Ride It Like You Stole It - Inception - NC-17
Title: Ride It Like You Stole It
Author: anamuan
Fandom, Pairing: Inception, Arthur/Eames
Word Count: 1,528 words.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Eames rides Arthur.
Note: For bauble, for her prompt here. Neither ky_rin nor Tego was willing to talk me out of the title.
They don't make it as far as the bedroom, much less the bed. The only reason they make it out of the hallway is because Eames got to the kitchen before either realized the other was already home. Eames nearly gives Arthur a heart attack, and Arthur nearly puts a hole in Eames's shoulder. Arthur pulls his throw at the last moment, when he sees Eames's face, and the knife (which was intended for slicing vegetables instead of throwing anyway) ends up stuck in the wall.
"God dammit, we're going to have to patch that," Eames swears at him, and Arthur says, "Hey, I didn't hit the Serra," and then they're kissing, flush against each other, Arthur's hands on Eames's face, and Eames's hands on Arthur's ass. Eames gets a thigh in between Arthur's legs for him to grind against, and Arthur returns the favour so that they're standing up, most of the way into the kitchen, rutting against each other in all their clothes like impatient teenagers. The impatient part's accurate, anyway.
Arthur breaks away with a gasp, and says, "Fuck, I wanna be in you," and Eames makes a noise and goes for Arthur's mouth again.
"Yeah," Eames pants, pulling away at last. "Gonna ride you," and Arthur groans and starts dragging Eames away from the kitchen.
They get all of the way into the living room, even with the way Arthur's torn between getting Eames onto a horizontal surface and just climbing him like a tree. Even with the way Eames gets Arthur's jeans open and a fist around his cock somewhere around the coffee table, and Arthur nearly goes down, taking Eames with him. They topple onto the couch instead, and then it's a frantic scramble backwards until Arthur's spread out along the length of it and Eames is crawling up to straddle his hips.
Eames sits up enough to yank his shirt off; Arthur follows him up long enough to bite a mark into the skin of his collarbone, elaborations in red along the black ink there.
"Cheat," Eames says, fumbling hastily with the buttons on Arthur's shirt. Arthur kisses him again, can't keep his mouth off him, really, because it's been too long.
"You missed me," Arthur tells him, bringing up his own hands to help with the buttons, bottom up to meet Eames in the middle. Eames kisses him again instead of arguing, tacit agreement. Arthur rocks up between Eames's spread thighs, pleased when Eames makes this perfect noise at the contact.
Then it's a race to see who can get their pants off first while still maintaining the greatest possible amount of physical contact. There are condoms and lube in the end table with the lamp, and Arthur pulls them out while Eames shucks his socks and sucks a mark low into Arthur's neck, just because he can. Eames sets his teeth delicately into the skin there, where Arthur's marked already, and Arthur nearly drops the lube hauling Eames down by his ass so they can grind together.
"Guess you can take the boy out of the scouts," Eames says around skin, saving the lube from a tumble to the living room floor.
"Never was a boy scout," Arthur says, relishing the way Eames is pressed to him. Four months. Too fucking long. He urges Eames up, just enough to have room to work.
Arthur uncaps the lube one-handed and jumps when he spills some onto his stomach trying to squeeze it out of the tube without looking because he's busy cataloguing all the little ways Eames has changed. Eames falls down over him when he starts pushing that first finger in, looking for a better angle, one arm up on the arm of the couch, and the other braced on the cushions by Arthur's head. Eames's nostrils flare and there's resistance, at first, and then Eames is pushing back on it, just a little.
Arthur twists his head around and presses a quick kiss, all soft lips, to the corded tendons of Eames's wrist. Later he's as likely to pretend it never happened as not, but for right now, he just wants to feel Eames's skin under his mouth. Eames huffs a laugh like he knows and cants his hips back, harder.
