fiction: working up to a happily forever after
( working up to a happily forever after ) nc-17, ~3300words, arthur/cobb
Arthur and Cobb are friends first, partners second, a helping hand during the nights, and on one morning they realise that they're something more.
Another fill donne, for this prompt at inception_kink , beta'd by obsessionful
With Mal gone, no one seems to want to work with them.
They barely get by with the few jobs they’ve managed to get and Cobb’s just about had enough. But Arthur’s a calm presence by his side, telling him that they’ve just fallen off a horse and that they just have to get back on.
So they take the demeaning, small jobs that pay them just enough to get by.
The thing is that they’ve been partners for a long time, so that sleeping together in the same bed isn’t strange. Sure, it was awkward at first, but they worked it out, just like everything else in their line of work.
One night though, Cobb wakes up, feeling disorientated and frightened. He barely manages to comprehend that it was a dream, that he was actually dreaming, to calm the fuck down.
It’s not that he’s stopped dreaming naturally, but they are few and far between. This is a good thing, not only because they mess with Cobb’s reality but because when he dreams… they’re mostly nightmares.
So he’s gasping into the night, staring wide eye at the ceiling, heart racing so fast that it might just burst. The feeling of drowning overcomes him, fear gripping him tight, all the muscles in his body held taut.
There’s a hand on his chest, and it startles him, his whole body jolting off the bed.
Cobb turns his head to see Arthur watching him. Even with half-lidded eyes, the look is intense, and Cobb’s eyebrows draw together in confusion. Arthur just gives him a small smile though, laying his palm flat above Cobb’s heart as if that will slow it down.
They lie like that, staring at each other while he calms down, relaxing into the bed. Cobb eventually falls asleep; eyes falling close as Arthur’s touch seers hot through his shirt.
-
The job leaves them feeling tired and dirty, to the point of guilt even.
Cobb hadn’t wanted to do the job; extracting from children was so hard and even worse, at such a young age, the mind was still impressionable. Whatever they do could affect the mind of the child, it might even change the child in just the tiniest way, tainting their subconscious. But they did it anyway, and hoped that they hadn’t done anything too damaging.
They both fall into bed without showering, too mentally worn out to do anything but arrange themselves into position.
Sleep doesn’t come easily. Every time Cobb closes his eyes he can see the child they worked on and images of his own children appear; his beautiful Phillipa and his handsome James. His heart aches for them.
He doesn’t even realize that he’s made a noise until Arthur prods at him, making him turn on his side. He’s confused but doesn’t question Arthur, even when he slides in behind Cobb, arm coming around to pull him into an embrace.
“Arthur?” he asks, surprised at how small his voice sounds. He curses himself because he’s the oldest; he’s meant to be the strong one.
Arthur doesn’t answer though, but Cobb feels the shrug he makes. He tells himself he’ll give Arthur five minutes in this position- maybe the man needs some comfort himself- but falls asleep in three.
-
Cobb is wide awake. He can’t sleep when it’s cold, he hates it. He prefers it when it’s hot, to the point of being sticky, focusing on nothing but how warm your body feels, how lethargic you are, and nothing is better than just lying in the one spot, fan blowing at you mindlessly.
Arthur is pressed up against him, arm slung around his waist, a constant heat by his side. Cobb doesn’t mind it so much anymore, having Arthur holding him close. He doesn’t want to say it’s comforting but it is, and he thinks it comforts the other as well.
The blanket resting on them isn’t thin but it isn’t thick either and it barely keeps their warmth under its insulation. Cobb fidgets beneath it, turning just the slightest so that he can press cold feet to the curve of Arthur’s calves.
Arthur’s fingers twitch on his stomach, then curls into the material of his shirt. Cobb feels him shift, and a second later his eyes are opened into dark slits.
“Cobb?” he asks, voice rough from sleep, and Cobb feels bad for waking him up. He’s about to make an excuse, say sorry but Arthur shifts again. “Your feet are freezing.”
Cobb chokes on his laugh. “What?”
“Your feet,” repeats Arthur, clearing his throat, “are freezing. How come you’re still awake?” Arthur sets to rearrange them, pushing and pulling at Cobb to move him to his liking.
“It’s cold,” replies Cobb, pliable under Arthur’s hands. He trusts the young man, knows whatever he does is for their benefit.
