tourdefierce (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tourdefierce) wrote2011-03-31 10:21 am
tourdefierce) wrote2011-03-31 10:21 am
Shameless: Arthur/Eames, NC-17
Title: Shameless
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Warnings: Unprotected sex, filthy!Arthur, crack, language and did I mention the filth?
Word count: 1,000
Summary: Eames is having difficultly focusing (because Arthur fucked him like a stallion, a stallion I tell you).
Author's Note: I wrote this as ANON for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cherrybina's Ass Worship fest. It's unbeta'd and full of typos. Once again, I don't care. It's porn.
It's so fucking embarrassing but he can't find it in himself to care.
The warehouse is very quiet with everyone in their respective corners doing their jobs like the diligent works that they are—best in the business and all that rot—so no one is paying him any mind. Which is bloody good because he can't stop squirming and Arthur is just sitting at his desk like he has no ideawhat's going on, even though he is the reason why Eames' cheeks are flushed and he can't quiet get comfortable in his chair.
And fuck, that's hot. The way Arthur types away on his laptop, stopping to take notes in his tiny little hipster notebook like he has no idea what Eames is going through. Every once in a while his brow will furrow, like he's thinking about the job and not the fact that Eames is still squirming and practically panting in his chair at every single shift of his legs.
Arthur tilts his head and Eames whimpers.
"Are you feeling alright?"
Eames shifts suddenly, yelping at the sudden pressure that the squirming was attempting to avoid when he turns to see Ariadne. Sweet, young Ariadne.
"Just fine, doll," Eames says in a voice that sounds strained even to his own ears but he can't fucking help it.
Across the room, Arthur smirks.
"You look awfully flushed," she says, concerned but then she reaches out to graze her hand onto his forehead and Eames flinches back. His skin is over sensitive and if someone touches him right now, he might actually snap in a violent and very out-of-character way. He's not Arthur. He can use his words instead of settling everything with... force.
"No need to worry your pretty little head."
She shrugs and shuffles off, asking Yusuf if he wants coffee and, thankfully (because Yusuf is a fucking God among men) he accepts. They leave the warehouse and Eames shifts in his seat because Cobb is still here, sitting at his desk and looking like he's deep in thought. He's brooding, because that's what Cobb does best, but Eames could honestly not give a single fuck about Cobb.
"Eames."
He closes his eyes because Arthur's voice is casual and oh-so-tedious but very, very close to his ear. Eames is thinking that he might die. He honestly might just parish here with Cobb sitting in the corner brooding and Arthur looming over him like the grim reaper himself.
"Would you mind," Arthur says, "taking a look at this for me?"
"Bugger off."
Arthur tuts, little buffs of air tickling the back of Eames' neck. "All right, there?"
Eames hisses. "You bloody know I'm not all right, you absolute wanker."
"And why is that, Mr. Eames?"
His voice. It's his voice, all casual-like, even thought their conversation is so beyond unprofessional that Eames is surprised Cobb isn't being yanked out of his brooding stupor just by the sheer insanity of it all.
"Because," Eames grounds out, listening to Arthur breath down the back of his neck like a stalker.
"Because what," Arthur teases, pressing his hand down on Eames shoulder and settling him so hard into the chair that Eames can do nothing but moan, filthy and completely out-loud.
And then, because Arthur's a bastard without a heart, he brings out the big guns and kicks Eames when he's down. Why? Because he's a mean, mean man.
"The answer I think you're looking for, Mr. Eames, is that the source of your discomfort lies in the fact that I fucked you open only twenty minutes before we had to arrive here," he says, still calm in the face of Eames' heavy breathing and constantly twitchy moaning. "Not only did I bend you over and fuck that sweet ass of yours, making you scream and beg like a common whore but I didn't let you come, even though you could have, couldn't you? You could have come just from my dick alone."
Eames is in a special hell, where his trousers are too tight and Arthur is Satan. He is actually Lucifer. And, oh God, Cobb is still in the room. How is this real life?
