Cracking the Armor [Fic]
Title: Cracking the Armor
What: delicious, pointless Eames/Arthur smut
Worksafe: ....no.
A/N: these two are my new obsession. Srsly.
It's always a fight with Arthur.
The hotel door bangs open, the sound harsh and sharp in the thick, hushed atmosphere of the hotel, where all the sharp corners are dulled by plush carpeting, by varnished wood and polite smiles. It doesn't fit, it jars with the place, but Eames doesn't care, and the door's slamming shut behind him with a careless kick of his foot, and then his hand's on Arthur's belt buckle, and he can feel the hard straining line of his cock, and he smirks. It's dirty, sordid and visceral, a body's primal reaction to something equally primal, and it cuts through all the utter shit, all the thick layers people place over themselves, the armor they protect themselves with.
He's distracted for a moment, hand beginning to slide lower and Arthur takes this chance to shove him back, and he's stumbling, but then there's hard, slender fingers gripping at the back of his neck, and a hot, demanding mouth on his, and for a moment he doesn't really care, and just takes another step back, towards the bed.
"Think we can make it to the bed this time, darling?" He purrs out, though his voice is husky, raspy with arousal. Arthur just gives him a look, and shoves him back again, and again, until Eames feels the edge of the mattress jolt against the backs of his thighs. He pauses there, looking at Aurhtur, tongue flicking out to wet kiss-swollen lips, and Arthur looks back, and Eames feels as though he's getting flayed alive by that glance, that all his layers are getting peeled back, that he's naked and shaking under that dark, intense gaze.
His hands are shaking, jerking off his own blazer, yanking the shirt he has on underneath over his head, ignoring the sounds of tearing threads. His hands slide lower, down to work at hs belt, but then theres a cool, slim hand over his, and Arthur's shaking his head. No.
Eames is about to protest, but then that slim hand is reaching down, squeezing roughly at the tent in his pants and oh god he can feel Authur's hand trembling, more and more cracks appearing in that armor of his. And Eames grins, because he has him now, now it's only a matter of time. His own hand slips down, and presses over Arthur's, a rough, hot thug's hand over the cool slender digits of an intellectual. He jerks the other man down, down to the bed, rolling the both of them to their sides.
Arthur fights him, whipcord lean body writhing against Eames, always looking for that control. His hands claw at the forger's body, leaving raking red lines along the other man's torso and Eames feels his cock twitch in the confines of his pants, painfully hard, pressing against the cool metal line of his zipper, desperate to be free. But then that hand slides down, and squeezes, and Eames sees stars and probably wouldn't be able to tell you his own mother's name, and Arthur's smiling, not that cold little twitch of the lips that usually suffices, but a full, heated grin, and the bloody bastard thinks he's won, hasn't he? Eames allow's himself one hard buck into that hand and one long, low moan. He knows how his voice effects Authur, and watches as his adam apple bobs as he swallows hard, eyes fluttering half closed, and Eames moves.
He shoves Arthur back, lying him flat on his back, and straddles his hips, pressing him down. The other man snarls, bucks and bridges, but Eames has at least a good 25 pounds on him, and uses this to his full advantage. Thick hands jerk open Arthur's shirt, mindless of torn buttonholes, ignoring the point man's growl. The growl quickly turns to a grudging moan as rough hands start working, plucking and tugging at nipples until they're stiff, reddened peaks, and Arthur's thrashing underneath him, a combination of continued resistance and unthinking lust. When Eames brings his mouth down to play, the moans are not long even close to grudging, and the forger smirks, and bites down, tasting sweat, blood, and Arthur. He lets out his own moan, one that raises in pitch as he feels hard hands clawing down his shoulders, feels skin parting under blunt nails.
"Not a toy you can break, pet." He mutters against bleeding skin despite himself, and his own response it a puff of breathless laughter as Arthur does it again, and his cock is fucking throbbing, and god, he just wants this man, could rub himself off on his belly, covering that pale, smooth skin with his cum, licking him clean afterwards. He's done it before, could do it again, but not this time. He wants something else this time.
He gets his mouth on one of those abused nipples, and bites; Arthur's moan throbbing in his ears while his hands jerk open the man's belt, yank open his pants. One last lick against the sensitive nub, and he getting off the other man. But before Authur can surge up, fight him back, he flipping him over, jerking his pants down to expose that tight, perfect ass, and yanking slim hips up. The other man is squirming, writhing, but not against Eames, not anymore. The forger smirks, and then waits.
