
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/190835.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Inception_(2010)
  Relationship:
      Arthur/Eames_(Inception)
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-04-25 Words: 4909
****** Love Your Little Motions ******
by five_ht
Summary
     Eames educates a 16-year-old Arthur on why having things in his ass
     can be fun.
"I don't know why Brad Pitt is actually hotter when he's wearing those hideous
clothes," Arthur is musing, tilting his head as he stares at the television,
"It's like it amplifies my desire to get him naked."
Eames takes a slow breath, the way he always has to when Arthur brings up sex
like it's so fucking casual, like it doesn't make Eames think a multitude of
terribly depraved thoughts. Arthur really is sitting very close to him tonight,
in the middle of the couch instead of leaning against the other arm. Sixteen.
Sixteen years old. Behave yourself, Eames.
"I guess," Arthur continues, "It could be that he just looks sexier in
comparison to his clothes," he says this lightly, but the glance he casts at
Eames, flicking his eyes from Eames' shirt to his face, is so far from casual
it should be illegal. It sort of is illegal. Eames should care more about that,
he's sure.
The movie ploughs on, but Eames has seen it a million times, and he's really a
lot more interested in catching the looks Arthur is throwing him, subtle as a
brick but probably not intended as sly. He's pushing further every weekend,
hinting and flirting, finding excuses to touch Eames for too long or lean too
close when they talk. Eames' moral code was never all that strong. Age is just
a number. Eleven years is just an age difference. Age difference is just a
number.
Arthur inches closer so their thighs are touching, and Eames lets his arm slip
down a little from the back of the couch, because he likes the way Arthur
shivers every time Eames touches him. The commentary continues.
"No matter how many times I watch this scene, I keep expecting it to end with
sex."
"It's a shame she's not actually sleeping with Brad; he'd clearly be the better
lay. I mean, the body alone…"
"Actually, you know what, every fight scene seems like it should end in sex.
These guys are like two inches away from jerking each other off."
Absorbing the words, along with the heat from Arthur's body, Eames runs through
all the possible ways this could go wrong. He starts with the least likely –
that he's misreading things, and Arthur really just wants to be pals, which
sounds pretty ridiculous in the present context – and ends at the most
terrifying – that Arthur's enormous, overprotective father figures out where
Arthur really goes every Friday night, and beats Eames into a fine pulp for
corrupting his virginal Arthur. Eames spends a long time weighing the negative
aspects of this possibility against the unspeakably appealing part about
corrupting his virginal Arthur, and eventually realizes that he's lost track of
time.
"When's your curfew?" he asks, looking at his watch while Ed Norton experiences
mounting emotional turmoil.
Arthur shrugs, not meeting Eames' eyes. "I'm not late," he says, which is a
lie, unless Arthur's father has suddenly decided the night is still young at
11:28PM.
"Come on, you'll blame me if you get grounded again, I know how you operate,"
Eames says, digging in the cushions beside him for the remote.
"I don't have a curfew tonight," Arthur mutters, looking at his lap, then up at
Eames, faintly flushed in the low light, "He thinks I'm sleeping at Jeremy's."
Eames stalls, dropping the remote back into the depths of the sofa. "So," he
says slowly, "Where were you planning on staying?"
Arthur's cheeks turn pinker, in direct contrast to the sardonic arch of his
eyebrow, "Dad'll be in bed in an hour. I can sneak back in, tell him I left
early when he wakes up tomorrow."
"That's the plan, is it?" Eames says, aiming to sound mildly amused but
achieving something closer to mildly turned on.
"Until I get a better offer," Arthur says, and he's nervous underneath the
posturing, and seems to be at least vaguely aware that that line is terrible,
so it comes out rushed and a little breathless.
Eames leans closer, narrowing his eyes and studying Arthur's features, taking
in that mix of defiance and anxious inexperience that's kept him inviting
Arthur over every weekend for months now, addicted to watching Arthur push his
own boundaries, reckless like a teenager should be.
"You expecting a better offer?" he asks, proud that his voice comes out steady,
like maybe he's still got some composure left.
"Eames," Arthur breathes, shaky and soft, and there goes that thought, because
Eames is so fucked.
Later, Eames will assure himself that Arthur kissed first, if only because it
makes Eames sound like slightly less of an asshole, if he ever has to recount
the experience. At present, though, all he registers is a clash of lips and
teeth, frantic and messy and altogether too fast.
