I am so sorry. actually, I'm not.triedinceptionJune 27 2011, 02:54:52 UTC
[ Sitting, legs crossed, running a finger around the rim of a drink. ]
What wouldn't I do to you, darling? I want to throw you down on beds and peel you out of your ridiculously bloody hot suits, and suck you off until you're begging me to stop, I want to finger you open and make you ride me, I want to come in you until you're filthy with it. And then I want to clean you up and take you out on rooftops with wine and good bread and stay up all night with you.
[ Sitting across from him at the same table, taking a swallow of his own drink because he refuses to believe his mouth has run dry at that very detailed description.
After setting the glass down. ]
You sound like you've been thinking about this for a while.
Not that I can remember. XDlittlspecifictyJune 27 2011, 04:34:30 UTC
[ Keeping his hand around his glass, the grip firm but unchanging to where he doesn't notice it for a moment as he contemplates Eames' question - and his answer. ]
Lookout references ftw.triedinceptionJune 27 2011, 04:47:41 UTC
[ He holds his glass by the rim when he's done, letting the amber whiskey swish around. ]
I must not be working enough, because I think about fucking you all the time.
[ His voice is low, confidental, like they're discussing a plan and not sex. ]
I've entertained many a fantasy about your arse bent over my desk, or you ordering me about to my knees and fucking my mouth. [ And he licks said plush mouth after he speaks. ]
[ He can feel a flush creeping up his neck and into his cheeks as well as at the tips of his ears. He could blame it on the alcohol he's consumed but even he knows he hasn't drunk that much. At least not yet. ]
Then it sounds like you need more work to do and less free time to daydream, Mr. Eames.
[ He then knocks back the rest of his drink, quick to order another. ]
Are you offering to perhaps find more for me to occupy myself with?
[ He clearly means work, but the tone; Eames watches that flush creep in the low light, the way Arthur cleans out his drink and orders more. He takes another sip of his whiskey, rolling it over his tongue and letting the burn hit his mouth and all the way down his throat. ]
After all, idle hands and the devil's work.
[ He uncrosses his legs, lets a hand rest on his thigh. ]
can I switch to third?triedinceptionJune 27 2011, 06:43:20 UTC
Eames' eyes move to the window and watch the fat drops of rain fall onto the cars and street, dousing the window as well. He drains his whiskey but doesn't signal for a refill, gaze sliding to Arthur again.
"No, you aren't, aren't you," he says quietly, something else lurking in his eyes as he drums his fingers on his thigh.
"I suppose I'll have to continue fantasising about your fantastic hands, mouth and arse then," he continues, whatever was lurking in his eyes banished as he rests his chin in his hand.
Arthur finally took a sip of his drink before speaking, still looking out the window and watching how the street lights were already lighting up the droplets that fell around it.
"Are you saying you're incapable of thinking about anything else?"
Re: I prefer it!triedinceptionJune 27 2011, 07:18:49 UTC
"Yes. You know how it is when an idea gets under your skin," Eames replies, voice somewhat muffled by his fingers. His gaze slipped half closed, looking at Arthur's profile, the curl of his hair at his neck as his gel wore off at the end of the day.
"When something sticks in your mind and even when you're working, it still lurks in the back of your head. Mine just happens to be you."
Still looking out of the window, thumb rubbing the side of his glass up and down, "And just when did you get infected with this idea?" He was harkening back to how Dom had described ideas being like "parasites". Not the best or most flattering of metaphors but certainly effective in the mental image it produced (as well as getting someone's attention).
"And are you certain it's really such a wise one to have?"
Eames chuckled and dropped his eyes to that thumb. "Oh, years, now. Ever since that first job together." The one where Arthur threatened to shoot him in the crotch in reality, shot him in the face during a practice run, and where Eames had broken Arthur's neck as they were all kicking themselves out of the mark's mind.
Yes, a memorable job to be sure.
"Wise, no, but I do rather enjoy my imagination." Gaze flicking to Arthur's eyes, "Unless you're offering to show me the reality of it."
Arthur snorts, finally looking back at Eames, "You like it rough, then?" That would be an understatement for how that job went (and so would describing it as "memorable"). Arthur had called Eames an 'asshole' after he woke and nearly punched him. He hadn't needed to forger to do that. Granted, he hadn't needed to shot Eames in the face that first practice run but if Arthur cared so much about first impressions, he wouldn't have done it at all.
