
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/222831.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Inception_(2010)
  Relationship:
      Arthur/Eames_(Inception)
  Character:
      Arthur_(Inception), Eames_(Inception)
  Additional Tags:
      First_Time, Anal_Sex, Blow_Jobs, Size_Kink
  Series:
      Part 2 of Educating_the_Young
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-02-04 Words: 4850
****** Educating the Young Sequel ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     Underage!Arthur (age 17) and OlderNeighbour!Eames have been together
     for a month, and Arthur is tired of waiting for his first time anal
     experience. Written in as a follow-up to this original prompt, but
     strayed beyond the original parameters.
“Eames, I’m not going to break, you don’t have to act like such a prude about
this,” Arthur stands in the kitchen with his glass of orange juice, sounding
irritated but reasonable as always; he doesn’t seem to get too worked up about
much. But he’s impatient and Eames knows that after the first time they’d found
their way to Eames’s bed, Arthur had been expecting some actual fucking to
happen soon afterwards. But Eames was having none of it and had managed to
sidestep the issue for the last month. He remembered his first time bottoming,
and although his partner had been quite patient, when it came down to the
actual penetration, it had hurt. He can’t imagine ever causing any pain to
Arthur, no matter how much he may think he wants it. Arthur’s right, he
wouldn’t break, and would probably find it pleasant after a bit, but Eames
wanted to take care. He wanted to wait until Arthur was absolutely sure, and in
the meantime there were other, incredibly pleasant, activities to explore.
“Of course you wouldn’t, darling. And a prude, really? Was that my tongue in
your ass in the shower yesterday? I believe it was. Are you trying to tell me
the blowjobs aren’t doing it for you? The handjobs? The frottage? Because I was
there, I’m pretty certain you were enjoying yourself.”
“That’s not it and you know it. You may be older but you can’t twist things
around and be charming and expect me to get confused and give up. What are you
waiting for? I know you want to. I want you to. I know you’re worried about the
age difference thing, but I’m not wrong about us having a real connection,
right? I talk more to you about books and philosophy, and just everything than
anyone I’ve ever met. I’m not naive, I get that some people might think this
isn’t cool, but I make my own decisions. So how is this complicated?” This is
how Arthur is. He’s focused and determined and smart enough to argue anything
he believes in.
“I think you may be underestimating how much people might not be cool with what
we’re doing here, Arthur. There’s no denying your intelligence and self-
confidence, but the fact is I amolder. You’re seventeen. I remember seventeen;
I didn’t have any brakes or safeties then either. If one of us is going to keep
a level head here, it will be me.”
Arthur, always so well-spoken, looks lost for words for a moment, like he’s
gearing up his thoughts and doesn’t know how to begin.
“Eames, I just. This thing. Being gay, is all new to me, although I think I’ve
kind of always known anyway. And I want to explore it with you because I know
you won’t hurt me. And because I like the time we spend together when we’re not
having sex. And because you’re hot, all right? So I could do what other people
do, and go find some random person my age to fuck me, and they’re likely to
fuck it up because they don’t know much more than I do, and maybe it’d be
memorable and sweet, but would more likely be fumbling and awkward and how can
you relax when it’s like that? And then it would fucking hurt. Or I could do it
with you, where I know there’s no chance of it being awkward and I know you’ll
do your best to make it enjoyable for me.”
Eames thinks there’s probably an argument he should make in response. He’s
damned if he knows what it is, though, because Arthur isn’t wrong about any of
it. And in any case, he had only been putting this whole thing off for reasons
he hadn’t entirely clarified for himself; he hadn’t actually made up his mind
not to do it entirely.
“Okay, Arthur. Okay,” he says, rubbing his upper lip. “Just. Hold off for a few
days, yeah? We’re not doing this on a Tuesday night when you have to go home in
less than an hour. Let’s just watch a bit of telly and calm down.” He rubs his
hand down his face, and when he looks up at Arthur again, he sees a fond smile
and none of the smugness he expected. And it occurs to him that there isn’t
really anything Arthur could ask for that Eames wouldn’t try to give him, least
of all this thing that he wants desperately to do anyway. He steps closer and
catches Arthur around the waist, pulling him in into his arms. Arthur’s only an
inch or so shorter, but he has a tendency to slouch down into Eames’s arms, and
Eames places a tender kiss on his forehead. He feels Arthur’s face crinkle in a
broad smile.
