Fic: A Knight's Tale
Title: A Knight's Tale
Summary: AU, Eames is wounded in a skirmish, and needs an escort back to his Order's House of Healing. Arthur is up to the job and knows exactly how to make him feel better.
Rating: Explicit
Fandom: Inception (movie) Arthur/Eames
It was a cold dim morning. Silky grey clouds oozed across the sky, blocked out the rising sun and cast everything in an uninviting misty light. With their raspy voices sounding harsh and menacing in the frozen stillness, crows called joyously to each other as they flew overhead, making a game of early morning tag before going about the business only crows know about.
Bare branches of slumbering winter trees creaked and swayed stiffly as the wind slithered around them. In the distance, the echo of branches breaking off and crashing through the canopy, created a ruckus that would rattle even the heaviest of sleepers.
But, the knight was not a heavy sleeper. He had been awake and sitting up for nearly an hour; leaning into the curve of a broad tree trunk, wrapped in his thin blanket and listening to the dark woods come alive around him.
Eames stuck a hand out of his warm cocoon to touch the hilt of his sword which lay encased in its scabbard by his side. It had become a ritual to him in that he had to know where his weapon was at all times. Some men checked to see if they were still men with their hands in their groins. Eames only took comfort in the fact that he was still armed.
Nothing else much mattered.
He stroked a gloved fingertip over the leather bound grip and curled his fingers about it, relishing the familiar feel as each ridge and bump eased into place. He squeezed it briefly and then let go, tucking his hand back beneath the folds of the blanket. It was much too cold and he wasn’t exactly willing or ready to face the day. At least not just yet.
A small fire burned low in the hastily dug pit and Eames stretched his long legs out towards it, pulling his blanket tighter about his chest. When he moved his shoulder, he winced at the dull throb of pain creeping into his bones again.
He worked his shoulder in an awkward circular motion. The pain wasn’t as bad as it had been when he was first wounded a few days ago, so he clenched his teeth and tried to work through it. If he thought about it, he could still feel the wicked snick of a thick blade piercing him just beyond the edge of his shoulder blade, right where the sleeve of his heavy cloth tunic was bound to the vest. It hadn’t taken him completely, but it had slow him down.
His knight party had gone ahead, hoping to reach their destination by nightfall, but because riding only worsened Eames’ wounds, and with the threat of infection looming in his future, he broke ranks to return to the Healing Houses of the Order. His squire had been killed in the skirmish, so one other brother of his Order accompanied him on his solo trip.
Eames let his head loll against the trunk and surveyed his surroundings.
His brother's sleeping pad was empty, and his things were neatly packed. And, there was a fire. Soon there would be breakfast. So he knew the man would still be in the area somewhere. Rubbing his itchy eyes, Eames spotted his brother standing some thirty yards away, standing motionless amongst the trees. He was holding his long bow at a very odd angle between the ground and the sky and Eames frowned, wondering what it was he hunted.
Airborne stag?
After a moment, the man tucked the bow under his arm.
So he hadn’t been hunting after all.
“I bet you can’t hit that tree from ten paces, Arthur!” he called out.
His voice echoed amongst the trees. Dressed in a thick jerkin, shirt, heavy trousers and boots, Arthur smiled a bit to himself. He did not turn around.
He laughed at Eames’ absurd challenge.
“Go back to sleep, my Lord Eames!” he yelled back. “Your mind is still fogged.”
Eames chuckled. He loved getting a rise out of his friend.
“And *you* are as blind as a man who’s stuck in a deep well…” echoed his teasing reply.
Arthur snorted.
“At night!” Eames finished. “With no moon by which to see!”
Without warning, Arthur whipped around, freed his bow and with a twist, he took aim and let loose.
Eames had barely finished breathing out the last syllable of his taunt when a shower of wet bark and snow fell upon him. Only then did he flinch, but the arrow had already found his mark several centimeters above his shaggy head. When he ventured to look up at the still quivering arrow, Arthur was already laughing and walking towards him.
Eames gingerly folded his arms over his chest and glowered as the man came closer.
Arthur saw the scowl on Eames’ face and it only made him laugh harder.
“As I said, your mind was fogged, Eames,” he said fondly. “You asked for it.”
Arthur reached down and jerked the arrow from the tree. He tapped the top of Eames’ head with one of the flat sides of the bodkin before inspecting its integrity and then dropping the arrow back into his quiver.
Eames grumbled and grabbed Arthur’s wrist, heaving him forward and off balance so that he fell into the side of the tree and then to his knees in front of him.
