Discipline - Saito/Eames
Did this for inception_kink . I was actually supposed to be looking for another Eames/Fischer prompt to write for ruins_of_sodom , but I kind of got sidetracked by this wonderful prompt. *w* Anon offered bonus points for Saito fucking Eames silly, and well, what am I but a very obliging lady. :D
Title: Discipline
Word Count: 1920
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Saito/Eames
Rating: Mature
Warnings: nudity, strong sexual content, biting (some blood), language
Description: Saito all serious and straight-faced in a business meeting. Eames suffering silently under his desk, head in Saito's lap and mouth one inch from his still-clothed cock, very decidedly NOT giving him a blow-job, because he's been instructed not to.
<~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~>
Fuck.
He tried to control his breathing, forcing himself to breathe through his nose, slow, deep breaths. The most he could do was rest his hands on the man's knees. Earlier, when his hands had slipped up to stroke Saito's thighs, the man had grabbed him and given his hair a bloody rough yank. Eames wanted to be good for him, but it was hard.
Speaking of hard... Eames shifted under the conference table, adjusting his erection. He winced as he rubbed his palm over his crotch, a wet spot had formed, spreading quickly. Bollocks, Eames thought, resting his cheek against Saito's thigh and heaving a sigh that was audible to only himself, How bloody long are these meetings anyway?
It might have been a fun game if Saito had shown any discomfort with having Eames so close to his dick while he held his business meeting. But no, Saito was as composed and unfettered as ever, smiling cordially at his associates and guests, talking without the barest hitch in his breathing. Eames knew the man took some kind of mean, erotic glee from having him on his knees, a presence that only Saito knew was there.
Sadistic fucker.
Saito reached under the table, absently stroking the back of Eames’ head, slender fingers moving through his hair and cradling the nape of his neck. Eames shivered, but kept himself still, only allowing himself to squeeze Saito's knee softly.
Above him, Saito talked about mergers and bonds and the stock market and a wide array of boring things that Eames couldn't wrap his mind around. It was funny in a way, that they had formed some kind of tentative sexual relationship. Saito was a sharply intelligent man, building his conglomerate, investing his money shrewdly and wisely. Eames was a gambler, a roving con-man, lining his pockets with the money of saps.
None of that seemed to matter when he was pressed into Saito's lap, with the smell of him strong, with the feel of his slim, cool fingers caressing the nape of his neck. Again, Eames sighed, biting into his bottom lip as he rubbed at his cock through his trousers.
Saito gripped the back of his neck, hard enough to hurt, but when he spoke, his voice was calm and neutral. “Gentlemen, I want to thank all of you for meeting with me today. I know how busy you all are, and I greatly appreciate your time. This has been most productive.”
Eames smiled, sliding his hands from Saito's knees to his thighs, rubbing his thumbs dangerously close to his crotch. Saito stiffened, and then slowly relaxed. “However, I'd like to discuss this a little more, if you’ve the time to spare?”
Eames groaned softly, rubbing his face eagerly into Saito's thigh.
The meeting went on for another hour, Saito calmly discussing his ridiculously complicated ideas and suggestions, sitting there still and patient as the other men seated around the table offered their own in return. For an hour Eames remained motionless under the desk, mouth close enough to Saito's groin to give the material over it a good licking and sucking. However, he had been ordered not to do that, not even to touch Saito, though the man didn't seem to mind Eames’ thick hands staying at his knees.
Eames’ cock was ridiculously hard; it had stopped being pleasurable a long while before, and it was beginning to be painful. He shifted and adjusted and readjusted, but there was no helping it.
Finally, Saito ended the meeting. He rose to shake hands and clap his allies on the back, speaking to some in jovial, rushed Japanese. Eames waited, hulked under the table, as Saito bade them goodbye, closing the door behind them. Eames waited as Saito wandered to the mini-bar in his posh office. He listened to the clinking sound of ice-cubes being dropped into a glass, the familiar gluglugglug as something strong was poured.
He waited. He had not been given permission to move, and so he remained on his knees.
Finally Saito's voice called to him, “Come here.”