Arthur is practically vibrating when Eames brings his hands up, cradling his
face and trying to slow the kiss to an easier pace. Arthur's having none of it,
though, huffing a frustrated breath through his nose and curling his hands into
fists in Eames' shirt, trying to climb on top of him.
"Hey," Eames pulls back and holds Arthur off him, almost as much for his own
benefit as for Arthur's buzzing nerves, "Slow down."
Arthur's brow creases in a defiant frown, "Why?"
Eames knows him well enough by now to know that that look has more uncertainty
under it than Arthur would ever admit, so he smiles, leaning their foreheads
together and stroking his thumb over Arthur's cheekbone. "Because this isn't
going to be much fun if it happens too fast to remember it, right?"
Arthur kisses him again, but he pulls back quickly, like it was an impulse he
couldn't control. He's still shaking minutely, his hands clenching and
releasing in Eames' shirt.
"Come on," Eames says, leaning back against the arm of the couch and nudging
Arthur to turn around, pulling him back against his chest, "We've got time,
let's just… take it slower, yeah?"
He feels his own heartbeat, hammering against his ribcage as Arthur leans back
against him. Eames is grateful for the fact that Arthur can't see him close his
eyes, trying to get a handle on quite a few impulses. He lets Arthur settle,
biting his lip to stop from hissing as the small of Arthur's back presses
against his cock.
Ed Norton is chasing himself around America; they've got some time to get
comfortable, and an available distraction for Arthur to focus on while he gets
there. Eames doesn't plan on doing a lot of looking at the television. He wraps
his arms around Arthur, pressing lips to his neck, intimate in a way he's sure
Arthur isn't accustomed to.
"Have you ever done this before?" he asks. He thinks he knows the answer, but
he's learned that it's safer not to assume.
"What's this, exactly?" Arthur returns, and Eames has to fight down his smile
at the impatience in Arthur's tone.
"Anything," Eames says, "Sex, fooling around." he strokes his fingers across
Arthur's belly, feeling the muscles twitch.
Arthur's shoulders tense, "Not really," he says shortly, but when Eames doesn't
respond, he continues, "Handjobs, mostly."
"Mostly?" Eames licks at the shell of Arthur's ear, tightening his arms when
Arthur shivers.
"Just handjobs, okay?" he says, sounding pained, "Why do you need to know?"
Eames trails his hand lower, hitching up Arthur's t-shirt and touching the soft
skin just above the waistband of his jeans, "I just don't want to do anything
you're not comfortable with."
Arthur twists in his arms, frowning up at him, "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't
comfortable."
"I know," Eames says quickly, flattening his palm against Arthur's stomach,
dragging it up to his chest, "But I don't want to move too fast, or—"
"Fuck that," Arthur cuts him off, placing his hand over Eames' and guiding his
fingers to brush over Arthur's nipple. He takes a shaky breath, "I know what I
want."
Eames shuts his eyes for a second, teasing Arthur's nipple and feeling him
squirm and press back, and Eames is getting hard, so hard, against the warm
pressure of his body. "So tell me."
"I… I want you to touch me," Arthur whispers, tilting his head for Eames to
press a kiss to his neck. "I want to touch you… I want you – to, to suck me."
Eames bites down on a disturbing sort of growl, his hands roaming over Arthur's
torso, "Keep going."
"I keep thinking about it, all the time. I want to come in your mouth," he
whispers, his hand clenching on Eames' thigh. Eames bites down on a spot low on
his neck, groaning when Arthur whimpers. "I'll let you fuck me," he goes on,
and for a moment Eames is just bowled over by the words, by the concept, so it
takes him a few beats to register the implication.
"You'll let me?" he says, smirking, "Is that a favour?"
Arthur squirms – Eames grits his teeth – and shrugs, "What, you don't want to?"
he asks, only half-kidding, craning his neck to meet Eames' eyes. Eames almost
laughs.
"You have no fucking idea how much I want to," he says, pressing his lips to
that spot under Arthur's ear that's been making him shiver, "But you have to
want it, too."
Arthur swallows, "It's not just about me."
Eames nods, trailing his hand down Arthur's belly, barely bypassing the bulge
in his jeans in favour of stroking his inner thigh through the worn denim. "It
can be a little bit about you, though, yeah?"
"Well – I think I'd like anything you did to me," Arthur says,
uncharacteristically candid, inching his legs further apart. Eames kisses his
neck and reaches so his fingers brush against Arthur's ass. Breathing heavily,
Arthur makes a soft noise.
