In The Dark of Night
Title: In The Dark of Night
Rating: Somewhere between R and NC-17
Summary: My penis is just fine, thanks. Now shut up.
Notes : For an inception_kink prompt. This prompt.
Further notes : This is my first attempt at Arthur/Eames smut, I guess.
Arthur sighs heavily. Bringing Eames along on his job was a bad idea. Most anything involving Eames is a bad idea. Arthur has a mark to follow, to watch, and all he focuses on is Eames. It’s incredibly difficult to ignore him. He’s half drunk and making too much noise. Even the festivities in the street, just two blocks over, can’t drown out his unmistakable drawl. Eames leans against the brownstone wall, pulling his silver flask out of a pocket of his blazer, that fits just a little too tightly.
“You know what your problem is Arthur?”
Arthur sighs, again. Eames is right on time with his inability to keep quiet for more than ten minutes. “No, do tell.” Arthur eyes the flask wearily as Eames takes another swig. It’s like the thing is bottomless. Eames has been drinking from it for nearly an hour now.
“Your problem is you are far too uptight.” Eames waves his free hand in a big, unnecessary gesture. “You have absolutely no way to unwind because one, you don’t get drunk and two, you don’t have anyone to fuck.”
“I read. That’s how I unwind.”
Eames makes a face when he hears the word read. “That doesn’t sound like a good way to unwind. In fact, it sounds stressful. Books aren’t worth that much trouble.”
“I like reading.”
“No,” Eames shakes his head, as he sticks his flask back into his pocket, “anyone who doesn’t have some kind of outlet will over stress and then, your pretty head will explode. Kaboom!” Eames claps his hands together loudly and then waves them wide for emphasis.
Arthur’s eyes dart wildly. He hopes no one hears the commotion. “Eames, for the love of god, shut up,” Arthur glares, but Eames doesn’t shrink back.
“I’m not a quiet person.”
“I’ve noticed. If you don’t keep quiet the mark will notice that a drunk Englishman has been following him everywhere for more than two hours.”
“You need a good fuck. Or, at the least you need someone to suck your cock.”
Arthur lets his eyes linger on Eames for a fraction longer than normal. Eames’ blunt, crude ways are no longer a shock, but this sounds more like an offer than a fleeting comment. “My penis is just fine, thanks. Now shut up.”
Arthur doesn’t hear when Eames pushes off the wall, how someone that drunk can be this stealthy when he wants to be is beyond him, but he feels the heavy breath against his neck. Arthur doesn’t move. His eyes, the eyes he has trained on the mark, dart over his shoulder to find Eames standing far too close to him. Now he’s more than certain bringing Eames along is a mistake. He catches a whiff of Eames’ breath and it stinks like scotch, but he doesn’t turn away. Eames is so close now, Arthur can feel his heartbeat against his back, amongst other things.
Arthur’s senses are failing him. Eames corners him. He can’t step forward. If he does, he will end up on the cobblestone street. They are hiding in the darkened alleyway. He can’t step back, that’s what Eames wants. So he stands with his eyes closed, inhaling Eames’ incredibly erotic smell. Scotch and musk. Bringing Eames along is undoubtedly a mistake. This is a distraction he doesn’t need. When Eames’ hands turn his body roughly, Arthur finds himself pushed against the damp wall. His leather jacket protects his crisp white shirt from the saturation.
Eames’ lips are instantly on his. His kiss is like nothing Arthur has experienced before. It’s hard and rough, all lips, teeth and tongue. He hears a hard whine, it could be his, but he doesn’t know for sure. Eames’ tongue slips into his mouth and Arthur gets a taste of the scotch he’s been sipping on for the entire night. Arthur doesn’t know what’s happening. He’s standing in a dark alleyway, with a man he barely likes, and he wants nothing more than to kiss him again. It’s perfect though.
Eames, who likes to take the backseat in many situations, controls this. He leans harder against Arthur, hands gripping his shoulder strongly, and Arthur lets him do as he pleases. When strong hands grip his ass, Arthur bucks forward and grinds against Eames. They’re both hard and it feels amazing to rub and grind with fervor. Eames stands between Arthur’s parted legs and rolls his hips in circles and Arthur clenches his eyes tightly.
“Someone’s excited,” Eames whispers in a smug voice, caging Arthur with his hands as he rests his palms flat on the wall next to Arthur’s head.
Arthur silences him with another kiss. He doesn’t want to hear Eames’ voice. He just needs that delicious friction. Eames complies. Arthur clenches his fist tightly. He’s close. He feels it. Eames is close too. His hips move faster.
“Qu'est-ce que vous faites ?”
The French pulls them out of their daze. An old woman, walking her dogs, stands at the end of the alleyway, on the street and she looks appalled. Eames stops working his hips and Arthur freezes. He pushes Eames away instantly and smoothes his clothes. His hand brushes over his crotch, as he readjusts himself. He flashes the old woman an apologetic smile, but she’s already gone.
“That was neither a fuck, nor blowjob and you seem less uptight. I wonder what they can do for you.”
Arthur is never going to let Eames tag along on a job ever again.