“I know,” says Arthur, pulling Cobb in close so that they’re pressed together, and he slots their legs together like the bridge in a riffle shuffle.
At this proximity, in the light of the moon, Cobb can see the darkness under Arthur’s eyes, the flaking skin of his lips, the creeping stubble on his jaw and frowns. Though he knows he isn’t faring any better, knows he looks like death knocked him sideways.
“Is this better?” whispers Arthur, one hand flat against his spine while the other presses warmth against the skin of his hip.
Cobb doesn’t get the chance to reply because Arthur is suddenly leaning up, into his face, kissing him. It shocks him. He honestly doesn’t know what to do, other than stare at Arthur’s eyelashes, wondering why he hadn’t notice how full they are.
When Arthur pulls back, his mouth is set into a thin line, eyes looking everywhere but at him. Cobb feels guilt bloom in the pit of his stomach, feels his heart throb at the sight and goes in for a kiss. He misses by a touch, catching the corner of Arthur’s mouth and knocks their nose together.
Cobb swears and Arthur laughs. He leans up for another kiss. It’s sweet and chaste, how Arthur does it, dipping in again and again to touch their mouths together, tongue swiping along his bottom lip. On the sixth time, Cobb drops his mouth open and lets Arthur push his tongue in.
He forgets about the cold.
-
They’re on an adrenaline high. The jobs are getting slightly better; many of them are becoming ones that they used to do with the researching and the planning.
Cobb misses the action, glad to have it back with this job; the thrill of running and shooting down projections while trying to unveil the secrets of the mind. Arthur was alongside him the whole time, executing jumps and flips as he shot, covering Cobb. He always was the more flexible one. At least the military gave him that much.
When they hit their room, panting from the exertion of the dream, Arthur pushes him onto the bed, mouth latching onto his. They’re both clean shaven, though Cobb hates how young he looks when he does it but Arthur had insisted for the job.
“Cobb,” moans Arthur, into his mouth, kissing down his chin and biting at the underside of his jaw. Cobb threads his hand through Arthur’s hair, slightly slippery from using less pomade than he would normally use, and sighs, thrusting up against Arthur.
Arthur bites at his neck, sucking a bruise into the skin before returning to his mouth, their tongue meeting in a wet slide. He brackets Cobb’s hips with his hands, stilling his movements so that he can push their hips together. They both groan, mouths pressing against each other’s, making dirty, slick sounds that brings a flush to Cobb’s face.
It all grounds to a halt when Arthur pulls back, eyes wide, looking ruined, his cock a hard line against Cobb’s thigh.
“Arthur?” Cobb calls, reaching up to touch him but Arthur flinches and moves off of him, pushing his hair back. He starts mumbling to himself, pacing back and forth across the floor.
“Arthur,” Cobb calls again, making the young man stop and look at him. He’s still lying in the same position Arthur pushed him into; on his back, legs splayed wide, hands to his sides, and he can feels Arthur’s eyes raking down his body, head to toe.
He shivers.
“I don’t-” starts Arthur, clapping a hand over his mouth, then taking it away, “Cobb, what are we-” he stops again, eyebrows drawn together and Cobb shakes his head. He doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to think about anything but how hot and wet Arthur’s mouth is, the taste of his tongue sliding against the roof of his mouth, and the feel of him, firm against his own length.
Arthur seems to get that, because he’s climbing back onto the bed, looking down at Cobb.
Cobb smiles up at him and puts his fingers in Arthur’s hair again, pulling him down until they’re pressed up against each other.
-
It’s in the dark of the night that Cobb awakens to the sound of Arthur gasping, breath hitching. There’s a rustle of their bed sheets, the movement of Arthur’s hips, brushing against Cobb ever so slightly, and it clicks.
Cobb doesn’t know what to do- despite all that they’ve been doing, they’ve never really touched one another, never really acknowledged that they’ve rubbed against each other until they both came in their pants. But Arthur sounds like he’s desperate, movements becoming jerky enough that it rocks the bed just a little.
“Arthur,” breathes Cobb into the air and Arthur just stops, body held taut. He stays like that for a few seconds before there’s movement and Arthur is saying, “Sorry, sorry, I’ll go to the bathroom.” Cobb turns and shoves his hand down Arthur’s sweats, fingers curling around his hard dick.
They both freeze then, Arthur awkwardly frozen, half in and half out of bed with Cobb’s arm twisted to keep a firm grip.
