seriously, stop me
Or else I will go on and on and BAD THINGS WILL HAPPEN. Don't ask what they are, but I KNOW THEY WILL.
Title: You're Welcome
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: One sided Arthur/Eames
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 1,464
Summary: Ariadne sends Eames a video. Eames watches it in the privacy of his hotel room.
Notes: I feel a little bad, because this wasn't what the prompter asked for, but this is where my brain took this prompt. Go figure.
One New Message
From Hot Pants
Eames grinned tiredly down at his phone. It had been a long day, far too long what with Yusuf nearly blowing them up and them both having to make a visit to the emergency room for smoke inhalation. He'd finally gotten back to his hotel room, after long hours of fending off nurses coming at him with sharp needles and bloody oxygen masks, and wanted nothing more than to collapse into his mediocre bed with its mediocre pillows in his mediocre sweatpants.
But if Ariadne was texting him at three fifty, Central European Time, it could only mean one of two things: the job she was currently on was now fucked and she needed bailing out, or she was drunk off of her rocker.
Considering the amount of times she'd texted him at that hour he was going with the latter.
omg, dowload this rigt now. but dn't watcg til youre in bed. o an you're welcomr!!!
Eames smirked down at his phone. Definitely drunk, then. Was his little darling sending him something naughty again? He sure hoped so. He didn't really believe Arthur when he said she was a filthy little harlot, that she would ever say the atrocious things Arthur had quoted at him during that brief job in Belarus. That is he didn't believe him until, of course, that night he opened up a text from her telling him, in misspelled detail, about how the guy she had just gone down on tasted like a cupcake, and how she thought of him because of his wicked sweet tooth, and then her night had only gone downhill from there, and she held him solely responsible for it and now she could never eat cake again ever.
He could only wonder what she would've sent that required warning for him to be laying down, the saucy little minx.
By the time he was changed and ready to pass out he'd nearly forgotten all about his message, too enthralled with the sheets to care about much else. Then he rolled over and hit his phone with his cheek and it lit up under his face.
Cursing his curiosity, because he really was tired as fuck, he opened the attachment and was treated with a good fifteen seconds of such a startlingly awful video he wanted to hurl. It was all over the place, shaky like it was some kind of documentary designed to make him ill with motion sickness. It was all grey walls and crates and he took those first couple of seconds to wonder what the hell was so engrossing about her most recent warehouse that she felt the need to share it with him.
Then the angle steadied and a familiar profile he'd recognize anywhere, even it it was from a distance, settled onto the screen and Eames smiled.
Then he started panting because there was Arthur standing in front of a whiteboard, which was familiar enough on its own, but he had a long dry erase marker in his mouth, which most decidedly wasn't.
Arthur was reading over whatever it was he'd wrote down with his arms crossed over his chest. One hand was tucked under his elbow and the other was in front of his face, slowly pushing the black capped marker in and out of his mouth. His lips were pursed and his cheeks hollowed out in the suction and Eames died a little on the inside.
Arthur pulled the pen out and made as though he was going to uncap it when he looked down at it and made a face. He licked the tip of the cap, his tongue curling over the end to catch a drop of his own saliva, and Eames inhaled sharply.
He let one hand drift under the sheets, into his grey sweatpants to take hold of himself, and he let out a breathy moan when his fingers curled around his suddenly achingly hard prick.
Eames watched in rapture as Arthur pulled the cap off of the marker, sticking it back into his mouth as he wrote something down, and the black plastic in his mouth poked into his cheek in the most obscene way. Eames swallowed hard, biting back a moan, and tugged himself slowly, imagining something else causing those cheeks to bulge like that. Arthur tilted his head, staring at what he wrote, and a stray lock of hair fell forward into his eyes.
Eames' hands itched to be five thousand miles closer, so they could brush the hair back from his forehead. Then he laughed at himself, breathlessly, because if Arthur ever let Eames touch him like that it would mean it was the end of the bloody world.
He pulled a little faster, focusing on rubbing his thumb over the head, then stopped so he could spit into his hand. When he took himself in hand again it was wet and delicious and the Arthur on his phone reached up and carded the fingers of his free hand into his hair to drag the errant lock back. He tilted his head to the side and Eames could see, even with the low quality of the video, how his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed.
Eames bit his lip, holding back a moan as his hand sped up. Arthur held the marker up again, calculated, and stuck the felt tip back into the cap with precision, pushing firmly. His hand slid a little up the thin body of the plastic and Eames' eyes glazed over, immediately picturing something else sliding in and out of that mouth.
