[FIC] And I Have Known The Arms Already
Title: And I Have Known The Arms Already
Author: fabiennen
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Cobb/Fischer
Rating: NC17 for gratuitous smut
Words: 2000
Disclaimer: If I owned them I wouldn't be writing this.
Summary: written for the inception_kink prompt 'Robert/Dom established relationship - Dom on top, Robert wearing one of Mal's old corsets'
And I Have Known The Arms Already
Spring steel, crimson coutille and black lace. It lies there, stark against the crisp ivory of the bedlinen, and Dom's mouth goes dry as he fingers the herringbone satin and hears the shower shut off.
The door to the ensuite is slightly ajar, thin tendrils of steam escaping to dissipate in the chill air from the open window. Through the narrow gap he can see strips of bare white skin, flashes of dark hair, curves and angles and shadowed planes shifting in and out of view. He swallows, and sits down at the end of the bed, his pulse ramping up a notch as he remembers what he's going to confront. His toes curl in the cream-coloured deep-pile carpet, one more sensory anchor to reality. He is still unbearably warm, even in the breeze that teases his sweat-slicked skin, and he lifts his hand to unbutton his shirt collar, lingering on the roughness of week-old stubble at his throat and wondering whether it will raise a complaint.
He hopes it does. There's nothing more amusing than his lover's petulance.
He's not sure what to call it, this arrangement that they have. Somewhere between a cocktail of sedatives and the shocking blossom of blood-red on white he had fallen, fallen hard, and while his waking self would run rings around the fact, there was nothing he could do to quiet his subconscious. When the silken-voiced stranger had started appearing in his dreams he'd needed to do something.
Which, after months of whispers on the telephone and brief sojourns in expensive hotels, had led them here: to Dom's own home, a week away from prying eyes, and the promise of endless weeks to come.
He's shaken from his reverie by a faint, tentative cough. Robert is shy, he has learned, despite the smooth iciness he adopts in his public life, and the younger man hovers nervously in the bathroom doorway as though seeking validation. He is trembling, or perhaps shivering, his slight form naked save for the flimsiest of black panties, the scrap of material barely preserving his modesty as it clings to his slender hips. Dom's gaze lingers here for a moment, while that inexplicable dryness returns to his mouth, before travelling upwards to Robert's face. The expression he finds there is desperate, pleading for approval; those startling eyes are kohl-rimmed, larger than ever, and the quirk of his beestung lips painted in the same colour as the satin of the corset is like a knife to Dom's gut.
Dom nods, so slightly that anyone else would have missed it, and Robert walks over to join him on the bed.
"Did I get it right?" he asks, blue eyes wide with anxiety, and Dom responds by dropping a kiss on one cut-glass cheekbone. Even now that they are somewhat... established, he supposes is the correct word... Robert has trouble initiating intimacy. They will both pretend that it's because of his upbringing, but Dom knows that Robert relishes the act of submission; he does not want control. Not like she did.
There is still a Mal-shaped hole in his heart. Robert was afraid, in the beginning, that Dom simply wanted a replacement for what he had lost; it had started with the cosmetics, eyeliner and lipstick and rouge, and soon it was evening gowns and silk slips and foreign, lacy things concealed beneath business suits. Dom knows that Robert doesn't enjoy it, precisely, but it challenges him and it makes him uncomfortable and he has found that, all along, that's just what the poor little rich boy has wanted. So yes, there is a Mal-shaped hole in his heart, and it will always be there, but now there is a little Robert-shaped pool of joy lapping at its edges.
Mal was a strong woman, sometimes frighteningly so. It is not that Robert is a weak man, not at all; but he understands the price of control and it is the currency with which Dom buys his compliance.