Eames carefully crawled out, shaking out his legs, wincing at the pins and needles that shot through the sleepy limbs. He walked to Saito with a noticeable limp. Saito smiled around the rim of his glass, reaching out and gripping the strong line of Eames’ cock, rubbing through his trousers. Eames’ jaw twitched, but he kept silent and still.
“You were a good boy,” Saito said, and Eames could never quite explain why those words thrilled him so much. He loved to please Saito, to be praised by him; it always sent a nice little flutter through his stomach. “Down,” Saito commanded.
Eames obediently returned to his knees, watching as Saito skillfully unbuttoned his trousers with one hand. His cock was pushed past the flap of his boxers and his open fly, and Eames licked his lips. His cockhead was a bit flushed, smeared with pre-come. Eames managed to keep his noises as low rumbles in his chest.
Saito chuckled, taking a long drink from his glass, before setting it aside with a satisfied sigh. His hand bunched at the back of Eames’ head, drawing him closer. “If you do a good job,” Saito said, “I’ll reward you.”
Eames eagerly slathered Saito's cock with spit, greedily and messily sucking up his pre-come. His tongue probed at the slit, his panted breath caressing the twitching sides. Saito's hand fisted and relaxed in Eames’ hair, his hips pushing forward slowly as he pulled Eames’ down on him. “Swallow me,” Saito ordered, and his servant happily obeyed, lowering on Saito's cock until his nose was pressed against his underwear. His pubic hair went up Eames’ nose, but he hardly cared. He breathed him in, grunting around Saito's cock.
The taste was salty and bitter, but Eames took Saito’s dick to the back of his throat. His hands itched to touch Saito, but he kept them fisted on his own thighs until the man gave him permission.
In the beginning, Eames had treated the encounters as a game, but Saito had made it clear that these were not games they were playing. ”A man like you,” Saito had told him, after fucking him mercilessly into his desk, ”Needs discipline. Without discipline, you’re nothing but a wild dog.”
That discipline came through their sex, through the waiting and the aching and the wanting. Eames had never been so maddened and frustrated by a person, and yet still want and need them so desperately.
“Good boy,” Saito murmured, grazing his nails over Eames’ scalp. “Come here.”
Eames lamentably lifted from Saito’s cock, giving a few licks and kisses to the flushed head. Saito stepped back from him, disrobing slowly, obviously still intent on making Eames wait for him. His dark eyes stayed on Eames’ face as he undressed, intense and powerful; Eames did not shift or fidget beneath his stare.
“On your feet,” Saito said.
Eames stood slowly.
Saito's brow quirked as he studied Eames’ crotch. “I can’t imagine you're too comfortable like that, pet.”
Eames shook his head, hands drifting to his slacks. Saito watched him fumble with his belt, chuckling quietly as Eames swore under his breath, a string of British profanity that he hardly understood. Eames finally managed to remove his belt, but his fingers still fumbled over the button of his slacks. He sighed heavily, shoving his hand through his hair and turning his eyes - strangely pleading - to Saito.
“Look at you,” Saito said, coming over and helping Eames with his pants. “You're that eager for me? Very well.” Saito shoved Eames’ pants and underwear to his knees, tersely stroking his cock before turning the man around and pressing him down on the conference table.
Just minutes earlier, there had been an imposing set of men cloistered around that table, discussing energy and stocks. And now, Eames was fucked against that table, arms splayed over the polished mahogany top, legs spread as Saito pushed inside of him.
Eames cried out, and then bit roughly into his own palm, stifling his sounds. Saito leaned down, licking his ear, “Good boy. Quiet, now.”
The businessman's hands gripped Eames’ hips as he pushed in deeper, his mouth switching to Eames’ shoulder, where he bit and sucked. Marking him. He was officially Saito's property; his territory. At least he isn’t pissing on me like I’m his fire hydrant, Eames thought. An amusing thought, but his smile was banished as Saito slammed into him, his hips slapping against Eames’ ass.
