Fic: Tickle Time
Tickle Time
Wordcount: 1700
A birthday gift fic for motetus. Happy birthday!
"I think there are bats in the bathroom," Arthur says as he carefully shuts the bedroom door behind him.
Eames looks up from digging through an enormous, dusty armoire. "How the devil did they get in there?"
"Probably through the hole in the roof."
Eames walks over to the narrow bed and dumps a pile of clothing at the foot. "Of course there's a hole in the roof. I have no idea why I'm surprised. It's not as if this decrepit house isn't crumbling into a heap as we speak."
"I do feel a little like I'm on the set of a Gothic horror movie.”
"Well, this estate was built on top of a mass burial ground," Eames says as he sifts through a mass of ruffled collars and tartan. He doesn't sound as though he's joking.
"How come I get the feeling you're not interested in moving in and nesting?" Arthur joins Eames by the bed and bumps shoulders with him companionably.
Eames snorts, his mouth a thin, unhappy line. "I'd hoped my uncle would have at least paid to have this place kept up, but it seems he's left the entire wretched mess to me to sort out."
"Maybe you could burn it to the ground and collect the insurance money."
Eames shakes his head. "No insurance. They'd have to be mad to cover this place--the curtains are so old that if you stare at one for too long it begins to disintegrate."
"You want to take a break?" Arthur suggests. "We've been at this for hours."
"The sooner we finish, the sooner we leave," Eames mutters, seeming unwilling to acknowledge that an undertaking of this size will take several days at least, and that going without food, water, or sleep for the duration would be ill-advised.
Arthur's seen Eames get in these moods before. Leaving him to his own devices always results Eames emerging from his marathon work session sleep-deprived, dehydrated, surly and unreasonable. Arthur emerges sex-deprived, harangued and cranky.
Which means Arthur needs to take drastic action to head off this result, whether Eames likes it or not.
"Eames," Arthur says, taking in the bulk of Eames' profile, lovely and muscular in the green V-neck sweater Arthur got him last month. The collar dips down to Eames' sternum, reveals tanned skin and a spray of chest hair. For once, he's not wearing a thousand layers, which will make this much easier.
"Arthur," Eames replies, not looking up from his clothes sorting.
"Safeword if you want me to stop," Arthur murmurs into Eames' ear as he slides his hands down to Eames' waist.
"What--" is all Eames gets out before Arthur begins to wiggle his fingers, launching the first assault in the tickle offensive.
"Arthur!" Eames yelps as he immediately doubles over, shocked laughter spilling from his lips. Arthur continues to tickle as Eames writhes in his arms, leaning this way and that before finally succeeding in clambering onto the bed, flipping over, and hooking his legs around Arthur's body in a rather impressive series of moves.
Arthur finds himself on top of Eames, who is red-face and breathless, and braces himself to cease fire upon hearing the safeword. To his surprise, however, Eames rolls them over so Arthur is on his back and digs fingers into Arthur's armpits.
"Oh--no---" Arthur says as he begins laughing helplessly, flailing wildly as he attempts to get Eames off of him. It only succeeds in knocking a flurry of dusty clothing to the ground, Eames firmly clamped to Arthur's waist.
"Stop," Arthur manages to get out, knowing full well it's not their safeword. It does, however, make Eames hesitate long enough for Arthur to launch himself at Eames, knocking him backwards. There's an audible crack as Eames' shoulder smacks into one of the wooden bedposts, but it slows neither of them down.
"Arthur," Eames gurgles in between rolling laughs, stomach convulsing. It's Arthur's turn to pause and Eames seizes on that with vigor, making the push onto Arthur's side of the bed. Arthur endures return tickling, biding his time and waiting for the perfect opportunity to fling a shirt in Eames' way and wriggle away.
Arthur manages to land on top of Eames once more, slips his fingers underneath Eames' sweater to get at the tender flesh, which inadvertently--but serendipitously--leads to Eames getting his arms tangled in his rucked up sweater. It exposes the flat planes of his heaving abdominals, and all of a sudden Arthur's no longer interested in tickling.
"Safeword if you need to," Arthur says as he bends down to blow a raspberry on Eames' bellybutton and undoes Eames' jeans. Eames is still kicking up a storm even though he hasn't managed to find his way out of his sweater yet, and Arthur has to half-climb on top of him in order to drag his pants off.
Eames is naked from the waist down by the time he gets his sweater off, flushed and laughing. “You’re a lunatic,” he says, grinning as Arthur grabs at his cock roughly.
