Fic: Hop on
Hop on
Wordcount: 1200
A ficlet inspired by motetus' beautiful art, which can be viewed here or at the end of the story. Many thanks for filling my original inceptiversary prompt of Eames riding Arthur.
"Okay," Arthur says. "Hop on, then."
"Hop on? Hop on?" Eames sputters. "I tell you I'm hungry for your cock and your response is 'hop on?'"
"First of all, you said nothing about being hungry for my cock," Arthur replies. "But if that's the case, you know I'm always open for blowjob business. Except for when we're in public or on the job. Those have to be negotiated first."
"You're missing the larger point here."
"I'm not objecting to sex, Eames," Arthur says, hands hovering over his shirt buttons, uncertain whether he should continue taking his clothes off or not. "I was just pointing out that I'm tired, so this is probably--"
"I lovingly prepare for you dinner, take off my clothes, and all you have to say is that you're tired?"
"I don't know if reheating and plating some leftover takeout from yesterday really counts as--" At the narrowing of Eames' eyes, Arthur changes tack. "It's not a lack of interest, I swear. It's just that cabbage makes me gassy."
"Because a spot of gassiness has ever stopped you before," Eames says snippily.
"I--wait, what's that supposed to mean?" Arthur asks when Eames crosses his arms over his chest. "I don't think I'm that bad."
"Arthur, we've been living together for six years now. Did you really think I'd somehow miss the disproportionately large amount of gas you generate on a regular basis?"
"Well, I think it's weird that you practically never fart," Arthur fires back, drawing a deeply unimpressed look from Eames in response. "Besides, you have morning breath and sometimes your feet smell when you forget to wear socks."
"I'm going to put on some clothing and head out to the racetrack," Eames says, turning on his heel. "Don't call. I won't be home at a reasonable hour."
"Eames, come on," Arthur says, expecting him to cave and turn back around. When Eames simply continues to walk towards the living room door, Arthur sits up in alarm. "Babe, seriously. Let's talk about this."
"Nothing to talk about," Eames replies from the bedroom.
Arthur stands up hurriedly, contemplates re-buttoning his shirt, then decides to unbutton it entirely and leave it hanging open. In situations like this, he needs to make use of every resource at his disposal. "Babe." Arthur leans against the doorway with his elbow up, angled to show his flexing muscles optimally. Eames doesn't even turn around.
Eames is laying out a white suit on the bed, a cheap polyester one he likes to wear when he's getting ready to swindle someone blind.
"I'm sorry," Arthur says.
"Do you know what you're apologizing for?" Eames responds, not looking up from picking out socks.
"For not appreciating the fantastic dinner I had lovingly served to me," Arthur says, approaching Eames from behind carefully. Eames doesn't stop arranging his socks when Arthur puts his hands on Eames' waist, but he doesn't pull away. "For not appreciating how fucking mouthwatering you are."
If there's one thing Arthur has learned after all these years with Eames, it's that sometimes the only thing that can turn a conversation around is an appeal to Eames' vanity. A part of Arthur lives in fear that one day this trump card will stop working--that eventually Eames will catch on--but luckily, today is not that day. "Before you were too gassy to bother but now I'm irresistable?"
"You remember the other day when we were walking around and that guy literally stopped in the middle of traffic to stare at you?" Arthur steps closer, lays a kiss on the curve of Eames' shoulder. "Sometimes I still feel like that, waking up next to you."
"You didn't seem that impressed when you pushed me out of bed for snoring too loudly yesterday," Eames says, but most of the ire has left his tone.
"I was trying to help you get up for your morning run," Arthur counters as he glides his lips across the back of Eames' neck, over his other shoulder. "I know you've been working out more the past two months."
Eames lets out a pleased hum as Arthur's fingers trace the outline of Eames' firmly developed pectorals. "You can tell?"
"I'd have to be blind not to see." Arthur drags his palms down the newly formed ridges of Eames' abdomen, takes a step closer to slot his body up against Eames' back. "I love watching you when you look like this. Seeing all of you on top of me, taking my cock."
"It's not just laziness then?" Eames asks, pressing back against Arthur very slightly.
"Maybe some laziness," Arthur admits, hands dipping down to where Eames is beginning to harden. "Maybe some gasiness, too."
Eames snorts, though it sounds more amused than anything. "Ye of the silver tongue."
"I'll leave that to you, okay?" Arthur begins to walk backwards out of the bedroom, tugging Eames with him. "Still a little cockhungry?"
"Nope." Eames pivots and pushes Arthur backwards onto the couch in one clean move before straddling him. "Absolutely ravenous for it."
