
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/437047.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Inception_(2010)
  Relationship:
      Arthur/Eames_(Inception)
  Character:
      Arthur_(Inception), Eames_(Inception)
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe, Religion, Religion_Kink, Confessions, Romance, Fluff,
      Underage_Sex, Smut, Explicit_Sexual_Content
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-06-18 Words: 5918
****** Sin Never Felt So Good ******
by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles
Summary
     Arthur goes to confessional and confesses his sins. Father Eames
     listens intently and acts accordingly.
Notes
     You can check out here to follow my Tumblr for info about me and
     story updates.
     Please do not read this story if you feel you will be offended by the
     religious setting. I have no intention to offend anyone, but what
     happens in this story may be offensive to some people. My only goal
     is to write smut, and I apologize if everyone is made uncomfortable
     or upset by this story. I also apologize if I got anything wrong,
     because I’m not very knowledgeable about many religious traditions.
See the end of the work for more notes
The curtains of red velvet were heavy as Arthur pushed past them and sat down
in the small chair on his side of the confessional booth. He knew Father Eames
was sitting on the other side of the booth. Arthur could hear him breathing
even if he couldn’t see the priest. Arthur took a deep breath and began. “Bless
me Father, for I have sinned. This is my first confession.”
 
“How old are you, child?” Father Eames asked, no doubt surprised by the fact
that this was Arthur’s first confession.
 
“Seventeen next month, Father,” Arthur admitted, as though this too was a sin.
 
Father Eames gave a hum of acknowledgement. “Tell me your sins.”
 
“I am in love.”
 
“Love is not a sin,” Father Eames reminded him.
 
Arthur clenched his eyes closed and let his head tilt forward, shamed. “With a
man.”
 
There was a long pause of silence. “Does this man love you also?”
 
Arthur shook his head even though he was not visible. “I would not dare to
hope. I have only been with him in my thoughts.”
 
“You have imagined being with this man that you love?”
 
Arthur gripped the fabric of his dress pants over his thighs tightly, creasing
the material. “Yes.”
 
“Have you taken pleasure in these moments?”
 
“Yes, Father,” Arthur whispered.
 
“How many times?”
 
Arthur paused to think, and felt guiltier when he could not keep count. “Many
times.”
 
Father Eames hummed again. Arthur suddenly felt terrified. Confessional was
supposed to be anonymous, but what if Father Eames recognized Arthur’s voice?
They spoke every week at Sunday school. Would Eames look at him differently?
Would he cast Arthur out? Arthur lived in a small rural town. If his family
knew that Arthur took pleasure in his own hand as he thought of a man, Arthur
would be disowned; he would have nowhere to go.
 
“Have you tried to fight these urges?” Father Eames’ voice broke Arthur’s
mental fears. Even if Father Eames did know it was Arthur, it didn’t seem like
he was going to do anything about it.
 
“I have, Father,” Arthur said. “But I have been weak.”
 
“Perhaps if you tell me what you imagine, we can help you gain control over
them,” Father Eames suggested, sounding slightly cautious. Arthur’s eyes
flashed open in surprise, staring at the dim curtains hiding him away from the
world’s judging gaze. He didn’t know if Father Eames was kidding, nor where to
start if the priest was being serious. “Tell me how your fantasy begins.”
 
Arthur licked his lips, shoulders tense. “We are at Sunday school and he asks
me to stay behind after everyone else leaves. And then his eyes...”
 
“What about his eyes?” Father Eames prompts when Arthur trails away, his
fantasy floating behind his eyes once again.
 
“Beautiful, intelligent, kind,” Arthur describes, closing his eyes to see the
ones in his mind’s eye more clearly. Gorgeous blue grey, their weight always
seemed to be on Arthur. And Father Eames always smiled with his eyes. “His eyes
watch me as he tells me to take off my clothes in front of him. They read my
skin like a book.”
 
“And how does that make you feel?”
 
“Exposed,” Arthur confessed even as he shivered, imagining it, imagining those
eyes on him as his entire body was put on display. “And special.”
 