“Yep.” Arthur flips Eames onto his stomach and swats his ass, admiring the firm bounce. “Get on your knees.”
“Make me,” Eames replies, glancing over his shoulder with mischievous defiance.
“Or you can just lie there.” Arthur leans forward to slot his bulge between Eames’ asschecks, grinding forward and back. “I’m good either way.”
“You can’t be serious.” Eames braces his hands on the mattress and arches up from the waist, the muscles of his back flexing as he lifts Arthur up with him.
“What are you going to do about it?” Arthur replies, rubbing his groin against Eames’ ass once more in challenge.
Eames rolls them both over, precariously close to the edge of the bed, and traps Arthur’s chest beneath one thick arm. “This.”
“Your stuff's falling all over the floor,” Arthur points out, seizing on Eames’ distracted look in order to slither away. It mostly works, except Eames grabs hold of Arthur’s arm and knocks him off balance. They both slip on the rumpled covers right over the edge of the bed.
“Ow,” Eames says as he lands, and Arthur grunts as his shoulder and hip hit the threadbare carpeting.
There’s a moment of disorientation as they both get their bearings, and then the wrestling match begins. They shove this way and that, knees and elbows flying before Eames finally comes out on top.
“Safeword if you want me to go easy on you,” Eames says tauntingly, pinning Arthur’s wrists to the floor. His panting undercuts the cool confidence in his tone.
“Never,” Arthur replies as he cranes his head up to kiss Eames’ lips. Eames’ grip goes predictably lax a minute into it and Arthur twists his arms free in order to shove Eames off him. Eames falls back, startled, and Arthur spins him around. Arthur jerks Eames’ arms behind his back and loops a scarf around his wrists, tying a quick knot.
“I told you to get on your knees,” Arthur purrs as he spanks Eames two, three times. “This would have gone easier if you’d listened.”
“You think I want easy?” Eames replies, no longer squirming. He could slip free of Arthur’s knot easily but he doesn’t.
“Guess not.” Arthur smiles, victorious, and kisses Eames. With his free hand, Arthur undoes his fly, shoves his pants and underwear down far enough for him to rub his hard cock against Eames’ bare thigh.
Eames responds by nipping Arthur’s lower lip and twisting to thrust back. It takes a few minutes to get their cocks and bodies aligned, but when Arthur’s dick makes contact with the hot glide of Eames’ foreskin, it’s perfect, fucking perfect.
Arthur bites Eames back and licks his lip to soothe it, thrusting hard enough for his balls to slap against Eames’. They’re both too worked up to last long, especially when Arthur runs his hands all over Eames’ sweaty chest, grabbing his pecs and pinching his round nipples.
Eames breaks the kiss in order to throw his head back and come, arching up against Arthur and painting his cock. Arthur reaches down to wrap a hand around both their dicks, ignoring Eames’ groan of discomfort, and jerks them both wetly.
Eames latches his teeth onto Arthur’s earlobe and Arthur orgasms, come slicking down his fingers. He doesn’t stop moving his hand until he’s done, Eames’ stomach practically quivering with oversensitivity. Arthur sags, sated.
“Don’t you fall asleep on me,” Eames says warningly as he sits up, wrists unbound.
Arthur blinks blurrily, confused and more than halfway to unconsciousness.
“Sleeping on the floor will be murder on both our backs,” Eames says as he dabs at the mess on Arthur’s stomach and groin with what appears to be a kilt.
“I don’t want to move,” Arthur says, not pouting because he is far too dignified for pouting.
“No, of course you don’t. You never do, once you’ve come,” Eames says, sounding amused and maybe fond as he tugs off Arthur’s shoes. “Luckily, there’s a perfectly serviceable bed less than three feet away. Up you get.”
Arthur squints in confusion as he stands--with some assistance. “How did we wind up this far?”
Eames yawns and flops onto the bed. “I believe it happened someplace between your assaulting my defenseless person and your using me as an aid for your own sexual pleasure.”
“You love when I come all over your cock.” Arthur takes off the rest of his clothes and climbs into bed as well, spooning Eames from behind. Eames doesn’t bother to deny it.
“Maybe I should burn this place down, insurance money or no,” Eames says, sounding far too awake for Arthur’s taste.
Arthur pats Eames’ stomach. “We can figure it out tomorrow.”
There’s a rustle of wings overhead. “Is that a bat?”
“Bat or a bird,” Arthur replies, eyes slipping shut. “Saw a nest in one of the closets.”