"You ever try putting your fingers in there?" Eames whispers. He presses a
little firmer between Arthur's legs for emphasis.
Arthur stiffens, his breath catching before he speaks, "I tried… Tonight, in
the shower, I tried it."
"And?"
"And it – it was weird. It fucking hurt like hell."
"It doesn't have to," Eames says, trailing his hand back up to cover Arthur's
erection, straining against his jeans, "It can feel really, really good if you
do it right."
"I know there's, like, the prostate. I mean, I've read about it," Arthur is
pressing up against Eames' hand, but Eames isn't giving him much, just light
pressure.
"That's only part of it, there's more than that. It feels like…" Eames trails
off, casting around for a way to describe it in a way that won't sound
terrifying, "Like you're full, and open, in a really good way. Like you can't
get enough."
Arthur whines, and Eames is sure he's pressing back with purpose now, wriggling
against Eames' cock. "It doesn't hurt?"
"Sometimes," Eames concedes, pressing his lips behind Arthur's ear, "But
sometimes that's good, too, a little bit of pain. Makes everything feel
sharper."
Arthur is quiet for a while, just breathing shakily, rocking his hips.
"It doesn't have to be someone's cock, either," Eames continues, curving his
hand a little and letting Arthur work his hips up into the contact, "Sometimes
it's even better when it's just fingers, hitting all the right spots."
Arthur reaches back, curling his hand around Eames' neck and pulling him down
for a kiss. This time it's slower, his movements have lost some of the frantic
edge from before. He parts his lips when Eames licks at them, moaning around
Eames' tongue.
When he pulls back, he looks dazed, cheeks pink and eyes half-lidded like Eames
is doing a lot more than just groping him through his jeans.
"I want you to show me."
Eames takes a deep breath, gathering shreds of control. He slides his hand to
Arthur's thigh again, and this time Arthur bends his knee, arching into the
touch.
"You're sure about this?" Eames whispers, expecting annoyance, needing to ask
anyway.
But Arthur just nods, and if Eames didn't know him, he'd call it earnest. "I'm
sure."
Eames presses another kiss to the side of his mouth, smiling, "Then we're going
to have to change venues." He nudges Arthur up and pulls himself off the couch,
holding his hand out to help Arthur stand.
"Your bedroom?" Arthur asks, not able to keep his voice strictly casual, and
yes, right, Arthur's never even seen the bedroom before.
Tugging him to his feet, Eames kisses the back of his hand, then leans close to
kiss his mouth, because he can't help himself. "I don't think you're a quickie-
on-the-sofa kind of guy," he says when he pulls back, and the only reason
Arthur's smile doesn't make Eames' heart stop is that he turns then, and leads
him down the hall.
Eames intends to give Arthur a moment to center himself – or at least to take
in his surroundings – once they reach the bedroom, but Arthur doesn't seem
terribly interested in the pattern of the duvet. Hands tug at Eames' shirt
buttons the moment they're facing each other, Arthur latching onto his lips
again, buzzing with energy, eager to move along.
Being that he's only human, it takes Eames a little longer, this time, to pull
up on the reins. Arthur gets his shirt open, running cold, trembling fingers
over Eames' chest, breaking the kiss to look down with hitched breath and
awestruck gaze, and fuck if that doesn't make Eames feel Goddamn invincible. He
lets Arthur shove the shirt to the floor, lets him press his lips to Eames'
shoulder, lets him get as far as pulling frantically at Eames' belt before he
grabs Arthur's wrists.
"We're back to the start here, aren't we?" he says, and Arthur growls in
frustration, his forehead creasing.
"I thought this was about what I want," he challenges, though he tilts his head
to the side when Eames moves in to mouth at his neck, holding his wrists
steady.
Eames grins and releases him, pleased when Arthur abandons his belt and brings
his hands to Eames' shoulders instead. "Just trust me?" he pulls back to watch
Arthur's face as he slips his hand around to the small of his back, working
fingers under the waistband of his jeans to just brush over the curve of his
ass.
Arthur smiles reluctantly, "I can try," he says, touching his lips to Eames'
again.
To be embarrassingly honest, Eames would probably kiss Arthur for hours if he
thought Arthur would let him. There are quite a few other things he'd like to
do for hours, too, but spending some time memorizing the way Arthur sighs and
shakes when their tongues touch, and leans into him like he trusts Eames to
hold him up, that feels like a good place to start. Arthur's patience only goes
so far, though, so Eames pulls back, freeing his hand from Arthur's jeans and
tugging his t-shirt up and off.