He rolled onto his back, planting his feet firmly on the mattress, and held his phone up in front of his face, watching in elation as Arthur used two lazy fingers to pull the marker out of his mouth slowly, still staring at the board as though he wasn't giving a marker a blowjob in the middle of the workday, and why the hell was Eames back in Mombasa when he clearly needed to be around to help with the rest of Ariadne's field training? Yes the job was a cake walk and didn't call for a Forger, but if Arthur was going to go around fellating inanimate objects then by God Eames was going to make it his business to see it from now on.
Eames fucked into his hand rapidly, his fist flying. He wasn't even bothering to hold back his moaning now, low as it was, as he watched Arthur's tongue peek out from between his wet, pink lips to tease the end of the marker.
Then Arthur turned his head to ask Ariadne a question and scowled at a point just above the viewfinder.
"Do you realize we've been -- wait, are you taking a picture of --?"
The message cut off and Eames couldn't hit 'replay' fast enough. He got as far as Arthur shoving the black cap into his mouth, making his cheek bulge out inappropriately, before he dropped his phone and pressed his fist to his face.
Then he nearly bit through it as he came sensationally inside of his sweatpants.
Eames took a minute (or eight, but who's counting?) to catch his breath, then he made a face at himself.
The next time he agreed to help Yusuf stabalize a new compound instead of following his friends to Paris for an easy job and the chance of free pornography he was shooting himself in the face.
He shot her off a quick Thanks a lot, you shameless hussy and made to roll over. Then he made a face for an entirely different reason and got up to change his pants.
*
The next time he met them for a job he made a brief detour along the way to the warehouse.
Ariadne grinned slyly at him when he dumped a package of four shiny new, and much thicker, dry erase markers on a table near Arthur's elbow and he couldn't help but grin back at her secretly.
Then he contemplated shooting himself in the face again because spending the next two weeks half hard in the warehouse (and trying to hide it from the rest of the team) was pure hell, and only made worse when at the end of the second week Ariadne dumped a bottle of lotion in his lap.
"For the chafing," she said matter-of-fact. "And you never say thanks, but you're still welcome." Arthur looked up at her, distracted, while Eames glared.
"Sorry, what?" Arthur asked, pulling a marker from his mouth with a slick 'pop'.
"I'm going to die," Eames declared, dropping his head into his hands. "And I hate the world."
"What?" Arthur asked again.
Ariadne threw her head back and laughed.
Title: You're Welcome
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: One sided Arthur/Eames
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 1,464
Summary: Ariadne sends Eames a video. Eames watches it in the privacy of his hotel room.
Notes: I feel a little bad, because this wasn't what the prompter asked for, but this is where my brain took this prompt. Go figure.
One New Message
From Hot Pants
Eames grinned tiredly down at his phone. It had been a long day, far too long what with Yusuf nearly blowing them up and them both having to make a visit to the emergency room for smoke inhalation. He'd finally gotten back to his hotel room, after long hours of fending off nurses coming at him with sharp needles and bloody oxygen masks, and wanted nothing more than to collapse into his mediocre bed with its mediocre pillows in his mediocre sweatpants.
But if Ariadne was texting him at three fifty, Central European Time, it could only mean one of two things: the job she was currently on was now fucked and she needed bailing out, or she was drunk off of her rocker.
Considering the amount of times she'd texted him at that hour he was going with the latter.
omg, dowload this rigt now. but dn't watcg til youre in bed. o an you're welcomr!!!
Eames smirked down at his phone. Definitely drunk, then. Was his little darling sending him something naughty again? He sure hoped so. He didn't really believe Arthur when he said she was a filthy little harlot, that she would ever say the atrocious things Arthur had quoted at him during that brief job in Belarus. That is he didn't believe him until, of course, that night he opened up a text from her telling him, in misspelled detail, about how the guy she had just gone down on tasted like a cupcake, and how she thought of him because of his wicked sweet tooth, and then her night had only gone downhill from there, and she held him solely responsible for it and now she could never eat cake again ever.
He could only wonder what she would've sent that required warning for him to be laying down, the saucy little minx.
By the time he was changed and ready to pass out he'd nearly forgotten all about his message, too enthralled with the sheets to care about much else. Then he rolled over and hit his phone with his cheek and it lit up under his face.
Cursing his curiosity, because he really was tired as fuck, he opened the attachment and was treated with a good fifteen seconds of such a startlingly awful video he wanted to hurl. It was all over the place, shaky like it was some kind of documentary designed to make him ill with motion sickness. It was all grey walls and crates and he took those first couple of seconds to wonder what the hell was so engrossing about her most recent warehouse that she felt the need to share it with him.
