Porncaptor Arthur ★ In the Line of Duty
Pairings: Eames/Arthur
Summary: After he accidentally releases a magical set of porn DVDs, Arthur must become the Porncaptor that seals them back in order to save the world from some obscure disaster that won't even be mentioned yet. Eames, the guardian of the DVDs, is there to aid him in this quest. With his penis.
Notes: This is a... sort of a... Cardcaptor Sakura AU. Therefore it only makes about as much sense as CCS does, which is to say, not a whole lot at all, haha. Possibly it is also... almost as shameless as CCS. XD Oh! And please tell me about some popular porn scenarios that you think Arthur and Eames should re-enact, because this is actually a two-parter. (Entire concept brought to you by platina and kiwimangoodness.) And possibly this is a spoiler but platina took some responsibility for this madness and drew this inimitably fantastic piece of wonder which I can't tell you what it's about so look at it after you finish slogging through the fic! But it's beautiful.
It happens after Saturday dinner at Professor Cobb's house.
"Please feel free to look around," says Mal, his professor's ravishing French wife. "I will bring desserts for you."
"I'll get the table cleared," says Cobb.
So Arthur wanders off out of the dining room, peers at family photographs, cranes his neck up the stairway to the second floor. Eventually he finds his way to the library, where he runs his finger along dusty leather spines and considers the cheerful prospect of the new academic year.
Then he discovers, tucked in discreetly among volumes of German philosophy and French poetry, a long nylon case.
"Professor Cobb," he calls, out of common decency. "Professor Cobb?"
There's no answer, so he slides the case out of the bookshelf. It's a curious thing, to say the least; there's some sort of faux bois engraving attached to the front, and when Arthur looks at it from closer up, he can see that it's a carving of a naked man, with a sturdy build and a rather well-endowed penis.
Funny souvenir from a vacation trip, thinks Arthur, and is about to put it back.
But then the case starts to shake violently in his hands, and the zipper down its side begins to slide open, a blinding light shining through the widening gap. Arthur drops it to the floor in alarm, and throws his arms up to shield himself from the glare.
"Professor Cobb!" he yells.
"Ah, a college town," says a strange voice. "This should be interesting."
The light has subsided, and Arthur lowers his hands tentatively. He's not sure what he's expecting, but he's certainly shocked by the sight of the man from the cover of the nylon case, still stark naked, standing fully-formed in the middle of the floor, stretching as his joints crack into motion.
"Who are you," asks Arthur, dangerously close to shrieking, backing up against the wall.
"You awoke me," says the man, "who are you?"
+
"So let me get this straight," says Cobb. "This CD case that we picked up as a joke during our honeymoon is actually a container for a set of porn DVDs that have the potential to bring about a terrible disaster?"
"But then where are the DVDs?" asks Mal.
"Excellent questions, expositionary dialogue couple," says the naked man, slouching against the sink with Mal's dishrag draped artfully across his groin. "After Master Saito used some very neat magic to seal the secrets of his porn empire into a series of DVDs, he created a guardian to watch over the case, so that the information would not fall into the wrong hands."
"And you're the guardian," says Arthur.
"Eames," he says. "And you are?"
"Arthur," he replies, because it seems polite.
"Well, Arthur, the DVDs are gone because you accidentally released them," says Eames. "If you don't gather them back, it could lead to some very tragic results for you and your loved ones."
"I have to gather them back?" asks Arthur. "But how do I do that?"
"It requires some cooperation," says Eames. "You see, what's really missing is the thousands of porn scenarios that the DVDs used to contain. I'll teach you exactly how to seal each scenario back into DVD form, but the way you summon a specific scenario is, you have to re-enact it with the guardian of the DVDs--"
"You're the guardian," says Arthur.
"Yes," says Eames.
"I-- what?" asks Arthur, as his mind tries to wrap around this new development. "I have to-- I have to re-enact-- I have to have sex with you? Thousands of times?"
"Surprise," says Eames.
"Are you serious?" chokes Arthur. "I'm not-- no way, what, I'm not doing that! I don't want-- this is ridiculous! I'm not having sex with you! I'm perfectly fine with my low-key lifestyle of masturbating in private and maybe occasionally sleeping with a girlfriend when I happen to have one, thank you very much!"
"I don't think you understand," says Eames. "You opened the DVD case."
"It was an accident!" protests Arthur.
"No, no, you see, the thing is," says Eames, "only very specific people can manage to open the case at all. You've been chosen to be the Porncaptor, Arthur, because you're qualified for the job. It's your destiny."
"How am I qualified," asks Arthur, dreading the answer.
"Well, apparently," says Eames, "you're an insatiable cockslut."
Cobb spits a mouthful of coffee all over the table, and Mal tilts her head to one side, looking at Arthur very curiously. Arthur can feel the blood rush to his face, because now his academic advisor and his wife have been informed that he is cosmically ordained to crave cock, and he stammers something, I refuse, or Don't even think about it, but of course the worst part of it all is, Eames turns out to be right.
