Fandom:Pairing: Inception: Arthur/Eames
Concrit: Please. If you spot a typo or a grammar glitch, feel free to tell me in comments.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Rating: R overall
Warnings/Squicks: **pottymouth!Arthur, vestiphilia**
Title: Of Rumor and Innuendo
Summary: Eames has some explaining to do
Notes: Written for Round 1, Wk5 of ae_ldws, genre:Text, IM, Phone, or Email, prompt:Half a bottle of cheap red wine
Arthur starts talking as soon as Eames picks up.
"What the fuck have you been telling people? Why did Calloway ask if we were free in April for a corporate militarization program? Why is Lyman acting like I've killed his favorite whore?"
Techno-pop is blaring in the background and Eames knows Arthur can't stand that kind of music, which means Arthur's calling him while he's on a job. Eames is suddenly wide awake and vaguely euphoric.
There's a grunt, the atonal tinkle of shattering glass, and then Arthur is drawing in a short, sharp breath before letting loose.
"You've just spilled half a bottle of - what is that? Three bucks a pop Valpolicella? It smells like vinegar. You just spilled that cheap piss on a six thousand dollar suit and now you're trying to clean it up with paper napkins? I want to talk to your manager right now- Hold that thought."
Eames can almost hear the click as Arthur's brain switches tracks, back to the phone in his hand.
"And don't think you're off the hook for whatever games you're playing, mister. As soon as I've dealt with this joker, I'm coming for you."
Eames can't wait.
Title: Sensory Overload
Summary: Arthur experiences sensory overload in the key of Eames
Notes: Written for Round 1, Wk6 of ae_ldws, genre:N/A, prompt: this image.
The grass at Arthur's back tickles the curve of his spine, the lines of his arms, and up between his shoulders to the fine hairs at his nape. The last of the chill, early morning dew mingles with the first trace of sweat on his overheated skin. The sensations make him shiver.
Or maybe that's Eames.
Eames, over and around him, everywhere at once. The cheap fabric of his pants prickles the flushed skin of Arthur's inner thighs. The fine grade of his stubble chafes at Arthur's cheeks and chin, at the underside of his nose. It burns itself into the long, taut lines of his throat as Eames chases Arthur's pulse with lush lips, slick tongue and sharp teeth.
The weight of Eames - the forceful breadth, the sheer solid reality of him, pressing down and in, so much skin on skin - leaves Arthur breathless from the want of it. It's too much and not enough, never enough. The scent of him - the taste, the touch, the feel - is overwhelming, and Arthur can only hold on and hope it never stops.
Over the comforting unsteadiness of Eames's breath - and his own - Arthur can hear the joyful laughter of children playing; can hear the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of joggers following their designated path; can hear the faintest rumbling of traffic in the distance. He can hear the blood pumping in his veins, faster and faster, louder and louder, until it's a wall of sound between the two of them and the world.
He wraps his legs around Eames's hips, stretches up for one more taste-kiss-bite of Eames's laugh-curled lips...
...and wakes to Eames's hungry gaze, which Arthur meets with a naked openness he currently has neither the ability nor will to hide. Dawning realisation washes over Eames's face like a sunrise, and then the tension is shattered by Yusuf's boundless scientific curiosity.
"Did it work?"
Arthur wills his hands not to shake; regulates his breathing as his heart rate slows, the bass-heavy thrum-thrum-thrum in his throat giving way to a slightly calmer thock...thock...thock... at his temple and in his groin.
"Sorry. The sensory increase was more like overload. I was hyper-aware of everything, but I couldn't focus in on any one aspect. The other part - the triggering of foremost desires - that worked perfectly. The mark won't know what hit him."
Eames's smile is predatory.
(Sensory Overload isnow available as a podfic, read by aphelant here.)
Title: Watered Silk
Summary: Eames loves messing with Arthur but he loves messing him up more.
Notes: 'Winner' of Round 1, Wk7 of ae_ldws, genre/cliche:Wanking/Masturbation, prompt:"You have issues".
Eames's knees and jaw are beginning to ache from ten solid minutes of skilful fellatio, but, with the careful application of one slick finger, Arthur is falling apart around him. Eames swallows and suckles until Arthur bats at his head because it's 'Too much, dammit!', before flopping back onto the bed, arms akimbo, thighs splayed in invitation.
He knows Arthur wants -expects- to be fucked, but Eames resists temptation. Pushing to his feet, he stands and looks for a moment at the pretty mess he's made. Then he climbs onto the bed and straddles Arthur's waist.
As Eames unzips, one of Arthur's eyes pops open.
And this is apparently the part where Eames gets nervous.
"I want to... come on you."
Arthur blinks. "On my face?"
"Ah, no, actually. Not that that's not a delightful idea, darling, and we'll certainly come back to that at a later date, but... I want to debauch your waistcoat."
"I know, it's watered silk and the buttons are hand-crafted mother-of-pearl. It cost you a small fortune and a rather embarrassing favour, but I promise I'll find a way to replace it if you'll only let me..."
Saying it out loud leaves Eames seven different shades of embarrassed. It also has him seconds away from a potentially fatal orgasm and he hasn't even touched himself yet.
He holds his breath as he waits for Arthur's answer.
"You have issues, Eames; serious, disturbing issues. And you're going to replace this vest with two equally-"
Arthur doesn't get to finish his detailed agreement, because as soon as Eames realizes that's a yes, he's stroking himself with furious intensity, and it doesn't take long at all before he's coming - all over the beautiful, hand-stitched watered silk; all over the exquisite, iridescent buttons; all over Arthur.