"You're such a cock-slut," Arthur breaths out against his neck and Eames groans, squeezing his eyes shut.
"I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed the past hour," he continues, his other hand coming to press on the front of Eames' pants to palm his erection. Eames is eighty percent sure he's going to either come in his pants in the next thirty seconds or shoot someone in the kneecap. "I've been watching you, Mr. Eames."
His hips betray him, bucking into Arthur's hands and putting an exorbitant amount of pressure on Eames' extremely sore arse. Arthur chuckles, low and pleasantly blithe, while Eames thinks about choking on his own tongue.
"I've been watching you squirm in you chair because of my come that's leaking out of your fucked out hole."
"Arthur-" he gasps out but then Arthur's hand clamps down on his cock that is practically on fire with desire and, fuck, it hurts.
"God," Arthur says, still flippant. "I filled you up with so much come, I bet you've made a mess of your underwear and trousers by now. I'm willing to bet that if you stood up right now, you're fine ass would be sopping wet with my come that's been leaking out of you. Isn't that right?"
Eames comes with a strangled shout. He's fairly certain he passes out, if only for a few seconds, and by the time he comes to, Arthur is already back at his desk—smirking like the cunt that he is—and Ariadne is coming through the warehouse doors with a tray in her hand.
When Eames blinks back into the living, Cobb is startled into the conversation when Yusuf hands him a cup of coffee and Arthur is writing in his notebook like nothing out of the ordinary has happened.
"Feeling better?" Ariadne asks after Eames finishes his tea that she's brought him in a couple shaky sips, completely burning his tongue. Eames shifts in his seat, shuffling closer to the desk as he can feel the wetness of his trousers both front in back stick to his skin.
"Indeed," Eames says lightly.
His phone vibrates in his pocket and when he reads the text, he regrets ever telling Arthur about his urge to try out monogamy and his hate of condoms and Jesus Christ-
Text from Arthur:
Don't worry, I'll make sure to clean up my mess later.
Across the room, Arthur licks his lips.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Warnings: Unprotected sex, filthy!Arthur, crack, language and did I mention the filth?
Word count: 1,000
Summary: Eames is having difficultly focusing (because Arthur fucked him like a stallion, a stallion I tell you).
Author's Note: I wrote this as ANON for
cherrybina's Ass Worship fest. It's unbeta'd and full of typos. Once again, I don't care. It's porn. It's so fucking embarrassing but he can't find it in himself to care.
The warehouse is very quiet with everyone in their respective corners doing their jobs like the diligent works that they are—best in the business and all that rot—so no one is paying him any mind. Which is bloody good because he can't stop squirming and Arthur is just sitting at his desk like he has no ideawhat's going on, even though he is the reason why Eames' cheeks are flushed and he can't quiet get comfortable in his chair.
And fuck, that's hot. The way Arthur types away on his laptop, stopping to take notes in his tiny little hipster notebook like he has no idea what Eames is going through. Every once in a while his brow will furrow, like he's thinking about the job and not the fact that Eames is still squirming and practically panting in his chair at every single shift of his legs.
Arthur tilts his head and Eames whimpers.
"Are you feeling alright?"
Eames shifts suddenly, yelping at the sudden pressure that the squirming was attempting to avoid when he turns to see Ariadne. Sweet, young Ariadne.
"Just fine, doll," Eames says in a voice that sounds strained even to his own ears but he can't fucking help it.
Across the room, Arthur smirks.
"You look awfully flushed," she says, concerned but then she reaches out to graze her hand onto his forehead and Eames flinches back. His skin is over sensitive and if someone touches him right now, he might actually snap in a violent and very out-of-character way. He's not Arthur. He can use his words instead of settling everything with... force.
"No need to worry your pretty little head."