“I didn’t expect for you to use me as target practice!” he growled, still holding onto Arthur’s wrist.
Arthur rubbed his abraded forehead where he’d smacked into the rough bark. There was no blood, but the skin had been torn.
“Had I used you for target practice, Eames, my arrow would have struck much lower!” he barked with irritation and with his free hand, he immediately struck Eames’ wounded shoulder.
Eames howled in agony and the birds that had been resting in the branches above startled and flew off screaming their annoyance. He grabbed his shoulder and Arthur slipped away from him.
Arthur watched him for a moment and then went back to him to tend to whatever damage he might have done. Eames sat there and let him poke and prod his shoulder. Satisfied that Eames was not any more injured, Arthur sighed and sat back on his haunches.
“You are not hurt, Eames,” he said with a smile.
“Yet, you wound me, Arthur,” he murmured looking up at Arthur with dark eyes.
Warm hands came up to cup Eames’ cold cheeks.
“Do I wound you, Eames?” he purred, drawing closer and pressing a kiss to his lips. “Do I?”
Arthur gave him another kiss, followed by another until Eames had completely relaxed against the tree and feeling quite warm all of a sudden.
“I am wounded!” he protested, groaning as he lifted his shoulder to show just how wounded he was.
Arthur’s smile softened and he shook the bark from Eames’s hair.
“I have failed in my duties to protect you,” he murmured cheekily, gently touching Eames’ shoulder.
“You need to make it up to me, Arthur,” Eames said flippantly, giving Arthur a hard look.
Anticipation flared in whiskey coloured eyes as they widened minutely and a smile curled the corner of a soft pink mouth. They had played this particular game before.
“And what is it that you require of your fellow brother?” came his usual response, to which Eames merely cocked a single dark brow- his usual response.
Arthur’s smile broadened. Leaning in close, so that their noses were touching, Arthur whispered, “We are brothers in this war, Eames. We are.”
He brushed his lips across Eames’ cold mouth and lightly nipped at his bottom lip before sucking it between his own lips. Eames made a small noise of frustration in his throat and Arthur pushed his knee between his thighs.
“Impatient, aren’t we,” Arthur snickered against his lips, and then kissed him more intently, deeply, widening his knees to spread Eames’ legs even more.
Eames lifted his good hand and carded his fingers into Arthur's messy hair. He absolutely loved the soft feel of it between his fingers and always found an excuse to pet him like a beloved animal.
“Yes,” he whispered as Arthur took his mouth harder still, desperately seeking the heat of Eames' sweet mouth, plunging his tongue into his heat in an attempt to devour him completely.
Eames hissed in a breath when stars exploded behind his eyes as Arthur began a slow agonizing stroke along the healthy bulge in the front of his trousers.
Eames pushed his head back against the tree; for it had been so long since Arthur had touched him this way and it was more than he could take. He closed his eyes just concentrating on breathing and the wicked twisting of the hand on his erection. Arthur moved with him, keeping their mouths together, kissing him possessively stroking and sucking at Eames’ tongue every time it pushed into his own mouth.
Eames moaned softly at first and then louder when Arthur took his sighs of pleasure as encouragement to increase the speed of his hand.
“Oh, oh... yes!”
“Yes?” Arthur breathed against his mouth, arching his body over Eames just enough to get a better grip on his slippery cock.
“Yes…” Eames gasped.
Arthur lowered his mouth to suck and nip at Eames' ear.
“You are quite a whore to let me touch you this way, my Lord Eames,” Arthur growled, placing sucking wet kisses to his cheek and temple. “Such a dirty whore…”
Those words tore at his self control; so filthy yet so apt.
A hot spike of pleasure stabbed through Eames and he arched, thrusting his hips up into Arthur’s slick tight fist, over and over and over until he came spurting into Arthur's eager hand.
“Arthur…” he groaned as Arthur merely kissed his warm face and then used a soft cloth to wipe him clean.
He rested his forehead against Eames’ forehead and closed his eyes, hoping to regain his equilibrium enough to stand. Still feeling shaky, Arthur climbed to his feet and smiled down at Eames.
“Come, we’ll have breakfast and have you back at the Order to have your wounds examined.”
Still breathing hard and with his eyes still closed, Eames nodded.
"And then I will return the favor, my brother," he said peeking up at him with one eye.
Arthur watched him a moment longer and then brushed his hand fondly over Eames’ hair. He couldn’t ask for a better man to be attached to - no better man to love.
"I will wait with bated breath."
"Cheeky dog," Eames grumbled.
