Bit of Tail
Pairings: Eames/Arthur
Summary: Arthur is part cat in their shared dreams, which Eames considers a good reason for flagrant misuse of Yusuf's compounds. (He's right. It's a pretty good reason.)
Notes: ...So there is this recent surge of... CATBOY ARTHUR... haha, I mean, it is actually very thoughtful, very emotionally poignant, and you can find the fics and art archived at Super Librarian Nancy's post over here, but... what is behind this cut is just PWP catnip porn. :'( Just-- if you are even remotely interested in ARTHUR WITH CAT EARS AND A CAT TAIL AHAHA;NFEK;AJR hop on over to that post stat!
This part of the story begins back in Mombasa.
"What," Yusuf says, as Eames stares mutely at the cat on the floor, "he's all right. It's just catnip."
"It's quite a reaction," says Eames. "Very physical."
"Oh, it's full-body," says Yusuf, shooing the cat out of his way. "Inside and out. They go absolutely mad for it."
"I wonder," says Eames, "does it do anything for humans?"
"Not like that, no," says Yusuf. "But it's mildly calming-- I add it to some of my lighter formulas. As a sedative substitute."
"You add it to--" says Eames, and blinks. "Wait, Yusuf, you have dreamshare compounds with catnip in them? Are they for sale? Can I have them? Can you give them to me? Aren't we friends?"
It turns out that Yusuf drives a hard bargain for anyone that he knows can afford to pay out their nose. Eames would haggle, but he's much too distracted with the thought that catnip might work differently on someone who is partially cat in the dreamscape. Consumed with the mental images, he hands Yusuf a functioning credit card and signs the piece of paper he receives in return.
"You will enjoy these," says Yusuf. "They're very gentle on the system. Very organic."
"I will enjoy them," says Eames, dazedly. "I will, Yusuf. I will enjoy them."
+
But it's about a week after his arrival that Eames remembers the purchase. He'd tucked the vials into the hidden compartments of his carry-on, padded and safely locked away, and then he'd managed to forget about them when he returned and promptly got lost in Arthur again.
He rummages in his closet for his bag and reaches inside; the vials are still there, unharmed.
When they lay out the PASIV that night, Eames doesn't even try to hide his grin.
"I have a surprise for you," he says. "Courtesy of Yusuf."
"Yusuf?" Arthur frowns. "Does he know about--"
"No, but these," says Eames, "these are dreamshare compounds laced with catnip."
"I see where this is going," says Arthur, and the corner of his lips twitches into a smile.
"Cheers, then?" asks Eames, holding up a vial.
Arthur clinks one against his.
"Cheers," he says.
+
"Oh, fuck," says Arthur, "Jesus, Jesus, fuck."
"What?" asks Eames. "What's wrong?"
Personally, he doesn't notice anything out of sorts. The share is clean, as anyone would expect from something crafted by Yusuf, but nothing seems to be terribly unusual. But Arthur is pacing the floor, jerking to a stop every so often to snap his head to one side, sniffing, pacing, and sniffing again.
"It's everywhere," says Arthur, "I can't tell where it's strongest, fuck, wow, I need to find it, where is it?"
His hands ball into a fist, unfurling back out, flexing back in. He drums the tips of his nails against his palm and turns on his heel, cocking his head as he looks at Eames.
"Hmm," he says, "that would make sense-- since we're in your dream--"
"Me?" asks Eames. "You can smell catnip on me?"
Arthur leans forward, brows furrowing, and inhales.
"I think so," he says. "I think--"
He stumbles a couple steps toward Eames like he's being yanked into it, following his nose, and his tail swerves in restless arcs behind him. One furry ear twitches and pricks forward.
"Oh, yes," he says, "it's definitely-- mm, Eames, hey, uh--"
"What is it?" asks Eames.
Arthur rocks forward on the balls of his feet, and Eames can see his pupils contract into slits as he breathes in, letting the catnip hit him, flood him from the inside. Then slowly, they expand-- and his eyes melt, dark and blown beneath his lashes.
"Can I," he whispers, "can I smell you?"