“Plus, maybe you’ll talk me through this one, too, right? I never told you, but
that was the best thing about that first time. Your voice just makes me so
hard, it’s a wonder I don’t have a chubby every second I’m here.” Eames raises
his eyebrows and chuckles.
“Which voice? You mean this one, pet?” he drops his timbre to a husky purr.
“You like it when I tell you what to do? You like it when I tell you how hard
you make me?” And fuck, but Eames always has the best intentions of keeping
things slow, but Arthur says things and Eames finds himself responding in
filthy ways and he just can’t fucking help it.
In response Arthur just attacks him, kissing him hard and pushing him up
against the fridge, trying to get his hands under Eames’s shirt. And Eames
guesses that the telly isn’t going on tonight and calming down is the last
thing on anyone’s mind.
---
Eames actually gets nervous over the next few days. He’s agog at himself when
Arthur always seems so calm and poised and so utterly straightforward all the
time. And it’s not that he’s nervous about the sex, because, well. Jesus. He’s
done this once or twice before and what could he possibly notlook forward to
about sex with Arthur? No, he has to be honest with himself. He’s nervous about
making this right for Arthur. Although he seems to be accepting the fact that
he’s gay with remarkable aplomb - he’s probably been mentally gearing up for it
for years - this is a step that’s somehow beyond playing. It’s more than
messing around. Arthur’s not a virgin with girls, he knows. But he’s a virgin
like this, and Eames isn’t one to take that lightly.
Come Friday Eames busies himself making some cottage pie for dinner, just so he
won’t be sitting around waiting for Arthur to show up. At least this way he can
feel completely in control of something, at least for a little while. For some
reason Arthur always feels like a force of nature, a storm that surrounds him
and is exciting and terrifying at once; Arthur makes him forget everything
outside of the two of them. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying half the
time, Arthur just brings out this smart, devilish, flirty version of himself.
He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it.
Arthur lets himself in and finds Eames in the kitchen. He comes up behind him,
wrapping his long, lanky arms around his waist and propping his chin on his
shoulder.
“My mom’s gone away with her boyfriend this weekend. She’s been thinking about
it for a while, and I may have subtly given her a few nudges this week. She’s
not going to be home until Sunday afternoon. I’ve told her I’ll hang out with
Yusuf and promised no parties. Which is ridiculous; I don’t know how many
friends she thinks I have. Anyway, Yusuf is prepared to deflect her questions
if she calls, and his parents are out of town right now so Ariadne’s obviously
staying over,” he says.
“Why does that not surprise me at all? I don’t know why I ever expect you to be
anything less than completely organized, planning for every eventuality. You’re
a force to be reckoned with, darling, and frankly I find you a little
terrifying.”
Arthur’s laugh is bright and happy, and Eames doesn’t know what the hell he
even says or does to bring it out of him, but he’ll keep doing it for as long
as possible. He turns around and places his hands on Arthur’s hips, strong and
possessive and kisses him, closed mouthed and soft. He can feel Arthur
beginning to open up so he pulls back.
“Dinner first, love. I went to all this effort.”
---
Eames never knows who initiates these kisses, they just sort of happen. He
feels like a teen making out on the sofa. Arthur’s tongue in his mouth, all wet
heat and hunger makes his head spin every time. What is it about Arthur that
makes him want to consume him, to lick him everywhere and bite him? Eames never
figured himself for being so orally fixated and ferociously affectionate, but
Arthur is all kinds of firsts for Eames, which is odd but there it is. Arthur
makes him want to eat him up, to mark him and drain him and leave him an
exhausted and sweaty mess and pet him until he’s all right again. He wants him
completely and doesn’t want to share. He’s a terrible human being, he’s sure.
“Darling, let’s take this elsewhere. I want room to enjoy you. I want to strip
you and lay you out and adore every inch of you.”
Arthur kisses him again, licking in deep. Against his lips he murmurs, “Eames,
fuck. I love it when you talk. And I love your hands, the way you lay them on
me. Just. Keep touching me,” Arthur says, sounding strained.
