. "Just a little something to remember you by, darling?"
"No need, Mr. Eames," Arthur said, tucking Eames' arm around him. "I'm not going anywhere."
"You just want me for my view."
"And you just like me for my suits."
"And your lips and your fingers and your shoulders and your arse."
"My shoulders?"
"They're very sexy shoulders, love."
"You're not so bad yourself, you know that, Eames?"
"Oh, stop it, you're making me blush."
"Good night, Mr. Eames. Sleep well."
"I will, Arthur darling. I will."
Friday nights were as good as Tuesdays.