Arthur growls, and Eames can see how fucking hard he is, cock flushed a dark red, the head shiny with precum. Eames is easily as hard as that, but he waits, waits for the words. Arthur continues to pant, to squirm, and eventually starts to reach underneath, hand going towards his cock.
"No darling." Eames murmurs, and the smack of his hand against Arthur's ass echoes around the room. "You know I don't want that. I know you don't want that. You just have to say it. That's all."
Arthur's dark eyes flare, but he's also panting, the white shirt open around his body is soaked with sweat, and Eames can see, oh god he can see his cock jerk. The silence stretches, and then a fraction of the tension in Arthur's shoulders relaxes and he leans forward, half half pressed into a pillow, but that doesn't completely muffle his voice.
"Please." He whispers in a low, wrecked voice, and its all Eames can do to keep from coming.
Instead he leans over, biting down on his shoulder, murmuring "Now that wasn't too hard, was it?" Arthur makes a sound somewhere between a moan and a growl, and Eames is moving again, trailing kisses down damp fabric while his hands slip up, blunt fingers slipping between the cheeks of his ass, roughly tugging him open. Authur jerks forward, and pants, his ribcage heaving under smooth skin as he desperate tries to suck down enough air. Eames places a lingering kiss on Authur's tailbone, then leans back, a smirk crossing his face, as he looks down at Arthur twitching pucker, and leans down with a purr.
When he first just lightly drags his tongue against the other man's hole, he gets a harsh, sudden inhale and can feel his thighs trembling. He licks again, firming his tongue, barely not penetrating him, and Arthur lets out a shaky moan, face buried in his pillow. When he finally pushes his tongue in, Arthur lets out a cry that could almost be a scream, and rocks back, frantically. Eames just smirks, and goes to work, blunt fingers clenched down hard on the other man's ass, pulling him even further open as he works his tongue in and out of that tight, clenching hole. Eames can feel Authur shaking, feels him squirm, knees sliding on expensive sheets, splaying himself out, opening himself wider.
Gasping moans, flow over Eames until he's drowning in them, until his bloody cock feels like its going to explode, but he waits, he waits until there's that certain pitch in Arthur's voice, until he-
"Eames, Eames...."
That's it, that's it...
Eames pulls back, only to suck on a finger, easily pushing it into Arthur's spit-wet hole, and the fingers of his other hand loop loosely around his cock, giving him the barest amount of pressure.
"It's time, darling." He murmurs, and his finger crooks, slamming into the smaller man's prostate.
Arthur screams. Eames bites his lip as he feels that lithe body crush around his finger, as he feels wet, hot cum drip over his fingers. Arthur's head snaps back, and his back arches, and it looks like he's almost having a convulsion, the expression crossing his face something like pain, if Eames didn't know it was pure ecstasy.
He can't wait anymore, not like this, not seeing straight-laced Arthur screaming with pleasure, pants tangled around his knees, shoes still on, shirt plastered to his back with sweat. He yanks his finger out, and jerks his pants fully off, managing to get his shoes off as well. The same hand flips Arhtur's not limp body over while the other finally, finally yanks his own pants open, not caring when it smears some of the other man's seed over the cloth. Eames lets out a whimper as he pulls his throbbing dick out, his cum-slick hand swiping over it, giving himself the lubrication he needs. He spreads Arthur's legs wide, and reaches down, guiding his cock to the other man's still wet asshole. He glances up, just for a moment, and Arthur looks back at him, cheeks flushed dark, a slow, well-fucked smile crossing his face. He licks his lips, then barely nods.
Eames pushes in, slow, but unrelenting, sliding deeper and deeper into Arthur's relaxed body. A tight gasp, and he squeezes his eyes shut, and reaches down, pinching hard around the base of his cock, staving off the orgasm that threatens to overcome him. He manages to hold back, but still knows that he's not going to last long, not after waiting so long, not touching himself.
His eyes snap open to Arthur, his hands grasping at the headboard behind him, head thrown back. He isn't hard, won't be after coming so soon, but that doesn't fucking matter, and Eames is just moving, plunging in and out, smashing against Arhtur's oversensitized prostate, and Arthur's screaming, or he's screaming, he's not even sure now.
He is sure of lithe, sweaty thighs clamped tight around his sides, of a hot clenching hole spasming around his dick, the burning hot lines along his chest as Arthur claws at him. And its enough, and its too much and its fucking perfect as his head snaps back, Arthur's name on his lips, releasing deep into the other man.
Eames looked down, slowly coming back to his senses, still gasping, looking down at Arthur. The point man smiles, panting as well, and reaches up, managing to get his hand around the back of Eames' head and pull him down, kissing him deeply, and Eames smiles against warm lips and kisses him back.