It felt like it was growing warmer in the confessional booth, and Arthur
readjusted himself in the chair. He brushed his palms across his pants, wiping
away sweat. Father Eames was silent again and Arthur felt almost breathless
waiting for him to speak. “What else?”
 
It was surprisingly easy to describe his fantasies here in this little box,
Father Eames just on the other side of the wood panelling and open grating for
speaking. The fantasy was twisting and winding around Arthur’s mind, wrapping
him in a warm haze. “His mouth,” Arthur said softly, lips remaining parted
slightly as he imagined them. Full, plump lips; so soft and so tempting. Arthur
continued without prompting this time. “Marking my skin.”
 
“Where?”
 
“Everywhere,” Arthur breathed immediately. His head tilted back until it rested
against the back panelling of the booth, his eyes still closed. “Tasting my
skin that I’d only bare for him. Marking me so that I and everyone else knew
who I belonged to.” Arthur shifted again, noticing that his pants were growing
a little tight.
 
The low cadence of Father Eames’ voice only made Arthur’s cock swell and harden
quicker. Soon Arthur was grateful for the dim lighting of the booth, lest
someone see the bulge straining the fabric of his pants. “Anything else?”
 
Almost without thinking about it, Arthur’s hand slid up his thigh to press the
heel of his palm against his cock, feeling it twitch as Arthur shuddered. “His
hands. He would bruise my hips with his fingers as he lifted me and pinned me
down. And his big hands would travel every inch of my skin; touch me where no
one else ever has. It would feel so good...” Arthur accidentally groaned out,
imagining it. His hips lifted off the chair slightly as he palmed himself
harder, purposefully.
 
He fumbled with the button on his pants, shoving the fabric down just enough to
free his already-leaking erection. Seeing it in the anonymous space of the
confessional booth, wrapping his hand around his own flesh and feeling it jump,
just spurred his fantasy on. “And his—” Arthur finally stopped his flow of
words, his eyes flashing open even though his hand did not move away. What was
he doing? He couldn’t say that here, to a priest! And he certainly shouldn’t be
doing this in the House of the Lord.
 
But Father Eames was insistent, and he didn’t comment on the breathiness of
Arthur’s voice. “Tell me.”
 
“His cock,” Arthur groaned and then bit his lip, saying no more.
 
“Do you imagine this man pinning you down with his weight and pressing his cock
inside you?” Father Eames asked, voice almost teasing but also noticeably
lower. Arthur squeezed himself a little tighter and fought down a moan as his
hips bucked up into his hand in jealousy. “Do you imagine how it would feel for
your body to spread and take him in? How full you would feel with his hot,
thick length inside you?”
 
“Please,” Arthur begged, not sure what he was asking for as his hand jerked
desperately.
 
“Do you imagine him kissing and biting more marks onto your skin as he claimed
your body? His hands gripping your hips or your ass tightly, his fingers
digging in? You wouldn’t be able to move. You could only lie there and take
what he gave you.”
 
“I want it,” Arthur confessed. His body was slick with sweat, his hand moving
smoothly after being coated in so much precome. His cock was pulsing and heavy,
the head swollen and weeping. Arthur turned his head and pressed his sweaty
forehead against the wood panelling separating them, wanting to be closer. His
spine tingled and his body spasmed, unable to remain still as he rocked into
his hand. The name crawled up his throat and he only barely choked it back
down.
 
“Say it,” Father Eames said, though it sounded a bit like he was begging.
 
Arthur’s eyes clenched closed as his hips arched off the small chair, his cock
fucking his palm as burning come splattered and smeared across Arthur’s hand.
“Eames.”
 
The hitched gasp of breath from the other side of the confessional booth was
noticeable. Arthur moaned again at hearing it and an extra glob of come slid
weakly from his slit.
 