Then the angle steadied and a familiar profile he'd recognize anywhere, even it it was from a distance, settled onto the screen and Eames smiled.
Then he started panting because there was Arthur standing in front of a whiteboard, which was familiar enough on its own, but he had a long dry erase marker in his mouth, which most decidedly wasn't.
Arthur was reading over whatever it was he'd wrote down with his arms crossed over his chest. One hand was tucked under his elbow and the other was in front of his face, slowly pushing the black capped marker in and out of his mouth. His lips were pursed and his cheeks hollowed out in the suction and Eames died a little on the inside.
Arthur pulled the pen out and made as though he was going to uncap it when he looked down at it and made a face. He licked the tip of the cap, his tongue curling over the end to catch a drop of his own saliva, and Eames inhaled sharply.
He let one hand drift under the sheets, into his grey sweatpants to take hold of himself, and he let out a breathy moan when his fingers curled around his suddenly achingly hard prick.
Eames watched in rapture as Arthur pulled the cap off of the marker, sticking it back into his mouth as he wrote something down, and the black plastic in his mouth poked into his cheek in the most obscene way. Eames swallowed hard, biting back a moan, and tugged himself slowly, imagining something else causing those cheeks to bulge like that. Arthur tilted his head, staring at what he wrote, and a stray lock of hair fell forward into his eyes.
Eames' hands itched to be five thousand miles closer, so they could brush the hair back from his forehead. Then he laughed at himself, breathlessly, because if Arthur ever let Eames touch him like that it would mean it was the end of the bloody world.
He pulled a little faster, focusing on rubbing his thumb over the head, then stopped so he could spit into his hand. When he took himself in hand again it was wet and delicious and the Arthur on his phone reached up and carded the fingers of his free hand into his hair to drag the errant lock back. He tilted his head to the side and Eames could see, even with the low quality of the video, how his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed.
Eames bit his lip, holding back a moan as his hand sped up. Arthur held the marker up again, calculated, and stuck the felt tip back into the cap with precision, pushing firmly. His hand slid a little up the thin body of the plastic and Eames' eyes glazed over, immediately picturing something else sliding in and out of that mouth.
He rolled onto his back, planting his feet firmly on the mattress, and held his phone up in front of his face, watching in elation as Arthur used two lazy fingers to pull the marker out of his mouth slowly, still staring at the board as though he wasn't giving a marker a blowjob in the middle of the workday, and why the hell was Eames back in Mombasa when he clearly needed to be around to help with the rest of Ariadne's field training? Yes the job was a cake walk and didn't call for a Forger, but if Arthur was going to go around fellating inanimate objects then by God Eames was going to make it his business to see it from now on.
Eames fucked into his hand rapidly, his fist flying. He wasn't even bothering to hold back his moaning now, low as it was, as he watched Arthur's tongue peek out from between his wet, pink lips to tease the end of the marker.
Then Arthur turned his head to ask Ariadne a question and scowled at a point just above the viewfinder.
"Do you realize we've been -- wait, are you taking a picture of --?"
The message cut off and Eames couldn't hit 'replay' fast enough. He got as far as Arthur shoving the black cap into his mouth, making his cheek bulge out inappropriately, before he dropped his phone and pressed his fist to his face.
Then he nearly bit through it as he came sensationally inside of his sweatpants.
Eames took a minute (or eight, but who's counting?) to catch his breath, then he made a face at himself.
The next time he agreed to help Yusuf stabalize a new compound instead of following his friends to Paris for an easy job and the chance of free pornography he was shooting himself in the face.
He shot her off a quick Thanks a lot, you shameless hussy and made to roll over. Then he made a face for an entirely different reason and got up to change his pants.
*
The next time he met them for a job he made a brief detour along the way to the warehouse.
Ariadne grinned slyly at him when he dumped a package of four shiny new, and much thicker, dry erase markers on a table near Arthur's elbow and he couldn't help but grin back at her secretly.
Then he contemplated shooting himself in the face again because spending the next two weeks half hard in the warehouse (and trying to hide it from the rest of the team) was pure hell, and only made worse when at the end of the second week Ariadne dumped a bottle of lotion in his lap.
"For the chafing," she said matter-of-fact. "And you never say thanks, but you're still welcome." Arthur looked up at her, distracted, while Eames glared.
"Sorry, what?" Arthur asked, pulling a marker from his mouth with a slick 'pop'.
"I'm going to die," Eames declared, dropping his head into his hands. "And I hate the world."
"What?" Arthur asked again.
Ariadne threw her head back and laughed.