He takes the corset off the bed. "Lift your arms," he murmurs, avoiding Robert's curious glance, and there is only a moment's hesitation before the other man obeys. It has been a long time since Dom has performed this ritual. The corset closes at the front with hooks and eyes, which is simple enough, but adjusting the lacing at the back to fit the wearer is fiddly and laborious. Robert is patient, though, and sits demurely with his hands folded in his lap as Dom tightens the garment inch by inch; his composure is only shaken by a slight gasp as Dom cinches in the waist, and he watches over Robert's shoulder with a quiet triumph at the whitening of knuckles and the bite of fingernails into flesh.
He pushes Robert back on the bed when he's finished, eliciting a slow smile at his hastiness which dissolves into an open-mouthed moan as Dom straddles his thighs and his hand brushes too softly to be accidental across the front of those lace knickers. Robert's hair is damp between his fingers as he slides his other hand through it and pulls, tilting the smaller man's head back to expose the flawless arch of his pale neck which he immediately wants to spoil and does, sucking at the tender flesh until he has created a purple inkblot of burst capillaries under the skin. Robert shifts, lifting his hips to rub between Dom's legs, and Dom presses him back to the mattress; he wants Robert completely debauched, not just a little worked up, and there's all the time in the world to achieve that.
He sits back and slides his hands down Robert's sides to rest at his waist. The warmth of his body bleeds through the fabric, and with it comes a faint scent of perfume that still lingers in the coutille. Robert watches him, not quite apprehensive but still cautious, trying to gauge where Dom is headed; every line of him is wraught with tension and Dom finds that this isn't pleasing at all.
"Relax," he instructs, resting a single hand on Robert's chest and pressing down, just slightly. A thought has occurred to him. "And lie still. If you move, I'll stop, OK?" Robert nods his assent eagerly, and Dom can see the fight going out of him as he sinks into the mattress, giving up just a little more of himself to the older man.
He unbuttons his shirt the rest of the way, but he won't remove it, knowing how much Robert loves the texture of the expensive silk and the humiliation in their differing states of undress. Likewise he need only drop his slacks far enough to release his erection, unable to mask his amusement at the sudden flush that suffuses Robert's normally pale face. He half expects Robert to sit up and protest, but instead the younger man remains as still and doll-like as ever, save a near-imperceptible twitch of his fingertips against the bedspread. There's a bottle of oil on the nightstand, some fancy boutique stuff that seemed like a good idea at the time and seems like a really great idea right now. Dom snaps it open and pours a generous amount into one hand before closing his fist around his cock, sighing a little at the sudden relief of contact. It's not quite enough, though; after some consideration, he judges that those tiny lace knickers are no longer even attempting to conceal Robert's arousal, and they're just in the way. The fragile gauze provides no resistance as Dom tears them away - Robert fixes him with a baleful stare as he does so - but then they're rubbing together and Dom wraps his palm around them both, and Robert almost chokes on a tamped-down mewling cry.
He knows immediately that it isn't going to work like this. It's too much too soon and if he's not careful it'll be over almost before it has started, the closeness and sensuality almost too rich to provide anything other than instant gratification. With some regret he removes his hand from them both and settles back, weighing his choices. Robert begins to sit up, to complain, and Dom takes advantage of his partner's momentary confusion to slide a single finger inside him; the keening moan he's rewarded with makes it all worth it.
"I thought I told you to lie still?" he reminds the younger man, careful to inject a note of warning into his voice. Robert almost seems to consider whether it's a viable option to voice his discontent, but when Dom starts to withdraw the finger he falls back to the mattress, his eyes burning with resentment. "Good boy," Dom murmurs, sliding in two fingers this time, quickly finding the prostate and pressing down. Robert's cock jumps against his stomach and his breath hitches, but he stays resolutely motionless as Dom scissors his fingers inside him and begins to work up a rhythm. For a moment he is reminded of a different time and a different lover, the satin and lace brushing his cheek as he lowers his head to nip at one sharp hipbone, of warm nights and feminine softness; he cannot forget it, but it isn't the here and now where his lover is something else entirely. Something new and much more easily moulded.