Arthur remained where he was for long minutes, struggling to catch his breath
and calm his heartbeat. His hearing was a little muffled, like he had been
struck on the back of the head and was still a little dazed from the impact.
Father Eames was markedly silent, saying nothing and not even breathing loudly.
Arthur felt like crying, could even feel the corners of his eyes burn. He wiped
his hand clean on the inside of his jacket where he could hide it until he
cleaned it, and then hurriedly tucked himself back into his pants. Father Eames
still said nothing, and Arthur threw the heavy curtain aside before fleeing.
 
#
 
He strongly considered skipping next Sunday school. The whole week dragged by
as Arthur thought about it. He was terrified that Father Eames knew it was him
who had come – literally, good lord – to the confessional booth. How could he
not know? He was fearful of Father Eames telling his parents of the shame of
their son, and of the inevitable disownment. But more than anything else,
Arthur was scared of facing Father Eames. Pretending nothing had happened,
pretending he hadn’t said Eames’ name and hadn’t come all over his hand with
the priest right there. Not that Father Eames was entirely innocent either, but
Arthur didn’t even know what to make of the other man’s words. He would think
Arthur was weak, hopeless.
 
Father Eames didn’t tell anyone though, didn’t shame Arthur in front of the
entire town. And in the end, Arthur had no choice but to attend Sunday school
unless his parents found out and began to ask questions. But that didn’t mean
that Sunday school was easy to bear. Father Eames’ eyes felt heavier on
Arthur’s shoulders this week. And although Father Eames had never been
particularly touchy before, he left a clear distance between himself and
Arthur’s body during the entire morning.
 
Even though there was nothing else Arthur had been expecting to happen, it
still hurt. Arthur hadn’t been lying when he first stepped into that
confessional booth. Things had ended around the topic of Arthur’s unquenchable
lust, but it was more than that. He had helped Father Eames with Sunday school
for the last year, since he was old enough, and they had grown very close. His
relationship with Father Eames was different from Arthur’s own father because
Father Eames treated him like an equal.
 
Arthur loved his eyes and his smile, and his laugh. He loved the way the man
made Sunday school fun and engaging, and how he wordlessly acted as a mentor to
all the children under his care. Arthur had been a bit of a trouble child when
Eames first showed up, stubborn to a fault and more than used to adults just
throwing up their hands in defeat. But Father Eames had stuck by him and
supported him until Arthur was finally willing to let a few barriers fall,
until he was ready to talk and help kindle a connection.
 
Now that was all ruined. Father Eames would never see Arthur as more than one
of his wards, despite those seemingly exceptionally-affectionate looks and
smiles. But now Father Eames would probably never be comfortable near Arthur
again; their relationship would wither.
 
“Arthur.” Father Eames’ voice was soft and careful, drawing Arthur from his
thoughts once again. All of the other children were in the process of packing
their bags and grabbing their jackets, leaving the church to go play in the
fields before the chill of winter truly set in. Arthur remained seated, eyes
wide as he looked to the priest. “Would you collect all these papers and bring
them up to my office?”
 
“Yes, Father,” Arthur promised, eyes dropping when he found he could not hold
Eames’ gaze. He knew where this would lead, knew that Father Eames was going to
tell him how horribly he had sinned and how he never wanted Arthur in his
church again. How they could never be friends again, how his soul probably
belonged to the Devil and that he was beyond saving.
 
Father Eames collected half the workbooks quickly before disappearing to his
office. Arthur was much slower as he collected the paper, quills and inkwells.
He balanced everything his arms, making sure he had everything. He would only
be making one final trip to Father Eames’ office. When he arrived, Father Eames
was seated behind his desk, eyes on him as Arthur set everything on their
proper shelf.
 
Afterwards he turned back around and stood in the centre of the office. Father
Eames’ eyes were on him, making Arthur’s body thrum even as he wanted to flee.
But he felt that he shouldn’t leave until he was finally cast out, and Father
Eames hadn’t said anything yet. Arthur shifted his weight, glancing back at the
door before looking back at the priest shyly. Father Eames raised an eyebrow
and Arthur felt his heart jolt. “You know what to do.”
 
“Father?” Arthur asked, trying to keep his voice from quivering. He began to
fidget with the hem of his tunic.
 