He makes a noise, something like a sigh, and Arthur thinks he could listen to Eames like this forever, do this forever. Just like this, Eames over and around him, surrounding him, perfection in a moment. By the time Eames is loose and easy around two fingers, he's pushing back in earnest, tiny, cut-off grunts rumbling in his chest. Arthur swallows them down, whatever he can get, unashamed to be starving for Eames.
Eames grinds himself down on Arthur's hand until he gets another finger, and then, whining for it, doesn't let up at all. Arthur twists his hand, and Eames sinks his teeth into Arthur's lip. Arthur's hips come up, and Eames rides the motion back down, heavy thighs boxing Arthur in on the couch.
"Come on, Arthur, more," Eames pants, head resting against his arm on the couch, pushing down harder, greedy for it.
"Thought you said something about riding me," Arthur says, pulling his fingers out at last. He fumbles the condom on, and Eames grabs him by the back of the neck, pulls him up and kisses him hungrily.
"Think I did," Eames says, breathless, against Arthur's lips, before positioning Arthur and bearing down. Arthur goes in easy, slick and loose, and he just lies there and takes it, biting his lips raw while Eames gasps above him. Once Eames is down all the way, he doesn't give Arthur a moment to adjust before he's pulling back off and then sliding back down again, grinding down as far as he can, trying to get as much of Arthur in him as possible.
Eames rides Arthur hard, like he's trying to fuck him through the couch. He's gorgeous like that, leaning back, sitting on Arthur's cock. The bulk of him, the dark swirl of the ink on his skin, the way he's flushed down his chest. Arthur gets caught up in it all, the sight, the sensation. Arthur's hands come up to Eames's hips where he digs his fingers in. Eames rides him harder for it, reward or pleasure or unconscious instinct--Arthur doesn't care. He just needs to hold on, to feel sweat and hot skin under his hands.
"Fuck, come on. Fuck me," Eames says, and Arthur snaps his hips up at the same time Eames rolls his hips down, meeting him in the middle again. Eames groans, and the sound twists something in Arthur's chest, hits him in the back of the throat.
"God, I want you," Arthur breathes, fucking up into Eames on Eames's rhythm.
Eames doesn't say anything. No quips about having him, or taking him, or being greedy. He just leans forward to brace his arms on either side of Arthur's chest. The couch cushions sag under all the pressure, bringing him down closer to Arthur, caging him in. The air feels close and humid between them, and even though there are long inches separating their lips, Arthur still feels as though he's sucking the air into his lungs straight from Eames's own.
Arthur creeps his hands up Eames's chest just because, no design to it. He sweeps a thumb over one of Eames's nipples, and Eames makes a sound, one of the ones that tell Arthur he's close, that he wants it and that he's going to take it. Arthur slides a hand up to the back of Eames's neck, copying his move from earlier, and pulls him down. He fucks into Eames's mouth wet and dirty, all urgency. Eames takes it the way he take Arthur's cock, demanding and merciless, like he's trying to swallow Arthur down any way he can. He's slamming himself down on Arthur's cock, fast and almost brutal, and all it takes is for Arthur to worm a hand between their sweat-slick stomachs to Eames's cock for him to come with a choked-off cry, hips still stuttering up and down as Eames clenches around him.
Eames goes all slack-jawed and heavy on top of Arthur then, elbows collapsing so they're chest to chest and Arthur's breathing in Eames's hair. Eames is still clenching around Arthur whenever Arthur moves, Eames's weight bearing him down. Eames presses lazy, open-mouthed kisses up under the sharp line of Arthur's jaw, grinding down with his hips even though he's got to be uncomfortable, too sensitive so soon after coming. Arthur's close; all it takes is the slightest hint of teeth pressed to the skin below Arthur's ear and he's gone.
Eames doesn't climb off Arthur right away, crushing him comfortably into the couch they're probably going to have to get professionally cleaned and still pressing those lazy kisses into Arthur's skin until he turns his head and Eames kisses his lips instead. Arthur presses his palm to the small of Eames's back, still just happy to have him under his hands. Eventually they'll have to get up and get cleaned up, but it can wait a little.