“Get back into bed, Arthur,” says Cobb, giving an experimental pull and Arthur blurts out a moan, knees buckling and slides back into bed. They don’t say anything more after- just sounds as Cobb tries to give Arthur a hand job, wrist aching at the awkward position.
When Arthur comes, striping wet over Cobb’s fist, his mouth falls slack and Cobb licks inside. He winces slightly at the taste of sleep heavy in their mouths, but whines when Arthur starts kissing back, tongue teasing the roof of his mouth.
Cobb breaks away then, hand slipping out from the blanket to lap at it, making a low, inquisitive sound at the peculiar taste, slightly salty and bitter, and viscous in texture.
“Cobb,” rasps Arthur, sounding broken and Cobb looks up, mid-lick. A pained expression crosses Arthur’s face, and he grabs Cobb’s hand, yanking it away to replace it with his mouth.
-
For some reason, Cobb can’t get the taste out of his mouth. He finds himself, unintentionally, staring at Arthur’s lap, noticing for the first time the way the material slightly bulges, and finds his mouth watering. He tries to recreate the image of Arthur’s cock in his head, tries to picture the length based on the hand job he gave Arthur, longer than the width of his palm which puts it past about five inches. He tries to remember the span of the stroke, and feels his face burn at the thought of Arthur being ten inches.
No way could Arthur be that long and not have Cobb notice it on that night. His mind tells him that he was pretty distracted that night that he didn’t even remember his own name, let alone the size of Arthur.
He finally finds himself breaking, his mind consumed by these dirty thoughts, and straddles Arthur as they get into bed.
“Cobb, what are you?” starts Arthur, surprised, then lets out a small yelp when Cobb pulls his shorts to his knees.
“I want,” breathes Cobb, putting a hand on Arthur and stroking him. He feels Arthur twitch in his hand, growing stiff beneath his fingers and he bites his bottom lip, glancing up at Arthur.
Arthur has his head tipped back, the long line of his throat exposed. He moans, hips jerking helplessly under Cobb’s ministrations. When he’s half-hard, already leaking from the tip, Cobb takes him into his mouth, marveling at the taste and texture and Arthur cries out into the room, hand going to his head to fist his blond hair.
“Cobb,” he pants, “go- go slow, okay? Oh God, you’ll gag if you try to take it all the way down.”
Cobb raises an eyebrow at the advice and hums his reply which makes Arthur shudder beneath him.
He does a sloppy job, he knows, salivating around Arthur’s cock as he sucks, tongue swiping against the underside, hands stroking the base and rubbing his balls. And with disregard to Arthur’s warning he slips further down, gagging, throat closing around the head which makes Arthur curse loudly.
His jaw starts to ache around Arthur after all that and he’s dribbling so much that Arthur’s cock is shiny with it. He starts stroking more with his hand then, mouth focusing on sucking at the head, when Arthur tries to tug him away, chanting, “Cobb, Cobb, off, off, off,” but Cobb refuses and only sucks harder.
Arthur’s, “You’ll choke,” falls on deaf ears and he welcomes the first splash of come on his tongue. Of course, he isn’t anticipating the amount and chokes on it soon after, pulling away and coughing while Arthur groans, splattering his cheek.
“I told you,” gasps Arthur, looking down at him. Cobb shrugs, ignoring the way his cheeks must be red with embarrassment and thumbs the rest of the come into his mouth. “Cobb, Cobb, why do you keep- why?” asks Arthur, pulling Cobb up and kissing him.
Cobb just kisses back.
-
Cobb thought the taste of Arthur consumed him, and it did, for a while, until he solved it by blowing Arthur quite often. But ever since Arthur blew him, his mouth hot and tight around Cobb’s dick, with fingers up his ass, pressing against his prostate, Cobb feels even more haunted than before.
He knows they’re not really going anywhere with this arrangement. That past all those nights, they are friends first and partners second, taking on jobs that pay well as their name circulates the black market.
There’s no need to bunk in the one bed now, but they still do it.
And all Cobb can think of is getting the approximate seven inches of Arthur in him, to stretch him more than what a few fingers can. He imagines what it will feel like to be fucked within an inch of his life, to be made to forget everything and to focus only on feeling.
Cobb squirms in his seat at the thought. He’s been fidgeting all God damn day, feeling restless, feeling wanton, trying to keep his eyes away from Arthur’s crotch, his mouth from drooling. He walks around half-hard all day, hunched over or with his jacket buttoned up.