He falls asleep to the sound of disgruntled muttering.
fin
Poll Fic: Tickle Time
Wordcount: 1700
A birthday gift fic for motetus. Happy birthday!
"I think there are bats in the bathroom," Arthur says as he carefully shuts the bedroom door behind him.
Eames looks up from digging through an enormous, dusty armoire. "How the devil did they get in there?"
"Probably through the hole in the roof."
Eames walks over to the narrow bed and dumps a pile of clothing at the foot. "Of course there's a hole in the roof. I have no idea why I'm surprised. It's not as if this decrepit house isn't crumbling into a heap as we speak."
"I do feel a little like I'm on the set of a Gothic horror movie.”
"Well, this estate was built on top of a mass burial ground," Eames says as he sifts through a mass of ruffled collars and tartan. He doesn't sound as though he's joking.
"How come I get the feeling you're not interested in moving in and nesting?" Arthur joins Eames by the bed and bumps shoulders with him companionably.
Eames snorts, his mouth a thin, unhappy line. "I'd hoped my uncle would have at least paid to have this place kept up, but it seems he's left the entire wretched mess to me to sort out."
"Maybe you could burn it to the ground and collect the insurance money."
Eames shakes his head. "No insurance. They'd have to be mad to cover this place--the curtains are so old that if you stare at one for too long it begins to disintegrate."
"You want to take a break?" Arthur suggests. "We've been at this for hours."
"The sooner we finish, the sooner we leave," Eames mutters, seeming unwilling to acknowledge that an undertaking of this size will take several days at least, and that going without food, water, or sleep for the duration would be ill-advised.
Arthur's seen Eames get in these moods before. Leaving him to his own devices always results Eames emerging from his marathon work session sleep-deprived, dehydrated, surly and unreasonable. Arthur emerges sex-deprived, harangued and cranky.
Which means Arthur needs to take drastic action to head off this result, whether Eames likes it or not.
"Eames," Arthur says, taking in the bulk of Eames' profile, lovely and muscular in the green V-neck sweater Arthur got him last month. The collar dips down to Eames' sternum, reveals tanned skin and a spray of chest hair. For once, he's not wearing a thousand layers, which will make this much easier.
"Arthur," Eames replies, not looking up from his clothes sorting.
"Safeword if you want me to stop," Arthur murmurs into Eames' ear as he slides his hands down to Eames' waist.
"What--" is all Eames gets out before Arthur begins to wiggle his fingers, launching the first assault in the tickle offensive.
"Arthur!" Eames yelps as he immediately doubles over, shocked laughter spilling from his lips. Arthur continues to tickle as Eames writhes in his arms, leaning this way and that before finally succeeding in clambering onto the bed, flipping over, and hooking his legs around Arthur's body in a rather impressive series of moves.
Arthur finds himself on top of Eames, who is red-face and breathless, and braces himself to cease fire upon hearing the safeword. To his surprise, however, Eames rolls them over so Arthur is on his back and digs fingers into Arthur's armpits.
"Oh--no---" Arthur says as he begins laughing helplessly, flailing wildly as he attempts to get Eames off of him. It only succeeds in knocking a flurry of dusty clothing to the ground, Eames firmly clamped to Arthur's waist.
"Stop," Arthur manages to get out, knowing full well it's not their safeword. It does, however, make Eames hesitate long enough for Arthur to launch himself at Eames, knocking him backwards. There's an audible crack as Eames' shoulder smacks into one of the wooden bedposts, but it slows neither of them down.
"Arthur," Eames gurgles in between rolling laughs, stomach convulsing. It's Arthur's turn to pause and Eames seizes on that with vigor, making the push onto Arthur's side of the bed. Arthur endures return tickling, biding his time and waiting for the perfect opportunity to fling a shirt in Eames' way and wriggle away.
Arthur manages to land on top of Eames once more, slips his fingers underneath Eames' sweater to get at the tender flesh, which inadvertently--but serendipitously--leads to Eames getting his arms tangled in his rucked up sweater. It exposes the flat planes of his heaving abdominals, and all of a sudden Arthur's no longer interested in tickling.
"Safeword if you need to," Arthur says as he bends down to blow a raspberry on Eames' bellybutton and undoes Eames' jeans. Eames is still kicking up a storm even though he hasn't managed to find his way out of his sweater yet, and Arthur has to half-climb on top of him in order to drag his pants off.
Eames is naked from the waist down by the time he gets his sweater off, flushed and laughing. “You’re a lunatic,” he says, grinning as Arthur grabs at his cock roughly.
