26. A New Chapter in Our Lives and Notch in Our Belt
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Length: 2,996 words
Summary: a fill for the prompt: "Arthur loves Eames' love handles and tummy! (Porn ensues?)" on inception_kink meme
aaaaand I am incapable of just pwp, so....yeah....
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Arthur wakes when the comforting sound of the shower cuts off. He lies in bed and watches the flash of elbow and thigh as Eames towels off just out of Arthur’s line of sight through the open bathroom door. The forger leaves the bathroom door open when he’s in the mood, a free invitation for anyone to join him, but lately he doesn’t bare all candidly, always hides in the one corner of the bathroom that can’t be seen from the bed-which is even more of an invitation to come inside, really.
Smiling, the point man extracts himself from the fluffy comfort of the duvet and takes a moment to stretch; his shorts are twisted, so he straightens them. Out of the bed, he can now see the mirror, and Eames’ full reflection in it, but he enjoys the sight of bare skin and curves only briefly before cotton pants are pulled into place with the pop of the elastic band.
Arthur silently enters the bathroom with a very specific smirk on his face, takes the old t-shirt Eames has laid out for himself and slips into it. The heat and steam from the shower has given it a fresh-out-of-the-dryer quality that makes Arthur feel suddenly very good about life.
“Morning,” he says happily.
Eames turns, and his eyes flash with that familiar spark as he sees that his only shirt has been stolen. Not so familiar, though, is the way his strong chest lifts and falls quickly only once, his face darkens under his beard, and he makes a point of concentrating on the things on the counter as he says, “Morning, love.”
He moves about, shifting things, pretending to look for something, pretending to clean, just pretending that he isn’t shirtless right now. He eventually finds the toothpaste and sets immediately to work brushing his teeth.
Arthur huffs and steps up behind him, hands falling lightly on Eames’ waist. This is the softest part of the man and it’s his favorite. The smooth skin is luscious and it curves into Arthur’s palms perfectly, asking to be squeezed, begging for it, and it jiggles in certain instances that kill Arthur with the sudden desire to chew and suck on the meaty chunks, a desire that Eames finds bizarre and disturbing.
But that’s only because Eames protests any instance of his extra pounds being the center of attention-hasn’t been shirtless in front of another person in months, is currently trying to diet and exercise to find that Greek-god physique he once had.
Arthur’s been passive-aggressively thwarting these plans very subtly with modes of distraction that involve sex with sugary food for props. But he does this only because they aren’t in their twenties anymore and they are retired from kill-or-be-killed existences so it’s time to be happy and comfortable together goddammit-wasn’t the point of not dying all those times bullets were flying was so they could get old and fat?
Usually when Arthur asks this, Eames rolls his eyes and dares Arthur to get fat and see how he feels. Arthur’s answer is that he will, one day; he’s just always had a fast metabolism, but you won’t catch him on a treadmill ever again. As far as Arthur is concerned, he has played the field and chosen someone to be with for the rest of his life; he isn’t such a jackass that he expects Eames to stay fit while he lets himself go.
Eames thinks Arthur can only say that because he’s been blessed with a body type that society accepts. Arthur’s made it his mission to prove he will love Eames no matter what size or shape he is-though here lately, he’s finding that this softer version of his lover is thrilling in a lot more ways than the forger’s standard washboard abs had been.
More to love sounds like something people only say to soften the fat-boy jibe, but Arthur is finding that it’s true. Even now, after how many years together, he still wants more of Eames, in absolutely any way he can get, and these new doughy bits surprisingly provide that in a physical way....plus there is something about it that’s so...domesticated that Arthur can’t be sad that their prime is falling behind them. He just doesn’t care about the waist line so much, and it scares him that Eames does.
His skin is still hot from his scalding shower. As Arthur’s hands skate lightly over the mushy curves and his finger dips into the deep well of his bellybutton, Arthur trails his lips across Eames’ warm broad shoulders and he smiles, catches Eames’ shy smile in the mirror. He's rinsing now, after pushing the brush around his mouth haphazardly and scraping it over his tongue in the way that makes Arthur want to tell him to redo it the right way, but he has no ground. Eames has all his teeth and his breath is never repulsive-Arthur has learned better than to ask for more than that. If Eames brushes his teeth the right way then he won’t taste right for the rest of the day.
With a loud spit that speckles the mirror-he will clean it later-Eames drops the brush back into the jar and turns to face him, tugging at the shirt. “What are you playing at, taking my clean clothes?”
Arthur grins, squeezes the flesh under his hands and gives Eames the look. They’ve been together for so long, Arthur never has to say he wants sex, he just puts on his bedroom eyes and smirks and it’s there as if he has said it, I want to fuck you, Eames. Right now.
Eames’ lips part and he scoots up onto the counter. What are you waiting for, darling?
Arthur pushes the bathroom door shut, and the residual steam and the smell of their body wash closes in thick around them. Eames’ heels hook around Arthur when he steps between his knees and the man laughs, “If I have to be naked, love, then so do you,” he says, stripping the shirt from Arthur’s pale body.