Eames stands them up and ushers Arthur to the bedroom, the walk made slow
because he can’t let Arthur move too far ahead, keeps him close and kisses his
shoulder and neck, running his hands up under the front of Arthur’s shirt.
Arthur’s struggling to both walk and to push himself back against Eames.
When they get to the bedroom Eames begins to remove Arthur’s clothes and he
just stands there and lets him. Eames still can’t believe that he can do this,
that he’s allowed to touch, to see any bit of flesh he wants. Arthur’s so
beautiful and confident, all lean lithe muscle, and he gives it willingly. Of
all the things they do together, it’s that that makes Eames’s head swim. He
kisses what he reveals, biting him and soothing his skin with his tongue. He
sucks a deep purple bruise into the skin at his ribs, digs in his teeth at the
sharp jut of his hip bone. He drags Arthur’s jeans down with his boxers, eager
to see the full expanse of flesh, miles and miles of Arthur. On his knees now,
pulling his socks off, Eames sits back on his heels and just looks. Arthur
breathes, staring at Eames’s face and waits, his patience antithetical to his
youth.
Eames reaches out and runs his hands up his thighs, gently caresses Arthur’s
testicles, leans in and sucks his cock down all in one go, caressing the hot
smooth skin with his tongue.
Arthur drops his head forwards and groans. “E-eames. I thought we were going to
fuck. I won’t. God, that’s good. I won’t last long if you do this.”
Eames pulls off just long enough to say, “Don’t worry, love. I have plans for
you,” he punctuates his sentences with soft kisses and licks down his shaft.
“First, I’m going to have you come in my mouth, and then you’ll be ripe for me
to take my time with you.” Then he returns to sucking, making it as wet and
sloppy and noisy as he knows how, as much for Arthur’s benefit as for his own
voracious need to consume Arthur’s glorious cock. It doesn’t take long before
Arthur is thrusting into his mouth, and he takes it, grips his hands into
Arthur’s firm arse, opens his throat and swallows every inch Arthur gives him.
After short moments he can feel Arthur’s impending orgasm, a rumbled tensing
deep inside him. So he latches on, eager to taste and consume a piece of him.
When it comes, it’s thicker than he’s expecting but he swallows it down,
relishing the hot pulsing splashes in his mouth.
He stands then, hungry to see Arthur’s face, blissed out and climax-drunk,
rumpled and gorgeous. He kisses him and eases him gently onto the bed, laying
him out as promised. He strips himself first before kneeling up beside Arthur’s
chest, his erection jutting out obscenely. Even after a month, Arthur is still
captivated by his uncut foreskin. He’s spent ages just stroking it, pulling it
further and further back, latching on with his mouth and using his hand to slip
it back and forth, into and out of his lips, pulling off periodically to marvel
at the raw purple head unsheathed. Normally Eames is happy to indulge him, but
not today. He lets Arthur have a stroke or two, leans forward to feed it into
his mouth for a few quick licks and sucks, but he has other matters to attend
to, though it’s not without a bit of regret that he pulls away. He’d love to
fuck Arthur’s mouth with him reclining like this. He mentally files it away for
future exploration.
He moves back down and straddles Arthur’s thighs, reverently stroking all the
skin that’s available to him.
“Oh Arthur, you’re gorgeous, love. I want my marks on you, I want you to go
about your day knowing I’ve claimed you.”
“Eames,” Arthur says, bleary but with a hint of exasperation. “I never should
have told you how much I love it when you talk. You’ve made me wait a month
now, stop pissing around,” and Eames thinks Arthur is far too articulate. That
has to change.
Eames smirks, climbs off and and says, “On your front, there’s a good boy,”
giving him a cheerful pat on the hip. He accepts Arthur’s glare with
equanimity, though Arthur rolls over easily enough. He then settles himself
back down, nudging Arthur’s legs apart and kneeling between them, just taking a
moment to enjoy the scenery: perfectly taut, firm cheeks, leanly muscled back,
impossibly narrow hips and waist widening lightly up to athletic shoulders. His
dark curls are adorably mussy around the nape of his neck, and he’s got his
cheek resting on both his hands, eyes closed and waiting.