With Arthur following his lead, Eames gets to take a moment to just look, to
appreciate the pale skin and smooth lines of Arthur's torso, young and thin and
lanky, because he's grown inches this past year and he's still a little awkward
with it. Arthur tenses under the inspection, and Eames realizes too late that
Arthur has likely never had anyone see him like this, or look at him the way
Eames is right now.
Carding his fingers through Arthur's messy hair, Eames leans their foreheads
together. Thoughts like beautiful and lovely and want to fuck you till you cry
bounce through his mind, but he lands on, "You're so fucking sexy, do you know
that?"
And because Arthur is still Arthur, regardless of inexperience in the current
situation, he doesn't disappoint. "Well, I figure there's a reason you invite
me over here every weekend."
Eames hums, sliding his hand to Arthur's ass and pressing their hips together,
letting him feel how hard Eames is for him. There's a gasp, and Arthur stiffens
in his arms, so sensitive already. He rocks into the contact, making soft
little noises and clutching hard to Eames' shoulders.
"Alright," Eames says, stilling Arthur's hips and moving to open his jeans,
shoving them down then doing the same with his own. He walks backwards until he
hits the bed, and sits on the edge, pulling Arthur on top of him, separated by
nothing but underwear. Arthur looks instantly comfortable in this position,
straddling Eames' lap, which is something he'll have to keep in mind.
Arthur leans down for a kiss, already rocking. Eames lets him move, lets him
feel it out and explore, bringing one hand to Arthur's hip when he starts
speeding up.
"Keep it slow, that's it," he murmurs, guiding Arthur into an easy rhythm,
rubbing himself on Eames' stomach. Eames brings a finger to Arthur's parted
lips, and he hesitates, briefly, before flicking his tongue against it. His
confidence grows as Eames sucks in a sharp breath, Arthur wrapping his lips
around the finger and taking it into his mouth, his hot, wet, gorgeous little
fucking mouth – Eames' cock twitches in jealousy.
With effort, he slips free, bringing his hand around to push into the back of
Arthur's underwear. Eames palms his ass, spreading him apart to touch his
finger to Arthur's hole. Hips stutter and thighs shake, and Arthur goes tense
in his arms.
"Are you gonna—" he says, his hair falling over his eyes as he ducks his head,
struggling to finish the question.
"Not yet," Eames says, just circling his entrance, getting him used to the
feeling of having someone touch him there. Arthur squirms against it, brow
creasing, but he starts to adjust, colour on his cheeks and little noises
leaving his throat as Eames rubs at him.
"I want to touch you," Arthur says, somewhat abruptly, one hand leaving Eames'
shoulder to tug down the waistband of his boxers. Arthur's fingers are cool,
nearly uncomfortable, but it's eclipsed by the way he moans when he feels
Eames' cock in his hand, the way Eames can feel his hole clenching against the
tip of his finger, and he doesn't need to ask about it to know what's on
Arthur's mind right now.
Breathing getting sharper, Eames slips his free hand down to return the favour,
pulling Arthur's cock from his underwear and stroking. Arthur's grip goes
slack, too overwhelmed with it all to keep everything coordinated, so Eames
takes over, pushing Arthur's hand off him.
Arthur groans as Eames wraps his fingers around them both. Eames almost feels
like he's a teenager again, like everything Arthur feels is so intense, it
spills over. He'd forgotten what this was like, how good it is just to have
contact, just the feel of someone else's cock against your own, thrilling the
way everything about sex is thrilling when you're sixteen and can't think about
anything else. Eames kisses him, but Arthur can barely participate, just
whining into it, pushing up into Eames' fist.
"Keep moving," Eames whispers as he presses just the tip of his finger into
Arthur's body, dry, but not nearly far enough to hurt. Arthur's breath catches
sharply, his head falling back as he moans, shoving against the grip Eames has
on him just once before he freezes. Eames feels it, warm and wet on his
fingers, before he realizes what's happened; Arthur is coming, all over their
stomachs, clenching tight on the finger inside him. Eames fights not to lose
control while Arthur shudders and gasps in his lap, moaning like he's never
felt anything so good.
"Fuck," he finally forces out, burying his face in the crook of Eames' neck,
"Fuck, god, I'm sorry, I couldn't…"
Eames kisses the shell of his ear, still reeling, huffing out a laugh, "You're
– Christ, Arthur, don't be sorry." He falls back to the mattress, but Arthur is
dead weight on his chest, so Eames gently pushes him off, rolling him onto his
back. "Come on," Eames maneuvers him into the middle of the bed, loose-limed
and sprawling.