Arthur chuckled to himself and went about preparing breakfast for the two of them.
end
Summary: AU, Eames is wounded in a skirmish, and needs an escort back to his Order's House of Healing. Arthur is up to the job and knows exactly how to make him feel better.
Rating: Explicit
Fandom: Inception (movie) Arthur/Eames
It was a cold dim morning. Silky grey clouds oozed across the sky, blocked out the rising sun and cast everything in an uninviting misty light. With their raspy voices sounding harsh and menacing in the frozen stillness, crows called joyously to each other as they flew overhead, making a game of early morning tag before going about the business only crows know about.
Bare branches of slumbering winter trees creaked and swayed stiffly as the wind slithered around them. In the distance, the echo of branches breaking off and crashing through the canopy, created a ruckus that would rattle even the heaviest of sleepers.
But, the knight was not a heavy sleeper. He had been awake and sitting up for nearly an hour; leaning into the curve of a broad tree trunk, wrapped in his thin blanket and listening to the dark woods come alive around him.
Eames stuck a hand out of his warm cocoon to touch the hilt of his sword which lay encased in its scabbard by his side. It had become a ritual to him in that he had to know where his weapon was at all times. Some men checked to see if they were still men with their hands in their groins. Eames only took comfort in the fact that he was still armed.
Nothing else much mattered.
He stroked a gloved fingertip over the leather bound grip and curled his fingers about it, relishing the familiar feel as each ridge and bump eased into place. He squeezed it briefly and then let go, tucking his hand back beneath the folds of the blanket. It was much too cold and he wasn’t exactly willing or ready to face the day. At least not just yet.
A small fire burned low in the hastily dug pit and Eames stretched his long legs out towards it, pulling his blanket tighter about his chest. When he moved his shoulder, he winced at the dull throb of pain creeping into his bones again.
He worked his shoulder in an awkward circular motion. The pain wasn’t as bad as it had been when he was first wounded a few days ago, so he clenched his teeth and tried to work through it. If he thought about it, he could still feel the wicked snick of a thick blade piercing him just beyond the edge of his shoulder blade, right where the sleeve of his heavy cloth tunic was bound to the vest. It hadn’t taken him completely, but it had slow him down.
His knight party had gone ahead, hoping to reach their destination by nightfall, but because riding only worsened Eames’ wounds, and with the threat of infection looming in his future, he broke ranks to return to the Healing Houses of the Order. His squire had been killed in the skirmish, so one other brother of his Order accompanied him on his solo trip.
Eames let his head loll against the trunk and surveyed his surroundings.
His brother's sleeping pad was empty, and his things were neatly packed. And, there was a fire. Soon there would be breakfast. So he knew the man would still be in the area somewhere. Rubbing his itchy eyes, Eames spotted his brother standing some thirty yards away, standing motionless amongst the trees. He was holding his long bow at a very odd angle between the ground and the sky and Eames frowned, wondering what it was he hunted.
Airborne stag?
After a moment, the man tucked the bow under his arm.
So he hadn’t been hunting after all.
“I bet you can’t hit that tree from ten paces, Arthur!” he called out.
His voice echoed amongst the trees. Dressed in a thick jerkin, shirt, heavy trousers and boots, Arthur smiled a bit to himself. He did not turn around.
He laughed at Eames’ absurd challenge.
“Go back to sleep, my Lord Eames!” he yelled back. “Your mind is still fogged.”
Eames chuckled. He loved getting a rise out of his friend.
“And *you* are as blind as a man who’s stuck in a deep well…” echoed his teasing reply.
Arthur snorted.
“At night!” Eames finished. “With no moon by which to see!”
Without warning, Arthur whipped around, freed his bow and with a twist, he took aim and let loose.
Eames had barely finished breathing out the last syllable of his taunt when a shower of wet bark and snow fell upon him. Only then did he flinch, but the arrow had already found his mark several centimeters above his shaggy head. When he ventured to look up at the still quivering arrow, Arthur was already laughing and walking towards him.
Eames gingerly folded his arms over his chest and glowered as the man came closer.
Arthur saw the scowl on Eames’ face and it only made him laugh harder.
“As I said, your mind was fogged, Eames,” he said fondly. “You asked for it.”
Arthur reached down and jerked the arrow from the tree. He tapped the top of Eames’ head with one of the flat sides of the bodkin before inspecting its integrity and then dropping the arrow back into his quiver.
Eames grumbled and grabbed Arthur’s wrist, heaving him forward and off balance so that he fell into the side of the tree and then to his knees in front of him.
“I didn’t expect for you to use me as target practice!” he growled, still holding onto Arthur’s wrist.