Robert's voice cracks on one single word.
"Please..."
He's breathing as hard as the corset will allow, trying to push down on the invading fingers and trying not to at the same time, and that delicious conflict is just what Dom has been anticipating, to see that composed facade crack, and then shatter, to see Robert losing it. He could do this all night, and has every intention to, but there are some things that simply cannot wait.
He withdraws his fingers, curling them one last time just to see Robert jerk and then glare, and slicks himself again with a palmful of oil, gritting his teeth not to come right there and then. He bends Robert's legs up towards his chest and the slender man folds easily, lips parting on a long, low sigh as Dom presses into him. He rests there a moment with his eyes closed, almost overwhelmed by the heat and pressure and closeness that still sends him reeling even now; Robert's breath is fresh on his cheek, lashes brushing his skin with each blink, hands clenched into fists against his chest, and when Dom opens his eyes again he can see a single tear rolling down Robert's face. He cards one hand through the younger man's hair as he kisses him, gently but thoroughly, and the lipstick is smudged when he pulls away and draws out with painstaking care, completely unprepared for Robert to drop his hands to his waist and drag him back in with enough force that they both cry out. And that's all it takes to snap Dom's tenuous restraint; he grasps Robert's thin wrists and pins them over his head with his full weight as he fucks his lover into the mattress with all the strength he's been holding back for months. They've done gentle, they've done caring, they've done tender, but as he gazes down at Robert's shifting expressions and knows that they'll both wake up with bruises tomorrow, he realises that this, this is the truth they've been dancing around, that this is what the balance of their relationship boils down to: the ability, and the trust, to take or to give up control in complete confidence.
He's over the edge before he really has time to register that coiling, tight sensation in the pit of his stomach, but it's with some satisfaction that he succeeds in spinning out Robert's climax for another couple of minutes with shallow thrusts until the smaller man shudders out his relief, twisting and gasping in his grasp. Dom smiles and brushes away the dark hair that clings in damp tendrils to Robert's forehead. They have hours ahead of them yet.
Author: fabiennen
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Cobb/Fischer
Rating: NC17 for gratuitous smut
Words: 2000
Disclaimer: If I owned them I wouldn't be writing this.
Summary: written for the inception_kink prompt 'Robert/Dom established relationship - Dom on top, Robert wearing one of Mal's old corsets'
And I Have Known The Arms Already
Spring steel, crimson coutille and black lace. It lies there, stark against the crisp ivory of the bedlinen, and Dom's mouth goes dry as he fingers the herringbone satin and hears the shower shut off.
The door to the ensuite is slightly ajar, thin tendrils of steam escaping to dissipate in the chill air from the open window. Through the narrow gap he can see strips of bare white skin, flashes of dark hair, curves and angles and shadowed planes shifting in and out of view. He swallows, and sits down at the end of the bed, his pulse ramping up a notch as he remembers what he's going to confront. His toes curl in the cream-coloured deep-pile carpet, one more sensory anchor to reality. He is still unbearably warm, even in the breeze that teases his sweat-slicked skin, and he lifts his hand to unbutton his shirt collar, lingering on the roughness of week-old stubble at his throat and wondering whether it will raise a complaint.
He hopes it does. There's nothing more amusing than his lover's petulance.
He's not sure what to call it, this arrangement that they have. Somewhere between a cocktail of sedatives and the shocking blossom of blood-red on white he had fallen, fallen hard, and while his waking self would run rings around the fact, there was nothing he could do to quiet his subconscious. When the silken-voiced stranger had started appearing in his dreams he'd needed to do something.
Which, after months of whispers on the telephone and brief sojourns in expensive hotels, had led them here: to Dom's own home, a week away from prying eyes, and the promise of endless weeks to come.