Giving the other man a flat look, willing the new wave of heat coming into his cheeks to go away, "Based on what you've imagined, the reality wouldn't live up to it."
"How does she say it? - If it's not rough it isn't fun," Eames replies. That job had been a cock up and they hadn't gotten along, too abrasive and young and new with each other and dreamshare. But Eames had been captivated ever since, the idea of that body under him or on top of him, that angry disintrested look directed at his cock.
(No one said he was well adjusted. )
Eames met that look with an arched brow, licking his lips before he spoke. "You've no idea if that's true - and if it didn't, I'd leave you alone then, you'd hope?" Privately Eames thought Arthur could be the worst fuck in the world but once he had him in his bed he would never give him up.
Arthur looks, no, squints over at Eames. "Did you -- did you just quote Lady Gaga at me?" This conversation was just getting more and more bizarre. First Arthur had been stupid enough to ask the question he had and Eames had been shameless enough to answer it in the manner he did. And now they were dancing around each other and the subject that Arthur was regretting introducing in the first place.
Even if it was something that had obviously been between them since that first job. Out loud Arthur would deny it, but internally he knew he had wanted to fuck the forger at least once. Mainly just to do it and get it out of his system.
Giving the other man a more serious look at that, "Our expectations and reality hardly ever match up. Some part of it is bound to be a disappointment."
What wouldn't I do to you, darling? I want to throw you down on beds and peel you out of your ridiculously bloody hot suits, and suck you off until you're begging me to stop, I want to finger you open and make you ride me, I want to come in you until you're filthy with it. And then I want to clean you up and take you out on rooftops with wine and good bread and stay up all night with you.
In short, yes, I would bloody tap that.
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After setting the glass down. ]
You sound like you've been thinking about this for a while.
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I would say I've had some time to mull the thought over. You haven't ever thought about what it would be like if we had sex?
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Not as much as you have, apparently.
I tend to be busy with other things.
[ And other people. ]
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I must not be working enough, because I think about fucking you all the time.
[ His voice is low, confidental, like they're discussing a plan and not sex. ]
I've entertained many a fantasy about your arse bent over my desk, or you ordering me about to my knees and fucking my mouth. [ And he licks said plush mouth after he speaks. ]
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Then it sounds like you need more work to do and less free time to daydream, Mr. Eames.
[ He then knocks back the rest of his drink, quick to order another. ]
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[ He clearly means work, but the tone; Eames watches that flush creep in the low light, the way Arthur cleans out his drink and orders more. He takes another sip of his whiskey, rolling it over his tongue and letting the burn hit his mouth and all the way down his throat. ]
After all, idle hands and the devil's work.
[ He uncrosses his legs, lets a hand rest on his thigh. ]
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I'm not your keeper. You can find your own damn work.
[ He doesn't even allow the waitress to set his new drink on the table, taking it out of her hand and handing her his empty glass.
He doesn't take a drink, yet. He just wants to hold it in his hand, his eyes flicking out of the window beside them watching it start to rain. ]
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"No, you aren't, aren't you," he says quietly, something else lurking in his eyes as he drums his fingers on his thigh.
"I suppose I'll have to continue fantasising about your fantastic hands, mouth and arse then," he continues, whatever was lurking in his eyes banished as he rests his chin in his hand.
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"Are you saying you're incapable of thinking about anything else?"
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"When something sticks in your mind and even when you're working, it still lurks in the back of your head. Mine just happens to be you."
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"And are you certain it's really such a wise one to have?"
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Yes, a memorable job to be sure.
"Wise, no, but I do rather enjoy my imagination." Gaze flicking to Arthur's eyes, "Unless you're offering to show me the reality of it."
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Giving the other man a flat look, willing the new wave of heat coming into his cheeks to go away, "Based on what you've imagined, the reality wouldn't live up to it."
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(No one said he was well adjusted. )
Eames met that look with an arched brow, licking his lips before he spoke. "You've no idea if that's true - and if it didn't, I'd leave you alone then, you'd hope?" Privately Eames thought Arthur could be the worst fuck in the world but once he had him in his bed he would never give him up.
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Even if it was something that had obviously been between them since that first job. Out loud Arthur would deny it, but internally he knew he had wanted to fuck the forger at least once. Mainly just to do it and get it out of his system.
Giving the other man a more serious look at that, "Our expectations and reality hardly ever match up. Some part of it is bound to be a disappointment."
Reply
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