“Take off your clothes,” Father Eames commanded, words rumbling deep in his
chest. Arthur froze and blinked owlishly. He actually pinched his arm; an
action that Father Eames noticed, causing him to chuckle. “This isn’t a dream.
Take off your clothes...” he kept watching Arthur, though his eyes softened,
“If you want to.”
 
Arthur’s hands trembled but did not hesitate, did not question as his fingers
plucked open buttons and pushed fabric away. Father Eames’ gorgeous blue eyes
stayed on him as the priest remained seated at his desk, watching Arthur. His
tunic slid away first, promptly followed by haphazardly kicked-off shoes and
torn-away pants. It wasn’t long before Arthur was standing, all skin, in front
of Father Eames. His bare feet gripped at the grainy wood of the floorboards.
His whole body shuddered pleasantly as Father Eames’ eyes roamed freely,
greedily.
 
And then Father Eames was curling a finger, motioning Arthur forward. Arthur
could already feel his body beginning to heat and tingle, his cock half hard
and hanging heavy between his legs. It was slightly uncomfortable standing
naked in front of the priest, especially when Father Eames was still fully
clothed. Arthur felt like he had more than just his body on display; his heart
bared and still in danger of being shattered. But it felt as good standing in
front of Father Eames as Arthur had imagined. He felt as though he was standing
below the warm sun, blue eyes enveloping him.
 
Father Eames stood when Arthur drew near and stopped in front of the desk,
circling around to stand in front of Arthur. Although Eames was at least ten
years Arthur’s senior, their height was near equal. Their eyes held. Then
Father Eames licked his lips and Arthur’s eyes dropped to track the movement.
And in that moment of lustful distraction, Father Eames stepped forward and
hoisted Arthur up off the ground.
 
Arthur gave a little gasp of surprise and hurriedly wrapped his arms and legs
around Father Eames’ neck and waist, fearful of being dropped. But then he was
distracted by the feel of his cock rubbing against the fabric of Father Eames’
robes, and Arthur groaned, pressing closer. Arthur felt his body responding to
the closeness and warmth of Father Eames’ body, as well as the fact that the
priest seemed to be holding Arthur aloft without any sign of strain.
“Father...” Arthur whined, fingers digging in to grip at fabric.
 
“Just Eames.” The priest kissed the words into the skin on Arthur’s jaw. Arthur
nodded, and only then did Eames walk them back around to sit Arthur on the
clear part of the desk. Arthur didn’t really want to release his hold on Eames,
shivering in pleasure every time he thrust against Eames’ hip weakly. Eames
eventually pried him off, but luckily he remained between Arthur’s bare,
shaking knees. “Now tell me exactly where you remembered me marking your skin.”
 
Arthur was incredibly nervous. Never had he hoped that his frantic, heated
fantasies would become reality. Yet here Eames was, dressed but between
Arthur’s legs, exploring Arthur’s body with his eyes like he couldn’t get
enough. And Eames wanted to go further, even when he knew how far Arthur
imagined this going. Even though he knew this was sinful. But sin had never
felt this good, and Eames hadn’t even done anything yet. Arthur was seated,
naked on Eames’ desk with his cock fully hard and jutting up against his
stomach eagerly, Eames’ large hands on his thighs. And Arthur wanted more. He
wanted it all.
 
Feeling his cheeks burning, Arthur raised a hand and pointed at the left side
of his chest, right over his heart. He gave a choked-off moan when Eames
immediately ducked his head and sealed his lips over that exact location. There
was a sharp pinch of pain when Eames nipped with blunt teeth before he soothed
the wound with his tongue. Then he sucked at the skin hard and Arthur felt his
hips stutter as he made more noise.
 
Once that mark was complete, Eames pulled away. His lips were shiny with saliva
and he raised an eyebrow again. Hand shaking slightly, Arthur pointed to just
below his ribs. Then to his hip, and then, feeling brave, to his inner thigh.
Eames knelt dutifully and gripped Arthur’s leg, hooking it over Eames’ shoulder
to open him up a bit. Arthur felt the self-conscious urge to close his legs,
well aware of the view Eames was receiving from that position. But he forgot to
fight when Eames kissed up his inner thigh before choosing a location and
making yet another mark.
 