Discipline. That was the word that kept repeating through Eames' mind as he was fucked and marked and brutalized in the severe, lovely way Saito had of doing. Had that been all he had been lacking? Some kind of guidance? Eames hated to think of himself as some kind of stray mutt, completely incapable of handling himself. He made a career out of handling himself, dammit; or, at least, he made money out of handling himself.
The thoughts didn't carry much weight, and they were tossed violently from his mind when Saito grabbed his hair and jerked him up, forcing Eames’ back to bow sharply. Saito shifted a hand from Eames' sweaty hip to his cock, running his tongue from the shell of Eames’ ear down his stubbled jaw.
Slapslapslap. For a man who wanted their sex to be quiet, he sure was fucking the shit out of Eames. The Forger grunted as Saito stroked and pounded him, his thick body trembling against the man. Balls, Eames thought, Fucking balls.
“Saito,” Eames moaned, blindly clutching at the man, grabbing any inch of skin he could find. “Saito, please.”
Yes, please. Saito loved to hear the word. Eames was not a particularly prideful man - his greed and selfishness left little room for such a thing - but he was a strong man. It was akin to making some unscalable mountain tremble and beg.
“Go ahead if you like, pet,” Saito whispered to him, stroking him faster. Eames cock pulsed in his hand, and the Forger made a strange noise through his teeth as he came, a strangled noise that warred between pain and pleasure. Saito bit Eames’ neck, rough enough to taste Eames’ blood. The man tightened around him, nearly too tight to move, and Saito matched Eames' earlier sound with his own as he came into him, bucking wildly, his hands slapping and squeezing Eames’ hips and buttocks as he settled.
Eames fell across the table, wincing at the heat of his come against his belly. Saito pulled out of him, leaning down briefly to press his lips to Eames’ sweaty temple. “Good boy,” he repeated, and Goddammit, his voice still wasn’t shaken. Eames half expected the man to balance a dog biscuit on his nose.
“Clean yourself up,” Saito said, “I have another meeting in an hour. Unless you'd like for my associates to see you like this.” He laughed. “That would make quite the first impression.”
Fuck.
A wild dog, Saito had called him. Sometimes Eames wondered if he wouldn’t prefer that. And then Saito leaned down over him again, kissing his temple a little more, and he didn’t wonder as much.
Title: Discipline
Word Count: 1920
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Saito/Eames
Rating: Mature
Warnings: nudity, strong sexual content, biting (some blood), language
Description: Saito all serious and straight-faced in a business meeting. Eames suffering silently under his desk, head in Saito's lap and mouth one inch from his still-clothed cock, very decidedly NOT giving him a blow-job, because he's been instructed not to.
<~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~>
Fuck.
He tried to control his breathing, forcing himself to breathe through his nose, slow, deep breaths. The most he could do was rest his hands on the man's knees. Earlier, when his hands had slipped up to stroke Saito's thighs, the man had grabbed him and given his hair a bloody rough yank. Eames wanted to be good for him, but it was hard.
Speaking of hard... Eames shifted under the conference table, adjusting his erection. He winced as he rubbed his palm over his crotch, a wet spot had formed, spreading quickly. Bollocks, Eames thought, resting his cheek against Saito's thigh and heaving a sigh that was audible to only himself, How bloody long are these meetings anyway?
It might have been a fun game if Saito had shown any discomfort with having Eames so close to his dick while he held his business meeting. But no, Saito was as composed and unfettered as ever, smiling cordially at his associates and guests, talking without the barest hitch in his breathing. Eames knew the man took some kind of mean, erotic glee from having him on his knees, a presence that only Saito knew was there.
Sadistic fucker.
Saito reached under the table, absently stroking the back of Eames’ head, slender fingers moving through his hair and cradling the nape of his neck. Eames shivered, but kept himself still, only allowing himself to squeeze Saito's knee softly.
Above him, Saito talked about mergers and bonds and the stock market and a wide array of boring things that Eames couldn't wrap his mind around. It was funny in a way, that they had formed some kind of tentative sexual relationship. Saito was a sharply intelligent man, building his conglomerate, investing his money shrewdly and wisely. Eames was a gambler, a roving con-man, lining his pockets with the money of saps.
