The shower stall wasn't really big enough for two people, but then again, they didn't really need a lot of room. Arthur pressed Eames back against the tiled wall and ran soapy hands over the muscled contours of Eames's body. Eames moaned and arched into the touch. Their fucking earlier had left a slick mess of come and lube that slowly trickled down his legs and swirled with the water down the drain. He pressed his face into Arthur's neck as sudsy fingers stroked between his arse cheeks and teased his sensitive opening. Arthur gently pushed one finger inside.
"Christ..." Eames murmured, lost in bliss. Arthur's other soap-slick hand worked Eames's prick, his pace lazy but unrelenting. That first finger was joined by a second, and they worked in and out, matching the rhythm of Arthur's other hand.
"I love doing this to you," Arthur whispered in his ear. "Have you any idea how fucking good it feels? You're all sloppy and open from being fucked, from having my dick inside you..."
Eames groaned, grateful for the support of the wall and Arthur's shoulder, because he was dizzy with steam and arousal; too sensitive and he'd got hard again too soon, but Arthur...
"Oh, you love that, don't you? The thought of my big, hard dick filling you up..." He squeezed Eames's prick as he said this, and pushed his fingers deep.
"Fuck!" Eames gasped, "I can't...please, I can't, it's too..."
"Sure you can," Arthur said, his voice so quiet under the hiss of the water, but it spoke to Eames's bones, his heart and blood, and he couldn't resist it, never could. "Look how hard you are already, you're so fucking greedy, look." And Eames had to look, rested his forehead on Arthur's shoulder and looked down at Arthur's long, clever fingers holding his prick like something precious, watched the slide of his foreskin over the swollen head of his cock, and the way Arthur's hand convulsed around it.
"You can take another finger, can't you?" Arthur asked, and it wasn't really a question, and it didn't matter that Eames shook his head because Arthur pushed a third finger into him anyway.
"You're such a fucking mess," Arthur said, biting his earlobe. "I'm going to fuck you again, fill you up with come and next time I won't clean you up. You're going to sleep all night with my mess inside you so when I roll you over and fuck you in the morning you'll still be wet and I'll just slide right in, so fucking easy..."
"Jesus, I can't...Arthur..."
"Yes you can."
Arthur won, and when Eames came it was small and sharp and hard-edged, a weak pulse of milky come that washed quickly down the drain. Arthur made a satisfied noise and let his fingers slip from Eames's arse. He rinsed Eames off carefully, towelled him dry and dragged him back to the bedroom with a hand clenched in his hair.
Arthur made good on his promise, but then Arthur always did; it's one of the things Eames loved best about him.
Arthur/Eames: post-fuck finger/comeplay/dirty talk
"Christ..." Eames murmured, lost in bliss. Arthur's other soap-slick hand worked Eames's prick, his pace lazy but unrelenting. That first finger was joined by a second, and they worked in and out, matching the rhythm of Arthur's other hand.
"I love doing this to you," Arthur whispered in his ear. "Have you any idea how fucking good it feels? You're all sloppy and open from being fucked, from having my dick inside you..."
Eames groaned, grateful for the support of the wall and Arthur's shoulder, because he was dizzy with steam and arousal; too sensitive and he'd got hard again too soon, but Arthur...
"Oh, you love that, don't you? The thought of my big, hard dick filling you up..." He squeezed Eames's prick as he said this, and pushed his fingers deep.
"Fuck!" Eames gasped, "I can't...please, I can't, it's too..."
"Sure you can," Arthur said, his voice so quiet under the hiss of the water, but it spoke to Eames's bones, his heart and blood, and he couldn't resist it, never could. "Look how hard you are already, you're so fucking greedy, look." And Eames had to look, rested his forehead on Arthur's shoulder and looked down at Arthur's long, clever fingers holding his prick like something precious, watched the slide of his foreskin over the swollen head of his cock, and the way Arthur's hand convulsed around it.
"You can take another finger, can't you?" Arthur asked, and it wasn't really a question, and it didn't matter that Eames shook his head because Arthur pushed a third finger into him anyway.
"You're such a fucking mess," Arthur said, biting his earlobe. "I'm going to fuck you again, fill you up with come and next time I won't clean you up. You're going to sleep all night with my mess inside you so when I roll you over and fuck you in the morning you'll still be wet and I'll just slide right in, so fucking easy..."
"Jesus, I can't...Arthur..."
"Yes you can."
Arthur won, and when Eames came it was small and sharp and hard-edged, a weak pulse of milky come that washed quickly down the drain. Arthur made a satisfied noise and let his fingers slip from Eames's arse. He rinsed Eames off carefully, towelled him dry and dragged him back to the bedroom with a hand clenched in his hair.
Arthur made good on his promise, but then Arthur always did; it's one of the things Eames loved best about him.