"Let's get these off," Eames says, tugging Arthur's underwear down.
"You too," Arthur murmurs, yanking ineffectually until Eames gives him a hand
and shoves his own boxers down and off. Arthur hums happily when Eames
stretches out on top of him, pressed together everywhere and weighing him down.
Eames kisses him, loving this new pliancy, the way Arthur just parts his lips
and opens up for it, still in that soft, post-orgasm haze.
Eames pushes a hand between them, brushing his fingers over Arthur's cock,
making him gasp, too sensitive. When Eames pulls his mouth away, Arthur looks
like – like sex, young and dazed and exhilarated, and Eames feels like he's
drunk on it.
"Spread your legs for me," he says, and Arthur does, giving Eames a look like
it's the sexiest thing he's ever heard, letting Eames sit back, kneeling
between his knees.
Stroking his hand up and down Arthur's thigh, Eames fixes him with the
gentlest, least predatory expression he can manage under the current
circumstances. "It doesn't have to go any further than this, you know. If you
want to stop, or just wait…"
Arthur stares at him with a look of pure exasperation, "Are you fucking
serious? I'm naked in your bed, you asshole, do you seriously think I want you
to stop?"
Eames grins, reaching over to his nightstand to fetch the lube, "I was
sincerely hoping not," he says, flicking open the bottle and pouring some onto
his finger, "But you really do have to tell me if you want to take it easy, or
slow down, or even stop, if it comes to that. Will you do that?"
Arthur swallows heavily, reaching out; Eames leans over him and lets Arthur
pull him into a kiss. "I will," he breathes against Eames' lips.
Sitting up again, Eames touches one slick finger to Arthur's hole, pleased when
Arthur just hums, bending one knee slightly and opening his legs further. "Just
one right now," Eames says, and presses it in, barely further than before. He
waits for a few breaths, then pushes again, past the width of his second
knuckle, pausing before the limit for Arthur to adjust, because he's
ludicrously tight. He doesn't look scared or like he's in pain, though, and
soon he lets out a huff of air, and Eames feels his muscles relax, just
slightly.
"How many fingers did you use when you tried this yourself?" Eames asks,
pulling out a little, pushing back in slowly, gritting his teeth at the hitch
of breath and the barely-there whimper he gets for his efforts.
"Tried for two," Arthur says, "They didn't – I couldn't get very far."
"Well then, tonight's secondary lesson will be concerning the benefit of proper
lubrication," Eames smiles, fucking Arthur slowly, carefully with his finger,
"How does this feel?"
Arthur's brow creases, like he hadn't thought about the answer. He rolls his
hips experimentally, meeting Eames' hand, and gives a lopsided smile, "It's
good. It doesn't hurt as much as I thought."
"Good," Eames moves down on the bed, stretching out on his stomach between
Arthur's legs. There's come on Arthur's belly, and Eames laps at it, letting
Arthur squirm and arch up toward him. He's hard again, already, but Eames isn't
going to tempt fate and sixteen-year-old hair triggers by touching him.
Once Arthur's skin is clean, once Arthur is moaning openly and working his hips
against Eames' hand, Eames pulls his finger out, slicking another, "Ready for
two?"
Arthur licks his lips nervously, but he nods, "Yeah."
Eames is careful, so fucking slow, when he presses his fingers to Arthur's
entrance. "Relax," he says, biting down on I'm not going to hurt you, because
that is, technically, a lie; it's obviously going to hurt. Eames pushes against
the resistance, the muscles like a vice around his fingers when he gets them in
halfway. Arthur whines, taking short little breaths through his nose.
"I know it hurts, I know," Eames whispers, hearing his voice shaking, pressing
a kiss to Arthur's inner thigh, "I'm not gonna move them yet. You tell me if
you need to stop, all right?"
"I'm okay, just – need a second," Arthur says, his eyes screwed up tight.
"You take all the time you need, love," Eames says, pressing kisses to the
inside of Arthur's trembling thigh, licking at the soft, pale skin.
Arthur lets out his breath, his fingers touching Eames' head, "That feels
good," he says, relaxing minutely. Eames glances up at him, making a quick,
possibly absurd decision. He takes Arthur's thigh in his hand, bending his leg
up toward his chest, which Arthur takes like it's easy. Eames can't help his
groan when he looks down at where Arthur's clenching on him, and has a similar
lack of control over how he leans in, touching the tip of his tongue to
Arthur's hole.
