Fic: Simply Victorian
Title Simply Victorian
Rating R
Fandom Inception
Characters -
Pairing Arthur/Eames
Summery The two try for a different style in the bedroom. Arthur is practically miserable.
“Where did you even get this monstrosity?” Arthur asks, eying a powder blue, lacy frock with something like hatred. Not quite, though. It sits dully on the couch, skirt fanning out and revealing layers of petticoats, all of which would surely itch and scratch the wearer annoyingly no matter what she did.
Or, in this case, he.
“Oh some place you never heard of,” Eames straightens his tie. He was lucky enough to snag a finely tailored suit, complete with coattails and a matching vest. The dress shirt came along with it; short collared but sticking up high enough to graze his jawline. It seems expensive. Arthur huffs.
“I'm not into roleplay, I told you that.”
“Ah,” Eames purrs, tugging at his wrists, “But you love my accent, don't you?”
“... Yes.”
“Now. Shan't we have a romp in merry old England?”
Arthur would like to deny him. But. Fuck, Eames never dressed nice. Seeing him in such an antiquated suit, all prim and proper, it just hits him in the best of ways. Running his tongue over his lower lip, Arthur eyes the dress again.
“I'm going to regret this.”
“Love, I promise you won't.”
What else could he say?
~~
This roleplay is complicated. Unnecessarily so, Arthur thinks as he's being fucked slow and mercilessly into the mattress. Eames is naked. Arthur took care of his clothes about twenty minutes ago and he has yet to reach climax. He feels ridiculous with his legs naked and open for Eames to fuck him, all the while dressed up in that powder blue frock and feeling stupid. Aroused and stupid. Because while, yes, the petticoats scratch and itch, the friction feels amazing. Eames is amazing. Always has been.
What is not amazing is simply the idea that Arthur must be quiet. He must think of England. He is not allowed to climax. Eames is the man and will have his damn way with his “new bride” while she lies back and pretends nothing is happening. She will only enjoy herself when they are trying to conceive.
“I don't like this at all,” Arthur manages to say, wincing and grunting shortly every time Eames hits his prostate. Eames gives a low chuckle.
“Then you're playing your part perfectly, darling.”
“You know what I mean!” Arthur's voice is bitch-like, breathless and whiny.
“Shush,” Eames kisses his neck, then the corner of his lips, “You're a good little girl, aren't you?”
Arthur bites back a groan; his cock twitches. More precome gets rubbed into the itchy, scratchy petticoats.
“I am...”
“What are you, precious?”
“I'm a good little girl...”
“Perfect,” Eames kisses him, hips canting harder into him. Arthur's hands scrabble in the sheets, his heart races.
“But how,” embarrassing voice crack, “How am I supposed to-“
“Think about bloody baseball for all I care, pet.”
Arthur obeys, thinking of the Mets for a solid two minutes, but the erection never flags. Eames keeps his rhythm, enjoying every part of Arthur's pliant body, until Arthur simply cannot take it anymore. He blurts out the first excuse he can, “I want to have a baby!”
“Pardon?” Eames stops, sitting up.
“I want to have a child,” Arthur continues, hands tearing at the sheets, “Let's have one.”
“I'm not sure-“
Arthur flips them over and impales himself on Eames' cock, riding hard and panting loud. This. This is what he wanted. He's nearly screaming from relief, gasping hard when Eames hits him in the right way, head back and mouth open, riding him hard and fast until.
“God, Christ!” Eames barks, hands clenching on Arthur's thighs through the frock, coming hard inside him. Arthur shudders, rutting until his orgasm hits moments later, then slumps, still sitting on Eames' hips.
“I,” Arthur gasps, shuddering, “Never want to do that again.”
Eames agrees. It had been torture for him as well. He loves Arthur's noises. Though being deprived of them really did make them all the sweeter when they returned suddenly.
“I promise, love,” Eames pets his naked thighs under the dress, rubbing the cooling stickiness into them, “But we're keeping the dress.”
End.