“Yep.” Arthur flips Eames onto his stomach and swats his ass, admiring the firm bounce. “Get on your knees.”
“Make me,” Eames replies, glancing over his shoulder with mischievous defiance.
“Or you can just lie there.” Arthur leans forward to slot his bulge between Eames’ asschecks, grinding forward and back. “I’m good either way.”
“You can’t be serious.” Eames braces his hands on the mattress and arches up from the waist, the muscles of his back flexing as he lifts Arthur up with him.
“What are you going to do about it?” Arthur replies, rubbing his groin against Eames’ ass once more in challenge.
Eames rolls them both over, precariously close to the edge of the bed, and traps Arthur’s chest beneath one thick arm. “This.”
“Your stuff's falling all over the floor,” Arthur points out, seizing on Eames’ distracted look in order to slither away. It mostly works, except Eames grabs hold of Arthur’s arm and knocks him off balance. They both slip on the rumpled covers right over the edge of the bed.
“Ow,” Eames says as he lands, and Arthur grunts as his shoulder and hip hit the threadbare carpeting.
There’s a moment of disorientation as they both get their bearings, and then the wrestling match begins. They shove this way and that, knees and elbows flying before Eames finally comes out on top.
“Safeword if you want me to go easy on you,” Eames says tauntingly, pinning Arthur’s wrists to the floor. His panting undercuts the cool confidence in his tone.
“Never,” Arthur replies as he cranes his head up to kiss Eames’ lips. Eames’ grip goes predictably lax a minute into it and Arthur twists his arms free in order to shove Eames off him. Eames falls back, startled, and Arthur spins him around. Arthur jerks Eames’ arms behind his back and loops a scarf around his wrists, tying a quick knot.
“I told you to get on your knees,” Arthur purrs as he spanks Eames two, three times. “This would have gone easier if you’d listened.”
“You think I want easy?” Eames replies, no longer squirming. He could slip free of Arthur’s knot easily but he doesn’t.
“Guess not.” Arthur smiles, victorious, and kisses Eames. With his free hand, Arthur undoes his fly, shoves his pants and underwear down far enough for him to rub his hard cock against Eames’ bare thigh.
Eames responds by nipping Arthur’s lower lip and twisting to thrust back. It takes a few minutes to get their cocks and bodies aligned, but when Arthur’s dick makes contact with the hot glide of Eames’ foreskin, it’s perfect, fucking perfect.
Arthur bites Eames back and licks his lip to soothe it, thrusting hard enough for his balls to slap against Eames’. They’re both too worked up to last long, especially when Arthur runs his hands all over Eames’ sweaty chest, grabbing his pecs and pinching his round nipples.
Eames breaks the kiss in order to throw his head back and come, arching up against Arthur and painting his cock. Arthur reaches down to wrap a hand around both their dicks, ignoring Eames’ groan of discomfort, and jerks them both wetly.
Eames latches his teeth onto Arthur’s earlobe and Arthur orgasms, come slicking down his fingers. He doesn’t stop moving his hand until he’s done, Eames’ stomach practically quivering with oversensitivity. Arthur sags, sated.
“Don’t you fall asleep on me,” Eames says warningly as he sits up, wrists unbound.
Arthur blinks blurrily, confused and more than halfway to unconsciousness.
“Sleeping on the floor will be murder on both our backs,” Eames says as he dabs at the mess on Arthur’s stomach and groin with what appears to be a kilt.
“I don’t want to move,” Arthur says, not pouting because he is far too dignified for pouting.
“No, of course you don’t. You never do, once you’ve come,” Eames says, sounding amused and maybe fond as he tugs off Arthur’s shoes. “Luckily, there’s a perfectly serviceable bed less than three feet away. Up you get.”
Arthur squints in confusion as he stands--with some assistance. “How did we wind up this far?”
Eames yawns and flops onto the bed. “I believe it happened someplace between your assaulting my defenseless person and your using me as an aid for your own sexual pleasure.”
“You love when I come all over your cock.” Arthur takes off the rest of his clothes and climbs into bed as well, spooning Eames from behind. Eames doesn’t bother to deny it.
“Maybe I should burn this place down, insurance money or no,” Eames says, sounding far too awake for Arthur’s taste.
Arthur pats Eames’ stomach. “We can figure it out tomorrow.”
There’s a rustle of wings overhead. “Is that a bat?”
“Bat or a bird,” Arthur replies, eyes slipping shut. “Saw a nest in one of the closets.”
He falls asleep to the sound of disgruntled muttering.
fin
Poll Fic: Tickle Time