When he was finished, Eames looked up at him, one of Arthur’s legs still hooked
over his shoulder. Arthur felt a drop of precome slide down the underside of
his cock, in perfect view for Eames. Arthur bit his lip nervously, watching
Eames’ eyes follow the tiny action. And then Arthur pointed to his neck, his
breath quick with uncertainty. This was a bold request; the mark would be
visible to anyone with eyes. People would question; people would talk.
 
Eames carefully moved Arthur’s leg from his shoulder before standing. He
gripped Arthur’s hips tightly, no doubt leaving a few bruises, and dragged him
forward until he was sitting right on the edge. He was close enough to feel
Eames’ hard cock press against his own through the fabric of his robes. One
large hand rested on each of Arthur’s narrow shoulders, but instead of bending
his mouth to suck a mark onto Arthur’s neck, Eames leaned forward and sealed
their lips together.
 
Arthur jolted forward in pleasure, hands clasping desperately at fabric until
he eventually just wrapped his arms around Eames and pulled him closer. Eames’
mouth was hot and wet, his lips so big and full that Arthur felt consumed in
the best way. And then Eames’ tongue was seeking entrance, and Arthur was
opening his mouth, and a skilled tongue was brushing his own. Arthur had not
mentioned kissing in his confession the week before because he had never
fantasized about it; he figured that Eames would never love him in return, and
therefore would never be willing to kiss him.
 
Kissing Eames was addicting. It had Arthur’s body strung out and burning with
desire. But it also had his body calming, grounding itself in preparation for
more. They kissed for long enough that Arthur might be worried about his
erection dwindling a bit, but Eames was rutting against him and neither of them
was anywhere close to stopping. They kissed for so long that Arthur swore in
surprise when Eames pulled away only long enough to seal his lips over the skin
on Arthur’s neck, sucking harshly. “Oh god.”
 
Eames nipped him in warning and pulled his mouth away. Arthur whined in loss
and apology. “Leave His name out of this. This isn’t His business,” Eames said.
 
Arthur was about to apologize but Eames was kissing him again, softer this
time, and then returning to his neck. Arthur could feel his heartbeat pounding
in his ears and under Eames’ mouth. And he could feel the bruise forming even
as Eames worked; the skin tender and pulsing the way of all wounds. But Arthur
wanted this wound, cherished it because it meant much more than Eames was
voicing.
 
Finally Eames seemed satisfied, pulling away enough to skim his eyes over
Arthur’s body again, taking in the marks in the shape of Eames’ mouth littering
his skin. Eames gave a tiny nod in satisfaction and looked up, and Arthur gave
an embarrassingly-blissful smile. That made Eames smile too. “Mind reminding me
what came next, Arthur?” Eames practically purred, his hands once again on
Arthur’s trembling thighs.
 
Arthur swallowed thickly. “You should get rid of your clothes.”
 
Eames smirked and took another step back, ignoring Arthur’s keening at the
loss. Arthur held his hands out, wanting to peel the fabric from Eames’ skin
himself. But Eames didn’t seem interested in drawing it out, instead just
pulling and throwing everything aside in a hurry. Then he was back between
Arthur’s legs, just close enough that their leaking tips pressed together. “Oh
fuck...” Arthur tried to arch closer even though he didn’t really know what he
was doing. “Eames.”
 
Eames’ hands came up and cupped Arthur’s flushed cheeks, tilting his head up
and away from the tantalizing sight of their cocks sliding together. “Have you
done this before?” Eames asked, voice soft and tender. Embarrassed, Arthur
couldn’t speak. He just shook his head, glancing away. Eames just drew his gaze
again and smiled reassuringly. “I’ll be careful.”
 