+
Arthur only acquiesces after he has thrown the DVD case into the river about a dozen times, because Eames always shows up back in his dorm room, bits of gravel in his hair and water gliding slowly down the broad expanse of his chest. How bad can it be, he reasons to himself. It's just sex. No one's getting hurt. And besides, as far as guys go, Eames is really not the worst-looking option.
"Okay, fine," says Arthur, as Eames towels off his hair. "But you have to-- you have to tell me how to-- I've never... you know."
"Don't you worry," says Eames. "We'll teach you how to seal the DVDs before we summon them."
"I meant," says Arthur, "the whole... sex with a man... thing."
"Oh, I won't need to teach you anything about that," says Eames. "Trust me. Your body will know what to do."
He winks, actually winks, and Arthur feels something hotter than shame settle in the pit of his stomach before he grabs a pair of sweatpants and flings it in Eames' face.
Eames says that they'll start with a scenario that Arthur can feel relatively familiar in, and that's how Arthur finds himself sitting on the edge of his bed, turning his cell phone over and over in his hands. He clenches his eyes shut and takes a deep breath before he dials, nausea washing over him as he waits out the tone.
"Hello," answers Eames, static crackling through his lazy drawl.
"Hi, uh--" says Arthur, "I'd-- I'd like to place an order."
"What would you like to have?" asks Eames.
"I'd like a-- a m-m--" Arthur inhales slowly, then says, on the verge of tears, "a meat lover's special. With extra sausage."
"A meat lover's special," says Eames. "With extra sausage."
"Yes, that's what I want, okay," says Arthur, and at least he is glad that he doesn't ever have to say that in his life ever again.
There's a knock on his door.
"Pizza delivery," calls Eames from the other side.
"Right," says Arthur, snapping his phone closed. Somehow he stumbles to the door, and when he swings it open, Eames is standing there with a box of pizza low in his hands.
"Shouldn't you... hand it to me?" asks Arthur.
"Don't you want to check for the extra sausage topping first?" asks Eames.
"Oh, er-- all right," says Arthur, and opens the top of the box.
He really needs to abandon any and all hopes for normalcy when he's dealing with Eames, because they just keep getting shot down. What he finds inside the box is indeed meat lover's pizza, except Eames has taken his dick out of his pants and draped it across the top of the pie, where it lies nestled among the toppings like a snake in the grass. A trouser snake.
"...Isn't that hot?" asks Arthur, aghast.
"I cooled the pizza off first," says Eames, like it explains everything.
"Are you sure that this is what happens when someone in a porn video requests extra sausage?" asks Arthur.
"Only sometimes," says Eames. "Give us a tissue, will you, love?"
Eames dabs at his penis with the tissue, but apparently the pizza is cold enough that it hasn't really-- Jesus Christ, is this happening for real, thinks Arthur. Am I seriously looking at a dick that's going to be inside of me in a couple minutes, being glad that it doesn't have pizza grease all over it? Because that's what I need to do to save the world? Is this my life?
"What now?" he asks out loud.
"You should probably pay me," says Eames. "For the pizza."
"Oh, right," says Arthur. "I-- uh, apparently according to this scenario, I don't... I don't have any money. So--"
"So," says Eames, "I'll just have to take my payment out of your sweet virgin arse."
"Oh, god," says Arthur, and flops onto the bed.
Eames is on him immediately, flipping him onto his stomach. Arthur feels the rush of air hit his bare thighs as Eames pulls his jeans off of him, then the tugging of his boxers past his ass, his knees, his feet.
"Arthur," says Eames, "you have got a truly magnificent arse. I just wanted to tell you that."
"Thanks a lot for the compliment," groans Arthur. "Now please shut up and just-- do your thing, with the... loosening, whatever that entails--"
"It entails you feeling things you've never felt before," says Eames, and smiles very brightly.
Eames starts slow, to his credit, just palming the curve of Arthur's ass, running his fingertips over Arthur's hipbones, following the dip of his spine at the small of his back. He slides his hands up Arthur's thighs, inch by slow inch, and Arthur shivers, feeling goosebumps prickle all over his skin.
"You like that?" asks Eames. His voice has gone low, into something throaty, guttural, and there's a hint of a laugh around its edges. It thrums through Arthur like a vibration, and Arthur doesn't answer, just balls his hands into fists beneath his pillow.
Then Eames slips an arm under Arthur's hips, right below his waist, and lifts him up onto his knees.
"What-- what are you doing," demands Arthur, "why are you--"
"Angle's better this way," says Eames.
It makes Arthur's back arch up over the bed, his ass in the air, and yet the humiliation of it all doesn't quite feel like anger. It borders dangerously on anticipation. Eames slides the rough side of his thumb down the cleft of Arthur's ass, and god, already it feels so much better than he thought it would, the slight friction tantalizing, and Arthur's hips jerk against thin air as the touch gets closer and closer to right there, oh, but it pauses just shy of its mark, lingering warm below his tailbone.
"Ready?" asks Eames.
"I was born ready," says Arthur, teeth gritted, but it comes out much too husky to sound insouciant.
"Actually, in this case," says Eames, "there's some truth to that."
