Fic: Dressed to Kill (Inception, NC-17)
title: Dressed to Kill
author: ilovetakahana
pairing: Arthur/Eames
warnings: Another PWP story, written to fill two special requests. As with the previous post, this is very, very explicit and very NSFW. And once again, Eames is forging a girl. Unbeta'd.
disclaimer: I don't own the original story or the characters. Not making any profit, just playing in the sandbox.
summary: Arthur and Eames do it again in dreams. Direct sequel to Dance, and written for ohfreckle and chn_breathmint.
Also archived at http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/.
Eames’s eyes open to a mirror, close enough to touch it.
Creamy white blouse, silk edged in delicate black lace. Black stilettos, the patent leather gleaming in the diffused light of the dream. Wavy copper hair braided and then coiled into a severe bun at the nape of her neck.
Her suit is in a very fine hound’s-tooth pattern, slate gray mixed with dark blue. The jacket is nipped in savagely at the waist, and the skirt is almost obscenely short, showing off her legs, the delicate curve from calf to ankle.
Eames studies her face in the mirror, changes the eye shadow from brown to a smoky gray. She takes a pair of black-framed glasses from her suit pocket and puts them on, walks to the huge desk in the middle of the boardroom, hops up onto the corner and crosses her legs.
There’s a clipboard on the desk and a note pinned in the clipboard: Look up.
She smiles.
Arthur is standing there in most of the suit he was wearing during today’s job. Crisp shirt in dark blue with a white collar, the top buttons undone. He’s loosened his tie, burgundy with a Penrose triangle pattern, and rolled up his sleeves. Black dress pants pinstriped in gray, and a pair of very expensive boots.
“You’ve forgotten something,” she says, smiling as she lets her eyes travel up and down his body.
Arthur only huffs out a small laugh and produces a pair of fingerless gloves in black leather, puts them on carefully, like he’s wearing them for the first time. “Happy?” he asks.
“Not yet,” Eames laughs, and crooks a finger at him. She’s changed the nail polish from black to a dark midnight blue.
Arthur comes to a smooth halt in front of her, bends to drop a lightning-like kiss on each knee - searing-hot like flames, and gone.
“You look good,” she hears him say, murmured straight into her ear, and she feels a shock of need streaking down her spine, right between her legs. She moans, and Arthur steps closer, into the space between her knees.
Eames takes a deep breath, tries to calm her racing pulse, raises her eyes to meet the smile in Arthur’s.
Eyes never leaving hers, he carefully unknots his tie, drapes it around her neck.
She pulls him down, then, into the first kiss, opening him up with teasing tongue.
She feels him cup the back of her head, feels his fingers quickly undoing the knot of her bun until he’s got the braid free - and he undoes that, too. She shivers as the copper mass comes down, and he sinks his hands greedily into the silken tresses.
“You definitely like me like this too much, darling,” Eames says as she lets her hands drop below his waist, kneading the firm muscles of his butt.
“No such thing as too much,” he rasps. He gets a good grip on her hair and uses that to pull her head back, dragging his tongue along the bared skin of her throat.
Eames keens, arches shamelessly into him. That gets her a moan and she chuckles, amused and aroused. She’s not wearing anything underneath the blouse, and now he knows it.
She lets him push her back slightly, watches his hands shake as he undoes the buttons on her jacket, on her blouse. When he tries to push both off her shoulders she stops him with a firm hand on his chest. “Everything stays on, love.”
Arthur laughs, surprised and delighted, and kisses her again. She giggles when he mouths, “Pervert,” against her lips, whispers back, “Of course; didn’t you say so the last time?”
It’s her turn to gasp when his hands, those gloves, reach into her blouse and stroke firmly up her ribs, down the soft skin of her back, and finally come around to cup her heavy breasts. He’s moving his thumbs in maddening circles over her nipples; she moans and gasps, her legs crossing at the ankles to keep him near.
“Shameless,” he says approvingly against her hot cheek.
“Nnngh,” is all she can say, all thought gone, and she winds the tie around his neck, hands pulling the ends down, pushing her breasts up to him. He goes willingly, licking her collarbones, the sweat already pooling in the narrow valley between her breasts.
And then he closes his mouth around her nipple and the world dissolves into a rush behind her closed eyes.
Over the blood pounding in her ears, she hears her own disappointed whine as he releases her, and then he’s suckling her other breast, and she comes undone.