“Okay,” Arthur agreed breathily. His heart raced as Eames gently dropped his
hands to Arthur’s chest, pressing him backward until Arthur was resting on his
back. He was sprawled across the desk, his ass and hips aligned with one edge
of the desk while the back of his head rested just short of the opposite edge.
His feet were planted and his knees were in the air, gravity prying them apart.
The wood below him was cool and smooth and Arthur did his best to relax,
feeling more vulnerable now that he was lying down.
 
He watched as Eames pulled a bottle of lantern oil from a drawer of the desk
and set it beside Arthur on the desk surface. Eames dipped two fingers into the
bottle as though he was going to write with his fingers instead of a quill, and
was coating his fingers in ink. Eames’ other hand was on Arthur’s hip, the
thumb rubbing soothing circles into his skin while Eames brought his coated
fingers to between Arthur’s legs. “This is going to sting a little,” Eames
warned, “But I’ll go slow. It’ll hurt less if you try to relax.”
 
Arthur snorted but did his best, focusing on relaxing his body. His knees fell
apart a little further on their own. Arthur could feel Eames circling a finger
around his most sensitive area, a place no one else had ever touched before.
And then that finger was sinking in slowly, working past muscles with shallow
thrusts, and Arthur groaned. He held his breath, trying to focus on calming
until Eames eventually told him to breathe, which was when Arthur’s breath left
him in a rush.
 
It felt odd having something pressing inside him, filling him, but the first
finger didn’t hurt. When Eames added a second finger it stung a bit more,
making Arthur’s spine straighten as his chest tightened slightly until he
remembered to breathe again. But Arthur liked it. He liked feeling Eames moving
inside him, and liked the feel of his body spreading to take Eames in. It also
felt incredible since Eames’ fingers were hot and branding, but the oil was
cool and smooth.
 
It wasn’t long before Arthur was pressing down against the fingers, taking
Eames to the second knuckle. Eames whispered Arthur’s name, making Arthur feel
warm, making Arthur want to take more. It was only brief when Eames pulled away
to recoat his fingers in oil, but Arthur didn’t get a chance to complain before
he suddenly cursed and stuttered into silence as Eames solidly pressed three
fingers in.
 
The burn was consuming for a moment, especially when Eames scissored his
fingers, and Arthur wondered if this was the price to pay. Was this the burn of
flames he had to endure for committing such a sin? Could God see them? Was He
casting Arthur to the Devil for tempting Eames away? Arthur should have felt
guilty, blinking away a stray tear and staring up at the white ceiling as Eames
gently worked him open. But when Arthur lifted his head to look at Eames, Eames
noticed and leaned forward to kiss Arthur softly, lovingly.
 
Sin couldn’t feel so right, so perfect. Sin couldn’t make Arthur’s heart swell,
loving and feeling loved in return. But, right or wrong, as long as Eames was
with him, Arthur didn’t care.
 
“Are you ready?” Eames asked eventually, kissing Arthur’s skin as he withdrew
his fingers.
 
Arthur’s body felt empty without Eames inside him, and he gave a begging whine.
Eames smiled at him warmly before reaching over for more oil. “Wait,” Arthur
began quickly before falling silent, wondering if he was overstepping his
boundaries. Eames paused and turned back to Arthur, kissing the outside of his
knee when he noticed it wavering.  “I want to be closer when you take me.”
 
Eames looked confused for a moment, and then Arthur saw understanding wash over
that face. Eames smiled again and gave Arthur another kiss before pulling
Arthur back up into a seated position. Warm hands were holding Arthur’s hips
again, lifting him briefly until Eames could sit back in his large chair and
sit Arthur down in his lap, a knee on either side of Eames’ hips. “Grab the
oil, Arthur,” Eames commanded lightly as he kissed across Arthur’s exposed
chest.
 
Arthur shivered again when he felt Eames’ fingers exploring the cleft of his
ass, spreading an excess of oil before Eames coated his own hard cock. He loved
the feeling when Eames took hold of his hips and positioned him; Arthur could
feel the head of Eames’ cock pressing against his hole, hinting toward what was
about to happen. Arthur found himself practically dizzy with need now that this
was finally about to happen.
 
