Fic: Pay My Respects to Grace and Virtue
Title: Pay My Respects to Grace and Virtue
Author: HeliosHyperion
Team: ROMANCE
Prompt: Naked
Word count: 1,050
Rating: R/NC-17
Warnings: Sex
Title taken from The Killer's "Human."
This is the sequel to Don't Come to Paris, Arthur's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, and The Teenage Queen, the Loaded Gun.
And one last note: Things get a little British in this, and while I did some research into how this works, I tried to make things very general and I'm sure they are wrong. Also, there are references to New York as well, and I have no idea.
Pay My Respects to Grace and Virtue
Hyperion
The study, Eames had assured him, was never used. Arthur had been inclined to believe him, as he had made Eames dust the desk with the maid’s feather duster before Arthur deigned to be laid across it. Eames had enthusiastically spent twenty minutes searching the maid’s closet for it, because Arthur had promised to wear the sash.
Eames had let slip to his mother that he was visiting Arthur’s parents, and she had eloquently guilt-tripped him into changing his flight plans to bring Arthur to meet her and Eames’ father. Arthur had felt bum-rushed at the time, still did, but Eames had promised him many things to cheer him up. Things like cleaning their apartment and paying for dinner every once and a while.
And while Eames’ mother had insinuated that she might die before meeting Arthur - every sniffle was her death of cold - she had had prior engagements that could not be broken, so Eames and Arthur had arrived at his parents’ mansion alone and had the house to themselves for a few hours. “We might die before the next time we have a chance to fuck,” Eames had said, completely ignoring the fact that he was using his mother’s favorite line.
So there was Arthur, in the sash at Eames’ insistence, splayed across the oak desk, one leg hooked over Eames’ shoulder as Eames drove into him and stroked his cock. It felt great. They hadn’t had a chance to have relaxing, deep fuck with no rush and no interruptions, not since Arthur had answered his father’s phone call. Arthur felt like he had been aching for weeks and was just now getting relief. With the job, the constant interruptions, the visit from his father, finishing the job, visiting Arthur’s family, they just hadn’t had the time to concentrate on each other.
Eames was loving it from his position too. He wasn’t going to complain about shoving Arthur into a closet for a quickie or bending him over the back of the couch in the morning before they leave for work, but it was delightful to be able to take his time. He could watch Arthur writhe and practically purr from this position. He could take his time. He could play with Arthur’s sash. Arthur had had to explain that “Peekskill High School Homecoming King” wasn’t a pageant title, much to Eames’ dismay. But Eames decided that he was flexible enough to work with it.
Arthur came, hand clasped around the one Eames’ had on Arthur’s cock, and that was enough to send Eames over too. Eames swore and growled and declared his love of Arthur and Arthur’s ass. When he had finally emptied weeks’ worth of frustration into Arthur, he saw the beautiful display of Arthur, slightly pink and a little sweaty, his sash dotted with come.
“That desk belonged to my father,” a cool voice chided.
Arthur was so thoroughly exhausted that all he could do was turn his head at an awkward angle and see a blonde man standing in the door, younger than Eames, narrower, but with a familiar pout. He looked a little like Eames did when Arthur pointed out that his plan wasn’t going to work.
“I’m sure the late Lord Woolton won’t mind,” Eames said, not moving an inch.
“The current Lord Woolton does.”
“Not his desk, though. It’s my mother’s desk now.”
“Are you going to introduce your little American boyfriend to me?”
Eames didn’t look down at Arthur as he said, “Alexander, my boyfriend Arthur. Arthur, my cousin Little Lord Fathead, Earl of Woolton.”
“You’re such a prick, John,” Alexander complained. “And don’t think that I’m not telling your mother.”
“She won’t mind either. Should have seen the state of this desk. Obviously not as important to her as it is to you.”
Alexander lifted his chin and crossed his arms. “Don’t know why my father left you lot his vacation home, anyway.”
“Don’t know why your father passed his title on to you instead of begging the Queen to take it back.”
Rolling his eyes, Alexander scoffed. “Bet your boyfriend doesn’t even know what he’s supposed to do with an Earl.”