"Fuck," Arthur murmurs, all the breath leaving his body when Eames casually arches back to prepare himself with lube. God knows where he found it--between the couch cushions, maybe.
"Stay still," Eames says, bracing himself with one hand on Arthur's shoulder, the other on the back of the couch. As he sinks onto Arthur's dick, Eames' eyes close, and Arthur watches the tiny flickers of emotion that cross his face: concentration, discomfort, relief and then at last: satisfaction.
They've done this enough for Arthur to know exactly where to reach for Eames' cock without his ever having to tear his eyes away from Eames' face. He does love watching this: Eames' unguarded, focused expression as he takes his own pleasure from Arthur's cock and hand. Eames feels amazing, of course, tight and muscular and heavy, but Arthur can wait.
Eames shudders and grinds down with a soft moan as he comes, come spurting over his stomach and Arthur's fingers. Arthur strokes him through it, pets his thigh as Eames slumps forward.
"You are a marvelous sex toy," Eames mumbles as he sprawls across Arthur's chest. "I could patent you and make a mint."
"I'll take your desire to pimp me out as a compliment," Arthur replies, smiling as Eames gives him a sloppy kiss on the nose.
Eames bends down to give Arthur a kiss on the lips, a gentle brush of mouths. "Have you come yet, darling?"
Arthur shakes his head and Eames settles, repositions Arthur's dick inside him. Eames begins to move again, slow, hip rotations that are purely for Arthur's benefit--allowing him to shift inside Eames so deep he can barely stand how good it feels. Eames keeps his eyes open this time, gaze never wavering from Arthur as he puts on his show.
Arthur doesn't bother holding back, simply touches Eames' hip and says, "Gonna come." Eames nods and milks him for all he's worth, doesn't stop until Arthur's gone completely limp and boneless across the couch.
"Good?" Eames asks as he nips at Arthur's chin.
"Good," Arthur agrees. "But you may want to, uh, move a little to the left."
"Why--" Eames' expression clears. "You're going to pass gas, aren't you?"
"Sorry," Arthur says, slightly sheepish. I can go into another room."
"No, no, it's fine." Eames sighs as he burrows for a comfortable spot on Arthur's shoulder. "Go ahead and let it out."
Arthur does, sighing a little with relief after. "Thanks, babe. For dinner and sex and probably being the love of my life."
Eames laughs. "Anytime."
fin
Wordcount: 1200
A ficlet inspired by motetus' beautiful art, which can be viewed here or at the end of the story. Many thanks for filling my original inceptiversary prompt of Eames riding Arthur.
"Okay," Arthur says. "Hop on, then."
"Hop on? Hop on?" Eames sputters. "I tell you I'm hungry for your cock and your response is 'hop on?'"
"First of all, you said nothing about being hungry for my cock," Arthur replies. "But if that's the case, you know I'm always open for blowjob business. Except for when we're in public or on the job. Those have to be negotiated first."
"You're missing the larger point here."
"I'm not objecting to sex, Eames," Arthur says, hands hovering over his shirt buttons, uncertain whether he should continue taking his clothes off or not. "I was just pointing out that I'm tired, so this is probably--"
"I lovingly prepare for you dinner, take off my clothes, and all you have to say is that you're tired?"
"I don't know if reheating and plating some leftover takeout from yesterday really counts as--" At the narrowing of Eames' eyes, Arthur changes tack. "It's not a lack of interest, I swear. It's just that cabbage makes me gassy."
"Because a spot of gassiness has ever stopped you before," Eames says snippily.
"I--wait, what's that supposed to mean?" Arthur asks when Eames crosses his arms over his chest. "I don't think I'm that bad."
"Arthur, we've been living together for six years now. Did you really think I'd somehow miss the disproportionately large amount of gas you generate on a regular basis?"
"Well, I think it's weird that you practically never fart," Arthur fires back, drawing a deeply unimpressed look from Eames in response. "Besides, you have morning breath and sometimes your feet smell when you forget to wear socks."
"I'm going to put on some clothing and head out to the racetrack," Eames says, turning on his heel. "Don't call. I won't be home at a reasonable hour."
"Eames, come on," Arthur says, expecting him to cave and turn back around. When Eames simply continues to walk towards the living room door, Arthur sits up in alarm. "Babe, seriously. Let's talk about this."
"Nothing to talk about," Eames replies from the bedroom.
Arthur stands up hurriedly, contemplates re-buttoning his shirt, then decides to unbutton it entirely and leave it hanging open. In situations like this, he needs to make use of every resource at his disposal. "Babe." Arthur leans against the doorway with his elbow up, angled to show his flexing muscles optimally. Eames doesn't even turn around.