Fortunately Eames has spent many evenings over the past month getting Arthur
used to his tongue, so there’s no easing into this part. He just leans forward,
pressed his palms into the flesh of his cheeks and parts them just enough to
expose his perfect little puckered hole. Eames does as he always does, begins
by massaging around the outside with his tongue first, laving his skin, warming
him up. He kisses, feeling the hot flesh beneath his lips and starts to lick
across the hole, alternately using broad firm strokes and soft fluttering
passes, letting it get gradually wetter. He doesn’t press yet just takes his
time licking and softly sucking until Arthur is squirming to get closer and
adjusting for his re-awakened hard-on, all but begging for more, harder. Arthur
tried asking for that the first few times, but he has since realized that
there’s no rushing Eames. If Eames is honest, it’s as much because he loves the
act itself as it is because of the desperate little noises Arthur makes, the
decreased control he has over his movements the longer Eames does this.
When Arthur’s thoroughly warm and sensitized, Eames reaches beneath the bed and
pulls out the lube. Arthur is looking over his shoulder at him, eyes sharp and
expectant.
“Don’t expect anything drastic yet, pet. I haven’t even started with you. Close
your eyes and breathe.” He dribbles slick liquid generously onto his fingers as
he speaks, then rubs it a bit with his thumb to warm it. He reaches down and
gently begins to pet Arthur’s hole with one finger, firm but gentle.
“Just enjoy this part, I know you’re sensitive now. Does this feel good?” He
tightens his circular movements down to a small pulse then goes back to tiny
strokes right over the ring of muscle. but he still doesn’t press, just strokes
and strokes. Arthur is humming an agreement and the muscle flexes momentarily
before relaxing further. Eames adds a second finger to the massage and settles
himself back to watch his own work. The lube has made Arthur’s gorgeous little
hole glisten, his downy soft almost-invisible hairs sodden and laying in the
circles Eames is making with his fingers. He takes his time rubbing and uses
his other hand to put some pressure on Arthur’s cheek, holding the flesh open
with this thumb. He could admire this view for years, but Arthur is ready, more
than ready for the next stage Eames has in mind.
“Turn over, love.”
Arthur does, and Eames adds more lube to his fingers before stretching himself
alongside Arthur’s length. They kiss, slow and lazy and Eames lifts Arthur’s
opposite leg to bend at the knee, spreading him. He returns to massaging his
arse and deepens his kiss, intently licking into Arthur’s mouth while he dips
one finger in to the first knuckle. Arthur is loose and ready enough for this;
his breath doesn’t even change at the intrusion. So Eames pushes in further to
the second knuckle and now Arthur’s muscle tightens around him. Eames just
leaves his finger there and carries on kissing, stilling his finger and
bringing Arthur’s focus upward.
Eames breaks the kiss and looks at Arthur’s face.
“You’re so beautiful, Arthur. I could kiss you all day every day if you’d let
me.” Arthur is looking a little breathless and staring at Eames’s lips.
“I’ve been lusting after your mouth since you moved in last year. I used to
jerk off thinking of you blowing me,” Arthur replies. Eames closes the distance
and kisses him again, wet and dirty, and slowly begins to pulse his finger in
and out.
“Mmm. That feels good,” Arthur says as he tilts his hips up to better Eames’s
access.
“Oh, you like that, love?” Eames gives his finger a wiggle and then resumes the
pulsing. “Have you been fingering yourself thinking of me?” Arthur nods. “I bet
you’ve done it in the shower, pushed your finger in. Have you tried more than
one?”
Arthur shakes his head and Eames slips a second finger in, pushing slowly but
insistently up to the first knuckle. Arthur’s so tight, a silken heat clamping
down on his fingers. He looks intently at Arthur’s face and he stills again.
“Arthur, kiss me. You can have anything you want, you know. This mouth, these
lips. They’re yours. Take them. Own them. They’re yours.” Arthur lets out an
animal sound, not quite a moan and not quite a whimper and his expression
breaks into something so open and honest and longing that Eames feels something
tighten deep in his chest. His intention had been to distract, but what pours
out of him surprises even himself.