Arthur looks behind him, at Eames squeezing out a tube of lubricant over his fingers, and ducks his burning cheeks back into the pillow. Eames' hands seem suddenly and impossibly huge, like they could take Arthur apart with ease, and his fingers are thick and blunt, coated slick with lube.
Eames circles his hole, his touch feather-light, and Arthur feels it everywhere, in his ass, his spine, the strain on his thighs struggling to hold him up. And Eames presses the tip of his finger right up against him, almost dipping inside him, almost, god, so close.
"There's nothing to be scared of," says Eames.
"I'm not scared," says Arthur, "I'm just-- oh, fuck, shit, fuck--"
Whatever he means to say fizzles out in the circuitry of his brain, because Eames pushes a finger inside him, slow but certain, and all his nerves seem to explode in sensation at once. Arthur groans into a mouthful of his pillow, bracing his tongue against the linen, as he feels every last groove in Eames' finger, each knuckle entering him in turn.
"Oh, god," he's saying, muffled and indistinct, "god, fuck, Eames--"
"--love, relax, come on," says Eames, and bits of his voice keep getting lost in the roar of white noise in Arthur's ears, "you have to relax-- fuck, you're tight--"
It's like nothing he's ever had. Eames is petting his back, soothing, pressing quick kisses to the swell of his ass, telling him to relax, Arthur, relax, but it's only when Eames is in as deep as his finger will go, and finally stops moving inside him, that Arthur can even breathe without getting dizzy.
"That was," says Arthur, in more of a rasp than anything, "that was..."
"I've only got the one finger in," says Eames, and crooks it a bit, as if to demonstrate.
"No," says Arthur, "don't, just-- give me a moment, Eames, wait."
"You were never curious?" asks Eames. "Never wondered about asking one of your girlfriends to touch you here?"
"We just," says Arthur, "never progressed to the stage in our relationship where I asked her to sodomize me."
"Don't be dramatic now," says Eames. "How are you doing? Can I add another?"
"You might as well," says Arthur, and closes his eyes, steeling himself.
Eames pushes in a second finger, and Arthur feels it coaxing him wider, feels the distant pleasant ache of his hole stretching around Eames' fingers. Eames scissors in, twisting, turning, stroking Arthur's insides like he's looking for something, and dimly Arthur registers the sodden patch beneath his cheek, knows that he's panting into his pillow, unable to stop himself, the sound ringing inside his head.
"Fuck," he says, "fuck--"
"You know," says Eames, thoughtfully, "this is really beyond-- I mean, I knew you'd be sensitive, you'd have to be, but this--"
"Are you mocking me," manages Arthur.
"Heavens, no," says Eames. "I'm appreciating you."
And then Eames finds whatever it is he's been searching for, because a sudden bolt of lightning runs up Arthur's spine, crashing against the base of his skull like a tidal wave. It tears the air from his lungs, dazzling as a long electric shock, and with fireworks in the edges of his vision, Arthur gasps, shaky and wet, before he can stifle himself.
"Oh, god," he breathes, "what-- what was--"
"Let me introduce you," says Eames, "to your prostate."
Eames drags his fingers across that spot again, like he's trying to gently scrape something free of him, and Arthur's head jerks back and he moans, all hot desperation. He feels himself clench around Eames' hand, feels the shape of his fingers nestled deep inside him, and it feels amazing but god, he wants more, he needs more.
"Eames, please," he says, "again, right there--"
"You're getting greedy," says Eames. "Now that you know what you're in for, I think it's time to take it up a notch."
He starts to draw his fingers out of him, in careful, deliberate increments, and Arthur can think of nothing else but how much he'd hate to lose the feeling of Eames moving inside him, nudging him where it makes him see stars. Arthur whimpers, tightening unconsciously, trying to keep that solid heat from leaving him empty.
"It's all right," says Eames, smooth. "I've got you."
He rubs the pad of his thumb across the shaft of Arthur's cock, and it's only then that Arthur realizes, he's completely and painfully hard, before he's even been touched. He bites down on his lips to keep from coming right then and there, tries to distract himself from the tips of Eames' fingers brushing against his hole, the damp leak of precome on his stomach.
There's no warning, no sound of zippers edging open, no countdown before he feels the head of Eames' cock pressing, teasing against him. Arthur regrets it as soon as he turns his head to look at Eames; the whole flushed length of him is intimidating, dark and thick, and Arthur swallows in some mix of dread and hunger. But the smile that curls around Eames' lips is wry, a bit fond, indulgent, and it calms Arthur's nervous trepidation in a way he can't quite explain.
"It'll get easier once the head's in," says Eames. "Try and relax for me, all right?"
"Okay," says Arthur, "I-- I guess I'm ready."
Eames wraps a hand around Arthur's cock, and there's a brief twinge of pleasure before Eames is sliding into him, stretching him open, and oh, god, Arthur is taking him in, gasping, making way as Eames pushes himself forward. It's at once like and nothing like his fingers, the same comforting weight, but so much thicker, better, and hesitantly Arthur pushes back a little, testing the pace, but Eames stops with the head of his cock resting inside him, breath coming heavy.
"Is that good?" asks Eames.
"You're huge," groans Arthur, tangling his fingers into the sheets.