When she feels his fingers fluttering around the hem of her skirt she moans in encouragement and spreads her legs as far as she can. He teases her for a long moment, drumming those fingers on the inside of her thigh - and then he finally touches her, and she screams.
“Fuck, Eames,” and Arthur’s back, claiming her mouth, his kisses wild now.
She kisses him one more time and then as he thrusts his fingers inside her, she lets her head drop to his shoulder, nails digging into his skin as she rocks on him, breath coming in little pants - “So close, so close” - and she comes in a sudden rush, all but leaping off the desk with shock.
There are fingers at her lips and she takes them in eagerly, tastes herself on Arthur’s hand, and she smiles wickedly as she opens her eyes. “Let me ride you, darling?”
“Desk or floor?”
“How about that chair,” and Eames conjures it up for him. It’s one of those big office chairs, all black leather and plush seating, no arms.
Arthur laughs again and smilingly walks backward, away from her. He’s quickly undoing his fly, and for a long, breathless moment he fists his own cock expertly, hand twisting at the end of each stroke. He’s still wearing the gloves, and they make him look completely debauched.
“Enough,” she moans, and she clambers down from the desk, stalks toward him, swaying on her heels, swaying with need. Hitching up her skirt, she carefully lowers herself onto him, their gasps and breathy moans filling the space between them.
“You look so good like this,” Arthur says.
Eames winds her hands in either end of the tie again, leans in to kiss his closed eyes. She can feel his hands clenching rhythmically on her bum. She laughingly whispers, “And you, dear, don’t look quite disheveled enough yet.”
“Easily remedied,” he says easily, grinning at her.
She grins back, as maliciously as she can, and for answer snaps her hips forward.
She sees Arthur throw back his head, hears him shout, “Eames!”, watches as his gloved hands come up to grip hers helplessly around the ends of the tie.
The chair squeaks wildly as she rides him hard.
“Fuck, fuck, yeah,” Arthur growls and he’s matching her movements now, thrusting deeply into her as she grinds into him.
She can hear herself falling apart, her moans dying down into gasps of ah ah ah and, dimly, in the distance, Arthur is almost shouting: “Too. Close.”
He comes, and that’s enough to send her over the edge, too. Everything dissolves into fire.
And that’s when the kick comes.
author: ilovetakahana
pairing: Arthur/Eames
warnings: Another PWP story, written to fill two special requests. As with the previous post, this is very, very explicit and very NSFW. And once again, Eames is forging a girl. Unbeta'd.
disclaimer: I don't own the original story or the characters. Not making any profit, just playing in the sandbox.
summary: Arthur and Eames do it again in dreams. Direct sequel to Dance, and written for ohfreckle and chn_breathmint.
Also archived at http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/.
Eames’s eyes open to a mirror, close enough to touch it.
Creamy white blouse, silk edged in delicate black lace. Black stilettos, the patent leather gleaming in the diffused light of the dream. Wavy copper hair braided and then coiled into a severe bun at the nape of her neck.
Her suit is in a very fine hound’s-tooth pattern, slate gray mixed with dark blue. The jacket is nipped in savagely at the waist, and the skirt is almost obscenely short, showing off her legs, the delicate curve from calf to ankle.
Eames studies her face in the mirror, changes the eye shadow from brown to a smoky gray. She takes a pair of black-framed glasses from her suit pocket and puts them on, walks to the huge desk in the middle of the boardroom, hops up onto the corner and crosses her legs.
There’s a clipboard on the desk and a note pinned in the clipboard: Look up.
She smiles.
Arthur is standing there in most of the suit he was wearing during today’s job. Crisp shirt in dark blue with a white collar, the top buttons undone. He’s loosened his tie, burgundy with a Penrose triangle pattern, and rolled up his sleeves. Black dress pants pinstriped in gray, and a pair of very expensive boots.
“You’ve forgotten something,” she says, smiling as she lets her eyes travel up and down his body.
Arthur only huffs out a small laugh and produces a pair of fingerless gloves in black leather, puts them on carefully, like he’s wearing them for the first time. “Happy?” he asks.
“Not yet,” Eames laughs, and crooks a finger at him. She’s changed the nail polish from black to a dark midnight blue.
Arthur comes to a smooth halt in front of her, bends to drop a lightning-like kiss on each knee - searing-hot like flames, and gone.