At night when he’s above Arthur, mouth working his cock, Arthur sucks lazily at him, finger wet with spit, wiggling inside him. He gasps for more, around the mouthful, groaning when Arthur slips another one in.
When Arthur adds a third without any warning, stretching Cobb wide, he leans his forehead against Arthur’s thigh, panting wet breaths against his length.
“Arthur,” he pants, “More.”
Arthur freezes against him. “What?” he asks, sounding completely baffled and Cobb gets on his hands and knees, looking down his body at Arthur.
“Do it,” he says, wriggling his hips down on Arthur’s fingers and Arthur groans, biting his lip red. He slips out from under Cobb, placing a hand on the small of his back to keep him in position.
“Stay,” he murmurs, moving away and Cobb closes his eyes against the sound of Arthur walking around the room, unzipping his duffel.
There’s rustling and Arthur returns, fingers cold against his hole. Cobb shivers, tenses, and Arthur makes a low, coaxing sound at the same time he pushes in a finger.
The easy slip in is unexpected and Cobb laughs breathlessly against it, moaning when Arthur pushes in a second, twisting and crooking them. His free hand strokes the skin of Cobb’s ass, the gesture coaxing as he tries for the third finger again. Once they’re all in, he targets Cobb’s prostate, making him whine and whimper until Cobb feels like he can just come like this, face pressed to the sheets while writhing on Arthur’s fingers. Just when he’s almost there, pitching to the peak of his orgasm, Arthur retracts his fingers, leaving him feeling empty and wrung out.
“Arthur,” he gasps, and then stills when something blunt presses against his hole.
“Relax,” says Arthur, hands palming his hips and pushes in.
The stretch makes him hold his breath, fingers fisting the sheets until Arthur bottoms out.
“Fuck,” swears Arthur, voice shaking and Cobb has to laugh at that, it’s rare to hear Arthur use obscenities.
Arthur rests his forehead on Cobb’s shoulder, smiling into the crook of his neck, hips shifting back and pushing in. He keeps a steady rhythm, with short thrusts that makes Cobb moan, toes curling in pleasure. His hand closes over Cobb’s cock, pulling in time with his pushes until he spills wet all over Arthur’s hand.
“Shit, Cobb,” groans Arthur, and Cobb pushes back against him, laughing again.
When Arthur comes, biting at his shoulder to muffle his moan, his body curls protectively around Cobb like he can shield him from the outside world.
It feels right.
-
Cobb wakes up the next day to the blinding white sunlight and moves to get up. He hisses though when pain throbs from his rear end and Arthur stirs beside him like he has some sort of alarm for every time Cobb is in pain. He turns to Cobb, eyes half opened against the morning rays and slings an arm around his waist.
“You okay?” he asks, voice low and gravelly, shooting tingles up Cobb’s spine and he finds all he can do is nod in response.
When Arthur gives him a pointed look, he shrugs, willing his face not to flush, “Just a bit sore, I guess.”
Arthur moves in to press a soft kiss to his lips like an apology, wicked fingers creeping down to his entrance, teasing the tender skin with his fingertips.
“I’m sorry,” says Arthur, pressing a kiss to his hair this time and Cobb shakes his head.
“Don’t be. I wanted it.”
“I’ll be more careful next time,” says Arthur, kissing his way down Cobb’s body.
“Next time?” questions Cobb, turning his head to look out the window. He closes his eyes against the brightness.
Arthur hums in agreement, hands spreading his legs wide and up, pressing them to his chest.
Cobb touches the hand on thigh for a second, pulling Arthur to look at him. He holds his gaze for a while before blinking and it’s as if everything has suddenly become clear.
“Arthur,” he starts, eyes wide, fingers tightening on Arthur’s, “we.”
“Ssh,” says Arthur, smiling, “I know.” He ducks down and touches his tongue to Cobb’s hole, making him jerk in surprise.
They spend the morning in bed like that, Arthur lapping at Cobb until he comes untouched all over his stomach, panting, face aflame. When Arthur leans up for a kiss, Cobb moves away, hand on Arthur’s face.
“Don’t even try, Arthur, I know where your mouth’s been.”
Arthur laughs at that, throwing his head back, and something about seeing Arthur’s face like that, in the morning light, grounds him. He presses a kiss to the corner of Arthur’s mouth.