"Why, Arthur," says Eames, "what a lovely thing to say. Thank you."
"I mean," says Arthur, "I don't know if you'll-- I don't-- how does the rest of that even fit?"
"Usually, with a lot of time and effort," says Eames. "In your case-- time, effort, and a good amount of natural talent."
"So now you--" begins Arthur.
"Now," says Eames, "we fuck."
He moves his hand across Arthur's erection, jerking him off slowly, and Arthur's insides spasm around Eames entering him -- every last bit of skin against skin, flesh against flesh -- and it's like he's filling up, like all of him is rearranging, shifting to fit the hard length of Eames inside him. Arthur is ablaze, god, choking on the feel of Eames taking over him, burning from the tips of his fingers down to his toes, all of him tingling, unsettled, sensitized.
"Oh-- f-fuck," he stutters, hitching his hips up higher, "Jesus fucking Christ--"
And it should feel foreign to be so full of someone else, but Eames leans in until his chest is flush with Arthur's back, balls against Arthur's ass, his breath washing over the back of Arthur's neck, stirring his hair, and Arthur has never felt so complete ever before in his life.
"Eames," he says, "Eames, oh, my god."
"You're doing well, pet," says Eames. "I'm in."
Lightly, he traces where they join, and Arthur can tell how taut he's stretched, how obscene it must look, and the thought of his body bent and opened to let Eames in is intoxicating, almost overwhelming. He squirms back, pressing his ass against Eames' crotch, panting.
"Hey," he says, "I think you should-- come on, you should move--"
"Gladly," says Eames, braces himself, and pulls back out -- almost to the tip -- before thrusting in.
Sparks explode behind Arthur's eyes, as Eames aims for the the bundle of nerves inside him, hits it time after time, devastating in his precision. It rips noises out of Arthur he didn't even know he could make, sweet and undone, and all the fight drains out of his limbs as Eames surges into him. His legs tremble beneath him and his knees threaten to give out, and he sinks against Eames' arm, pliant as warm wax, propped up only by the strength of that grip around his waist.
"Fuck, oh," he moans, "harder, Eames, harder--"
"My prodigy," Eames laughs into his ear, a rumble that shoots straight to his groin. "You were made to do this, god, you feel-- all tight and silky inside--"
The words are filthy against his skin, and Arthur shudders, rocking back in earnest to meet Eames driving into him. He's flushed through with the impossible heat of arousal, and he feels the sweat bead in the palms of his hands, along his spine, trickling down his sides when he and Eames grind into each other. Arthur tries to inhale, a long ragged sob, but Eames keeps jolting the breath from him, and his ass just melts hot around Eames, so eager for it, and it's like he's never really had sex ever before in his life.
They can't last long, either of them, and Arthur is almost alarmingly sensitive, every inch of his body crackling to life, as Eames' rhythm turns erratic and he lets out a soft curse, teeth just grazing across Arthur's shoulder. The sensations rolling over him are impossible to prepare for, and Arthur just bites into his pillowcase, spreads his knees wider, and and lets Eames fuck him completely silly.
Just as he starts to feel his balls draw tight, the building pressure of imminent release, he sees a faint shimmer out of the corner of his eye. It's a vague sort of mist swirling just a little above the bed, and it hovers in place, iridescent. It's the trace of one of Saito's porn DVDs.
"It's here," says Eames, harsh, hips snapping into Arthur, "you know what to do--"
Hand outstretched, Arthur fumbles for the designated Key of the Porncaptor on the dresser next to him, the Key that looks like a dildo, the Key that is a dildo, really, for all intents and purposes, rubbery in his numb grip and unapologetically purple. He manages to get his fingers around it somehow, and he points it shakily at the hazy shimmer.
"Dildo which hides-- which hides the powers of arousal," he pants, "under contract, I-- fuck, oh, god-- I, Arthur, command you-- fuck, Eames-- ejaculate!"
He nearly loses it on the last word, as Eames chooses that moment to screw into him, holding himself deep in place, and Arthur has just enough time to groan, Return to your true form, porn DVD, before he's coming all over Eames' hand, closing in around the cock inside him, and he feels Eames tense before he's coming too -- spurting inside Arthur, warm and wet -- and the dildo falls from Arthur's grasp as the shimmer solidifies into a gleaming bright DVD, landing on the mattress beside them.
"Fuck," coughs Arthur, feelingly, shivering through the aftershocks.
"Congratulations," says Eames, though he has to pause for breath a few times, "you just sealed your first porn DVD."
Arthur turns it over with a finger, where the label on the front says, YOUR PIZZA IS THE SCENE OF MY PENIS. It doesn't quite seem to make sense, but he's too exhausted to argue, spent and utterly plundered. Eames slips out of him, and even that small movement makes Arthur's cock twitch in interest, as Eames slides past the tight ring of muscle. Arthur lets himself go limp against the bed.
"So," says Eames, "how does it feel?"
Arthur thinks of the orgasm that's just been wrenched out of him, the sated ache in his ass, of Eames' body pressed up against his, of the racing of their heartbeats in sync, of the thousands of DVDs left for him to seal, and he swallows and closes his eyes.