What: delicious, pointless Eames/Arthur smut
Worksafe: ....no.
A/N: these two are my new obsession. Srsly.
It's always a fight with Arthur.
The hotel door bangs open, the sound harsh and sharp in the thick, hushed atmosphere of the hotel, where all the sharp corners are dulled by plush carpeting, by varnished wood and polite smiles. It doesn't fit, it jars with the place, but Eames doesn't care, and the door's slamming shut behind him with a careless kick of his foot, and then his hand's on Arthur's belt buckle, and he can feel the hard straining line of his cock, and he smirks. It's dirty, sordid and visceral, a body's primal reaction to something equally primal, and it cuts through all the utter shit, all the thick layers people place over themselves, the armor they protect themselves with.
He's distracted for a moment, hand beginning to slide lower and Arthur takes this chance to shove him back, and he's stumbling, but then there's hard, slender fingers gripping at the back of his neck, and a hot, demanding mouth on his, and for a moment he doesn't really care, and just takes another step back, towards the bed.
"Think we can make it to the bed this time, darling?" He purrs out, though his voice is husky, raspy with arousal. Arthur just gives him a look, and shoves him back again, and again, until Eames feels the edge of the mattress jolt against the backs of his thighs. He pauses there, looking at Aurhtur, tongue flicking out to wet kiss-swollen lips, and Arthur looks back, and Eames feels as though he's getting flayed alive by that glance, that all his layers are getting peeled back, that he's naked and shaking under that dark, intense gaze.
His hands are shaking, jerking off his own blazer, yanking the shirt he has on underneath over his head, ignoring the sounds of tearing threads. His hands slide lower, down to work at hs belt, but then theres a cool, slim hand over his, and Arthur's shaking his head. No.
Eames is about to protest, but then that slim hand is reaching down, squeezing roughly at the tent in his pants and oh god he can feel Authur's hand trembling, more and more cracks appearing in that armor of his. And Eames grins, because he has him now, now it's only a matter of time. His own hand slips down, and presses over Arthur's, a rough, hot thug's hand over the cool slender digits of an intellectual. He jerks the other man down, down to the bed, rolling the both of them to their sides.
Arthur fights him, whipcord lean body writhing against Eames, always looking for that control. His hands claw at the forger's body, leaving raking red lines along the other man's torso and Eames feels his cock twitch in the confines of his pants, painfully hard, pressing against the cool metal line of his zipper, desperate to be free. But then that hand slides down, and squeezes, and Eames sees stars and probably wouldn't be able to tell you his own mother's name, and Arthur's smiling, not that cold little twitch of the lips that usually suffices, but a full, heated grin, and the bloody bastard thinks he's won, hasn't he? Eames allow's himself one hard buck into that hand and one long, low moan. He knows how his voice effects Authur, and watches as his adam apple bobs as he swallows hard, eyes fluttering half closed, and Eames moves.
He shoves Arthur back, lying him flat on his back, and straddles his hips, pressing him down. The other man snarls, bucks and bridges, but Eames has at least a good 25 pounds on him, and uses this to his full advantage. Thick hands jerk open Arthur's shirt, mindless of torn buttonholes, ignoring the point man's growl. The growl quickly turns to a grudging moan as rough hands start working, plucking and tugging at nipples until they're stiff, reddened peaks, and Arthur's thrashing underneath him, a combination of continued resistance and unthinking lust. When Eames brings his mouth down to play, the moans are not long even close to grudging, and the forger smirks, and bites down, tasting sweat, blood, and Arthur. He lets out his own moan, one that raises in pitch as he feels hard hands clawing down his shoulders, feels skin parting under blunt nails.
"Not a toy you can break, pet." He mutters against bleeding skin despite himself, and his own response it a puff of breathless laughter as Arthur does it again, and his cock is fucking throbbing, and god, he just wants this man, could rub himself off on his belly, covering that pale, smooth skin with his cum, licking him clean afterwards. He's done it before, could do it again, but not this time. He wants something else this time.
He gets his mouth on one of those abused nipples, and bites; Arthur's moan throbbing in his ears while his hands jerk open the man's belt, yank open his pants. One last lick against the sensitive nub, and he getting off the other man. But before Authur can surge up, fight him back, he flipping him over, jerking his pants down to expose that tight, perfect ass, and yanking slim hips up. The other man is squirming, writhing, but not against Eames, not anymore. The forger smirks, and then waits.
Arthur growls, and Eames can see how fucking hard he is, cock flushed a dark red, the head shiny with precum. Eames is easily as hard as that, but he waits, waits for the words. Arthur continues to pant, to squirm, and eventually starts to reach underneath, hand going towards his cock.
