Maybe in the Morning - Inception - NC-17
Title: Maybe in the Morning
Author: anamuan
Fandom, Pairing: Inception, Arthur/Eames
Word Count: 762
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Hi, this is just porn.
Note: Self-beta. Catch my mistakes for me.
"I'm ready," he says. He isn't, but he doesn't want to wait any more, and he can take a little pain if it means he can fuck, yes, yes, like that can finally fucking get what he wants. Eames pushes in hot and too fucking slow, and Arthur clenches his teeth and arches his back to angle his ass down harder against the push. Eames won't speed up for him, but he's in, he's in and he's doesn't stop until he bottoms out, and that's almost enough for Arthur to forgive him.
Eames is paused above him, mouth hanging open to gasp desperately, like there's not enough air in the room. Move, move, move, move, and Arthur doesn't realize he's saying it as well as willing it to be until Eames's hips stutter, stall again frustratingly, and Eames is down against him, pressing his face to the crook of Arthur's neck.
"…Christ, Arthur, gonna kill me," Eames says, lips pressing it into the sweat at the side of Arthur's neck, into the space behind his ear that makes him shiver. That makes Eames groan, caught somewhere between rueful and frantic, and then he starts to move, and fuck yes.
"I've been waiting so long," Arthur says, and he shouldn't say that. He shouldn't, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care what happens in an hour or a day, if Eames pulls his clothes right back on after this and leaves, or if Arthur will wake up alone in the morning, because right now he has Eames right where he wants him, and he has, he has been waiting for this. Eames could be the worst lay in the world and Arthur wouldn't care because he's wanted this for what feels like forever.
Eames isn't the worst lay in the world, though; he's not even close, and forever is the stretched time between the drag-slide of his cock as he pulls out, and the sweet, slick press as he pushes back in.
Arthur sucks hungrily at Eames's lips, another kind of gasping, like he's trying to replace the air in Eames's lungs. Maybe he is. Eames just licks into Arthur's mouth, and wraps an arm around Arthur's waist to drag him closer to him. It changes the angle, and now the delicious slide inside him isn't just good, it's perfect, with the head of Eames's cock dragging over Arthur's prostate and there's no way he's going to last like this.
Arthur doesn't, but he gets the pleasure of pushing Eames over first, sliding one spit-slick finger between Eames's cheeks and in. The angle's bad, and it can't be wet enough to be comfortable, but Eames's slams into him, mouth open and eyes shut tight. His entire body goes tight, and then he's gasping into the skin of Arthur's shoulder, hand snaking down between them to wrap tight around Arthur's cock before Arthur can even think to complain at the sudden dead weight on top of him or the sudden lack of fucking. Maybe Eames's mother taught him manners after all.
In a moment Eames is easing out, tying the condom off and tossing it towards the waste bin under the hotel's dinky, pointless table. He looks so languid about the whole thing, even when his messy hand is slipping on the latex that Arthur drags him to the bathroom to clean up, because, "Fuck, that's disgusting." It's way too soon for either of them to get it back up again, and the water doesn't stay hot long enough for them to try. That doesn't stop them from making out under the spray as long as it stays warm, sliding against each other and making Arthur wish, maybe for the first time, that he was sixteen again and had a dick like roly-poly toy; you could knock it down, but it would pop right back up again.
There's icy water all down his back just when Arthur's thinking maybe, yeah maybe, and Eames nearly falls over trying to get out of the shower. Arthur gets the tap, and his once-over with the towel is cursory at best, and he doesn't say anything when Eames heads straight for Arthur's bed.
Arthur doesn't set an alarm. Maybe in the morning, Eames will still be there, and Arthur will cut his morning breath with Eames's dick between his lips instead of mint immediately followed by coffee. Maybe Eames will return the favour, and Arthur will miss his morning check-out, and Eames will only go back to his room long enough to drag his things over to Arthur's.
Author: anamuan
Fandom, Pairing: Inception, Arthur/Eames
Word Count: 762
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Hi, this is just porn.
Note: Self-beta. Catch my mistakes for me.
"I'm ready," he says. He isn't, but he doesn't want to wait any more, and he can take a little pain if it means he can fuck, yes, yes, like that can finally fucking get what he wants. Eames pushes in hot and too fucking slow, and Arthur clenches his teeth and arches his back to angle his ass down harder against the push. Eames won't speed up for him, but he's in, he's in and he's doesn't stop until he bottoms out, and that's almost enough for Arthur to forgive him.
Eames is paused above him, mouth hanging open to gasp desperately, like there's not enough air in the room. Move, move, move, move, and Arthur doesn't realize he's saying it as well as willing it to be until Eames's hips stutter, stall again frustratingly, and Eames is down against him, pressing his face to the crook of Arthur's neck.
"…Christ, Arthur, gonna kill me," Eames says, lips pressing it into the sweat at the side of Arthur's neck, into the space behind his ear that makes him shiver. That makes Eames groan, caught somewhere between rueful and frantic, and then he starts to move, and fuck yes.
"I've been waiting so long," Arthur says, and he shouldn't say that. He shouldn't, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care what happens in an hour or a day, if Eames pulls his clothes right back on after this and leaves, or if Arthur will wake up alone in the morning, because right now he has Eames right where he wants him, and he has, he has been waiting for this. Eames could be the worst lay in the world and Arthur wouldn't care because he's wanted this for what feels like forever.
Eames isn't the worst lay in the world, though; he's not even close, and forever is the stretched time between the drag-slide of his cock as he pulls out, and the sweet, slick press as he pushes back in.
Arthur sucks hungrily at Eames's lips, another kind of gasping, like he's trying to replace the air in Eames's lungs. Maybe he is. Eames just licks into Arthur's mouth, and wraps an arm around Arthur's waist to drag him closer to him. It changes the angle, and now the delicious slide inside him isn't just good, it's perfect, with the head of Eames's cock dragging over Arthur's prostate and there's no way he's going to last like this.
Arthur doesn't, but he gets the pleasure of pushing Eames over first, sliding one spit-slick finger between Eames's cheeks and in. The angle's bad, and it can't be wet enough to be comfortable, but Eames's slams into him, mouth open and eyes shut tight. His entire body goes tight, and then he's gasping into the skin of Arthur's shoulder, hand snaking down between them to wrap tight around Arthur's cock before Arthur can even think to complain at the sudden dead weight on top of him or the sudden lack of fucking. Maybe Eames's mother taught him manners after all.
In a moment Eames is easing out, tying the condom off and tossing it towards the waste bin under the hotel's dinky, pointless table. He looks so languid about the whole thing, even when his messy hand is slipping on the latex that Arthur drags him to the bathroom to clean up, because, "Fuck, that's disgusting." It's way too soon for either of them to get it back up again, and the water doesn't stay hot long enough for them to try. That doesn't stop them from making out under the spray as long as it stays warm, sliding against each other and making Arthur wish, maybe for the first time, that he was sixteen again and had a dick like roly-poly toy; you could knock it down, but it would pop right back up again.
There's icy water all down his back just when Arthur's thinking maybe, yeah maybe, and Eames nearly falls over trying to get out of the shower. Arthur gets the tap, and his once-over with the towel is cursory at best, and he doesn't say anything when Eames heads straight for Arthur's bed.
Arthur doesn't set an alarm. Maybe in the morning, Eames will still be there, and Arthur will cut his morning breath with Eames's dick between his lips instead of mint immediately followed by coffee. Maybe Eames will return the favour, and Arthur will miss his morning check-out, and Eames will only go back to his room long enough to drag his things over to Arthur's.