Arthur’s kiss is intense and fervent, plundering his mouth and doing exactly as
Eames said, owning the kiss. Eames pushes his fingers in further, scissoring
lightly and stretching him by degrees. Arthur’s cock is hard and leaking on his
own stomach.
He moves his mouth to kiss along Arthur’s jaw, wet sucking kisses that make
Arthur gasp. He moves down further, marking a bruise just below his clavicle
and down lower until he’s licking firmly at Arthur’s nipple. It pebbles under
his tongue and Arthur arches into it. He dares to add a third finger, but
doesn’t enter just yet; he just tests the muscle to see if he’s ready.
“A little sensitive today?” Eames murmurs and licks harder, worrying his nipple
gently with his teeth. Arthur’s noises are delicious and make him want, they
make his cock ache and twitch. Arthur reaches his hand to Eame’s face and draws
two fingers along his lower lip. Eames licks them and sucks them in, swirling
his tongue and Arthur fucks his fingers into Eames’s mouth. Arthur’s own mouth
is open and he’s staring with blatant lust at Eames’s lips wrapped around his
fingers.
Eames pushes with his third finger then, making sure to lick up between
Arthur’s fingers while he does so and he’s surprised when his finger just slips
in; he had been expecting to have to push, was prepared to be gentle and
insistent but it’s not necessary; Arthur’s completely relaxed. Eames’s head
goes swimmy at the thought that Arthur just doesthis, trusts him, opens to him
in every way.
Eames pulls his head back, kissing the tips of Arthurs fingers lightly and
moves downwards. He leaves his fingers still inside Arthur while he kisses and
licks down his body. He brushes a light fluttering lick up the underside of
Arthur’s erection and begins to move his fingers again by millimetres. He
places an open mouthed, sucking kiss into Arthur’s already-tight testicles and
Arthur pushes his hips up in response, groaning and dropping his knees wide.
The flexing motion tightens his body around Eames’s fingers but when he settles
again he’s that much looser, and Eames twists his hand palm-side up and pushes
his fingers in as far as they’ll go, while at the same time wrapping his mouth
completely around one testicle and suckling it, sloppy and wet.
He curls his fingers and caresses Arthur’s prostate and Arthur bucks up
suddenly, a grunt turning into a groan. He rubs lightly, stroking and petting
that bundle of nerves and letting Arthur’s mindless noises envelop him, making
him dizzy. After another slow quivering lick up the full length of his cock,
Eames removes his fingers gently and deftly rolls on a condom, slicking himself
up with more lube and massaging some more into Arthur’s arse.
He climbs back up, propping himself up on his lube-sticky hand and touching
Arthur all over with the other. He rubs his thumb firmly across Arthur’s
nipple, firming it to a hard nub before reaching down and positioning himself
against Arthur’s hole.
His cock head slips in easily, just slides into place like a natural
conclusion. But he watches Arthur’s face, sees his breath hitch and he though
he doesn’t look pained, his eyes are wide, suddenly very aware of the blunt
intrusion.
“E-easy, love. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere,” he soothes and kisses
him, focusing on the soft smacking sounds of their tongues entwining. He runs
his broad hand down Arthur’s side, over his hip and back up, again and again.
“Are you okay?” He says, and fuckhe had promised himself he wouldn’t say that.
He was not going to tell Arthur to relax and he was not going to ask if he was
alright, because as Eames saw it, it’s his job to watch and know for himself if
Arthur was okay. It’s his job to lead Arthur to this point with his actions,
his gentle care and attention.
But he’s apparently taken him far enough already because Arthur just gives a
wobbly nod, too stimulated and too addled with arousal to form words any more.
Eames eases his cock in, slowly, slowly, feeling Arthur’s body give way
underneath him. He stops partway in and gives Arthur a chance to adjust. He
hooks a hand up under his arm, gently gripping the back of his shoulder and
buries his face in the boy’s neck, licking the thin sheen of sweat and
fluttering his tongue in the soft indent below his ear.
“Arthur. Arthur, you’re so good, love. You’re doing so good. When you’re ready,
wrap your legs around me, I want to feel you all around me.” Arthur’s body is
slender but strong, his lean arms wrapped around Eames’s broad shoulders, one
hand ruffling in Eames’s hair. He whimpers at the words and does as he’s asked,
lifting his knees higher and enveloping Eames’s waist with a surprisingly
strong grip.