Rating: Somewhere between R and NC-17
Summary: My penis is just fine, thanks. Now shut up.
Notes : For an inception_kink prompt. This prompt.
Further notes : This is my first attempt at Arthur/Eames smut, I guess.
Arthur sighs heavily. Bringing Eames along on his job was a bad idea. Most anything involving Eames is a bad idea. Arthur has a mark to follow, to watch, and all he focuses on is Eames. It’s incredibly difficult to ignore him. He’s half drunk and making too much noise. Even the festivities in the street, just two blocks over, can’t drown out his unmistakable drawl. Eames leans against the brownstone wall, pulling his silver flask out of a pocket of his blazer, that fits just a little too tightly.
“You know what your problem is Arthur?”
Arthur sighs, again. Eames is right on time with his inability to keep quiet for more than ten minutes. “No, do tell.” Arthur eyes the flask wearily as Eames takes another swig. It’s like the thing is bottomless. Eames has been drinking from it for nearly an hour now.
“Your problem is you are far too uptight.” Eames waves his free hand in a big, unnecessary gesture. “You have absolutely no way to unwind because one, you don’t get drunk and two, you don’t have anyone to fuck.”
“I read. That’s how I unwind.”
Eames makes a face when he hears the word read. “That doesn’t sound like a good way to unwind. In fact, it sounds stressful. Books aren’t worth that much trouble.”
“I like reading.”
“No,” Eames shakes his head, as he sticks his flask back into his pocket, “anyone who doesn’t have some kind of outlet will over stress and then, your pretty head will explode. Kaboom!” Eames claps his hands together loudly and then waves them wide for emphasis.
Arthur’s eyes dart wildly. He hopes no one hears the commotion. “Eames, for the love of god, shut up,” Arthur glares, but Eames doesn’t shrink back.
“I’m not a quiet person.”
“I’ve noticed. If you don’t keep quiet the mark will notice that a drunk Englishman has been following him everywhere for more than two hours.”
“You need a good fuck. Or, at the least you need someone to suck your cock.”
Arthur lets his eyes linger on Eames for a fraction longer than normal. Eames’ blunt, crude ways are no longer a shock, but this sounds more like an offer than a fleeting comment. “My penis is just fine, thanks. Now shut up.”
Arthur doesn’t hear when Eames pushes off the wall, how someone that drunk can be this stealthy when he wants to be is beyond him, but he feels the heavy breath against his neck. Arthur doesn’t move. His eyes, the eyes he has trained on the mark, dart over his shoulder to find Eames standing far too close to him. Now he’s more than certain bringing Eames along is a mistake. He catches a whiff of Eames’ breath and it stinks like scotch, but he doesn’t turn away. Eames is so close now, Arthur can feel his heartbeat against his back, amongst other things.
Arthur’s senses are failing him. Eames corners him. He can’t step forward. If he does, he will end up on the cobblestone street. They are hiding in the darkened alleyway. He can’t step back, that’s what Eames wants. So he stands with his eyes closed, inhaling Eames’ incredibly erotic smell. Scotch and musk. Bringing Eames along is undoubtedly a mistake. This is a distraction he doesn’t need. When Eames’ hands turn his body roughly, Arthur finds himself pushed against the damp wall. His leather jacket protects his crisp white shirt from the saturation.
Eames’ lips are instantly on his. His kiss is like nothing Arthur has experienced before. It’s hard and rough, all lips, teeth and tongue. He hears a hard whine, it could be his, but he doesn’t know for sure. Eames’ tongue slips into his mouth and Arthur gets a taste of the scotch he’s been sipping on for the entire night. Arthur doesn’t know what’s happening. He’s standing in a dark alleyway, with a man he barely likes, and he wants nothing more than to kiss him again. It’s perfect though.
Eames, who likes to take the backseat in many situations, controls this. He leans harder against Arthur, hands gripping his shoulder strongly, and Arthur lets him do as he pleases. When strong hands grip his ass, Arthur bucks forward and grinds against Eames. They’re both hard and it feels amazing to rub and grind with fervor. Eames stands between Arthur’s parted legs and rolls his hips in circles and Arthur clenches his eyes tightly.
“Someone’s excited,” Eames whispers in a smug voice, caging Arthur with his hands as he rests his palms flat on the wall next to Arthur’s head.
Arthur silences him with another kiss. He doesn’t want to hear Eames’ voice. He just needs that delicious friction. Eames complies. Arthur clenches his fist tightly. He’s close. He feels it. Eames is close too. His hips move faster.
“Qu'est-ce que vous faites ?”
The French pulls them out of their daze. An old woman, walking her dogs, stands at the end of the alleyway, on the street and she looks appalled. Eames stops working his hips and Arthur freezes. He pushes Eames away instantly and smoothes his clothes. His hand brushes over his crotch, as he readjusts himself. He flashes the old woman an apologetic smile, but she’s already gone.
“That was neither a fuck, nor blowjob and you seem less uptight. I wonder what they can do for you.”
Arthur is never going to let Eames tag along on a job ever again.