He followed Eames’ lead when the man’s slick fingers bruised his hips and
pressed him down. Eames was thicker than his three fingers, but Arthur was more
relaxed now. The pressure of Eames’s fat cock pushing in, spreading the walls
of Arthur’s ass to make room, was intoxicating. Arthur was panting and moaning,
loving the stretch, loving the sense of being full. “Eames, Eames, oh fuck
Eames, oh please, Eames, Eames, Eames...” was all that spilled from Arthur’s
lips as he threw his head back and took it all, took it deep. And Eames was
right there, whispering Arthur’s name back against Arthur’s collarbone and the
hollow of his neck where sweat was beginning to bead.
 
It felt amazing when Arthur’s ass came to rest on Eames’ thighs because he
could feel the other man trembling below him, betraying how overcome with
pleasure he was as well. Arthur wanted to stay there forever, believing that
nothing could feel better. But the first real thrust nearly did Arthur in and
he swore louder than he had ever dared before in his life. It was one thing to
feel Eames’ thick length filling him up slowly. It was another thing entirely
to feel the pulsing weight of that cock and the ridge of the head dragging
against Arthur’s insides as Eames pulled out before slamming back in quickly.
It was even better when Eames almost pulled out entirely on each thrust, Arthur
feeling his muscles contract and stretch around the width of that claiming cock
on each thrust.
 
For the most part Eames led him, lifting Arthur’s hips and pushing him down to
take Eames deep each time. But Arthur was certainly helping, rocking eagerly in
Eames’ lap and begging for anything and everything that came to mind just to
feel Eames shudder and take him harder while saying Arthur’s name again and
again. Things like “Oh Eames, you feel so good, so deep, come on, fuck me
harder, I want you so deep, oh Eames, oh please, I need it, fuck I need it,
Eames, Eames...” Arthur didn’t even know where the words were coming from, but
they had him as riled as Eames.
 
He wanted to ride Eames’ cock forever, never wanted that length to leave his
body empty. But they had been taking this slow and had been hard and leaking
for a while. Arthur’s breath began to stutter as Eames’ thrusts turned quick,
spearing him hurriedly and deep. He cried out and practically sobbed when Eames
hit something deep inside Arthur that had his whole body arching, seeking more.
Eames just smirked and said, “I love those little fucked out sounds you make,
Arthur,” between panting breaths as he aimed for that spot again and again.
 
“Eames!” Arthur shouted, fingernails digging into the sweaty skin of Eames’
shoulders. “Eames!”
 
“It’s okay, darling,” Eames spoke against Arthur’s parted lips. “Come for me,
Arthur.”
 
Arthur was shaking so hard in Eames’ lap that he might fall into pieces. But he
rode Eames harder, ground down and rotated his hips. He was so close. He could
feel it in the pit of his stomach. It was the same feeling he got in his bed,
hidden and safe beneath the bed sheets as his hand worked quickly. But it was
so much better now, because Eames was under him and watching him and kissing
him, and moaning his name. Arthur’s body was on fire, and it was on the verge
of exploding. But he didn’t want to fall over the edge of this alone. “Come
with me, Eames, please,” he begged. His forehead was pressed against Eames’
shoulder, his hair sticking to his forehead as he bounced on Eames’ cock. “I
love you.”
 
“I love you too, Arthur, fuck!” Eames cursed and pushed Arthur down in his lap
and held him there. The world occurred in slow motion for a brief moment, for
which Arthur was grateful. Because it meant that he had the time to take in
Eames’ returning declaration. He could appreciate the butterflies in his
stomach as his heart jumped. Then he could focus on the feel of Eames pulsing
inside Arthur’s body, cock wedged tight against Arthur’s insides as hot ropes
of come splashed his insides, filling him up until Arthur could feel a bit of
come slipping past Eames’ cock and dripping down onto Eames’ thighs.
 
And then finally, just a second later, Arthur could focus on his own orgasm as
it ripped through his body. He held onto Eames tightly and cried out, body
thrusting down on Eames’ cock, feeling the come shoot in even deeper. Arthur’s
own come spread across Eames’ stomach, sticky but heavy and sliding down
slowly.
 