Arthur and Cobb are friends first, partners second, a helping hand during the nights, and on one morning they realise that they're something more.
Another fill donne, for this prompt at inception_kink , beta'd by obsessionful
With Mal gone, no one seems to want to work with them.
They barely get by with the few jobs they’ve managed to get and Cobb’s just about had enough. But Arthur’s a calm presence by his side, telling him that they’ve just fallen off a horse and that they just have to get back on.
So they take the demeaning, small jobs that pay them just enough to get by.
The thing is that they’ve been partners for a long time, so that sleeping together in the same bed isn’t strange. Sure, it was awkward at first, but they worked it out, just like everything else in their line of work.
One night though, Cobb wakes up, feeling disorientated and frightened. He barely manages to comprehend that it was a dream, that he was actually dreaming, to calm the fuck down.
It’s not that he’s stopped dreaming naturally, but they are few and far between. This is a good thing, not only because they mess with Cobb’s reality but because when he dreams… they’re mostly nightmares.
So he’s gasping into the night, staring wide eye at the ceiling, heart racing so fast that it might just burst. The feeling of drowning overcomes him, fear gripping him tight, all the muscles in his body held taut.
There’s a hand on his chest, and it startles him, his whole body jolting off the bed.
Cobb turns his head to see Arthur watching him. Even with half-lidded eyes, the look is intense, and Cobb’s eyebrows draw together in confusion. Arthur just gives him a small smile though, laying his palm flat above Cobb’s heart as if that will slow it down.
They lie like that, staring at each other while he calms down, relaxing into the bed. Cobb eventually falls asleep; eyes falling close as Arthur’s touch seers hot through his shirt.
-
The job leaves them feeling tired and dirty, to the point of guilt even.
Cobb hadn’t wanted to do the job; extracting from children was so hard and even worse, at such a young age, the mind was still impressionable. Whatever they do could affect the mind of the child, it might even change the child in just the tiniest way, tainting their subconscious. But they did it anyway, and hoped that they hadn’t done anything too damaging.
They both fall into bed without showering, too mentally worn out to do anything but arrange themselves into position.
Sleep doesn’t come easily. Every time Cobb closes his eyes he can see the child they worked on and images of his own children appear; his beautiful Phillipa and his handsome James. His heart aches for them.
He doesn’t even realize that he’s made a noise until Arthur prods at him, making him turn on his side. He’s confused but doesn’t question Arthur, even when he slides in behind Cobb, arm coming around to pull him into an embrace.
“Arthur?” he asks, surprised at how small his voice sounds. He curses himself because he’s the oldest; he’s meant to be the strong one.
Arthur doesn’t answer though, but Cobb feels the shrug he makes. He tells himself he’ll give Arthur five minutes in this position- maybe the man needs some comfort himself- but falls asleep in three.
-
Cobb is wide awake. He can’t sleep when it’s cold, he hates it. He prefers it when it’s hot, to the point of being sticky, focusing on nothing but how warm your body feels, how lethargic you are, and nothing is better than just lying in the one spot, fan blowing at you mindlessly.
Arthur is pressed up against him, arm slung around his waist, a constant heat by his side. Cobb doesn’t mind it so much anymore, having Arthur holding him close. He doesn’t want to say it’s comforting but it is, and he thinks it comforts the other as well.
The blanket resting on them isn’t thin but it isn’t thick either and it barely keeps their warmth under its insulation. Cobb fidgets beneath it, turning just the slightest so that he can press cold feet to the curve of Arthur’s calves.
Arthur’s fingers twitch on his stomach, then curls into the material of his shirt. Cobb feels him shift, and a second later his eyes are opened into dark slits.
“Cobb?” he asks, voice rough from sleep, and Cobb feels bad for waking him up. He’s about to make an excuse, say sorry but Arthur shifts again. “Your feet are freezing.”
Cobb chokes on his laugh. “What?”
“Your feet,” repeats Arthur, clearing his throat, “are freezing. How come you’re still awake?” Arthur sets to rearrange them, pushing and pulling at Cobb to move him to his liking.
“It’s cold,” replies Cobb, pliable under Arthur’s hands. He trusts the young man, knows whatever he does is for their benefit.
“I know,” says Arthur, pulling Cobb in close so that they’re pressed together, and he slots their legs together like the bridge in a riffle shuffle.