"Oh – fuck--" Arthur gasps, and that'll do fine for encouragement, so Eames
does it again, licking at the skin stretched around his fingers. He's still
tight, too tight for comfort, so Eames pulls his fingers free, using his hand
to hold Arthur's cheeks apart and drag his tongue across his hole, wriggling
the tip inside.
Arthur is absolutely shattered above him, shaking apart and breathing out tight
little whimpers, "Ah, ah, ah," at every flick over his sore, sensitive skin.
Eames gets him wet, gets him dripping with spit, and while Arthur's keening and
begging for more, Eames slips his fingers back in. This time they go easy, as
easy as Eames could hope, and Arthur makes a startled sound when they reach as
far as they can.
"Eames, Eames," he pants, tugging at the sheets. Eames lifts his head, watching
Arthur's face.
"Talk to me, tell me how it feels," he twists his hand a little.
"Fuck, oh, it's – it's like you said, feels full, it's good, don't stop,"
Arthur babbles.
Eames lets Arthur's leg fall back to the bed, nudging at his hip, "Move a
little," he says, his voice shaking and rough, and he's barely been touched,
but he doesn't remember the last time he was this turned on, "Move with me,
find how you like it."
Arthur nods, arching and rocking his hips onto Eames' hand as Eames presses in.
Feeling a little overwhelmed, Eames can't decide between kissing all over
Arthur's thighs and stomach, and watching his face as he falls apart. He crooks
his fingers, searching, until Arthur cries out.
"There we go," Eames breathes, Arthur working himself up and down frantically,
straining for more.
"Is that—" he starts, but his voice dies as Eames rubs against the spot again.
"That would be your prostate," Eames confirms, dizzy and losing restraint,
driving his fingers inside.
"God, Eames, oh God," Arthur moans, scratching at his shoulders, "I wish you'd
fuck me."
Eames feels something snap in his brain, quieting the voice that's been telling
him, all night, to keep his thoughts to himself. He moves up Arthur's body,
leaning over him with his fingers still pushing in deep.
"Next time, I'll fuck you," he promises, "I'll get you so fucking wet and loose
with my fingers and my tongue, you'll be desperate for it, you'll beg for my
cock."
"Yes," Arthur gasps, nodding along, fucking himself on Eames' hand, "Fuck yes."
His hand creeps between them, moving to grab his own cock.
"Don't touch yourself," Eames tells him, expecting resistance, but Arthur's
hand stops, "I want you to come just like this."
Arthur moans, and he brings his hand to Eames' stomach instead, "Can I touch
you?"
Jesus. "Yeah, go – oh," Eames grunts as Arthur's fingers wrap around his cock,
smearing precome from the head.
Arthur jerks him with the same demanding pace that Eames has set. Eames' arm
shakes with the effort of holding his own weight, still fingering Arthur hard
enough to make him feel it in the morning, maybe make him squirm when he sits
at his desk, trying to do his homework but too distracted to concentrate—
And with that thought, Eames comes all over him. Arthur's eyes go wide as Eames
fucks into his hand, groaning, spilling onto Arthur's stomach, his cock. He
shoves his face against Arthur's neck, mouthing inelegantly against his skin,
mindlessly crooking his fingers, driving into him brutally.
Arthur shoves down on Eames' hand, positively sobbing, and then he's coming
too. He goes impossibly tight, but Eames works him through his orgasm, stroking
at his prostate and twisting his fingers until Arthur is spent and quivering
from too much stimulation, covered in come and panting like he's run a
marathon.
Eames collapses to the side, but just barely, still cradled between Arthur's
legs. He moves off him in increments, each time he gets the strength to shift a
little more. He ends up flopping over onto his back, tugging Arthur half on top
of him, scratching lightly through his hair.
"You can stay, right?" Eames asks sleepily. He opens one eye to find Arthur
staring at him, alarmingly lucid.
"Can I?"
Eames blinks, then cups Arthur's jaw, tipping his face up to kiss him hard and
quick, then again, and again, until the message is clear, "Of course you can."
Arthur smiles, cheeks dimpling, and lays his head on Eames' chest. They're both
sweaty and sticky; in a minute, they'll take a shower. Arthur sighs
contentedly, fingers stroking up and down Eames' side. Maybe a few minutes.
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