He has more sharp angles than when they dated, cursed in the opposite direction as his partner. Without regular work-outs and mean diets, then he is skin and bones and freckles. Eames imagines Arthur is as perfect as he once was so doesn't see this, just like he doesn’t see that being a little soft on the outside is really all Arthur was waiting for-for the outside to match the inside.
“Ahh, hmm, we don’t--have time--for All Naked Full Out, Eames,” Arthur says between kisses. “You remember what day it is?”
“’Course,” Eames says, heels digging into Arthur’s thighs so that his growing erection is smothered in the soft cotton of exercise pants, at the hot seam between his legs where he is getting hard as well. His breath and his fingers are warm on Arthur’s body.
Despite himself, the slighter man pushes his fingers along aptly named love-handles, slides hands hungrily beneath the elastic to knead at hot buttocks, teasing along the crevice before tugging the clothes out of the way. Eames lifts himself so that Arthur can strip him, and then he crushes Arthur to him in a strong hold. He might be soft in the middle, but his biceps are still the same tattooed guns that had initially won Arthur over and there is no escaping this hold. But there is no need to-like Arthur said, they don’t have a lot of time, so this is All Naked Fast-And-Dirty.
Eames hums against his lips as Arthur leaves a bruising kiss while wrapping his long fingers around both their erections. He hums again as Arthur starts to stroke the underside of his cock until they are both hard and leaking. With his other hand, he fumbles the bottles on the counter until he has the proper one open.
“Hmm, yes, do it now. Now, darling, unngh,” he says as Arthur’s slicked fingers penetrate him. Eames’ arms tighten around him, and he bites into Arthur’s shoulder even as he forces himself to relax around the prodding digits. Eames’ gasps are hot and short on Arthur’s skin, and his lips are moist and ticklish as he forgets how to suck, falling apart so quickly and completely just from Arthur’s fingers.
“Fuck, Eames,” Arthur growls reverently, biting Eames' ear. He gets a whimper from that which makes Arthur’s body tremble. He quickens his pace because another wanton noise like that is going to finish him before he even gets to start. “Eames,” he pants heavily. The thick air is not breathable, and he feels sweat forming on his skin. “God, let me-here,”
Eames spreads his legs as far as he can, and Arthur pushes inside, going onto his toes to give himself the proper leverage. Eames moans and clutches around Arthur, and Arthur stutters for breath, digs his fingers into the soft hips that started all this as he begins to move.
It can’t be comfortable for Eames on the counter like he is, but it’s the location that’s helping them both. It’s been too long since they’ve been able to sex it up outside of the bedroom. Eames will have marks on his backside from the edge of the sink, and Arthur will have the rough bite of the counter’s edge across his thighs where he rocks so hard and desperately into the cut marble, but it’s all so good.
Eames wraps himself around Arthur tightly, smothering him, trying to just melt right into him, and Arthur tries to melt right back, and their sounds are too loud in the weird acoustics of the bathroom, and they try to be quiet, biting into each other’s shoulders and grunting when they want to shout.
Arthur can feel the end coming like a slow wave building in his lower stomach, and Eames’ length in his hand is hot and throbbing, and the way Eames’ grunts have a soft whine at the beginning promise that he’s just as close.
“We almost have it, come on, baby,” Arthur gasps. Eames nods and drops his head back. Arthur feels the burn in his legs from being on his toes too long, thrusts harder and buries his lips in the hollow of Eames’ neck. Eames’ thick fingers comb into his hair and pull as the wave hits him first. He tenses and chokes.
Arthur grunts at the pain on his tender scalp, but the sensation sends electricity through him that drives him harder, faster. He continues stroking Eames through his release until the bigger man, “Ah, ah, ah,” grunts against the shocks to his over sensitive cock only a few times before the waves break on Arthur too.
The sound Eames makes as he is filled with Arthur’s come is almost enough to start Arthur up again right there. But he’ll need ten or fifteen minutes before that can actually happen, and the morning doesn’t belong to them. He decides to hold onto the delicious note and use it again tonight, when they will have time for All Naked Full Out Marathon.
They soften together as they clean up. Eames puts his shirt on, but not before Arthur gives his fluffy parts a loving pop with the flat of his hand that makes Eames grin despite himself. Arthur jumps into the shower and by the time he is out and dressed for the day, Eames has wakened and dressed their son for the first day of school.
Christopher is focusing too much on his Honey Nut Cheerios, and his Iron Man sneakers flash red lights every time his heels bounce off the legs of the chair in an anxious fashion. Eames is sitting across from him with the Captain America back pack open, trying to get the Thor lunch box to fit in next to the neatly folded Hulk hoodie and enough snacks to feed the entire kindergarden class. Chris had decided while school shopping last week that he wouldn’t be scared if he went to school with the avengers.
