Cherry
Rating: R
Words: 1770
Summary: Arthur comes from nipple stimulation alone.
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Originally posted here.
They're watching a movie the first time it happens; Arthur's face-up sprawled across the couch while Eames is snugged up against the back of the couch on his side, head propped up on one hand to watch the movie as his other hand gently explores Arthur's abdomen underneath his shirt. He's just ghosting his fingertips back and forth over the ridges of definition there idly, no real purpose behind the movement other than to feel, every once in awhile straying across a nick or scar in the otherwise smooth flesh.
"Mm, feels nice," Arthur hums lazily, gaze not leaving the television. Eames glances down at him with a smile and just continues in his petting, snuggling just a little closer in attempt to absorb some of Arthur's warmth. His hand eventually treks a natural path north, rucking Arthur's shirt up a little with it as it goes, feeling out the concave and convex spaces of the ribcage.
When he gets to Arthur's chest, he takes his time rubbing the groove of the sternum then skating over and lightly massaging the swells of pectoral muscle. But when his fingers coast over Arthur's nipples, nearly perfect circles he knows to be a taunting light pink that flushes when paid attention to, he can feel Arthur's entire body tense. He pauses, and waits a moment, until he feels Arthur relax back into the couch. Then, he does it again. It elicits the same reaction. Eames was a-okay with watching this movie, but now, he can't help but duck his head and smirk wickedly. He'd only been grazing past Arthur's nipples at first but now his fingers linger by the right one, tracing little lassos around it, gradually increasing the pressure. When his fingertips cinch right over the nub, Arthur's back actually arches fractionally and he sucks in an audible breath. "Eames..." he murmurs warningly, but Eames doesn't read that as a request to stop.
He continues to stretch his pinch of Arthur's nipple as he pulls on it carefully, and maybe it's for the sake of his sanity or his propensity for being stubborn, but Arthur keeps his head turned towards the tv. But when Eames uses the blunt edge of his thumbnail to push the, now erect, nub over against the rest of the nipple, he doesn't miss the way Arthur bites his lower lip and his eyebrows flinch. Thanks to the glow of Eames' television, he is capable of seeing the blush that is blossoming and smudging along the high of Arthur's cheekbones. Oh dear, Eames thinks, and his smirk grows to wolfish proportions. He pulls his hand back, the shirt dropping into place. "Hey," Arthur says breathily, in a sort-of whine. "Don't tease."
"You love it when I tease," Eames says, low and predatory as his hand returns to push the damn shirt back up and his head lowers to Arthur's neglected left nipple. He just tongues it at first, enjoying the way Arthur's chest inclines up towards his ministrations, laving slick heat over the sensitive skin. Licking segues into gentle bites as Eames isolates Arthur's nub between his canines and squeezes slightly, his hand moving back to keep the right nipple stimulated with varied pulls and rolls. Arthur's breathing turns heavy, and Eames lets go of the nipple in his mouth so he can tilt his head to see Arthur's jaw has gone slack and his fingers are digging into the couch. "Look at you," he whispers into Arthur's ear and delights when the shell of it flushes. "I could do this all day." Arthur tries to bite back a moan but it doesn't really work, a strangled sound escaping as he shifts closer to Eames despite still refusing to face him.
Eames goes back to work, replacing his wet lips against Arthur's nipple and sucking this time, pulling the small mound of skin into his mouth and flicking his tongue against it insistently. After a minute Arthur's got his legs splayed open, one off the couch entirely and bracing against the floor, while his hips jerk up involuntarily every time Eames uses his teeth.
His eyes begin to flutter shut and then open as he stares far too hard at the movie, not really registering what's going on anymore. In fact, Arthur can't even understand the dialogue while Eames has got his luscious mouth working his nipples over, innocent-looking flesh turned hard and dark and needy. Which is not the only part of his anatomy that is hard and dark and needy at this point.
Eames delivers a rather savage bite to one of Arthur's nipples, causing Arthur to yelp, and apologizes by blowing cool air over it and then giving it a chaste kiss. He leaves it alone for a bit, crossing the expanse of pale chest to grant the blessing of his mouth to the other nipple. His hands are straying now; the one that was holding his own head up is down around the back of Arthur's shoulders, holding him steady while the other hand navigates the rest of Arthur's arching, squriming torso.