At this proximity, in the light of the moon, Cobb can see the darkness under Arthur’s eyes, the flaking skin of his lips, the creeping stubble on his jaw and frowns. Though he knows he isn’t faring any better, knows he looks like death knocked him sideways.
“Is this better?” whispers Arthur, one hand flat against his spine while the other presses warmth against the skin of his hip.
Cobb doesn’t get the chance to reply because Arthur is suddenly leaning up, into his face, kissing him. It shocks him. He honestly doesn’t know what to do, other than stare at Arthur’s eyelashes, wondering why he hadn’t notice how full they are.
When Arthur pulls back, his mouth is set into a thin line, eyes looking everywhere but at him. Cobb feels guilt bloom in the pit of his stomach, feels his heart throb at the sight and goes in for a kiss. He misses by a touch, catching the corner of Arthur’s mouth and knocks their nose together.
Cobb swears and Arthur laughs. He leans up for another kiss. It’s sweet and chaste, how Arthur does it, dipping in again and again to touch their mouths together, tongue swiping along his bottom lip. On the sixth time, Cobb drops his mouth open and lets Arthur push his tongue in.
He forgets about the cold.
-
They’re on an adrenaline high. The jobs are getting slightly better; many of them are becoming ones that they used to do with the researching and the planning.
Cobb misses the action, glad to have it back with this job; the thrill of running and shooting down projections while trying to unveil the secrets of the mind. Arthur was alongside him the whole time, executing jumps and flips as he shot, covering Cobb. He always was the more flexible one. At least the military gave him that much.
When they hit their room, panting from the exertion of the dream, Arthur pushes him onto the bed, mouth latching onto his. They’re both clean shaven, though Cobb hates how young he looks when he does it but Arthur had insisted for the job.
“Cobb,” moans Arthur, into his mouth, kissing down his chin and biting at the underside of his jaw. Cobb threads his hand through Arthur’s hair, slightly slippery from using less pomade than he would normally use, and sighs, thrusting up against Arthur.
Arthur bites at his neck, sucking a bruise into the skin before returning to his mouth, their tongue meeting in a wet slide. He brackets Cobb’s hips with his hands, stilling his movements so that he can push their hips together. They both groan, mouths pressing against each other’s, making dirty, slick sounds that brings a flush to Cobb’s face.
It all grounds to a halt when Arthur pulls back, eyes wide, looking ruined, his cock a hard line against Cobb’s thigh.
“Arthur?” Cobb calls, reaching up to touch him but Arthur flinches and moves off of him, pushing his hair back. He starts mumbling to himself, pacing back and forth across the floor.
“Arthur,” Cobb calls again, making the young man stop and look at him. He’s still lying in the same position Arthur pushed him into; on his back, legs splayed wide, hands to his sides, and he can feels Arthur’s eyes raking down his body, head to toe.
He shivers.
“I don’t-” starts Arthur, clapping a hand over his mouth, then taking it away, “Cobb, what are we-” he stops again, eyebrows drawn together and Cobb shakes his head. He doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to think about anything but how hot and wet Arthur’s mouth is, the taste of his tongue sliding against the roof of his mouth, and the feel of him, firm against his own length.
Arthur seems to get that, because he’s climbing back onto the bed, looking down at Cobb.
Cobb smiles up at him and puts his fingers in Arthur’s hair again, pulling him down until they’re pressed up against each other.
-
It’s in the dark of the night that Cobb awakens to the sound of Arthur gasping, breath hitching. There’s a rustle of their bed sheets, the movement of Arthur’s hips, brushing against Cobb ever so slightly, and it clicks.
Cobb doesn’t know what to do- despite all that they’ve been doing, they’ve never really touched one another, never really acknowledged that they’ve rubbed against each other until they both came in their pants. But Arthur sounds like he’s desperate, movements becoming jerky enough that it rocks the bed just a little.
“Arthur,” breathes Cobb into the air and Arthur just stops, body held taut. He stays like that for a few seconds before there’s movement and Arthur is saying, “Sorry, sorry, I’ll go to the bathroom.” Cobb turns and shoves his hand down Arthur’s sweats, fingers curling around his hard dick.
They both freeze then, Arthur awkwardly frozen, half in and half out of bed with Cobb’s arm twisted to keep a firm grip.