"Well, certainly," says Eames.
Arthur all but dives into his arms. He doesn't stop moving, doesn't stop shifting, any of him, and his hands wander all across Eames's chest, too eager to linger for long, feeling out the shape of his arms. Tracing the muscles in his back, coming to grip him around his shoulders, pulling him in close. And Arthur buries his face in the side of Eames's neck, nosing at the jump of his pulse, breathing in deep through his nose like he wants the air to settle in his lungs forever, but the breath that leaves him is hot and shallow against Eames's collarbone. Eames shivers at the heat across his skin, and Arthur clutches him a little tighter, dragging his teeth lightly over sinew.
"You, it's you," murmurs Arthur, nipping a trail up Eames's jaw. "You smell so fucking fantastic, oh, god, Eames. I want to-- I just want to--"
He rolls his hips into Eames's, his spine cat-liquid, and the hard unmistakable lines of their cocks grind against each other. Arthur groans into Eames's ear, impatient, the sound shooting straight down to his crotch.
"Fuck, fuck," says Arthur, hands sliding to Eames's belt, "I'm going to suck you until you're hard enough to fuck me, Jesus, oh, fuck, I hope you taste as good as you smell, god."
"Arthur," says Eames, "fuck yes," and he lets Arthur push him onto the bed, as Arthur paws at his zipper and yanks his pants down to his ankles. He's half-hard from anticipation, and Arthur looks at it with his eyes glazed over, his throat bobbing.
"God," says Arthur, "I'm-- my mouth is fucking watering, fucking Christ--"
He puts his hands on Eames's thighs and kneels, takes Eames into the heat of him, and he's right, his mouth is so wet, spit shining all along Eames's length when he draws his head back. It's better that way, because Arthur's tongue is sandpaper-rough, and it would hurt if it were any dryer, but beneath the coat of saliva it's just right, the scrape of it tantalizing as it teases at his cock.
"Oh, fuck," chokes Eames, "that's--"
Arthur laps at him with little kitten licks, his eyes half-mast, lips stretching around him. He curls his fingers around the base of Eames's cock and licks all around his head, flashes of the red of his tongue tracing the slit, a fingertip stroking the outline of the vein at his underside.
Eames braces his toes against the floor, knees aching from the strain, and he can't stop his hips from bucking into Arthur's mouth. Arthur opens wide and stretches out his raspy-slick tongue, dragging it slowly all the way up Eames's cock, their eyes locked together, and Eames's breath catches in his chest.
"You do," says Arthur. "You taste great, fuck, Jesus."
He wraps his lips around him and hollows in his cheeks, dipping his head in closer, pulling away, and his human nails clench into Eames's hips and even the pang of the pain makes the blood rush to Eames's cock. Arthur's throat moves around him, and his tail swishes against the floor, sweeping sinuous across it. Then he gives Eames's erection one last, long suck, and lets it slip from his mouth.
"Fuck," mumbles Arthur through swollen lips, "I can't-- this catnip thing is really--"
He tugs his own pants down, tearing them off, and kicks his boxers away when he steps out of them. He wets two fingers with his mouth, the shape of them an indecent bulge against his cheek, and then he braces himself with a forearm across Eames's thigh and arches his back and slips them inside himself.
"Yes, fuck," he hisses, head falling forward. The tip of Eames's cock slides against the side of his face, and pre-come and spit trace a streak up the curve of his cheek, as he trembles and breathes hot sighs against Eames's skin.
"Tell me," says Eames, "what it feels like."
"I think," pants Arthur, "I think I'm ready, I'm so-- my fingers, they're just-- sinking in, I'm in to the knuckle, and I didn't even have to-- oh, fuck, damn it," he says, as his head jerks and he pushes his ass back into his hand, fucking himself onto it.
"Don't be greedy," says Eames. "Share the fun."
"Ha," says Arthur, eyes bright and black, "move back, give me room-- I'm going to ride you so hard you'll bleed out your ears--"
Eames can't do it fast enough. He scoots back on his elbows, half raising his torso to watch Arthur wriggle out of his shirt, and Arthur crawls onto the bed to straddle him, cock flushed and nearly knocking against his stomach, all gorgeous, lean lines stretching above Eames.