He looks so grown up that Arthur can’t really breathe. He clears his throat and puts on a broad smile that hides the ache as he asks,
“Alright, champ, are you excited?”
There is a beat, and then, “YEAH!” Chris yells, nearly upsetting his half-filled bowl. Eames looks up from the red zipper he is closing, and on his face is a mixture of pride and pain. It had been him last week to teach Chris about beating fear back with war-cries.
Arthur chuckles and stoops over the back of the chair to tickle the boy and leave a crown of kisses that are totally unwarranted for the six year old, who squeals and squirms and says, “Hey don’t mess up my hair!”
Eames howls with laughter, as he does every time the boy parrots one of them like that. Arthur sticks his tongue between his teeth and smiles. “Alright, Casanova, I’m sorry. Here,” he helps smooth the soft brown hair. “Now you’ll knock ‘em dead. Won’t he, Daddy?”
“Sharp dressed man you are,” Eames concurs. Then he straightens with his ear cocked toward the road. He looks outside and takes a sudden deep breath, puts on a smile as broad and concealing as the one Arthur still wears. “There’s the bus!”
“You sure you don’t want us to drop you off today?” Arthur can’t help but ask. Eames catches his eye but doesn’t smirk. If Arthur hadn’t asked, he would have despite the promise they had made to each other and Chris that they wouldn’t be those parents today, all hovering and neurotic as the child takes the first step out of the nest.
But damn it’s hard not to be.
As they file out of the house, and Chris gets a look at the big yellow bus that is slowing to a stop at the end of their road, he looks for a second like he might accept their offer, but then his little jaw sets forward and his nostrils flare.
“Nope. I’m okay on my own, guys.”
Eames and Arthur look quickly at each other, and Arthur grips Eames’ elbow.
“Don’t forget your bag, darling,” Eames says quickly, remembering the weight in his hand just in time. He goes to a knee and helps Chris get in the straps before the bus opens its door. Chris throws his arms around Eames, and there are tears in the man’s eyes as he says, “Oh, I love you. Have fun today, yeah?”
Arthur bends down for his turn, and remembers not to squeeze the life out of the small frame like he wants to. He wants to keep him close, and not let go. His heart is beating too fast and too near the top of his throat to allow speech. Eames has to stroke his spine to remind him that the bus is waiting.
“Sorry-uh. Love you, champ. See you when you get home.” He gives Chris a little guiding push toward the bus. The driver is sitting patiently, a small smile on her face as she watches. Arthur schools his face to hide his emotions and waves at her. Chris turns to see and takes a loud breath before putting one foot in front of the other and walking away from them, onto the bus.
Eames grabs Arthur and holds tightly as they watch the little man climb the steps.
“Be good!” Arthur calls, his mind racing with ideas about war cries and abandoned karate lessons and generally the slew of trouble-making Chris is known for.
“Yes, especially to the fat kids!” Eames hollers with a hand cupped around his smiling mouth.
Arthur digs an elbow into the man’s soft side, snorting and laughing. “Eames, Jesus-“
“What?” Eames asks innocently, locking his arms around Arthur’s frame. “We fat kids are allowed to say fat kids.”
“Eames,” Arthur groans before cupping a hand around his own mouth and calling weakly through his tears and laughter, “Be nice to everyone!“ but the bus is already rolling away and they can’t see which seat Chris is in.
When the sound of the rumbling engine fades, the men are left in silent suburbia in each other’s arms.
“Fuck I miss him already."
Eames kisses Arthur’s neck and the thin man sags into him. “Hmm. Just eight hours and he’ll be home with a million stories to tell us and a note pinned to his shirt from his teacher about, I don’t know, eating paste or running in the class room, or summat.”
Arthur chuckles. “It’s been six years since we’ve had eight hours in a row without him, though.”
“Hmm-hmm,” Eames says with a special tone. “And you remember what we used to do for hours before we got him?”
Arthur hums, feeling Eames come alive behind him. He starts leading Eames into the house before they are both standing in the driveway with hard-ons like a couple of perverts. “One of us has work, remember?”
“Sick day-major family event-you just can’t go in today, love, end of story.”
“Okay fine. But only because it’s high time I got to see your sweet ass bent over the couch again-like when we first moved in. Gah,” Arthur’s cock jumps in his pants at the memory slotting in next to Eames’ noises from the bathroom only an hour ago. “Why did we stop being wild just because we got Chris? Babysitters were invented for a reason.”
“I got fat.”
“You’re not fat.”
“I am a little bit, darling.”
“Yeah, and I love it, okay?” Arthur fairly snaps, hands sneaking under the t-shirt he’d worn so briefly himself this morning. “Seriously, Mr. Eames- do whatever you need to stay happy and healthy, I’m not saying get obese or anything, just don’t kill yourself over a few extra pounds, because every curve you got turns me on like crazy.”
Eames grins, bashful. “Really?”
Arthur bumps noses with him. “Really.”
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fin.
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