That ending was a little weird, wasn't it.
Rating R
Fandom Inception
Characters -
Pairing Arthur/Eames
Summery The two try for a different style in the bedroom. Arthur is practically miserable.
“Where did you even get this monstrosity?” Arthur asks, eying a powder blue, lacy frock with something like hatred. Not quite, though. It sits dully on the couch, skirt fanning out and revealing layers of petticoats, all of which would surely itch and scratch the wearer annoyingly no matter what she did.
Or, in this case, he.
“Oh some place you never heard of,” Eames straightens his tie. He was lucky enough to snag a finely tailored suit, complete with coattails and a matching vest. The dress shirt came along with it; short collared but sticking up high enough to graze his jawline. It seems expensive. Arthur huffs.
“I'm not into roleplay, I told you that.”
“Ah,” Eames purrs, tugging at his wrists, “But you love my accent, don't you?”
“... Yes.”
“Now. Shan't we have a romp in merry old England?”
Arthur would like to deny him. But. Fuck, Eames never dressed nice. Seeing him in such an antiquated suit, all prim and proper, it just hits him in the best of ways. Running his tongue over his lower lip, Arthur eyes the dress again.
“I'm going to regret this.”
“Love, I promise you won't.”
What else could he say?
~~
This roleplay is complicated. Unnecessarily so, Arthur thinks as he's being fucked slow and mercilessly into the mattress. Eames is naked. Arthur took care of his clothes about twenty minutes ago and he has yet to reach climax. He feels ridiculous with his legs naked and open for Eames to fuck him, all the while dressed up in that powder blue frock and feeling stupid. Aroused and stupid. Because while, yes, the petticoats scratch and itch, the friction feels amazing. Eames is amazing. Always has been.
What is not amazing is simply the idea that Arthur must be quiet. He must think of England. He is not allowed to climax. Eames is the man and will have his damn way with his “new bride” while she lies back and pretends nothing is happening. She will only enjoy herself when they are trying to conceive.
“I don't like this at all,” Arthur manages to say, wincing and grunting shortly every time Eames hits his prostate. Eames gives a low chuckle.
“Then you're playing your part perfectly, darling.”
“You know what I mean!” Arthur's voice is bitch-like, breathless and whiny.
“Shush,” Eames kisses his neck, then the corner of his lips, “You're a good little girl, aren't you?”
Arthur bites back a groan; his cock twitches. More precome gets rubbed into the itchy, scratchy petticoats.
“I am...”
“What are you, precious?”
“I'm a good little girl...”
“Perfect,” Eames kisses him, hips canting harder into him. Arthur's hands scrabble in the sheets, his heart races.
“But how,” embarrassing voice crack, “How am I supposed to-“
“Think about bloody baseball for all I care, pet.”
Arthur obeys, thinking of the Mets for a solid two minutes, but the erection never flags. Eames keeps his rhythm, enjoying every part of Arthur's pliant body, until Arthur simply cannot take it anymore. He blurts out the first excuse he can, “I want to have a baby!”
“Pardon?” Eames stops, sitting up.
“I want to have a child,” Arthur continues, hands tearing at the sheets, “Let's have one.”
“I'm not sure-“
Arthur flips them over and impales himself on Eames' cock, riding hard and panting loud. This. This is what he wanted. He's nearly screaming from relief, gasping hard when Eames hits him in the right way, head back and mouth open, riding him hard and fast until.
“God, Christ!” Eames barks, hands clenching on Arthur's thighs through the frock, coming hard inside him. Arthur shudders, rutting until his orgasm hits moments later, then slumps, still sitting on Eames' hips.
“I,” Arthur gasps, shuddering, “Never want to do that again.”
Eames agrees. It had been torture for him as well. He loves Arthur's noises. Though being deprived of them really did make them all the sweeter when they returned suddenly.
“I promise, love,” Eames pets his naked thighs under the dress, rubbing the cooling stickiness into them, “But we're keeping the dress.”
End.
That ending was a little weird, wasn't it.