"I think I love you," he says.
Summary: After he accidentally releases a magical set of porn DVDs, Arthur must become the Porncaptor that seals them back in order to save the world from some obscure disaster that won't even be mentioned yet. Eames, the guardian of the DVDs, is there to aid him in this quest. With his penis.
Notes: This is a... sort of a... Cardcaptor Sakura AU. Therefore it only makes about as much sense as CCS does, which is to say, not a whole lot at all, haha. Possibly it is also... almost as shameless as CCS. XD Oh! And please tell me about some popular porn scenarios that you think Arthur and Eames should re-enact, because this is actually a two-parter. (Entire concept brought to you by platina and kiwimangoodness.) And possibly this is a spoiler but platina took some responsibility for this madness and drew this inimitably fantastic piece of wonder which I can't tell you what it's about so look at it after you finish slogging through the fic! But it's beautiful.
It happens after Saturday dinner at Professor Cobb's house.
"Please feel free to look around," says Mal, his professor's ravishing French wife. "I will bring desserts for you."
"I'll get the table cleared," says Cobb.
So Arthur wanders off out of the dining room, peers at family photographs, cranes his neck up the stairway to the second floor. Eventually he finds his way to the library, where he runs his finger along dusty leather spines and considers the cheerful prospect of the new academic year.
Then he discovers, tucked in discreetly among volumes of German philosophy and French poetry, a long nylon case.
"Professor Cobb," he calls, out of common decency. "Professor Cobb?"
There's no answer, so he slides the case out of the bookshelf. It's a curious thing, to say the least; there's some sort of faux bois engraving attached to the front, and when Arthur looks at it from closer up, he can see that it's a carving of a naked man, with a sturdy build and a rather well-endowed penis.
Funny souvenir from a vacation trip, thinks Arthur, and is about to put it back.
But then the case starts to shake violently in his hands, and the zipper down its side begins to slide open, a blinding light shining through the widening gap. Arthur drops it to the floor in alarm, and throws his arms up to shield himself from the glare.
"Professor Cobb!" he yells.
"Ah, a college town," says a strange voice. "This should be interesting."
The light has subsided, and Arthur lowers his hands tentatively. He's not sure what he's expecting, but he's certainly shocked by the sight of the man from the cover of the nylon case, still stark naked, standing fully-formed in the middle of the floor, stretching as his joints crack into motion.
"Who are you," asks Arthur, dangerously close to shrieking, backing up against the wall.
"You awoke me," says the man, "who are you?"
+
"So let me get this straight," says Cobb. "This CD case that we picked up as a joke during our honeymoon is actually a container for a set of porn DVDs that have the potential to bring about a terrible disaster?"
"But then where are the DVDs?" asks Mal.
"Excellent questions, expositionary dialogue couple," says the naked man, slouching against the sink with Mal's dishrag draped artfully across his groin. "After Master Saito used some very neat magic to seal the secrets of his porn empire into a series of DVDs, he created a guardian to watch over the case, so that the information would not fall into the wrong hands."
"And you're the guardian," says Arthur.
"Eames," he says. "And you are?"
"Arthur," he replies, because it seems polite.
"Well, Arthur, the DVDs are gone because you accidentally released them," says Eames. "If you don't gather them back, it could lead to some very tragic results for you and your loved ones."
"I have to gather them back?" asks Arthur. "But how do I do that?"
"It requires some cooperation," says Eames. "You see, what's really missing is the thousands of porn scenarios that the DVDs used to contain. I'll teach you exactly how to seal each scenario back into DVD form, but the way you summon a specific scenario is, you have to re-enact it with the guardian of the DVDs--"
"You're the guardian," says Arthur.
"Yes," says Eames.
"I-- what?" asks Arthur, as his mind tries to wrap around this new development. "I have to-- I have to re-enact-- I have to have sex with you? Thousands of times?"
"Surprise," says Eames.
"Are you serious?" chokes Arthur. "I'm not-- no way, what, I'm not doing that! I don't want-- this is ridiculous! I'm not having sex with you! I'm perfectly fine with my low-key lifestyle of masturbating in private and maybe occasionally sleeping with a girlfriend when I happen to have one, thank you very much!"
"I don't think you understand," says Eames. "You opened the DVD case."
"It was an accident!" protests Arthur.
"No, no, you see, the thing is," says Eames, "only very specific people can manage to open the case at all. You've been chosen to be the Porncaptor, Arthur, because you're qualified for the job. It's your destiny."
"How am I qualified," asks Arthur, dreading the answer.
"Well, apparently," says Eames, "you're an insatiable cockslut."
Cobb spits a mouthful of coffee all over the table, and Mal tilts her head to one side, looking at Arthur very curiously. Arthur can feel the blood rush to his face, because now his academic advisor and his wife have been informed that he is cosmically ordained to crave cock, and he stammers something, I refuse, or Don't even think about it, but of course the worst part of it all is, Eames turns out to be right.
+
Arthur only acquiesces after he has thrown the DVD case into the river about a dozen times, because Eames always shows up back in his dorm room, bits of gravel in his hair and water gliding slowly down the broad expanse of his chest. How bad can it be, he reasons to himself. It's just sex. No one's getting hurt. And besides, as far as guys go, Eames is really not the worst-looking option.