“I don’t actually have to do anything, considering I’m an American,” Arthur replied. “But, if I want to be polite, I can bow my head and address you by your title.”
Obviously, Alexander hadn’t expected that answer. He inclined his head approvingly, eyes traveling over Arthur’s still prone body. “Well,” he said, “I suppose the fact that you’ve somehow managed to bag a king counts for something. Anyway, I just came by because Aunt Marian and Uncle Charles asked me to make sure that you weren’t left alone, as it was really rude not to be here when you arrived. Carry on, I suppose. There’s a tapestry around here somewhere that belonged to my great-great-grandmother if you want to continue spoiling family heirlooms.”
“Is that the one hanging in the hallway on the second floor?” Eames asked. “I think it’ll give Arthur here a terribly sexy rug burn. Thank you for the suggestion.”
Alexander glared and left. He called from down the hallway, “I’m opening your mother’s sherry and drinking it all, you might care to know.”
Eames was so soft that Arthur felt the gentlest of tugs when he pulled out. Arthur sat up, wincing at the thought of Eames’ come leaking out of him and onto an antique desk, and one that obviously meant so much to someone. “Okay, so,” he began, “you know how my parents think that we’re serious and having kids and settling down soon?”
Eames was once again distracted by the sash, running his fingers underneath the satin. “Yeah, pet?”
“When it happens, we are putting a private island on our wedding registry so that Saito will buy it for us, and then we can honeymoon all alone so that we are guaranteed no interruptions.”
“Sounds like a perfectly reasonable plan to me,” Eames agreed.
“For today, however, I suppose there’s no chance that Little Lord Fathead isn’t going to tell your parents about all of this?”
Eames kissed Arthur’s nose. “No chance. But, once my mother has her part of the sherry, she’ll think it’s the funniest thing she’s heard all evening.”
As an aside, I'm planning on continuing this and the sexy, fighty stories. Anyone wanting to keep up with them is welcome to friend me, but I will also post them on eames_arthur. You have all been superfantastic and I'm really going to miss this.
Author: HeliosHyperion
Team: ROMANCE
Prompt: Naked
Word count: 1,050
Rating: R/NC-17
Warnings: Sex
Title taken from The Killer's "Human."
This is the sequel to Don't Come to Paris, Arthur's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, and The Teenage Queen, the Loaded Gun.
And one last note: Things get a little British in this, and while I did some research into how this works, I tried to make things very general and I'm sure they are wrong. Also, there are references to New York as well, and I have no idea.
Pay My Respects to Grace and Virtue
Hyperion
The study, Eames had assured him, was never used. Arthur had been inclined to believe him, as he had made Eames dust the desk with the maid’s feather duster before Arthur deigned to be laid across it. Eames had enthusiastically spent twenty minutes searching the maid’s closet for it, because Arthur had promised to wear the sash.
Eames had let slip to his mother that he was visiting Arthur’s parents, and she had eloquently guilt-tripped him into changing his flight plans to bring Arthur to meet her and Eames’ father. Arthur had felt bum-rushed at the time, still did, but Eames had promised him many things to cheer him up. Things like cleaning their apartment and paying for dinner every once and a while.
And while Eames’ mother had insinuated that she might die before meeting Arthur - every sniffle was her death of cold - she had had prior engagements that could not be broken, so Eames and Arthur had arrived at his parents’ mansion alone and had the house to themselves for a few hours. “We might die before the next time we have a chance to fuck,” Eames had said, completely ignoring the fact that he was using his mother’s favorite line.
So there was Arthur, in the sash at Eames’ insistence, splayed across the oak desk, one leg hooked over Eames’ shoulder as Eames drove into him and stroked his cock. It felt great. They hadn’t had a chance to have relaxing, deep fuck with no rush and no interruptions, not since Arthur had answered his father’s phone call. Arthur felt like he had been aching for weeks and was just now getting relief. With the job, the constant interruptions, the visit from his father, finishing the job, visiting Arthur’s family, they just hadn’t had the time to concentrate on each other.