Fully encircled now by Arthur’s legs, Eames wraps his arms right around him,
lifting him slightly off the bed, cradling Arthur’s head in his hand and biting
gently into his shoulder. Eames is keenly aware that his bulk looms over
Arthur’s smaller frame, that he uses size and strength to possess and dominate,
and Arthur yields easily underneath him. If he was a better man he would maybe
feel guilty, but he enjoys the feeling too much to worry about it.
He pushes at last, a relentless slide deep up inside Arthur where he’s never
been touched before, and doesn’t stop until he’s fully seated, bodies tight
together. He pulls his head back enough to watch Arthur’s face, and he’s
staring back at him, eyes heavy lidded, lips parted, rumpled and sweaty,
tousled and gorgeously young. Eames is watching for the twitch of a frown, some
sign that this is too much, but it doesn’t come. So he moves, a slow roll of
his hips, pulling out just a little before burying himself deep again.
“Christlove, you’re incredible. I’m never going to let you leave my bed. This
is mine now, Arthur. You’re mine; you belong under me like this.” And shit,
that was too far, too much. He has no right, but he just can’t help himself.
Arthur gives himself and he’ll take because he’s only fucking human and for
some reason he has no filters around this beautiful, intelligent, earnest and
passionate boy. He wishes he could take it back, terrified that Arthur has seen
this in him now, that Arthur will find this too intense and leave him.
But Arthur is saying, “Yes, god, yes. Yours, Eames. All of it,” before pushing
their mouths together, licking sloppily in a wet mushy kiss as he grips Eames
tighter with his arms and legs. And Eames is going to hell for sure, now that
he has claimed this boy, has gambled and won and got what he wanted, but
fuckthat’s bloody terrifying because really, what has he done? Arthur’s
writhing inexpertly, trying to use his heels to pull Eames in deeper and
clawing at his back. He’s climbing on and Eames is climbing in and they’re a
mess of desperate, longing flesh together.
Eames picks up his pace, holding Arthur’s whole body and sucking bruises into
his neck and shoulder, lengthening his thrusts so he’s almost pulling all the
way out before sliding back in. Arthur’s so tight and Eames has been waiting so
long by this point that he’s going to come soon. But he can’t, not before
Arthur.
He pulls back, props himself up with is arms and adjusts his angle, hitting
Arthur’s prostate with much less finesse than his fingers had, just driving
against it and Arthur pushes his head back against the pillow, groaning loudly
something that sounds like Eames’s name. He grasps Arthur’s cock which looks
raw and is smearing his belly with pre-come, strokes it in time with his
thrusts and just drinks in the look of him.
Arthur spreads his knees wider and thrusts up to meet him which makes his
cheeks clench around Eames. With a brush of Eames’s thumb over the boy’s slit,
Arthur comes, shooting long pearly strings and Eames isn’t even sure if it’s
the boy’s resultant crushing squeeze around his cock that wrenches his own
climax out of him because they both come on so fast. But they’re rocking
together, shuddering through it and clinging to one another as if holding on
during a storm at sea.
When the last of their shivers die away, Eames lowers Arthur down, gently
extracting himself from his arms and falling down beside him, taking a second
to dispose of the condom before pulling Arthur over to rest against his side.
They breathe together for long minutes.
“Eames. Was that... that wasn’t normal, right? I mean. That was better than
sex. Well, it was sex, but. Fuck. It was amazing.”
Eames smiles, unable to even feel smug, he just feels so good. “How are you
down there? You might be a little tender for a day or so. I did my best not to
hurt you.”
“Yeah, no. It’s fine. A little tender, yeah, but not sore exactly. It’s.
Pleasant. I’ll feel it and I’ll know you’ve been in me. I like that.”
Arthur snuggles in close and Eames’s chest tightens again because he’s done it
now. He’s falling and he’s pulling Arthur with him and he should have fucking
known better. But all he wants to do is wrap Arthur up and keep him safe, and
if he’s supposed to be keeping him safe from himself, well, he can’t. All he
can do is hold on. So he pets and pets, smoothes down Arthur’s hair and strokes
his sides.
--End--
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