“Get back into bed, Arthur,” says Cobb, giving an experimental pull and Arthur blurts out a moan, knees buckling and slides back into bed. They don’t say anything more after- just sounds as Cobb tries to give Arthur a hand job, wrist aching at the awkward position.
When Arthur comes, striping wet over Cobb’s fist, his mouth falls slack and Cobb licks inside. He winces slightly at the taste of sleep heavy in their mouths, but whines when Arthur starts kissing back, tongue teasing the roof of his mouth.
Cobb breaks away then, hand slipping out from the blanket to lap at it, making a low, inquisitive sound at the peculiar taste, slightly salty and bitter, and viscous in texture.
“Cobb,” rasps Arthur, sounding broken and Cobb looks up, mid-lick. A pained expression crosses Arthur’s face, and he grabs Cobb’s hand, yanking it away to replace it with his mouth.
-
For some reason, Cobb can’t get the taste out of his mouth. He finds himself, unintentionally, staring at Arthur’s lap, noticing for the first time the way the material slightly bulges, and finds his mouth watering. He tries to recreate the image of Arthur’s cock in his head, tries to picture the length based on the hand job he gave Arthur, longer than the width of his palm which puts it past about five inches. He tries to remember the span of the stroke, and feels his face burn at the thought of Arthur being ten inches.
No way could Arthur be that long and not have Cobb notice it on that night. His mind tells him that he was pretty distracted that night that he didn’t even remember his own name, let alone the size of Arthur.
He finally finds himself breaking, his mind consumed by these dirty thoughts, and straddles Arthur as they get into bed.
“Cobb, what are you?” starts Arthur, surprised, then lets out a small yelp when Cobb pulls his shorts to his knees.
“I want,” breathes Cobb, putting a hand on Arthur and stroking him. He feels Arthur twitch in his hand, growing stiff beneath his fingers and he bites his bottom lip, glancing up at Arthur.
Arthur has his head tipped back, the long line of his throat exposed. He moans, hips jerking helplessly under Cobb’s ministrations. When he’s half-hard, already leaking from the tip, Cobb takes him into his mouth, marveling at the taste and texture and Arthur cries out into the room, hand going to his head to fist his blond hair.
“Cobb,” he pants, “go- go slow, okay? Oh God, you’ll gag if you try to take it all the way down.”
Cobb raises an eyebrow at the advice and hums his reply which makes Arthur shudder beneath him.
He does a sloppy job, he knows, salivating around Arthur’s cock as he sucks, tongue swiping against the underside, hands stroking the base and rubbing his balls. And with disregard to Arthur’s warning he slips further down, gagging, throat closing around the head which makes Arthur curse loudly.
His jaw starts to ache around Arthur after all that and he’s dribbling so much that Arthur’s cock is shiny with it. He starts stroking more with his hand then, mouth focusing on sucking at the head, when Arthur tries to tug him away, chanting, “Cobb, Cobb, off, off, off,” but Cobb refuses and only sucks harder.
Arthur’s, “You’ll choke,” falls on deaf ears and he welcomes the first splash of come on his tongue. Of course, he isn’t anticipating the amount and chokes on it soon after, pulling away and coughing while Arthur groans, splattering his cheek.
“I told you,” gasps Arthur, looking down at him. Cobb shrugs, ignoring the way his cheeks must be red with embarrassment and thumbs the rest of the come into his mouth. “Cobb, Cobb, why do you keep- why?” asks Arthur, pulling Cobb up and kissing him.
Cobb just kisses back.
-
Cobb thought the taste of Arthur consumed him, and it did, for a while, until he solved it by blowing Arthur quite often. But ever since Arthur blew him, his mouth hot and tight around Cobb’s dick, with fingers up his ass, pressing against his prostate, Cobb feels even more haunted than before.
He knows they’re not really going anywhere with this arrangement. That past all those nights, they are friends first and partners second, taking on jobs that pay well as their name circulates the black market.
There’s no need to bunk in the one bed now, but they still do it.
And all Cobb can think of is getting the approximate seven inches of Arthur in him, to stretch him more than what a few fingers can. He imagines what it will feel like to be fucked within an inch of his life, to be made to forget everything and to focus only on feeling.
Cobb squirms in his seat at the thought. He’s been fidgeting all God damn day, feeling restless, feeling wanton, trying to keep his eyes away from Arthur’s crotch, his mouth from drooling. He walks around half-hard all day, hunched over or with his jacket buttoned up.