"No darling." Eames murmurs, and the smack of his hand against Arthur's ass echoes around the room. "You know I don't want that. I know you don't want that. You just have to say it. That's all."
Arthur's dark eyes flare, but he's also panting, the white shirt open around his body is soaked with sweat, and Eames can see, oh god he can see his cock jerk. The silence stretches, and then a fraction of the tension in Arthur's shoulders relaxes and he leans forward, half half pressed into a pillow, but that doesn't completely muffle his voice.
"Please." He whispers in a low, wrecked voice, and its all Eames can do to keep from coming.
Instead he leans over, biting down on his shoulder, murmuring "Now that wasn't too hard, was it?" Arthur makes a sound somewhere between a moan and a growl, and Eames is moving again, trailing kisses down damp fabric while his hands slip up, blunt fingers slipping between the cheeks of his ass, roughly tugging him open. Authur jerks forward, and pants, his ribcage heaving under smooth skin as he desperate tries to suck down enough air. Eames places a lingering kiss on Authur's tailbone, then leans back, a smirk crossing his face, as he looks down at Arthur twitching pucker, and leans down with a purr.
When he first just lightly drags his tongue against the other man's hole, he gets a harsh, sudden inhale and can feel his thighs trembling. He licks again, firming his tongue, barely not penetrating him, and Arthur lets out a shaky moan, face buried in his pillow. When he finally pushes his tongue in, Arthur lets out a cry that could almost be a scream, and rocks back, frantically. Eames just smirks, and goes to work, blunt fingers clenched down hard on the other man's ass, pulling him even further open as he works his tongue in and out of that tight, clenching hole. Eames can feel Authur shaking, feels him squirm, knees sliding on expensive sheets, splaying himself out, opening himself wider.
Gasping moans, flow over Eames until he's drowning in them, until his bloody cock feels like its going to explode, but he waits, he waits until there's that certain pitch in Arthur's voice, until he-
"Eames, Eames...."
That's it, that's it...
Eames pulls back, only to suck on a finger, easily pushing it into Arthur's spit-wet hole, and the fingers of his other hand loop loosely around his cock, giving him the barest amount of pressure.
"It's time, darling." He murmurs, and his finger crooks, slamming into the smaller man's prostate.
Arthur screams. Eames bites his lip as he feels that lithe body crush around his finger, as he feels wet, hot cum drip over his fingers. Arthur's head snaps back, and his back arches, and it looks like he's almost having a convulsion, the expression crossing his face something like pain, if Eames didn't know it was pure ecstasy.
He can't wait anymore, not like this, not seeing straight-laced Arthur screaming with pleasure, pants tangled around his knees, shoes still on, shirt plastered to his back with sweat. He yanks his finger out, and jerks his pants fully off, managing to get his shoes off as well. The same hand flips Arhtur's not limp body over while the other finally, finally yanks his own pants open, not caring when it smears some of the other man's seed over the cloth. Eames lets out a whimper as he pulls his throbbing dick out, his cum-slick hand swiping over it, giving himself the lubrication he needs. He spreads Arthur's legs wide, and reaches down, guiding his cock to the other man's still wet asshole. He glances up, just for a moment, and Arthur looks back at him, cheeks flushed dark, a slow, well-fucked smile crossing his face. He licks his lips, then barely nods.
Eames pushes in, slow, but unrelenting, sliding deeper and deeper into Arthur's relaxed body. A tight gasp, and he squeezes his eyes shut, and reaches down, pinching hard around the base of his cock, staving off the orgasm that threatens to overcome him. He manages to hold back, but still knows that he's not going to last long, not after waiting so long, not touching himself.
His eyes snap open to Arthur, his hands grasping at the headboard behind him, head thrown back. He isn't hard, won't be after coming so soon, but that doesn't fucking matter, and Eames is just moving, plunging in and out, smashing against Arhtur's oversensitized prostate, and Arthur's screaming, or he's screaming, he's not even sure now.
He is sure of lithe, sweaty thighs clamped tight around his sides, of a hot clenching hole spasming around his dick, the burning hot lines along his chest as Arthur claws at him. And its enough, and its too much and its fucking perfect as his head snaps back, Arthur's name on his lips, releasing deep into the other man.
Eames looked down, slowly coming back to his senses, still gasping, looking down at Arthur. The point man smiles, panting as well, and reaches up, managing to get his hand around the back of Eames' head and pull him down, kissing him deeply, and Eames smiles against warm lips and kisses him back.