She shrugs and shuffles off, asking Yusuf if he wants coffee and, thankfully (because Yusuf is a fucking God among men) he accepts. They leave the warehouse and Eames shifts in his seat because Cobb is still here, sitting at his desk and looking like he's deep in thought. He's brooding, because that's what Cobb does best, but Eames could honestly not give a single fuck about Cobb.
"Eames."
He closes his eyes because Arthur's voice is casual and oh-so-tedious but very, very close to his ear. Eames is thinking that he might die. He honestly might just parish here with Cobb sitting in the corner brooding and Arthur looming over him like the grim reaper himself.
"Would you mind," Arthur says, "taking a look at this for me?"
"Bugger off."
Arthur tuts, little buffs of air tickling the back of Eames' neck. "All right, there?"
Eames hisses. "You bloody know I'm not all right, you absolute wanker."
"And why is that, Mr. Eames?"
His voice. It's his voice, all casual-like, even thought their conversation is so beyond unprofessional that Eames is surprised Cobb isn't being yanked out of his brooding stupor just by the sheer insanity of it all.
"Because," Eames grounds out, listening to Arthur breath down the back of his neck like a stalker.
"Because what," Arthur teases, pressing his hand down on Eames shoulder and settling him so hard into the chair that Eames can do nothing but moan, filthy and completely out-loud.
And then, because Arthur's a bastard without a heart, he brings out the big guns and kicks Eames when he's down. Why? Because he's a mean, mean man.
"The answer I think you're looking for, Mr. Eames, is that the source of your discomfort lies in the fact that I fucked you open only twenty minutes before we had to arrive here," he says, still calm in the face of Eames' heavy breathing and constantly twitchy moaning. "Not only did I bend you over and fuck that sweet ass of yours, making you scream and beg like a common whore but I didn't let you come, even though you could have, couldn't you? You could have come just from my dick alone."
Eames is in a special hell, where his trousers are too tight and Arthur is Satan. He is actually Lucifer. And, oh God, Cobb is still in the room. How is this real life?
"You're such a cock-slut," Arthur breaths out against his neck and Eames groans, squeezing his eyes shut.
"I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed the past hour," he continues, his other hand coming to press on the front of Eames' pants to palm his erection. Eames is eighty percent sure he's going to either come in his pants in the next thirty seconds or shoot someone in the kneecap. "I've been watching you, Mr. Eames."
His hips betray him, bucking into Arthur's hands and putting an exorbitant amount of pressure on Eames' extremely sore arse. Arthur chuckles, low and pleasantly blithe, while Eames thinks about choking on his own tongue.
"I've been watching you squirm in you chair because of my come that's leaking out of your fucked out hole."
"Arthur-" he gasps out but then Arthur's hand clamps down on his cock that is practically on fire with desire and, fuck, it hurts.
"God," Arthur says, still flippant. "I filled you up with so much come, I bet you've made a mess of your underwear and trousers by now. I'm willing to bet that if you stood up right now, you're fine ass would be sopping wet with my come that's been leaking out of you. Isn't that right?"
Eames comes with a strangled shout. He's fairly certain he passes out, if only for a few seconds, and by the time he comes to, Arthur is already back at his desk—smirking like the cunt that he is—and Ariadne is coming through the warehouse doors with a tray in her hand.
When Eames blinks back into the living, Cobb is startled into the conversation when Yusuf hands him a cup of coffee and Arthur is writing in his notebook like nothing out of the ordinary has happened.
"Feeling better?" Ariadne asks after Eames finishes his tea that she's brought him in a couple shaky sips, completely burning his tongue. Eames shifts in his seat, shuffling closer to the desk as he can feel the wetness of his trousers both front in back stick to his skin.
"Indeed," Eames says lightly.
His phone vibrates in his pocket and when he reads the text, he regrets ever telling Arthur about his urge to try out monogamy and his hate of condoms and Jesus Christ-
Text from Arthur:
Don't worry, I'll make sure to clean up my mess later.
Across the room, Arthur licks his lips.