Eames is laying out a white suit on the bed, a cheap polyester one he likes to wear when he's getting ready to swindle someone blind.
"I'm sorry," Arthur says.
"Do you know what you're apologizing for?" Eames responds, not looking up from picking out socks.
"For not appreciating the fantastic dinner I had lovingly served to me," Arthur says, approaching Eames from behind carefully. Eames doesn't stop arranging his socks when Arthur puts his hands on Eames' waist, but he doesn't pull away. "For not appreciating how fucking mouthwatering you are."
If there's one thing Arthur has learned after all these years with Eames, it's that sometimes the only thing that can turn a conversation around is an appeal to Eames' vanity. A part of Arthur lives in fear that one day this trump card will stop working--that eventually Eames will catch on--but luckily, today is not that day. "Before you were too gassy to bother but now I'm irresistable?"
"You remember the other day when we were walking around and that guy literally stopped in the middle of traffic to stare at you?" Arthur steps closer, lays a kiss on the curve of Eames' shoulder. "Sometimes I still feel like that, waking up next to you."
"You didn't seem that impressed when you pushed me out of bed for snoring too loudly yesterday," Eames says, but most of the ire has left his tone.
"I was trying to help you get up for your morning run," Arthur counters as he glides his lips across the back of Eames' neck, over his other shoulder. "I know you've been working out more the past two months."
Eames lets out a pleased hum as Arthur's fingers trace the outline of Eames' firmly developed pectorals. "You can tell?"
"I'd have to be blind not to see." Arthur drags his palms down the newly formed ridges of Eames' abdomen, takes a step closer to slot his body up against Eames' back. "I love watching you when you look like this. Seeing all of you on top of me, taking my cock."
"It's not just laziness then?" Eames asks, pressing back against Arthur very slightly.
"Maybe some laziness," Arthur admits, hands dipping down to where Eames is beginning to harden. "Maybe some gasiness, too."
Eames snorts, though it sounds more amused than anything. "Ye of the silver tongue."
"I'll leave that to you, okay?" Arthur begins to walk backwards out of the bedroom, tugging Eames with him. "Still a little cockhungry?"
"Nope." Eames pivots and pushes Arthur backwards onto the couch in one clean move before straddling him. "Absolutely ravenous for it."
"Fuck," Arthur murmurs, all the breath leaving his body when Eames casually arches back to prepare himself with lube. God knows where he found it--between the couch cushions, maybe.
"Stay still," Eames says, bracing himself with one hand on Arthur's shoulder, the other on the back of the couch. As he sinks onto Arthur's dick, Eames' eyes close, and Arthur watches the tiny flickers of emotion that cross his face: concentration, discomfort, relief and then at last: satisfaction.
They've done this enough for Arthur to know exactly where to reach for Eames' cock without his ever having to tear his eyes away from Eames' face. He does love watching this: Eames' unguarded, focused expression as he takes his own pleasure from Arthur's cock and hand. Eames feels amazing, of course, tight and muscular and heavy, but Arthur can wait.
Eames shudders and grinds down with a soft moan as he comes, come spurting over his stomach and Arthur's fingers. Arthur strokes him through it, pets his thigh as Eames slumps forward.
"You are a marvelous sex toy," Eames mumbles as he sprawls across Arthur's chest. "I could patent you and make a mint."
"I'll take your desire to pimp me out as a compliment," Arthur replies, smiling as Eames gives him a sloppy kiss on the nose.
Eames bends down to give Arthur a kiss on the lips, a gentle brush of mouths. "Have you come yet, darling?"
Arthur shakes his head and Eames settles, repositions Arthur's dick inside him. Eames begins to move again, slow, hip rotations that are purely for Arthur's benefit--allowing him to shift inside Eames so deep he can barely stand how good it feels. Eames keeps his eyes open this time, gaze never wavering from Arthur as he puts on his show.
Arthur doesn't bother holding back, simply touches Eames' hip and says, "Gonna come." Eames nods and milks him for all he's worth, doesn't stop until Arthur's gone completely limp and boneless across the couch.
"Good?" Eames asks as he nips at Arthur's chin.
"Good," Arthur agrees. "But you may want to, uh, move a little to the left."
"Why--" Eames' expression clears. "You're going to pass gas, aren't you?"
"Sorry," Arthur says, slightly sheepish. I can go into another room."
"No, no, it's fine." Eames sighs as he burrows for a comfortable spot on Arthur's shoulder. "Go ahead and let it out."
Arthur does, sighing a little with relief after. "Thanks, babe. For dinner and sex and probably being the love of my life."
Eames laughs. "Anytime."
fin