she just happens to date the prince of darkness.
It's The End of The World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)
Arthur/Eames, NC-17, prompt: " domestic fic where they're living together, have just finished brushing their teeth, and go to bed and spoon."
1396 words
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The smell of something mouthwatering wafts into the air when Eames steps inside the backdoor. The weather is harsh outside, drafty October winds that bring crisp leaves at his feet, and Eames heaves a relieved sigh when he shuts the door behind him, locking the cold air out.
He hangs his coat behind the door and loosens his tie, following the smell that leads him to the kitchen where the stove boils with pot roast and steamed vegetables. Arthur is nowhere to be found although there is a cookbook opened to page 23 on the counter and the pink gaudy apron Eames bought as a joke last Christmas sits crumpled on the kitchen table.
Eames puts down his briefcase and sticks his head inside the fridge for a bottle of beer. He is just taking a swig when Arthur pads down the stairs in a fluffy bathrobe, hair wet and leaving drops of water on his freshly laundered shirt.
"Hey," Eames say, rubbing moisture off the bottle's neck.
"You're back," Arthur says, startled. "I thought you said 5:30? Dinner won't be ready for another half hour."
Eames shrugs and puts down his beer, crossing the room in two short strides. "I don't really mind waiting, you know."
Arthur's lips curl in a tiny smile. "Good day at work?"
"Oh, the usual," Eames says with his usual flourish. He sits on the breakfast table and pulls Arthur closer with his legs, trapping him between his knees. Arthur doesn't protest, and he looks amused, curious to see where this is all going although Eames hands snaking around his waist is a dead giveaway.
"Where's my welcome home kiss?" Eames asks coyly, resting his chin on the flat of Arthur's stomach. His skin smells good, soap and aftershave, a bit of laundry detergent in his clothes, and Eames has to wonder what he's been up to all day and if he wanks off in the shower between going over his blueprints and tidying up the house.
Eames gets hard just thinking about Arthur being a good housewife although Arthur is anything but. They have a housekeeper who comes in every other day to take care of the laundry and housework and Arthur very rarely cooks him dinner -- he has to be bullied into it.
The food finishes cooking, boiling on the stove. Arthur pushes himself off Eames and goes to set the table. Eames slips out of his suit, changing into something more casual and breathable, an old pair of trousers and a white shirt.
At dinner, they sit across from each other at the breakfast nook while Arthur talks about politics and the phonecall he got from Cobb this afternoon. Eames listens absently and plays footsie with him under the table and Arthur rolls his eyes but doesn't pull away when Eames runs a toe up the side of his ankle.
After dinner, Eames finishes the rest of the wine and leans against the counter to watch Arthur do the dishes. As with everything else Arthur is meticulous when he does this, methodical and clean. Afterwards, he wipes his hands on the dishrag that hangs by the fridge.
He raises a brow at Eames when Eames blocks his way to the door, amused. "What?"
"You look so delectable when you're doing housework," Eames says, putting down his glass of wine.
Arthur leans on his shoulder against the wall, crossing his arms. "Oh?"
"Yeah," Eames says, shrugging. He leans even closer and braces his arms on either side of Arthur's head.
"Hey," he murmurs when he kisses a soft path down the side of Arthur's neck. "You never did give me that kiss."
It's difficult to have sex in a kitchen that is cramped it barely fits the two of them. Eames reaches underneath Arthur's robe and pushes the material off his shoulders, pressing hungry kisses up his eyelids, his cheeks, his nose.
"You're wearing pajamas." Eames pants.
"I'm preparing to sleep." Arthur says. He grabs hold of Eames shoulders when Eames pulls his legs from underneath him, wrapping them around his waist.
"Fuck," Arthur gasps when their cocks brush. It feels good, so so good with Eames palming his ass and squeezing gently and promising filthy things in his ear.
"I want to fuck you against the wall, darling. Fuck you so hard the neighbors hear it and they'll know you're my bitch."
Arthur moans, throwing his head back and bucking his hips against Eames'. They don't even make it to the living room, tripping on their own shoes and furniture and toppling on top of each other on the plush carpeting.
Arthur moans pathetically when Eames climbs on top of him and pins his wrists to the ground. He can fight back, can shove Eames off, has got enough strength to do it but they've been playing this game of cat-and-mouse for so long and Arthur knows when to concede. He opens his mouth to Eames' sloppy kisses, gasping, panting, rubbing himself against Eames' thigh.
Eames' tongue swirls across his earlobe, snaking wet paths down the side of his neck as he hikes Arthur's shirt further up his chest, leaving tiny red marks with his teeth around his nipples.
Arthur shudders when Eames' wet fingers start probing his entrance.
"Darling, you're so tight here." Eames gasps, screwing his fingers deeper. Arthur nods, hisses, "fuck, fuck yes!" under his breath when Eames pushes his knee up higher and fucks into him in slow, smooth strokes.
The arousal builds and builds and builds and with every deep thrust Arthur claws at the carpet, bucks his hips higher, spreading himself wider around Eames' cock and meeting Eames halfway thrust for thrust, mouth opening and closing in breathy moans.
Eames' hair falls all over his face as their bodies strain together. Arthur shakes, raking his fingernails down the broad width of Eames' back as Eames' pounds him into the floor, over and over again, hard enough to wear a rut in the carpet and until Arthur comes with a strangled noise, cock twitching and pulsing, Eames kissing his face sloppily until he comes too, inside, filling Arthur until he feels so so full.
Afterward, they roll off each other and Arthur closes his eyes and gathers his breath.
"I need a second." he says, combing a hand through his hair. He opens his eyes again and finds Eames grinning at him, lying on his side.
"Was your mind blown, darling? You seemed like you were enjoying yourself."
Arthur smirks. "I've had better. Was that your best?"
Eames laughs and pulls him over for a kiss. He pushes his fingers down the wet mess between Arthur's thighs and Arthur shudders and moans into his mouth, cock twitching weakly.
"Okay, okay that's enough for now." Arthur pulls away with a groan, evading any more of Eames' kisses. "I'm closed for the night. I'm going to shower."
"But what about--"
"Good night, Mr. Eames!" Arthur says without looking back, picking his clothes up from the floor and folding them over one arm. Eames leans onto his elbow and admires the view Arthur is presenting himself with before dropping his head on the floor when Arthur disappears round the corner.
Upstairs, they shower separately even though Eames wants nothing more than to join Arthur in there and brace him against the wall.
Eames wears silk pajamas to bed because he is a man of action and of class, but also because Arthur likes the smooth texture of silk and it gets him randy in the morning when Eames rubs himself against his back, whispering filth into his ear and palming Arthur's cock through his trousers.
After his shower, Arthur climbs on the bed, smelling minty clean and like heaven on earth, the mattress sinking under his weight. He throws the sheets over his legs, muttering a curt "good night," over his shoulder before shifting around to find a comfortable position. Eames sinks down the covers beside him, pushing their legs together under the sheets.
Eames turns the bedside light off and drapes an arm around Arthur's waist. He curls himself against Arthur's back, digging his nose into Arthur's warm shoulder, pressing the tiniest of kisses there.
Arthur sighs few beats later, mumbling something indignant and noncommittal under his breath but not pulling away, no; Eames bites down on a grin and buries his nose deeper into Arthur's hair. And he thinks to himself, ah, this is the life.