"Eames, I," Arthur groans, his fingers finally moving from the couch to Eames' head, pushing into his hair and scraping along his scalp in encouragement. Eames doesn't make out anything else coherent past the delicious little sounds coming from Arthur. Arthur's whole body has gotten hot and pliable, spine arching, pushing himself into Eames' touch. If Eames would look down he would notice that Arthur is completely, magnificently hard; erection straining against his trousers, a small damp patch forming on the cloth as a result of the precome leaking from the desperate head of his cock confined inside his pants. "Eames," he gasps again, and Eames draws back this time, intently observing Arthur's face. Arthur's face which, in his opinion, looks a little too dazed and open and wanton for just simple foreplay.
He sits up a little, eyebrows creasing. "Arthur, are you all right?"
Arthur nods feverishly, and finally, finally turns his head away from the tv to look at Eames, eyes dark and pupils wonderfully blown, lips wet and swollen from where he's bitten them. "Yeah," he says shakily. "I just, I just," he stammers and Eames reaches down to push aside an errant shock of brown curl.
"You just what?" Eames asks curiously.
Arthur averts his eyes. "I'm just gonna come if you keep this up," he mutters.
Eames stares for a second. His disbelieving expression morphs slowly into something exponentially more devilish. "Is that so?" he asks delightfully.
Unfortunately, Arthur turns his head away again, embarrassed. "Shut up."
Eames snorts and lets a hand drift back to one of the abused nipples, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. Arthur's lip goes back into his mouth. "Do you want me to stop?" Eames asks. Arthur's nostrils flare as he fights to keep silent, but ultimately, he shakes his head no. "All right, then," Eames says. He does look down now, and, taking in the state of Arthur's obvious arousal, lets his hands deviate to unzip Arthur's fly and push his trousers down a bit. "Let's get you out here," he murmurs, drawing out Arthur's cock, "I want to see this happen." He leans back, one arm still around Arthur's shoulders, and begins to tease hypersensitive skin with just his fingers.
"Oh come on," Arthur whines. Manfully. He writhes, seeking more friction as he pushes up but Eames doesn't let him have it yet, just strokes Arthur's nipples feather-light. It goes on like that for awhile, Eames touching gently and kissing gently but not doing what Arthur needs and Arthur goes from commanding and threatening to trembling and begging, please, Eames, please, turning his head and burying his face into Eames' chest while he shakes apart. Eames just grins and holds onto him as he tweaks one of Arthur's nipples playfully, watching Arthur's full and heavy cock dribble precome along his lower abdomen, flushed deep red and slick at the head and Eames can't help thinking of how much he wants to fuck himself down onto that cock but no. No, this is for Arthur.
Arthur, who, at present, has broken out into a fine sheen of sweat, highlighted by the tv glare. Eames ducks his head down to lick a stripe across one pointed nipple, tasting the light sweat. Arthur moans brokenly in response, digging his fingers into the back of Eames' neck. Eames decides it's been long enough and without preamble returns to attacking Arthur's chest with vigor. The burst of stimulation makes Arthur sieze up at first, body taut, before he starts moving with it. He rolls his chest up, then arches his back, his hips canting up last so that technically, Arthur is doing subtle, needful body rolls against the couch. Eames marvels at the way he's got Arthur's entire being responding; the way he's got Arthur so lost in it that he doesn't realize he's imitating some Shakira move. All because he's paying the man's nipples a little extra attention. Okay, a lot of extra attention, but whatever. If Eames had only known before now!
It only takes a minute to coax Arthur to the edge and Eames knows he's there because his movements lose any sort of rhythmic or methodical purpose they once had and Arthur arms have left Eames' body to go back over his head and clutch at the arm of the couch. "I'm gonna, I'm gonna come," he moans out deliciously, eyes shut tight and mouth unable to fully close as Eames doesn't cease his assault on Arthur's aching nipples.
"Come for me, Arthur," he manages around the nub he's got the tip of between his teeth. "Come." And Arthur does, hips lifting off the couch and Eames moves a hand down to catch them, holding Arthur up at the small of his back while his hips rock back and forth through his orgasm, Arthur's cock pulsating, lines of come landing up around the arc of his ribs.
When he's finished, Eames carefully lowers him the short distance back down to the couch cushions while Arthur pants heavily through his nose, chest heaving. "Holy shit," Eames says appreciatively. "You okay?"
Arthur nods numbly, allowing a small blissed-out smile to appear, reassuring Eames. Eames gets up to fetch something to clean Arthur up with, returning moments later with a box of tissue. "Was that," he begins as he wipes come from Arthur's stomach, "really any good? I mean, obviously, but...?"
"Yeah," Arthur breathes out, peeling his eyes open to look at Eames at last, smiling goofily. "Was real good."
Eames returns the smile, already deviously planning ahead in the adventures of Arthur's nipples.