Arthur splays his hands out over Eames's ribs and positions himself, before he lowers his body and he's taking him in, swallowing him down, and Eames feels Arthur's ass give and part around his cock, god, pliant and pulsing tight all around him, and he has to look away to distract himself, trying to keep from coming too soon. Arthur looks down at him, flushed and breathless but still somehow imperious, and he bares his teeth in a grin and then Arthur's ass comes to rest against his groin, his tail draping over Eames's leg, and Eames knows, he's in all the way.
"What the fuck," gasps Eames, "are you on fire or something, Jesus Christ--"
"Catnip," says Arthur, "we should always do this with-- oh, fuck, I can't control-- oh, god--"
Arthur's insides are gripping Eames's cock like he's trying to milk him to climax, and he's so hot it feels like they're both melting. Eames gives his hips a little jolt just to test it out, and it makes Arthur yelp in surprise, ass closing in around Eames, squeezing him, leaving both of them groaning with lights flashing through their vision.
"Look, love," says Eames, "I'm going to hold out for as much as I can, but..."
"I know," says Arthur, "I don't think I can, for long, this is too--"
The tips of Arthur's ears flutter as he starts to move, his eyes drifting closed, little noises slipping from him as Eames's cock rubs against his insides. And Eames loves seeing him like this, sleek and beautiful and eager above him, but especially like this, with his tail a serpentine pattern against the sheets, impossibly more graceful than he is outside of dreams, craving Eames with every bit of the animal in him.
"Pussycat," says Eames, "tell me how you like it."
"Fuck, just like this," pants Arthur, "inside me, like you're splitting me open--"
Eames tilts his hips to meet Arthur screwing back onto him, reaches behind Arthur to feel himself sliding in and out of that slick hole, and Arthur purrs at the touch, soft in his chest. He grabs Eames by the collar and pulls him up close, keening at the angle of his cock shifting inside him, and kisses him, the taste of Eames's pre-come still bitter on his thin feline tongue. Eames meets the butterfly flick of it, chases it into Arthur's mouth, licking across the ridges behind his teeth.
"Yeah, that's right," says Eames, "you ride it out."
Arthur moans against his lips and his arms come to wind around Eames, his cock gliding against Eames's stomach, and the thrusts of his ass turn erratic and desperate as he moves faster, breath stuttering in his throat. He puts his whole back into it, fucks himself on Eames's cock, the springs of the mattress creaking beneath them.
"F-fuck, Eames," says Arthur, "oh, god, it feels--"
He comes with a shaky gasp, smearing himself all over Eames, and his ass clenches almost painfully tight around him, quick uneven squeezes of his cock like wringing him dry. Eames curses, the world going white, and he thrusts into Arthur a few more times before he's coming inside him, spending himself in that ass, and Arthur's still sensitive from his own orgasm, whimpering as Eames keeps rocking into him, but he gamely presses back until Eames slows, lets his hands fall to the bed.
"Eames," says Arthur, faintly, and brushes his fingers across the lines of his own come he's made. He licks his hand clean, eyes wet as he meets Eames's.
"Oh, darling," says Eames. "Let me return the favor."
He catches Arthur up by his armpits and raises him, Arthur making indistinct but heated sounds in his throat as Eames's cock leaves him. And Eames lays Arthur out on the bed on his stomach and pushes his tail up and out of the way, dips his tongue into the spent mess of his ass, as Arthur flinches and bucks into the sheets.
"God, what," whines Arthur, "oh--"
"Just cleaning you up," says Eames, and just keeps licking into him, tonguing away the come he finds there, and he thinks that maybe -- just a little -- he might know what it feels like to be a creature that navigates the world through taste, the flavor of sex sharp, filling his mouth.
Arthur's thighs are wide and slack beneath him, and he shudders and opens himself up for Eames, the two of them taking each other inside, sharing themselves like sharing dreams. His tail bats against the back of Eames's neck, and the fur tickles him, alight with afterglow as he is.