“You look good,” she hears him say, murmured straight into her ear, and she feels a shock of need streaking down her spine, right between her legs. She moans, and Arthur steps closer, into the space between her knees.
Eames takes a deep breath, tries to calm her racing pulse, raises her eyes to meet the smile in Arthur’s.
Eyes never leaving hers, he carefully unknots his tie, drapes it around her neck.
She pulls him down, then, into the first kiss, opening him up with teasing tongue.
She feels him cup the back of her head, feels his fingers quickly undoing the knot of her bun until he’s got the braid free - and he undoes that, too. She shivers as the copper mass comes down, and he sinks his hands greedily into the silken tresses.
“You definitely like me like this too much, darling,” Eames says as she lets her hands drop below his waist, kneading the firm muscles of his butt.
“No such thing as too much,” he rasps. He gets a good grip on her hair and uses that to pull her head back, dragging his tongue along the bared skin of her throat.
Eames keens, arches shamelessly into him. That gets her a moan and she chuckles, amused and aroused. She’s not wearing anything underneath the blouse, and now he knows it.
She lets him push her back slightly, watches his hands shake as he undoes the buttons on her jacket, on her blouse. When he tries to push both off her shoulders she stops him with a firm hand on his chest. “Everything stays on, love.”
Arthur laughs, surprised and delighted, and kisses her again. She giggles when he mouths, “Pervert,” against her lips, whispers back, “Of course; didn’t you say so the last time?”
It’s her turn to gasp when his hands, those gloves, reach into her blouse and stroke firmly up her ribs, down the soft skin of her back, and finally come around to cup her heavy breasts. He’s moving his thumbs in maddening circles over her nipples; she moans and gasps, her legs crossing at the ankles to keep him near.
“Shameless,” he says approvingly against her hot cheek.
“Nnngh,” is all she can say, all thought gone, and she winds the tie around his neck, hands pulling the ends down, pushing her breasts up to him. He goes willingly, licking her collarbones, the sweat already pooling in the narrow valley between her breasts.
And then he closes his mouth around her nipple and the world dissolves into a rush behind her closed eyes.
Over the blood pounding in her ears, she hears her own disappointed whine as he releases her, and then he’s suckling her other breast, and she comes undone.
When she feels his fingers fluttering around the hem of her skirt she moans in encouragement and spreads her legs as far as she can. He teases her for a long moment, drumming those fingers on the inside of her thigh - and then he finally touches her, and she screams.
“Fuck, Eames,” and Arthur’s back, claiming her mouth, his kisses wild now.
She kisses him one more time and then as he thrusts his fingers inside her, she lets her head drop to his shoulder, nails digging into his skin as she rocks on him, breath coming in little pants - “So close, so close” - and she comes in a sudden rush, all but leaping off the desk with shock.
There are fingers at her lips and she takes them in eagerly, tastes herself on Arthur’s hand, and she smiles wickedly as she opens her eyes. “Let me ride you, darling?”
“Desk or floor?”
“How about that chair,” and Eames conjures it up for him. It’s one of those big office chairs, all black leather and plush seating, no arms.
Arthur laughs again and smilingly walks backward, away from her. He’s quickly undoing his fly, and for a long, breathless moment he fists his own cock expertly, hand twisting at the end of each stroke. He’s still wearing the gloves, and they make him look completely debauched.
“Enough,” she moans, and she clambers down from the desk, stalks toward him, swaying on her heels, swaying with need. Hitching up her skirt, she carefully lowers herself onto him, their gasps and breathy moans filling the space between them.
“You look so good like this,” Arthur says.
Eames winds her hands in either end of the tie again, leans in to kiss his closed eyes. She can feel his hands clenching rhythmically on her bum. She laughingly whispers, “And you, dear, don’t look quite disheveled enough yet.”
“Easily remedied,” he says easily, grinning at her.
She grins back, as maliciously as she can, and for answer snaps her hips forward.
She sees Arthur throw back his head, hears him shout, “Eames!”, watches as his gloved hands come up to grip hers helplessly around the ends of the tie.
The chair squeaks wildly as she rides him hard.
“Fuck, fuck, yeah,” Arthur growls and he’s matching her movements now, thrusting deeply into her as she grinds into him.
She can hear herself falling apart, her moans dying down into gasps of ah ah ah and, dimly, in the distance, Arthur is almost shouting: “Too. Close.”
He comes, and that’s enough to send her over the edge, too. Everything dissolves into fire.
And that’s when the kick comes.