None of that seemed to matter when he was pressed into Saito's lap, with the smell of him strong, with the feel of his slim, cool fingers caressing the nape of his neck. Again, Eames sighed, biting into his bottom lip as he rubbed at his cock through his trousers.
Saito gripped the back of his neck, hard enough to hurt, but when he spoke, his voice was calm and neutral. “Gentlemen, I want to thank all of you for meeting with me today. I know how busy you all are, and I greatly appreciate your time. This has been most productive.”
Eames smiled, sliding his hands from Saito's knees to his thighs, rubbing his thumbs dangerously close to his crotch. Saito stiffened, and then slowly relaxed. “However, I'd like to discuss this a little more, if you’ve the time to spare?”
Eames groaned softly, rubbing his face eagerly into Saito's thigh.
The meeting went on for another hour, Saito calmly discussing his ridiculously complicated ideas and suggestions, sitting there still and patient as the other men seated around the table offered their own in return. For an hour Eames remained motionless under the desk, mouth close enough to Saito's groin to give the material over it a good licking and sucking. However, he had been ordered not to do that, not even to touch Saito, though the man didn't seem to mind Eames’ thick hands staying at his knees.
Eames’ cock was ridiculously hard; it had stopped being pleasurable a long while before, and it was beginning to be painful. He shifted and adjusted and readjusted, but there was no helping it.
Finally, Saito ended the meeting. He rose to shake hands and clap his allies on the back, speaking to some in jovial, rushed Japanese. Eames waited, hulked under the table, as Saito bade them goodbye, closing the door behind them. Eames waited as Saito wandered to the mini-bar in his posh office. He listened to the clinking sound of ice-cubes being dropped into a glass, the familiar gluglugglug as something strong was poured.
He waited. He had not been given permission to move, and so he remained on his knees.
Finally Saito's voice called to him, “Come here.”
Eames carefully crawled out, shaking out his legs, wincing at the pins and needles that shot through the sleepy limbs. He walked to Saito with a noticeable limp. Saito smiled around the rim of his glass, reaching out and gripping the strong line of Eames’ cock, rubbing through his trousers. Eames’ jaw twitched, but he kept silent and still.
“You were a good boy,” Saito said, and Eames could never quite explain why those words thrilled him so much. He loved to please Saito, to be praised by him; it always sent a nice little flutter through his stomach. “Down,” Saito commanded.
Eames obediently returned to his knees, watching as Saito skillfully unbuttoned his trousers with one hand. His cock was pushed past the flap of his boxers and his open fly, and Eames licked his lips. His cockhead was a bit flushed, smeared with pre-come. Eames managed to keep his noises as low rumbles in his chest.
Saito chuckled, taking a long drink from his glass, before setting it aside with a satisfied sigh. His hand bunched at the back of Eames’ head, drawing him closer. “If you do a good job,” Saito said, “I’ll reward you.”
Eames eagerly slathered Saito's cock with spit, greedily and messily sucking up his pre-come. His tongue probed at the slit, his panted breath caressing the twitching sides. Saito's hand fisted and relaxed in Eames’ hair, his hips pushing forward slowly as he pulled Eames’ down on him. “Swallow me,” Saito ordered, and his servant happily obeyed, lowering on Saito's cock until his nose was pressed against his underwear. His pubic hair went up Eames’ nose, but he hardly cared. He breathed him in, grunting around Saito's cock.
The taste was salty and bitter, but Eames took Saito’s dick to the back of his throat. His hands itched to touch Saito, but he kept them fisted on his own thighs until the man gave him permission.
In the beginning, Eames had treated the encounters as a game, but Saito had made it clear that these were not games they were playing. ”A man like you,” Saito had told him, after fucking him mercilessly into his desk, ”Needs discipline. Without discipline, you’re nothing but a wild dog.”
That discipline came through their sex, through the waiting and the aching and the wanting. Eames had never been so maddened and frustrated by a person, and yet still want and need them so desperately.
“Good boy,” Saito murmured, grazing his nails over Eames’ scalp. “Come here.”