Words: 1770
Summary: Arthur comes from nipple stimulation alone.
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Originally posted here.
They're watching a movie the first time it happens; Arthur's face-up sprawled across the couch while Eames is snugged up against the back of the couch on his side, head propped up on one hand to watch the movie as his other hand gently explores Arthur's abdomen underneath his shirt. He's just ghosting his fingertips back and forth over the ridges of definition there idly, no real purpose behind the movement other than to feel, every once in awhile straying across a nick or scar in the otherwise smooth flesh.
"Mm, feels nice," Arthur hums lazily, gaze not leaving the television. Eames glances down at him with a smile and just continues in his petting, snuggling just a little closer in attempt to absorb some of Arthur's warmth. His hand eventually treks a natural path north, rucking Arthur's shirt up a little with it as it goes, feeling out the concave and convex spaces of the ribcage.
When he gets to Arthur's chest, he takes his time rubbing the groove of the sternum then skating over and lightly massaging the swells of pectoral muscle. But when his fingers coast over Arthur's nipples, nearly perfect circles he knows to be a taunting light pink that flushes when paid attention to, he can feel Arthur's entire body tense. He pauses, and waits a moment, until he feels Arthur relax back into the couch. Then, he does it again. It elicits the same reaction. Eames was a-okay with watching this movie, but now, he can't help but duck his head and smirk wickedly. He'd only been grazing past Arthur's nipples at first but now his fingers linger by the right one, tracing little lassos around it, gradually increasing the pressure. When his fingertips cinch right over the nub, Arthur's back actually arches fractionally and he sucks in an audible breath. "Eames..." he murmurs warningly, but Eames doesn't read that as a request to stop.
He continues to stretch his pinch of Arthur's nipple as he pulls on it carefully, and maybe it's for the sake of his sanity or his propensity for being stubborn, but Arthur keeps his head turned towards the tv. But when Eames uses the blunt edge of his thumbnail to push the, now erect, nub over against the rest of the nipple, he doesn't miss the way Arthur bites his lower lip and his eyebrows flinch. Thanks to the glow of Eames' television, he is capable of seeing the blush that is blossoming and smudging along the high of Arthur's cheekbones. Oh dear, Eames thinks, and his smirk grows to wolfish proportions. He pulls his hand back, the shirt dropping into place. "Hey," Arthur says breathily, in a sort-of whine. "Don't tease."
"You love it when I tease," Eames says, low and predatory as his hand returns to push the damn shirt back up and his head lowers to Arthur's neglected left nipple. He just tongues it at first, enjoying the way Arthur's chest inclines up towards his ministrations, laving slick heat over the sensitive skin. Licking segues into gentle bites as Eames isolates Arthur's nub between his canines and squeezes slightly, his hand moving back to keep the right nipple stimulated with varied pulls and rolls. Arthur's breathing turns heavy, and Eames lets go of the nipple in his mouth so he can tilt his head to see Arthur's jaw has gone slack and his fingers are digging into the couch. "Look at you," he whispers into Arthur's ear and delights when the shell of it flushes. "I could do this all day." Arthur tries to bite back a moan but it doesn't really work, a strangled sound escaping as he shifts closer to Eames despite still refusing to face him.
Eames goes back to work, replacing his wet lips against Arthur's nipple and sucking this time, pulling the small mound of skin into his mouth and flicking his tongue against it insistently. After a minute Arthur's got his legs splayed open, one off the couch entirely and bracing against the floor, while his hips jerk up involuntarily every time Eames uses his teeth.
His eyes begin to flutter shut and then open as he stares far too hard at the movie, not really registering what's going on anymore. In fact, Arthur can't even understand the dialogue while Eames has got his luscious mouth working his nipples over, innocent-looking flesh turned hard and dark and needy. Which is not the only part of his anatomy that is hard and dark and needy at this point.
Eames delivers a rather savage bite to one of Arthur's nipples, causing Arthur to yelp, and apologizes by blowing cool air over it and then giving it a chaste kiss. He leaves it alone for a bit, crossing the expanse of pale chest to grant the blessing of his mouth to the other nipple. His hands are straying now; the one that was holding his own head up is down around the back of Arthur's shoulders, holding him steady while the other hand navigates the rest of Arthur's arching, squriming torso.