At night when he’s above Arthur, mouth working his cock, Arthur sucks lazily at him, finger wet with spit, wiggling inside him. He gasps for more, around the mouthful, groaning when Arthur slips another one in.
When Arthur adds a third without any warning, stretching Cobb wide, he leans his forehead against Arthur’s thigh, panting wet breaths against his length.
“Arthur,” he pants, “More.”
Arthur freezes against him. “What?” he asks, sounding completely baffled and Cobb gets on his hands and knees, looking down his body at Arthur.
“Do it,” he says, wriggling his hips down on Arthur’s fingers and Arthur groans, biting his lip red. He slips out from under Cobb, placing a hand on the small of his back to keep him in position.
“Stay,” he murmurs, moving away and Cobb closes his eyes against the sound of Arthur walking around the room, unzipping his duffel.
There’s rustling and Arthur returns, fingers cold against his hole. Cobb shivers, tenses, and Arthur makes a low, coaxing sound at the same time he pushes in a finger.
The easy slip in is unexpected and Cobb laughs breathlessly against it, moaning when Arthur pushes in a second, twisting and crooking them. His free hand strokes the skin of Cobb’s ass, the gesture coaxing as he tries for the third finger again. Once they’re all in, he targets Cobb’s prostate, making him whine and whimper until Cobb feels like he can just come like this, face pressed to the sheets while writhing on Arthur’s fingers. Just when he’s almost there, pitching to the peak of his orgasm, Arthur retracts his fingers, leaving him feeling empty and wrung out.
“Arthur,” he gasps, and then stills when something blunt presses against his hole.
“Relax,” says Arthur, hands palming his hips and pushes in.
The stretch makes him hold his breath, fingers fisting the sheets until Arthur bottoms out.
“Fuck,” swears Arthur, voice shaking and Cobb has to laugh at that, it’s rare to hear Arthur use obscenities.
Arthur rests his forehead on Cobb’s shoulder, smiling into the crook of his neck, hips shifting back and pushing in. He keeps a steady rhythm, with short thrusts that makes Cobb moan, toes curling in pleasure. His hand closes over Cobb’s cock, pulling in time with his pushes until he spills wet all over Arthur’s hand.
“Shit, Cobb,” groans Arthur, and Cobb pushes back against him, laughing again.
When Arthur comes, biting at his shoulder to muffle his moan, his body curls protectively around Cobb like he can shield him from the outside world.
It feels right.
-
Cobb wakes up the next day to the blinding white sunlight and moves to get up. He hisses though when pain throbs from his rear end and Arthur stirs beside him like he has some sort of alarm for every time Cobb is in pain. He turns to Cobb, eyes half opened against the morning rays and slings an arm around his waist.
“You okay?” he asks, voice low and gravelly, shooting tingles up Cobb’s spine and he finds all he can do is nod in response.
When Arthur gives him a pointed look, he shrugs, willing his face not to flush, “Just a bit sore, I guess.”
Arthur moves in to press a soft kiss to his lips like an apology, wicked fingers creeping down to his entrance, teasing the tender skin with his fingertips.
“I’m sorry,” says Arthur, pressing a kiss to his hair this time and Cobb shakes his head.
“Don’t be. I wanted it.”
“I’ll be more careful next time,” says Arthur, kissing his way down Cobb’s body.
“Next time?” questions Cobb, turning his head to look out the window. He closes his eyes against the brightness.
Arthur hums in agreement, hands spreading his legs wide and up, pressing them to his chest.
Cobb touches the hand on thigh for a second, pulling Arthur to look at him. He holds his gaze for a while before blinking and it’s as if everything has suddenly become clear.
“Arthur,” he starts, eyes wide, fingers tightening on Arthur’s, “we.”
“Ssh,” says Arthur, smiling, “I know.” He ducks down and touches his tongue to Cobb’s hole, making him jerk in surprise.
They spend the morning in bed like that, Arthur lapping at Cobb until he comes untouched all over his stomach, panting, face aflame. When Arthur leans up for a kiss, Cobb moves away, hand on Arthur’s face.
“Don’t even try, Arthur, I know where your mouth’s been.”
Arthur laughs at that, throwing his head back, and something about seeing Arthur’s face like that, in the morning light, grounds him. He presses a kiss to the corner of Arthur’s mouth.