Arthur rubbed his abraded forehead where he’d smacked into the rough bark. There was no blood, but the skin had been torn.
“Had I used you for target practice, Eames, my arrow would have struck much lower!” he barked with irritation and with his free hand, he immediately struck Eames’ wounded shoulder.
Eames howled in agony and the birds that had been resting in the branches above startled and flew off screaming their annoyance. He grabbed his shoulder and Arthur slipped away from him.
Arthur watched him for a moment and then went back to him to tend to whatever damage he might have done. Eames sat there and let him poke and prod his shoulder. Satisfied that Eames was not any more injured, Arthur sighed and sat back on his haunches.
“You are not hurt, Eames,” he said with a smile.
“Yet, you wound me, Arthur,” he murmured looking up at Arthur with dark eyes.
Warm hands came up to cup Eames’ cold cheeks.
“Do I wound you, Eames?” he purred, drawing closer and pressing a kiss to his lips. “Do I?”
Arthur gave him another kiss, followed by another until Eames had completely relaxed against the tree and feeling quite warm all of a sudden.
“I am wounded!” he protested, groaning as he lifted his shoulder to show just how wounded he was.
Arthur’s smile softened and he shook the bark from Eames’s hair.
“I have failed in my duties to protect you,” he murmured cheekily, gently touching Eames’ shoulder.
“You need to make it up to me, Arthur,” Eames said flippantly, giving Arthur a hard look.
Anticipation flared in whiskey coloured eyes as they widened minutely and a smile curled the corner of a soft pink mouth. They had played this particular game before.
“And what is it that you require of your fellow brother?” came his usual response, to which Eames merely cocked a single dark brow- his usual response.
Arthur’s smile broadened. Leaning in close, so that their noses were touching, Arthur whispered, “We are brothers in this war, Eames. We are.”
He brushed his lips across Eames’ cold mouth and lightly nipped at his bottom lip before sucking it between his own lips. Eames made a small noise of frustration in his throat and Arthur pushed his knee between his thighs.
“Impatient, aren’t we,” Arthur snickered against his lips, and then kissed him more intently, deeply, widening his knees to spread Eames’ legs even more.
Eames lifted his good hand and carded his fingers into Arthur's messy hair. He absolutely loved the soft feel of it between his fingers and always found an excuse to pet him like a beloved animal.
“Yes,” he whispered as Arthur took his mouth harder still, desperately seeking the heat of Eames' sweet mouth, plunging his tongue into his heat in an attempt to devour him completely.
Eames hissed in a breath when stars exploded behind his eyes as Arthur began a slow agonizing stroke along the healthy bulge in the front of his trousers.
Eames pushed his head back against the tree; for it had been so long since Arthur had touched him this way and it was more than he could take. He closed his eyes just concentrating on breathing and the wicked twisting of the hand on his erection. Arthur moved with him, keeping their mouths together, kissing him possessively stroking and sucking at Eames’ tongue every time it pushed into his own mouth.
Eames moaned softly at first and then louder when Arthur took his sighs of pleasure as encouragement to increase the speed of his hand.
“Oh, oh... yes!”
“Yes?” Arthur breathed against his mouth, arching his body over Eames just enough to get a better grip on his slippery cock.
“Yes…” Eames gasped.
Arthur lowered his mouth to suck and nip at Eames' ear.
“You are quite a whore to let me touch you this way, my Lord Eames,” Arthur growled, placing sucking wet kisses to his cheek and temple. “Such a dirty whore…”
Those words tore at his self control; so filthy yet so apt.
A hot spike of pleasure stabbed through Eames and he arched, thrusting his hips up into Arthur’s slick tight fist, over and over and over until he came spurting into Arthur's eager hand.
“Arthur…” he groaned as Arthur merely kissed his warm face and then used a soft cloth to wipe him clean.
He rested his forehead against Eames’ forehead and closed his eyes, hoping to regain his equilibrium enough to stand. Still feeling shaky, Arthur climbed to his feet and smiled down at Eames.
“Come, we’ll have breakfast and have you back at the Order to have your wounds examined.”
Still breathing hard and with his eyes still closed, Eames nodded.
"And then I will return the favor, my brother," he said peeking up at him with one eye.
Arthur watched him a moment longer and then brushed his hand fondly over Eames’ hair. He couldn’t ask for a better man to be attached to - no better man to love.
"I will wait with bated breath."
"Cheeky dog," Eames grumbled.
Arthur chuckled to himself and went about preparing breakfast for the two of them.
end