Eames lamentably lifted from Saito’s cock, giving a few licks and kisses to the flushed head. Saito stepped back from him, disrobing slowly, obviously still intent on making Eames wait for him. His dark eyes stayed on Eames’ face as he undressed, intense and powerful; Eames did not shift or fidget beneath his stare.
“On your feet,” Saito said.
Eames stood slowly.
Saito's brow quirked as he studied Eames’ crotch. “I can’t imagine you're too comfortable like that, pet.”
Eames shook his head, hands drifting to his slacks. Saito watched him fumble with his belt, chuckling quietly as Eames swore under his breath, a string of British profanity that he hardly understood. Eames finally managed to remove his belt, but his fingers still fumbled over the button of his slacks. He sighed heavily, shoving his hand through his hair and turning his eyes - strangely pleading - to Saito.
“Look at you,” Saito said, coming over and helping Eames with his pants. “You're that eager for me? Very well.” Saito shoved Eames’ pants and underwear to his knees, tersely stroking his cock before turning the man around and pressing him down on the conference table.
Just minutes earlier, there had been an imposing set of men cloistered around that table, discussing energy and stocks. And now, Eames was fucked against that table, arms splayed over the polished mahogany top, legs spread as Saito pushed inside of him.
Eames cried out, and then bit roughly into his own palm, stifling his sounds. Saito leaned down, licking his ear, “Good boy. Quiet, now.”
The businessman's hands gripped Eames’ hips as he pushed in deeper, his mouth switching to Eames’ shoulder, where he bit and sucked. Marking him. He was officially Saito's property; his territory. At least he isn’t pissing on me like I’m his fire hydrant, Eames thought. An amusing thought, but his smile was banished as Saito slammed into him, his hips slapping against Eames’ ass.
Discipline. That was the word that kept repeating through Eames' mind as he was fucked and marked and brutalized in the severe, lovely way Saito had of doing. Had that been all he had been lacking? Some kind of guidance? Eames hated to think of himself as some kind of stray mutt, completely incapable of handling himself. He made a career out of handling himself, dammit; or, at least, he made money out of handling himself.
The thoughts didn't carry much weight, and they were tossed violently from his mind when Saito grabbed his hair and jerked him up, forcing Eames’ back to bow sharply. Saito shifted a hand from Eames' sweaty hip to his cock, running his tongue from the shell of Eames’ ear down his stubbled jaw.
Slapslapslap. For a man who wanted their sex to be quiet, he sure was fucking the shit out of Eames. The Forger grunted as Saito stroked and pounded him, his thick body trembling against the man. Balls, Eames thought, Fucking balls.
“Saito,” Eames moaned, blindly clutching at the man, grabbing any inch of skin he could find. “Saito, please.”
Yes, please. Saito loved to hear the word. Eames was not a particularly prideful man - his greed and selfishness left little room for such a thing - but he was a strong man. It was akin to making some unscalable mountain tremble and beg.
“Go ahead if you like, pet,” Saito whispered to him, stroking him faster. Eames cock pulsed in his hand, and the Forger made a strange noise through his teeth as he came, a strangled noise that warred between pain and pleasure. Saito bit Eames’ neck, rough enough to taste Eames’ blood. The man tightened around him, nearly too tight to move, and Saito matched Eames' earlier sound with his own as he came into him, bucking wildly, his hands slapping and squeezing Eames’ hips and buttocks as he settled.
Eames fell across the table, wincing at the heat of his come against his belly. Saito pulled out of him, leaning down briefly to press his lips to Eames’ sweaty temple. “Good boy,” he repeated, and Goddammit, his voice still wasn’t shaken. Eames half expected the man to balance a dog biscuit on his nose.
“Clean yourself up,” Saito said, “I have another meeting in an hour. Unless you'd like for my associates to see you like this.” He laughed. “That would make quite the first impression.”
Fuck.
A wild dog, Saito had called him. Sometimes Eames wondered if he wouldn’t prefer that. And then Saito leaned down over him again, kissing his temple a little more, and he didn’t wonder as much.