Author: anamuan
Fandom, Pairing: Inception, Arthur/Eames
Word Count: 1,528 words.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Eames rides Arthur.
Note: For bauble, for her prompt here. Neither ky_rin nor Tego was willing to talk me out of the title.
They don't make it as far as the bedroom, much less the bed. The only reason they make it out of the hallway is because Eames got to the kitchen before either realized the other was already home. Eames nearly gives Arthur a heart attack, and Arthur nearly puts a hole in Eames's shoulder. Arthur pulls his throw at the last moment, when he sees Eames's face, and the knife (which was intended for slicing vegetables instead of throwing anyway) ends up stuck in the wall.
"God dammit, we're going to have to patch that," Eames swears at him, and Arthur says, "Hey, I didn't hit the Serra," and then they're kissing, flush against each other, Arthur's hands on Eames's face, and Eames's hands on Arthur's ass. Eames gets a thigh in between Arthur's legs for him to grind against, and Arthur returns the favour so that they're standing up, most of the way into the kitchen, rutting against each other in all their clothes like impatient teenagers. The impatient part's accurate, anyway.
Arthur breaks away with a gasp, and says, "Fuck, I wanna be in you," and Eames makes a noise and goes for Arthur's mouth again.
"Yeah," Eames pants, pulling away at last. "Gonna ride you," and Arthur groans and starts dragging Eames away from the kitchen.
They get all of the way into the living room, even with the way Arthur's torn between getting Eames onto a horizontal surface and just climbing him like a tree. Even with the way Eames gets Arthur's jeans open and a fist around his cock somewhere around the coffee table, and Arthur nearly goes down, taking Eames with him. They topple onto the couch instead, and then it's a frantic scramble backwards until Arthur's spread out along the length of it and Eames is crawling up to straddle his hips.
Eames sits up enough to yank his shirt off; Arthur follows him up long enough to bite a mark into the skin of his collarbone, elaborations in red along the black ink there.
"Cheat," Eames says, fumbling hastily with the buttons on Arthur's shirt. Arthur kisses him again, can't keep his mouth off him, really, because it's been too long.
"You missed me," Arthur tells him, bringing up his own hands to help with the buttons, bottom up to meet Eames in the middle. Eames kisses him again instead of arguing, tacit agreement. Arthur rocks up between Eames's spread thighs, pleased when Eames makes this perfect noise at the contact.
Then it's a race to see who can get their pants off first while still maintaining the greatest possible amount of physical contact. There are condoms and lube in the end table with the lamp, and Arthur pulls them out while Eames shucks his socks and sucks a mark low into Arthur's neck, just because he can. Eames sets his teeth delicately into the skin there, where Arthur's marked already, and Arthur nearly drops the lube hauling Eames down by his ass so they can grind together.
"Guess you can take the boy out of the scouts," Eames says around skin, saving the lube from a tumble to the living room floor.
"Never was a boy scout," Arthur says, relishing the way Eames is pressed to him. Four months. Too fucking long. He urges Eames up, just enough to have room to work.
Arthur uncaps the lube one-handed and jumps when he spills some onto his stomach trying to squeeze it out of the tube without looking because he's busy cataloguing all the little ways Eames has changed. Eames falls down over him when he starts pushing that first finger in, looking for a better angle, one arm up on the arm of the couch, and the other braced on the cushions by Arthur's head. Eames's nostrils flare and there's resistance, at first, and then Eames is pushing back on it, just a little.
Arthur twists his head around and presses a quick kiss, all soft lips, to the corded tendons of Eames's wrist. Later he's as likely to pretend it never happened as not, but for right now, he just wants to feel Eames's skin under his mouth. Eames huffs a laugh like he knows and cants his hips back, harder.