"Okay, fine," says Arthur, as Eames towels off his hair. "But you have to-- you have to tell me how to-- I've never... you know."
"Don't you worry," says Eames. "We'll teach you how to seal the DVDs before we summon them."
"I meant," says Arthur, "the whole... sex with a man... thing."
"Oh, I won't need to teach you anything about that," says Eames. "Trust me. Your body will know what to do."
He winks, actually winks, and Arthur feels something hotter than shame settle in the pit of his stomach before he grabs a pair of sweatpants and flings it in Eames' face.
Eames says that they'll start with a scenario that Arthur can feel relatively familiar in, and that's how Arthur finds himself sitting on the edge of his bed, turning his cell phone over and over in his hands. He clenches his eyes shut and takes a deep breath before he dials, nausea washing over him as he waits out the tone.
"Hello," answers Eames, static crackling through his lazy drawl.
"Hi, uh--" says Arthur, "I'd-- I'd like to place an order."
"What would you like to have?" asks Eames.
"I'd like a-- a m-m--" Arthur inhales slowly, then says, on the verge of tears, "a meat lover's special. With extra sausage."
"A meat lover's special," says Eames. "With extra sausage."
"Yes, that's what I want, okay," says Arthur, and at least he is glad that he doesn't ever have to say that in his life ever again.
There's a knock on his door.
"Pizza delivery," calls Eames from the other side.
"Right," says Arthur, snapping his phone closed. Somehow he stumbles to the door, and when he swings it open, Eames is standing there with a box of pizza low in his hands.
"Shouldn't you... hand it to me?" asks Arthur.
"Don't you want to check for the extra sausage topping first?" asks Eames.
"Oh, er-- all right," says Arthur, and opens the top of the box.
He really needs to abandon any and all hopes for normalcy when he's dealing with Eames, because they just keep getting shot down. What he finds inside the box is indeed meat lover's pizza, except Eames has taken his dick out of his pants and draped it across the top of the pie, where it lies nestled among the toppings like a snake in the grass. A trouser snake.
"...Isn't that hot?" asks Arthur, aghast.
"I cooled the pizza off first," says Eames, like it explains everything.
"Are you sure that this is what happens when someone in a porn video requests extra sausage?" asks Arthur.
"Only sometimes," says Eames. "Give us a tissue, will you, love?"
Eames dabs at his penis with the tissue, but apparently the pizza is cold enough that it hasn't really-- Jesus Christ, is this happening for real, thinks Arthur. Am I seriously looking at a dick that's going to be inside of me in a couple minutes, being glad that it doesn't have pizza grease all over it? Because that's what I need to do to save the world? Is this my life?
"What now?" he asks out loud.
"You should probably pay me," says Eames. "For the pizza."
"Oh, right," says Arthur. "I-- uh, apparently according to this scenario, I don't... I don't have any money. So--"
"So," says Eames, "I'll just have to take my payment out of your sweet virgin arse."
"Oh, god," says Arthur, and flops onto the bed.
Eames is on him immediately, flipping him onto his stomach. Arthur feels the rush of air hit his bare thighs as Eames pulls his jeans off of him, then the tugging of his boxers past his ass, his knees, his feet.
"Arthur," says Eames, "you have got a truly magnificent arse. I just wanted to tell you that."
"Thanks a lot for the compliment," groans Arthur. "Now please shut up and just-- do your thing, with the... loosening, whatever that entails--"
"It entails you feeling things you've never felt before," says Eames, and smiles very brightly.
Eames starts slow, to his credit, just palming the curve of Arthur's ass, running his fingertips over Arthur's hipbones, following the dip of his spine at the small of his back. He slides his hands up Arthur's thighs, inch by slow inch, and Arthur shivers, feeling goosebumps prickle all over his skin.
"You like that?" asks Eames. His voice has gone low, into something throaty, guttural, and there's a hint of a laugh around its edges. It thrums through Arthur like a vibration, and Arthur doesn't answer, just balls his hands into fists beneath his pillow.
Then Eames slips an arm under Arthur's hips, right below his waist, and lifts him up onto his knees.
"What-- what are you doing," demands Arthur, "why are you--"
"Angle's better this way," says Eames.
It makes Arthur's back arch up over the bed, his ass in the air, and yet the humiliation of it all doesn't quite feel like anger. It borders dangerously on anticipation. Eames slides the rough side of his thumb down the cleft of Arthur's ass, and god, already it feels so much better than he thought it would, the slight friction tantalizing, and Arthur's hips jerk against thin air as the touch gets closer and closer to right there, oh, but it pauses just shy of its mark, lingering warm below his tailbone.
"Ready?" asks Eames.
"I was born ready," says Arthur, teeth gritted, but it comes out much too husky to sound insouciant.
"Actually, in this case," says Eames, "there's some truth to that."
Arthur looks behind him, at Eames squeezing out a tube of lubricant over his fingers, and ducks his burning cheeks back into the pillow. Eames' hands seem suddenly and impossibly huge, like they could take Arthur apart with ease, and his fingers are thick and blunt, coated slick with lube.
