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recrudescence) wrote2010-08-07 08:02 pm
recrudescence) wrote2010-08-07 08:02 pm
Entry tags:
Run Out, But Not Away
Moses on toast, y'all, I'm sorry for the spam. It's Saturday night and I should be out bar-hopping right now.
Title: Run Out, But Not Away
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Don’t own ’em, making no profit off ’em, etc.
Word Count: 621
Summary: Inspired by a prompt from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
inception_kink: Eames wants to try fisting. Up to anon how Arthur reacts and who Eames wants to be on the bottom. This ended up being a little bit of a crossover with Mysterious Skin, though you don't need to be familiar with it in order to read this.
Warning: Contains veiled references to past instances of sexual abuse.
In bed, Eames notices things that normally he has to push to the side. For one, Arthur has beautiful hands, long and slim and sure, as capable of wielding a pen as they are a pistol. And Eames is indulging himself, lying on disarrayed pillows and studying one of them between both of his own, having been fucked soundly not so long ago. “You have such lovely hands.”
Arthur drowses at his side, sheets awry, sweat gathered in the small of his back. Lethargic, limbs splayed, hair mussed to delectable perfection, and Eames is idly touching him. Fingers drifting over bare skin, threading through Arthur's. He doesn't say a thing, but he doesn't stop him either.
“What if I told you how dearly I'd love to feel every one of these beautiful fingers inside me?” Sighing, breathing a kiss to his shoulder.
“Are you familiar with the concept of fisting, Arthur?”
Still wet with come and lubricant between his own legs, stretching pleasurably when Arthur touches there, grazing up his inner thigh with skillful fingertips, and smiles faintly without opening his eyes. “Very well.”
“How well is that?”
“Intimately,” Arthur says blandly. He twists up onto his side, lithe and whipcord-slender, the sheen of perspiration glistening on skin still marked red here and there from Eames's mouth.
And Eames knows that he's gone deep, that he adores Arthur's hands even when they're plucking lint from his coat or tapping over a keyboard and into his business. “And how far...just how far are you willing to go?”
“There are some things I don't do,” answers Arthur, a hint of a drawl curling the edges of his words the way it sometimes does. Eames knows Arthur comes from some particularly dull state...Kentucky, maybe, or one of the Carolinas. Geography is a fuzzy topic for him at best and Arthur isn't one to talk about himself.
But Eames, who has never fared well with battening down his curiosity, can't let that go without any further exploration. He finds himself sometimes feeling compelled to violate their pact and go prying and prodding into Arthur's past, seeking out the person he was before he became embroiled in the crucible of the extraction industry.
Eames thinks of it, more and more often, even though he and Arthur agreed to be satisfied with each others' present embodiments, not dig for more details than either of them were ready to part with willingly. It isn't the first time Arthur has casually rebuffed him like this and Eames has a feeling it won't be the last.
Being inquisitive and being tactful aren't always mutually exclusive, and he tries to prove that on a regular basis, for Arthur's sake. Eames rests a hand on the crest of a narrow hip, drawing him close even though the heat of their bodies is almost overwhelming. “You can make this very easy on me, you know. On both of us.” Arthur's ears are always the first part of him to flush and Eames presses his lips to the vulnerable patch of skin behind one, his voice low, his hand stroking softly up and down Arthur's back. He feels the way his spine goes rigid just before Arthur relents and curves into the touch. Relenting isn't easy for him, and Eames kneads tenderly at the nape of his neck, encouraging it. “Won't you tell me?”
“Maybe some other time,” Arthur replies, and it isn't a refusal but it isn't an affirmation. He kisses Eames slowly and sinfully, kisses any further words right off of his tongue, and then turns towards the wall.
They fall asleep facing opposite directions, but Eames watches him and wonders.
Title: Run Out, But Not Away
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Don’t own ’em, making no profit off ’em, etc.
Word Count: 621
Summary: Inspired by a prompt from
inception_kink: Eames wants to try fisting. Up to anon how Arthur reacts and who Eames wants to be on the bottom. This ended up being a little bit of a crossover with Mysterious Skin, though you don't need to be familiar with it in order to read this. Warning: Contains veiled references to past instances of sexual abuse.
In bed, Eames notices things that normally he has to push to the side. For one, Arthur has beautiful hands, long and slim and sure, as capable of wielding a pen as they are a pistol. And Eames is indulging himself, lying on disarrayed pillows and studying one of them between both of his own, having been fucked soundly not so long ago. “You have such lovely hands.”
Arthur drowses at his side, sheets awry, sweat gathered in the small of his back. Lethargic, limbs splayed, hair mussed to delectable perfection, and Eames is idly touching him. Fingers drifting over bare skin, threading through Arthur's. He doesn't say a thing, but he doesn't stop him either.
“What if I told you how dearly I'd love to feel every one of these beautiful fingers inside me?” Sighing, breathing a kiss to his shoulder.
“Are you familiar with the concept of fisting, Arthur?”
Still wet with come and lubricant between his own legs, stretching pleasurably when Arthur touches there, grazing up his inner thigh with skillful fingertips, and smiles faintly without opening his eyes. “Very well.”
“How well is that?”
“Intimately,” Arthur says blandly. He twists up onto his side, lithe and whipcord-slender, the sheen of perspiration glistening on skin still marked red here and there from Eames's mouth.
And Eames knows that he's gone deep, that he adores Arthur's hands even when they're plucking lint from his coat or tapping over a keyboard and into his business. “And how far...just how far are you willing to go?”
“There are some things I don't do,” answers Arthur, a hint of a drawl curling the edges of his words the way it sometimes does. Eames knows Arthur comes from some particularly dull state...Kentucky, maybe, or one of the Carolinas. Geography is a fuzzy topic for him at best and Arthur isn't one to talk about himself.
But Eames, who has never fared well with battening down his curiosity, can't let that go without any further exploration. He finds himself sometimes feeling compelled to violate their pact and go prying and prodding into Arthur's past, seeking out the person he was before he became embroiled in the crucible of the extraction industry.
Eames thinks of it, more and more often, even though he and Arthur agreed to be satisfied with each others' present embodiments, not dig for more details than either of them were ready to part with willingly. It isn't the first time Arthur has casually rebuffed him like this and Eames has a feeling it won't be the last.
Being inquisitive and being tactful aren't always mutually exclusive, and he tries to prove that on a regular basis, for Arthur's sake. Eames rests a hand on the crest of a narrow hip, drawing him close even though the heat of their bodies is almost overwhelming. “You can make this very easy on me, you know. On both of us.” Arthur's ears are always the first part of him to flush and Eames presses his lips to the vulnerable patch of skin behind one, his voice low, his hand stroking softly up and down Arthur's back. He feels the way his spine goes rigid just before Arthur relents and curves into the touch. Relenting isn't easy for him, and Eames kneads tenderly at the nape of his neck, encouraging it. “Won't you tell me?”
“Maybe some other time,” Arthur replies, and it isn't a refusal but it isn't an affirmation. He kisses Eames slowly and sinfully, kisses any further words right off of his tongue, and then turns towards the wall.
They fall asleep facing opposite directions, but Eames watches him and wonders.
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Of course, I could just start small (and then dream bigger) by writing a fisting fic that contains actual fisting. =)
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Hahah! :D I am in favour of any and all of the above, in particular whichever size dream will lead to actual ficcage to feed my greed. I re-watched MS after reading this fic, and Neil!Arthur is now totally my personal canon!