Summary: Arthur is part cat in their shared dreams, which Eames considers a good reason for flagrant misuse of Yusuf's compounds. (He's right. It's a pretty good reason.)
Notes: ...So there is this recent surge of... CATBOY ARTHUR... haha, I mean, it is actually very thoughtful, very emotionally poignant, and you can find the fics and art archived at Super Librarian Nancy's post over here, but... what is behind this cut is just PWP catnip porn. :'( Just-- if you are even remotely interested in ARTHUR WITH CAT EARS AND A CAT TAIL AHAHA;NFEK;AJR hop on over to that post stat!
This part of the story begins back in Mombasa.
"What," Yusuf says, as Eames stares mutely at the cat on the floor, "he's all right. It's just catnip."
"It's quite a reaction," says Eames. "Very physical."
"Oh, it's full-body," says Yusuf, shooing the cat out of his way. "Inside and out. They go absolutely mad for it."
"I wonder," says Eames, "does it do anything for humans?"
"Not like that, no," says Yusuf. "But it's mildly calming-- I add it to some of my lighter formulas. As a sedative substitute."
"You add it to--" says Eames, and blinks. "Wait, Yusuf, you have dreamshare compounds with catnip in them? Are they for sale? Can I have them? Can you give them to me? Aren't we friends?"
It turns out that Yusuf drives a hard bargain for anyone that he knows can afford to pay out their nose. Eames would haggle, but he's much too distracted with the thought that catnip might work differently on someone who is partially cat in the dreamscape. Consumed with the mental images, he hands Yusuf a functioning credit card and signs the piece of paper he receives in return.
"You will enjoy these," says Yusuf. "They're very gentle on the system. Very organic."
"I will enjoy them," says Eames, dazedly. "I will, Yusuf. I will enjoy them."
+
But it's about a week after his arrival that Eames remembers the purchase. He'd tucked the vials into the hidden compartments of his carry-on, padded and safely locked away, and then he'd managed to forget about them when he returned and promptly got lost in Arthur again.
He rummages in his closet for his bag and reaches inside; the vials are still there, unharmed.
When they lay out the PASIV that night, Eames doesn't even try to hide his grin.
"I have a surprise for you," he says. "Courtesy of Yusuf."
"Yusuf?" Arthur frowns. "Does he know about--"
"No, but these," says Eames, "these are dreamshare compounds laced with catnip."
"I see where this is going," says Arthur, and the corner of his lips twitches into a smile.
"Cheers, then?" asks Eames, holding up a vial.
Arthur clinks one against his.
"Cheers," he says.
+
"Oh, fuck," says Arthur, "Jesus, Jesus, fuck."
"What?" asks Eames. "What's wrong?"
Personally, he doesn't notice anything out of sorts. The share is clean, as anyone would expect from something crafted by Yusuf, but nothing seems to be terribly unusual. But Arthur is pacing the floor, jerking to a stop every so often to snap his head to one side, sniffing, pacing, and sniffing again.
"It's everywhere," says Arthur, "I can't tell where it's strongest, fuck, wow, I need to find it, where is it?"
His hands ball into a fist, unfurling back out, flexing back in. He drums the tips of his nails against his palm and turns on his heel, cocking his head as he looks at Eames.
"Hmm," he says, "that would make sense-- since we're in your dream--"
"Me?" asks Eames. "You can smell catnip on me?"
Arthur leans forward, brows furrowing, and inhales.
"I think so," he says. "I think--"
He stumbles a couple steps toward Eames like he's being yanked into it, following his nose, and his tail swerves in restless arcs behind him. One furry ear twitches and pricks forward.
"Oh, yes," he says, "it's definitely-- mm, Eames, hey, uh--"
"What is it?" asks Eames.
Arthur rocks forward on the balls of his feet, and Eames can see his pupils contract into slits as he breathes in, letting the catnip hit him, flood him from the inside. Then slowly, they expand-- and his eyes melt, dark and blown beneath his lashes.
"Can I," he whispers, "can I smell you?"
"Well, certainly," says Eames.