He's shaken from his reverie by a faint, tentative cough. Robert is shy, he has learned, despite the smooth iciness he adopts in his public life, and the younger man hovers nervously in the bathroom doorway as though seeking validation. He is trembling, or perhaps shivering, his slight form naked save for the flimsiest of black panties, the scrap of material barely preserving his modesty as it clings to his slender hips. Dom's gaze lingers here for a moment, while that inexplicable dryness returns to his mouth, before travelling upwards to Robert's face. The expression he finds there is desperate, pleading for approval; those startling eyes are kohl-rimmed, larger than ever, and the quirk of his beestung lips painted in the same colour as the satin of the corset is like a knife to Dom's gut.
Dom nods, so slightly that anyone else would have missed it, and Robert walks over to join him on the bed.
"Did I get it right?" he asks, blue eyes wide with anxiety, and Dom responds by dropping a kiss on one cut-glass cheekbone. Even now that they are somewhat... established, he supposes is the correct word... Robert has trouble initiating intimacy. They will both pretend that it's because of his upbringing, but Dom knows that Robert relishes the act of submission; he does not want control. Not like she did.
There is still a Mal-shaped hole in his heart. Robert was afraid, in the beginning, that Dom simply wanted a replacement for what he had lost; it had started with the cosmetics, eyeliner and lipstick and rouge, and soon it was evening gowns and silk slips and foreign, lacy things concealed beneath business suits. Dom knows that Robert doesn't enjoy it, precisely, but it challenges him and it makes him uncomfortable and he has found that, all along, that's just what the poor little rich boy has wanted. So yes, there is a Mal-shaped hole in his heart, and it will always be there, but now there is a little Robert-shaped pool of joy lapping at its edges.
Mal was a strong woman, sometimes frighteningly so. It is not that Robert is a weak man, not at all; but he understands the price of control and it is the currency with which Dom buys his compliance.
He takes the corset off the bed. "Lift your arms," he murmurs, avoiding Robert's curious glance, and there is only a moment's hesitation before the other man obeys. It has been a long time since Dom has performed this ritual. The corset closes at the front with hooks and eyes, which is simple enough, but adjusting the lacing at the back to fit the wearer is fiddly and laborious. Robert is patient, though, and sits demurely with his hands folded in his lap as Dom tightens the garment inch by inch; his composure is only shaken by a slight gasp as Dom cinches in the waist, and he watches over Robert's shoulder with a quiet triumph at the whitening of knuckles and the bite of fingernails into flesh.
He pushes Robert back on the bed when he's finished, eliciting a slow smile at his hastiness which dissolves into an open-mouthed moan as Dom straddles his thighs and his hand brushes too softly to be accidental across the front of those lace knickers. Robert's hair is damp between his fingers as he slides his other hand through it and pulls, tilting the smaller man's head back to expose the flawless arch of his pale neck which he immediately wants to spoil and does, sucking at the tender flesh until he has created a purple inkblot of burst capillaries under the skin. Robert shifts, lifting his hips to rub between Dom's legs, and Dom presses him back to the mattress; he wants Robert completely debauched, not just a little worked up, and there's all the time in the world to achieve that.
He sits back and slides his hands down Robert's sides to rest at his waist. The warmth of his body bleeds through the fabric, and with it comes a faint scent of perfume that still lingers in the coutille. Robert watches him, not quite apprehensive but still cautious, trying to gauge where Dom is headed; every line of him is wraught with tension and Dom finds that this isn't pleasing at all.
"Relax," he instructs, resting a single hand on Robert's chest and pressing down, just slightly. A thought has occurred to him. "And lie still. If you move, I'll stop, OK?" Robert nods his assent eagerly, and Dom can see the fight going out of him as he sinks into the mattress, giving up just a little more of himself to the older man.