He makes a noise, something like a sigh, and Arthur thinks he could listen to Eames like this forever, do this forever. Just like this, Eames over and around him, surrounding him, perfection in a moment. By the time Eames is loose and easy around two fingers, he's pushing back in earnest, tiny, cut-off grunts rumbling in his chest. Arthur swallows them down, whatever he can get, unashamed to be starving for Eames.
Eames grinds himself down on Arthur's hand until he gets another finger, and then, whining for it, doesn't let up at all. Arthur twists his hand, and Eames sinks his teeth into Arthur's lip. Arthur's hips come up, and Eames rides the motion back down, heavy thighs boxing Arthur in on the couch.
"Come on, Arthur, more," Eames pants, head resting against his arm on the couch, pushing down harder, greedy for it.
"Thought you said something about riding me," Arthur says, pulling his fingers out at last. He fumbles the condom on, and Eames grabs him by the back of the neck, pulls him up and kisses him hungrily.
"Think I did," Eames says, breathless, against Arthur's lips, before positioning Arthur and bearing down. Arthur goes in easy, slick and loose, and he just lies there and takes it, biting his lips raw while Eames gasps above him. Once Eames is down all the way, he doesn't give Arthur a moment to adjust before he's pulling back off and then sliding back down again, grinding down as far as he can, trying to get as much of Arthur in him as possible.
Eames rides Arthur hard, like he's trying to fuck him through the couch. He's gorgeous like that, leaning back, sitting on Arthur's cock. The bulk of him, the dark swirl of the ink on his skin, the way he's flushed down his chest. Arthur gets caught up in it all, the sight, the sensation. Arthur's hands come up to Eames's hips where he digs his fingers in. Eames rides him harder for it, reward or pleasure or unconscious instinct--Arthur doesn't care. He just needs to hold on, to feel sweat and hot skin under his hands.
"Fuck, come on. Fuck me," Eames says, and Arthur snaps his hips up at the same time Eames rolls his hips down, meeting him in the middle again. Eames groans, and the sound twists something in Arthur's chest, hits him in the back of the throat.
"God, I want you," Arthur breathes, fucking up into Eames on Eames's rhythm.
Eames doesn't say anything. No quips about having him, or taking him, or being greedy. He just leans forward to brace his arms on either side of Arthur's chest. The couch cushions sag under all the pressure, bringing him down closer to Arthur, caging him in. The air feels close and humid between them, and even though there are long inches separating their lips, Arthur still feels as though he's sucking the air into his lungs straight from Eames's own.
Arthur creeps his hands up Eames's chest just because, no design to it. He sweeps a thumb over one of Eames's nipples, and Eames makes a sound, one of the ones that tell Arthur he's close, that he wants it and that he's going to take it. Arthur slides a hand up to the back of Eames's neck, copying his move from earlier, and pulls him down. He fucks into Eames's mouth wet and dirty, all urgency. Eames takes it the way he take Arthur's cock, demanding and merciless, like he's trying to swallow Arthur down any way he can. He's slamming himself down on Arthur's cock, fast and almost brutal, and all it takes is for Arthur to worm a hand between their sweat-slick stomachs to Eames's cock for him to come with a choked-off cry, hips still stuttering up and down as Eames clenches around him.
Eames goes all slack-jawed and heavy on top of Arthur then, elbows collapsing so they're chest to chest and Arthur's breathing in Eames's hair. Eames is still clenching around Arthur whenever Arthur moves, Eames's weight bearing him down. Eames presses lazy, open-mouthed kisses up under the sharp line of Arthur's jaw, grinding down with his hips even though he's got to be uncomfortable, too sensitive so soon after coming. Arthur's close; all it takes is the slightest hint of teeth pressed to the skin below Arthur's ear and he's gone.
Eames doesn't climb off Arthur right away, crushing him comfortably into the couch they're probably going to have to get professionally cleaned and still pressing those lazy kisses into Arthur's skin until he turns his head and Eames kisses his lips instead. Arthur presses his palm to the small of Eames's back, still just happy to have him under his hands. Eventually they'll have to get up and get cleaned up, but it can wait a little.