Eames circles his hole, his touch feather-light, and Arthur feels it everywhere, in his ass, his spine, the strain on his thighs struggling to hold him up. And Eames presses the tip of his finger right up against him, almost dipping inside him, almost, god, so close.
"There's nothing to be scared of," says Eames.
"I'm not scared," says Arthur, "I'm just-- oh, fuck, shit, fuck--"
Whatever he means to say fizzles out in the circuitry of his brain, because Eames pushes a finger inside him, slow but certain, and all his nerves seem to explode in sensation at once. Arthur groans into a mouthful of his pillow, bracing his tongue against the linen, as he feels every last groove in Eames' finger, each knuckle entering him in turn.
"Oh, god," he's saying, muffled and indistinct, "god, fuck, Eames--"
"--love, relax, come on," says Eames, and bits of his voice keep getting lost in the roar of white noise in Arthur's ears, "you have to relax-- fuck, you're tight--"
It's like nothing he's ever had. Eames is petting his back, soothing, pressing quick kisses to the swell of his ass, telling him to relax, Arthur, relax, but it's only when Eames is in as deep as his finger will go, and finally stops moving inside him, that Arthur can even breathe without getting dizzy.
"That was," says Arthur, in more of a rasp than anything, "that was..."
"I've only got the one finger in," says Eames, and crooks it a bit, as if to demonstrate.
"No," says Arthur, "don't, just-- give me a moment, Eames, wait."
"You were never curious?" asks Eames. "Never wondered about asking one of your girlfriends to touch you here?"
"We just," says Arthur, "never progressed to the stage in our relationship where I asked her to sodomize me."
"Don't be dramatic now," says Eames. "How are you doing? Can I add another?"
"You might as well," says Arthur, and closes his eyes, steeling himself.
Eames pushes in a second finger, and Arthur feels it coaxing him wider, feels the distant pleasant ache of his hole stretching around Eames' fingers. Eames scissors in, twisting, turning, stroking Arthur's insides like he's looking for something, and dimly Arthur registers the sodden patch beneath his cheek, knows that he's panting into his pillow, unable to stop himself, the sound ringing inside his head.
"Fuck," he says, "fuck--"
"You know," says Eames, thoughtfully, "this is really beyond-- I mean, I knew you'd be sensitive, you'd have to be, but this--"
"Are you mocking me," manages Arthur.
"Heavens, no," says Eames. "I'm appreciating you."
And then Eames finds whatever it is he's been searching for, because a sudden bolt of lightning runs up Arthur's spine, crashing against the base of his skull like a tidal wave. It tears the air from his lungs, dazzling as a long electric shock, and with fireworks in the edges of his vision, Arthur gasps, shaky and wet, before he can stifle himself.
"Oh, god," he breathes, "what-- what was--"
"Let me introduce you," says Eames, "to your prostate."
Eames drags his fingers across that spot again, like he's trying to gently scrape something free of him, and Arthur's head jerks back and he moans, all hot desperation. He feels himself clench around Eames' hand, feels the shape of his fingers nestled deep inside him, and it feels amazing but god, he wants more, he needs more.
"Eames, please," he says, "again, right there--"
"You're getting greedy," says Eames. "Now that you know what you're in for, I think it's time to take it up a notch."
He starts to draw his fingers out of him, in careful, deliberate increments, and Arthur can think of nothing else but how much he'd hate to lose the feeling of Eames moving inside him, nudging him where it makes him see stars. Arthur whimpers, tightening unconsciously, trying to keep that solid heat from leaving him empty.
"It's all right," says Eames, smooth. "I've got you."
He rubs the pad of his thumb across the shaft of Arthur's cock, and it's only then that Arthur realizes, he's completely and painfully hard, before he's even been touched. He bites down on his lips to keep from coming right then and there, tries to distract himself from the tips of Eames' fingers brushing against his hole, the damp leak of precome on his stomach.
There's no warning, no sound of zippers edging open, no countdown before he feels the head of Eames' cock pressing, teasing against him. Arthur regrets it as soon as he turns his head to look at Eames; the whole flushed length of him is intimidating, dark and thick, and Arthur swallows in some mix of dread and hunger. But the smile that curls around Eames' lips is wry, a bit fond, indulgent, and it calms Arthur's nervous trepidation in a way he can't quite explain.
"It'll get easier once the head's in," says Eames. "Try and relax for me, all right?"
"Okay," says Arthur, "I-- I guess I'm ready."
Eames wraps a hand around Arthur's cock, and there's a brief twinge of pleasure before Eames is sliding into him, stretching him open, and oh, god, Arthur is taking him in, gasping, making way as Eames pushes himself forward. It's at once like and nothing like his fingers, the same comforting weight, but so much thicker, better, and hesitantly Arthur pushes back a little, testing the pace, but Eames stops with the head of his cock resting inside him, breath coming heavy.
"Is that good?" asks Eames.
"You're huge," groans Arthur, tangling his fingers into the sheets.
"Why, Arthur," says Eames, "what a lovely thing to say. Thank you."