Arthur all but dives into his arms. He doesn't stop moving, doesn't stop shifting, any of him, and his hands wander all across Eames's chest, too eager to linger for long, feeling out the shape of his arms. Tracing the muscles in his back, coming to grip him around his shoulders, pulling him in close. And Arthur buries his face in the side of Eames's neck, nosing at the jump of his pulse, breathing in deep through his nose like he wants the air to settle in his lungs forever, but the breath that leaves him is hot and shallow against Eames's collarbone. Eames shivers at the heat across his skin, and Arthur clutches him a little tighter, dragging his teeth lightly over sinew.
"You, it's you," murmurs Arthur, nipping a trail up Eames's jaw. "You smell so fucking fantastic, oh, god, Eames. I want to-- I just want to--"
He rolls his hips into Eames's, his spine cat-liquid, and the hard unmistakable lines of their cocks grind against each other. Arthur groans into Eames's ear, impatient, the sound shooting straight down to his crotch.
"Fuck, fuck," says Arthur, hands sliding to Eames's belt, "I'm going to suck you until you're hard enough to fuck me, Jesus, oh, fuck, I hope you taste as good as you smell, god."
"Arthur," says Eames, "fuck yes," and he lets Arthur push him onto the bed, as Arthur paws at his zipper and yanks his pants down to his ankles. He's half-hard from anticipation, and Arthur looks at it with his eyes glazed over, his throat bobbing.
"God," says Arthur, "I'm-- my mouth is fucking watering, fucking Christ--"
He puts his hands on Eames's thighs and kneels, takes Eames into the heat of him, and he's right, his mouth is so wet, spit shining all along Eames's length when he draws his head back. It's better that way, because Arthur's tongue is sandpaper-rough, and it would hurt if it were any dryer, but beneath the coat of saliva it's just right, the scrape of it tantalizing as it teases at his cock.
"Oh, fuck," chokes Eames, "that's--"
Arthur laps at him with little kitten licks, his eyes half-mast, lips stretching around him. He curls his fingers around the base of Eames's cock and licks all around his head, flashes of the red of his tongue tracing the slit, a fingertip stroking the outline of the vein at his underside.
Eames braces his toes against the floor, knees aching from the strain, and he can't stop his hips from bucking into Arthur's mouth. Arthur opens wide and stretches out his raspy-slick tongue, dragging it slowly all the way up Eames's cock, their eyes locked together, and Eames's breath catches in his chest.
"You do," says Arthur. "You taste great, fuck, Jesus."
He wraps his lips around him and hollows in his cheeks, dipping his head in closer, pulling away, and his human nails clench into Eames's hips and even the pang of the pain makes the blood rush to Eames's cock. Arthur's throat moves around him, and his tail swishes against the floor, sweeping sinuous across it. Then he gives Eames's erection one last, long suck, and lets it slip from his mouth.
"Fuck," mumbles Arthur through swollen lips, "I can't-- this catnip thing is really--"
He tugs his own pants down, tearing them off, and kicks his boxers away when he steps out of them. He wets two fingers with his mouth, the shape of them an indecent bulge against his cheek, and then he braces himself with a forearm across Eames's thigh and arches his back and slips them inside himself.
"Yes, fuck," he hisses, head falling forward. The tip of Eames's cock slides against the side of his face, and pre-come and spit trace a streak up the curve of his cheek, as he trembles and breathes hot sighs against Eames's skin.
"Tell me," says Eames, "what it feels like."
"I think," pants Arthur, "I think I'm ready, I'm so-- my fingers, they're just-- sinking in, I'm in to the knuckle, and I didn't even have to-- oh, fuck, damn it," he says, as his head jerks and he pushes his ass back into his hand, fucking himself onto it.
"Don't be greedy," says Eames. "Share the fun."
"Ha," says Arthur, eyes bright and black, "move back, give me room-- I'm going to ride you so hard you'll bleed out your ears--"
Eames can't do it fast enough. He scoots back on his elbows, half raising his torso to watch Arthur wriggle out of his shirt, and Arthur crawls onto the bed to straddle him, cock flushed and nearly knocking against his stomach, all gorgeous, lean lines stretching above Eames.