When Arthur was spent, he fell forward, utterly exhausted. He didn’t even care
that his own come was now against his own stomach, or that his sticky,
softening cock was pressed almost uncomfortably against Eames’ body. Eames’
arms wrapped around him and held him close, and both of their eyes drifted
closed for a long time. Arthur could hear Eames’ calming heartbeat with his ear
pressed against Eames’ chest, and it made him smile.
 
The chill of the room was what eventually drove them to separate. Arthur stood
on shaky legs, feeling like a newborn colt in the fields when he stood but had
to hold onto the desk to stay standing. He didn’t have to stand long though,
because Eames rose from his chair and pressed Arthur forward until he was bent
over the desk, his stomach resting on the surface this time. Arthur gave a
grunt of surprise and confusion when he felt Eames spreading his ass and a
finger prodding him lightly, but he enjoyed the tired shudder of pleasure that
rolled through his body at the contact.
 
“Just checking for damage,” Eames explained before kissing one ass cheek and
then the other. “You have no idea how gorgeous you look right now, spread over
my desk with my come dripping down your thighs.”
 
Arthur gave a whine, feeling his body stir even though he was too tired to do
much about it at the moment. He pushed back against Eames until he was standing
again, turning to face the older man. Arthur held Eames’ face the way Eames had
held Arthur’s earlier and pulled him down into a slow, deep kiss. He felt his
heart singing when Eames pressed his body close and kissed back, no sense of
hesitation in his movements.
 
When they pulled apart for air, Arthur remained close against Eames’ body. He
suddenly felt clingy. “What happens now?” he dared to ask.
 
“Now,” Eames kissed Arthur’s temple, “We go to my private rooms so I can get
you cleaned up before you head back home.” Arthur suddenly stiffened in Eames’
arms, feeling his heart clench as he tried to pull away. Eames noticed, and
before Arthur could say anything, Eames pulled him close again and kissed
Arthur so passionately he couldn’t help but feel reassured. “Did I mention that
I plan to give you your first blowjob before sending you along? Or that I will
also be writing a letter for you to take home with your parents asking for
their consent for me to take you on as an apprentice?”
 
Arthur blinked at Eames in surprise. “You mean...?”
 
“I cannot make a public declaration to you, Arthur,” Eames reminded him
regretfully. “But that doesn’t mean I plan to let this be a one-time
occurrence. As my apprentice you would come to live with me in the church’s
residence.”
 
“But...” Arthur hesitated, still so scared to hope. “Don’t you think that this
is wrong?”
 
Eames gave a sad sort of hum and looped his arms loosely around Arthur’s waist,
their body heat keeping each other warm. “I know many would disagree with me,
but I cannot accept that any form of love is sinful. What real difference is
there between a man and woman in love, and two men in love? Other than
reproduction,” Eames added and then shrugged. “Love is love. And love is the
deepest form of compassion.”
 
“What about my age?” Arthur asked and blushed.  He knew that girls often
married much older men through arranged marriages, and personally the age
difference didn’t bother Arthur at all. He had never really gotten along with
people his age and had always preferred the company of adults; Eames
especially. But he didn’t want Eames to pretend to be alright with this and
then suddenly decided later that he was crossing some unacceptable boundary.
 
“Luckily for us,” Eames smiled, “My moral compass is a little skewed when it
comes to you.”
 
Arthur chuckled quietly, mostly due to nervous energy. “You’re a terrible
priest.”
 
“Am not,” Eames retaliated, smiling. “It’s just that I’ve been madly in love
with you since you stepped into my church and I went home to ask God why he was
challenging me so. But then I realized you are not a challenge to test my
resolve.” One warm thumb brushed over Arthur’s cheek before skimming down his
jaw, resting against the corner of his mouth. “You are a gift.”
 
Eames held Arthur’s eyes until he could read in Arthur’s brown eyes that he
understood, and that he wanted this too. And then Eames swooped down and sealed
his lips over Arthur’s, and Arthur lovingly kissed back.
End Notes
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