He unbuttons his shirt the rest of the way, but he won't remove it, knowing how much Robert loves the texture of the expensive silk and the humiliation in their differing states of undress. Likewise he need only drop his slacks far enough to release his erection, unable to mask his amusement at the sudden flush that suffuses Robert's normally pale face. He half expects Robert to sit up and protest, but instead the younger man remains as still and doll-like as ever, save a near-imperceptible twitch of his fingertips against the bedspread. There's a bottle of oil on the nightstand, some fancy boutique stuff that seemed like a good idea at the time and seems like a really great idea right now. Dom snaps it open and pours a generous amount into one hand before closing his fist around his cock, sighing a little at the sudden relief of contact. It's not quite enough, though; after some consideration, he judges that those tiny lace knickers are no longer even attempting to conceal Robert's arousal, and they're just in the way. The fragile gauze provides no resistance as Dom tears them away - Robert fixes him with a baleful stare as he does so - but then they're rubbing together and Dom wraps his palm around them both, and Robert almost chokes on a tamped-down mewling cry.
He knows immediately that it isn't going to work like this. It's too much too soon and if he's not careful it'll be over almost before it has started, the closeness and sensuality almost too rich to provide anything other than instant gratification. With some regret he removes his hand from them both and settles back, weighing his choices. Robert begins to sit up, to complain, and Dom takes advantage of his partner's momentary confusion to slide a single finger inside him; the keening moan he's rewarded with makes it all worth it.
"I thought I told you to lie still?" he reminds the younger man, careful to inject a note of warning into his voice. Robert almost seems to consider whether it's a viable option to voice his discontent, but when Dom starts to withdraw the finger he falls back to the mattress, his eyes burning with resentment. "Good boy," Dom murmurs, sliding in two fingers this time, quickly finding the prostate and pressing down. Robert's cock jumps against his stomach and his breath hitches, but he stays resolutely motionless as Dom scissors his fingers inside him and begins to work up a rhythm. For a moment he is reminded of a different time and a different lover, the satin and lace brushing his cheek as he lowers his head to nip at one sharp hipbone, of warm nights and feminine softness; he cannot forget it, but it isn't the here and now where his lover is something else entirely. Something new and much more easily moulded.
Robert's voice cracks on one single word.
"Please..."
He's breathing as hard as the corset will allow, trying to push down on the invading fingers and trying not to at the same time, and that delicious conflict is just what Dom has been anticipating, to see that composed facade crack, and then shatter, to see Robert losing it. He could do this all night, and has every intention to, but there are some things that simply cannot wait.
He withdraws his fingers, curling them one last time just to see Robert jerk and then glare, and slicks himself again with a palmful of oil, gritting his teeth not to come right there and then. He bends Robert's legs up towards his chest and the slender man folds easily, lips parting on a long, low sigh as Dom presses into him. He rests there a moment with his eyes closed, almost overwhelmed by the heat and pressure and closeness that still sends him reeling even now; Robert's breath is fresh on his cheek, lashes brushing his skin with each blink, hands clenched into fists against his chest, and when Dom opens his eyes again he can see a single tear rolling down Robert's face. He cards one hand through the younger man's hair as he kisses him, gently but thoroughly, and the lipstick is smudged when he pulls away and draws out with painstaking care, completely unprepared for Robert to drop his hands to his waist and drag him back in with enough force that they both cry out. And that's all it takes to snap Dom's tenuous restraint; he grasps Robert's thin wrists and pins them over his head with his full weight as he fucks his lover into the mattress with all the strength he's been holding back for months. They've done gentle, they've done caring, they've done tender, but as he gazes down at Robert's shifting expressions and knows that they'll both wake up with bruises tomorrow, he realises that this, this is the truth they've been dancing around, that this is what the balance of their relationship boils down to: the ability, and the trust, to take or to give up control in complete confidence.
He's over the edge before he really has time to register that coiling, tight sensation in the pit of his stomach, but it's with some satisfaction that he succeeds in spinning out Robert's climax for another couple of minutes with shallow thrusts until the smaller man shudders out his relief, twisting and gasping in his grasp. Dom smiles and brushes away the dark hair that clings in damp tendrils to Robert's forehead. They have hours ahead of them yet.