"I mean," says Arthur, "I don't know if you'll-- I don't-- how does the rest of that even fit?"
"Usually, with a lot of time and effort," says Eames. "In your case-- time, effort, and a good amount of natural talent."
"So now you--" begins Arthur.
"Now," says Eames, "we fuck."
He moves his hand across Arthur's erection, jerking him off slowly, and Arthur's insides spasm around Eames entering him -- every last bit of skin against skin, flesh against flesh -- and it's like he's filling up, like all of him is rearranging, shifting to fit the hard length of Eames inside him. Arthur is ablaze, god, choking on the feel of Eames taking over him, burning from the tips of his fingers down to his toes, all of him tingling, unsettled, sensitized.
"Oh-- f-fuck," he stutters, hitching his hips up higher, "Jesus fucking Christ--"
And it should feel foreign to be so full of someone else, but Eames leans in until his chest is flush with Arthur's back, balls against Arthur's ass, his breath washing over the back of Arthur's neck, stirring his hair, and Arthur has never felt so complete ever before in his life.
"Eames," he says, "Eames, oh, my god."
"You're doing well, pet," says Eames. "I'm in."
Lightly, he traces where they join, and Arthur can tell how taut he's stretched, how obscene it must look, and the thought of his body bent and opened to let Eames in is intoxicating, almost overwhelming. He squirms back, pressing his ass against Eames' crotch, panting.
"Hey," he says, "I think you should-- come on, you should move--"
"Gladly," says Eames, braces himself, and pulls back out -- almost to the tip -- before thrusting in.
Sparks explode behind Arthur's eyes, as Eames aims for the the bundle of nerves inside him, hits it time after time, devastating in his precision. It rips noises out of Arthur he didn't even know he could make, sweet and undone, and all the fight drains out of his limbs as Eames surges into him. His legs tremble beneath him and his knees threaten to give out, and he sinks against Eames' arm, pliant as warm wax, propped up only by the strength of that grip around his waist.
"Fuck, oh," he moans, "harder, Eames, harder--"
"My prodigy," Eames laughs into his ear, a rumble that shoots straight to his groin. "You were made to do this, god, you feel-- all tight and silky inside--"
The words are filthy against his skin, and Arthur shudders, rocking back in earnest to meet Eames driving into him. He's flushed through with the impossible heat of arousal, and he feels the sweat bead in the palms of his hands, along his spine, trickling down his sides when he and Eames grind into each other. Arthur tries to inhale, a long ragged sob, but Eames keeps jolting the breath from him, and his ass just melts hot around Eames, so eager for it, and it's like he's never really had sex ever before in his life.
They can't last long, either of them, and Arthur is almost alarmingly sensitive, every inch of his body crackling to life, as Eames' rhythm turns erratic and he lets out a soft curse, teeth just grazing across Arthur's shoulder. The sensations rolling over him are impossible to prepare for, and Arthur just bites into his pillowcase, spreads his knees wider, and and lets Eames fuck him completely silly.
Just as he starts to feel his balls draw tight, the building pressure of imminent release, he sees a faint shimmer out of the corner of his eye. It's a vague sort of mist swirling just a little above the bed, and it hovers in place, iridescent. It's the trace of one of Saito's porn DVDs.
"It's here," says Eames, harsh, hips snapping into Arthur, "you know what to do--"
Hand outstretched, Arthur fumbles for the designated Key of the Porncaptor on the dresser next to him, the Key that looks like a dildo, the Key that is a dildo, really, for all intents and purposes, rubbery in his numb grip and unapologetically purple. He manages to get his fingers around it somehow, and he points it shakily at the hazy shimmer.
"Dildo which hides-- which hides the powers of arousal," he pants, "under contract, I-- fuck, oh, god-- I, Arthur, command you-- fuck, Eames-- ejaculate!"
He nearly loses it on the last word, as Eames chooses that moment to screw into him, holding himself deep in place, and Arthur has just enough time to groan, Return to your true form, porn DVD, before he's coming all over Eames' hand, closing in around the cock inside him, and he feels Eames tense before he's coming too -- spurting inside Arthur, warm and wet -- and the dildo falls from Arthur's grasp as the shimmer solidifies into a gleaming bright DVD, landing on the mattress beside them.
"Fuck," coughs Arthur, feelingly, shivering through the aftershocks.
"Congratulations," says Eames, though he has to pause for breath a few times, "you just sealed your first porn DVD."
Arthur turns it over with a finger, where the label on the front says, YOUR PIZZA IS THE SCENE OF MY PENIS. It doesn't quite seem to make sense, but he's too exhausted to argue, spent and utterly plundered. Eames slips out of him, and even that small movement makes Arthur's cock twitch in interest, as Eames slides past the tight ring of muscle. Arthur lets himself go limp against the bed.
"So," says Eames, "how does it feel?"
Arthur thinks of the orgasm that's just been wrenched out of him, the sated ache in his ass, of Eames' body pressed up against his, of the racing of their heartbeats in sync, of the thousands of DVDs left for him to seal, and he swallows and closes his eyes.
"I think I love you," he says.