Arthur splays his hands out over Eames's ribs and positions himself, before he lowers his body and he's taking him in, swallowing him down, and Eames feels Arthur's ass give and part around his cock, god, pliant and pulsing tight all around him, and he has to look away to distract himself, trying to keep from coming too soon. Arthur looks down at him, flushed and breathless but still somehow imperious, and he bares his teeth in a grin and then Arthur's ass comes to rest against his groin, his tail draping over Eames's leg, and Eames knows, he's in all the way.
"What the fuck," gasps Eames, "are you on fire or something, Jesus Christ--"
"Catnip," says Arthur, "we should always do this with-- oh, fuck, I can't control-- oh, god--"
Arthur's insides are gripping Eames's cock like he's trying to milk him to climax, and he's so hot it feels like they're both melting. Eames gives his hips a little jolt just to test it out, and it makes Arthur yelp in surprise, ass closing in around Eames, squeezing him, leaving both of them groaning with lights flashing through their vision.
"Look, love," says Eames, "I'm going to hold out for as much as I can, but..."
"I know," says Arthur, "I don't think I can, for long, this is too--"
The tips of Arthur's ears flutter as he starts to move, his eyes drifting closed, little noises slipping from him as Eames's cock rubs against his insides. And Eames loves seeing him like this, sleek and beautiful and eager above him, but especially like this, with his tail a serpentine pattern against the sheets, impossibly more graceful than he is outside of dreams, craving Eames with every bit of the animal in him.
"Pussycat," says Eames, "tell me how you like it."
"Fuck, just like this," pants Arthur, "inside me, like you're splitting me open--"
Eames tilts his hips to meet Arthur screwing back onto him, reaches behind Arthur to feel himself sliding in and out of that slick hole, and Arthur purrs at the touch, soft in his chest. He grabs Eames by the collar and pulls him up close, keening at the angle of his cock shifting inside him, and kisses him, the taste of Eames's pre-come still bitter on his thin feline tongue. Eames meets the butterfly flick of it, chases it into Arthur's mouth, licking across the ridges behind his teeth.
"Yeah, that's right," says Eames, "you ride it out."
Arthur moans against his lips and his arms come to wind around Eames, his cock gliding against Eames's stomach, and the thrusts of his ass turn erratic and desperate as he moves faster, breath stuttering in his throat. He puts his whole back into it, fucks himself on Eames's cock, the springs of the mattress creaking beneath them.
"F-fuck, Eames," says Arthur, "oh, god, it feels--"
He comes with a shaky gasp, smearing himself all over Eames, and his ass clenches almost painfully tight around him, quick uneven squeezes of his cock like wringing him dry. Eames curses, the world going white, and he thrusts into Arthur a few more times before he's coming inside him, spending himself in that ass, and Arthur's still sensitive from his own orgasm, whimpering as Eames keeps rocking into him, but he gamely presses back until Eames slows, lets his hands fall to the bed.
"Eames," says Arthur, faintly, and brushes his fingers across the lines of his own come he's made. He licks his hand clean, eyes wet as he meets Eames's.
"Oh, darling," says Eames. "Let me return the favor."
He catches Arthur up by his armpits and raises him, Arthur making indistinct but heated sounds in his throat as Eames's cock leaves him. And Eames lays Arthur out on the bed on his stomach and pushes his tail up and out of the way, dips his tongue into the spent mess of his ass, as Arthur flinches and bucks into the sheets.
"God, what," whines Arthur, "oh--"
"Just cleaning you up," says Eames, and just keeps licking into him, tonguing away the come he finds there, and he thinks that maybe -- just a little -- he might know what it feels like to be a creature that navigates the world through taste, the flavor of sex sharp, filling his mouth.
Arthur's thighs are wide and slack beneath him, and he shudders and opens himself up for Eames, the two of them taking each other inside, sharing themselves like sharing dreams. His tail bats against the back of Eames's neck, and the fur tickles him, alight with afterglow as he is.