Eames was loving it from his position too. He wasn’t going to complain about shoving Arthur into a closet for a quickie or bending him over the back of the couch in the morning before they leave for work, but it was delightful to be able to take his time. He could watch Arthur writhe and practically purr from this position. He could take his time. He could play with Arthur’s sash. Arthur had had to explain that “Peekskill High School Homecoming King” wasn’t a pageant title, much to Eames’ dismay. But Eames decided that he was flexible enough to work with it.
Arthur came, hand clasped around the one Eames’ had on Arthur’s cock, and that was enough to send Eames over too. Eames swore and growled and declared his love of Arthur and Arthur’s ass. When he had finally emptied weeks’ worth of frustration into Arthur, he saw the beautiful display of Arthur, slightly pink and a little sweaty, his sash dotted with come.
“That desk belonged to my father,” a cool voice chided.
Arthur was so thoroughly exhausted that all he could do was turn his head at an awkward angle and see a blonde man standing in the door, younger than Eames, narrower, but with a familiar pout. He looked a little like Eames did when Arthur pointed out that his plan wasn’t going to work.
“I’m sure the late Lord Woolton won’t mind,” Eames said, not moving an inch.
“The current Lord Woolton does.”
“Not his desk, though. It’s my mother’s desk now.”
“Are you going to introduce your little American boyfriend to me?”
Eames didn’t look down at Arthur as he said, “Alexander, my boyfriend Arthur. Arthur, my cousin Little Lord Fathead, Earl of Woolton.”
“You’re such a prick, John,” Alexander complained. “And don’t think that I’m not telling your mother.”
“She won’t mind either. Should have seen the state of this desk. Obviously not as important to her as it is to you.”
Alexander lifted his chin and crossed his arms. “Don’t know why my father left you lot his vacation home, anyway.”
“Don’t know why your father passed his title on to you instead of begging the Queen to take it back.”
Rolling his eyes, Alexander scoffed. “Bet your boyfriend doesn’t even know what he’s supposed to do with an Earl.”
“I don’t actually have to do anything, considering I’m an American,” Arthur replied. “But, if I want to be polite, I can bow my head and address you by your title.”
Obviously, Alexander hadn’t expected that answer. He inclined his head approvingly, eyes traveling over Arthur’s still prone body. “Well,” he said, “I suppose the fact that you’ve somehow managed to bag a king counts for something. Anyway, I just came by because Aunt Marian and Uncle Charles asked me to make sure that you weren’t left alone, as it was really rude not to be here when you arrived. Carry on, I suppose. There’s a tapestry around here somewhere that belonged to my great-great-grandmother if you want to continue spoiling family heirlooms.”
“Is that the one hanging in the hallway on the second floor?” Eames asked. “I think it’ll give Arthur here a terribly sexy rug burn. Thank you for the suggestion.”
Alexander glared and left. He called from down the hallway, “I’m opening your mother’s sherry and drinking it all, you might care to know.”
Eames was so soft that Arthur felt the gentlest of tugs when he pulled out. Arthur sat up, wincing at the thought of Eames’ come leaking out of him and onto an antique desk, and one that obviously meant so much to someone. “Okay, so,” he began, “you know how my parents think that we’re serious and having kids and settling down soon?”
Eames was once again distracted by the sash, running his fingers underneath the satin. “Yeah, pet?”
“When it happens, we are putting a private island on our wedding registry so that Saito will buy it for us, and then we can honeymoon all alone so that we are guaranteed no interruptions.”
“Sounds like a perfectly reasonable plan to me,” Eames agreed.
“For today, however, I suppose there’s no chance that Little Lord Fathead isn’t going to tell your parents about all of this?”
Eames kissed Arthur’s nose. “No chance. But, once my mother has her part of the sherry, she’ll think it’s the funniest thing she’s heard all evening.”
As an aside, I'm planning on continuing this and the sexy, fighty stories. Anyone wanting to keep up with them is welcome to friend me, but I will also post them on eames_arthur. You have all been superfantastic and I'm really going to miss this.