"Eames, I," Arthur groans, his fingers finally moving from the couch to Eames' head, pushing into his hair and scraping along his scalp in encouragement. Eames doesn't make out anything else coherent past the delicious little sounds coming from Arthur. Arthur's whole body has gotten hot and pliable, spine arching, pushing himself into Eames' touch. If Eames would look down he would notice that Arthur is completely, magnificently hard; erection straining against his trousers, a small damp patch forming on the cloth as a result of the precome leaking from the desperate head of his cock confined inside his pants. "Eames," he gasps again, and Eames draws back this time, intently observing Arthur's face. Arthur's face which, in his opinion, looks a little too dazed and open and wanton for just simple foreplay.
He sits up a little, eyebrows creasing. "Arthur, are you all right?"
Arthur nods feverishly, and finally, finally turns his head away from the tv to look at Eames, eyes dark and pupils wonderfully blown, lips wet and swollen from where he's bitten them. "Yeah," he says shakily. "I just, I just," he stammers and Eames reaches down to push aside an errant shock of brown curl.
"You just what?" Eames asks curiously.
Arthur averts his eyes. "I'm just gonna come if you keep this up," he mutters.
Eames stares for a second. His disbelieving expression morphs slowly into something exponentially more devilish. "Is that so?" he asks delightfully.
Unfortunately, Arthur turns his head away again, embarrassed. "Shut up."
Eames snorts and lets a hand drift back to one of the abused nipples, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. Arthur's lip goes back into his mouth. "Do you want me to stop?" Eames asks. Arthur's nostrils flare as he fights to keep silent, but ultimately, he shakes his head no. "All right, then," Eames says. He does look down now, and, taking in the state of Arthur's obvious arousal, lets his hands deviate to unzip Arthur's fly and push his trousers down a bit. "Let's get you out here," he murmurs, drawing out Arthur's cock, "I want to see this happen." He leans back, one arm still around Arthur's shoulders, and begins to tease hypersensitive skin with just his fingers.
"Oh come on," Arthur whines. Manfully. He writhes, seeking more friction as he pushes up but Eames doesn't let him have it yet, just strokes Arthur's nipples feather-light. It goes on like that for awhile, Eames touching gently and kissing gently but not doing what Arthur needs and Arthur goes from commanding and threatening to trembling and begging, please, Eames, please, turning his head and burying his face into Eames' chest while he shakes apart. Eames just grins and holds onto him as he tweaks one of Arthur's nipples playfully, watching Arthur's full and heavy cock dribble precome along his lower abdomen, flushed deep red and slick at the head and Eames can't help thinking of how much he wants to fuck himself down onto that cock but no. No, this is for Arthur.
Arthur, who, at present, has broken out into a fine sheen of sweat, highlighted by the tv glare. Eames ducks his head down to lick a stripe across one pointed nipple, tasting the light sweat. Arthur moans brokenly in response, digging his fingers into the back of Eames' neck. Eames decides it's been long enough and without preamble returns to attacking Arthur's chest with vigor. The burst of stimulation makes Arthur sieze up at first, body taut, before he starts moving with it. He rolls his chest up, then arches his back, his hips canting up last so that technically, Arthur is doing subtle, needful body rolls against the couch. Eames marvels at the way he's got Arthur's entire being responding; the way he's got Arthur so lost in it that he doesn't realize he's imitating some Shakira move. All because he's paying the man's nipples a little extra attention. Okay, a lot of extra attention, but whatever. If Eames had only known before now!
It only takes a minute to coax Arthur to the edge and Eames knows he's there because his movements lose any sort of rhythmic or methodical purpose they once had and Arthur arms have left Eames' body to go back over his head and clutch at the arm of the couch. "I'm gonna, I'm gonna come," he moans out deliciously, eyes shut tight and mouth unable to fully close as Eames doesn't cease his assault on Arthur's aching nipples.
"Come for me, Arthur," he manages around the nub he's got the tip of between his teeth. "Come." And Arthur does, hips lifting off the couch and Eames moves a hand down to catch them, holding Arthur up at the small of his back while his hips rock back and forth through his orgasm, Arthur's cock pulsating, lines of come landing up around the arc of his ribs.
When he's finished, Eames carefully lowers him the short distance back down to the couch cushions while Arthur pants heavily through his nose, chest heaving. "Holy shit," Eames says appreciatively. "You okay?"
Arthur nods numbly, allowing a small blissed-out smile to appear, reassuring Eames. Eames gets up to fetch something to clean Arthur up with, returning moments later with a box of tissue. "Was that," he begins as he wipes come from Arthur's stomach, "really any good? I mean, obviously, but...?"
"Yeah," Arthur breathes out, peeling his eyes open to look at Eames at last, smiling goofily. "Was real good."
Eames returns the smile, already deviously planning ahead in the adventures of Arthur's nipples.