Robert pushes in slow, reveling in the thick clench of Eames’s body as it closes around him. The muscles of Eames’s lower back bunch and flex as he braces himself for Robert’s slow invasion, and his knees shift on the ground impatiently. Robert refuses to go faster. He doesn’t want to lose himself to this just yet.
He leans back, admiring the view. From the side, he can see those thick lips, swollen and red and still so wet, can see the way Eames’s lashes flutter with each inch he presses in, can see the dark marks in the carpet where Eames’s fingers are tugging against the pile. “Talk to me,” Robert tells him, because he wants to know. He wants to know what’s going through Eames’s mind right now.
Eames laughs breathlessly. “What,” he stops to moan shakily, “What do you want to know?”
“Tell me about your favorite fantasy,” Robert says, curious. “Tell me what you think about when you touch yourself.”
“Arthur,” Eames gasps, and his eyes are squeezed so tight that Robert doubts he even knows he’s answered until Eames repeats the name so low it’s practically a prayer.
“Tell me about him,” Robert says. Eames whimpers, rocking back into his thrusts.
“And what is Arthur doing to you?” Robert asks, and Eames snorts.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“What would you want him to do to you?” Robert corrects himself.
“I,” Eames moans then, long and low, and presses his face into the crook of one arm, reaching the other back to take himself in hand with short, quick strokes. “He’s got me on the, the chair. I’m asleep, and he knows he can do anything he wants to do to me.”
“Is Arthur bigger than you?” Robert asks quietly.
Eames laughs again. “No. He’s thin; you’re actually quite similar in build,” he says, and Robert hums encouragingly. “No, the only time he could ever overpower me is when I’m asleep, and he knows it. It’s the only time he could completely control me.”
“And you want him to control you?” Robert asks. Eames’s lips go slack with the suggestion; he’s beyond moaning, fist flying over his cock as Robert pushes into him in steady, slow thrusts.
“Oh, God, yes,” Eames manages. “I, I want—”
“And what does Arthur do when he’s got you at his mercy?”
“He,” Eames stutters for breath. His thighs are corded tight beneath Robert’s hands and Robert knows it won’t be long. “He sucks me. He sucks me long and slow, and it feels like hours, I mean it is hours, until I’m going mad from it, until I can’t stand it any longer, until I—” he chokes on saliva then, drooling.
“Do you come?” And Robert’s voice is insidious, deadly soft and suggestive. Eames’s whole body shakes.
“Please,” Eames begs. “Oh, please.”
“Does Arthur let you come?” Robert insists.
“N—I don’t—”
“When you wake up, does he flip you over? Does he rim you? Does he play with you until you’re a broken, soggy mess?”
“I—please!”
Robert pauses, clenching a fist around Eames’s wrist. There’s surprising tension in his thin frame, and Eames is taut beneath him. “Does he fuck you hard?” Robert asks quietly. “Does he open you up and give you the fucking you really need?”
“Please.” Eames is a mess now, poised on the edge so delicately.
“Tell me.”
“Yes!” And Eames nearly screams the word as he seizes around Robert’s cock, back tight and arched as he comes. “Yes!”
Robert rides out the spasms, his own orgasm no less sweet for being less violent. He’s subtle, already tugging his cuffs back together and resnapping the links by the time Eames can look up at him bashfully, cheeks red with exertion and honesty. Robert gives him a half-smile. “If you ever wake up from that dream,” Robert says, and his eyes are sleepy-sated, “I’d be glad to help you dream another.”
“I,” Eames says. His voice crackles and he’s not sure what to say, but somehow he’s slightly guilty as he looks at his mark.
“I’m sure I’m no Arthur,” Robert continues blithely, then smiles. “But I’d be real.”
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timeasmymeasure
A little [A]R/E for the cause [2/2]
Date: 2011-04-28 08:15 am (UTC)He leans back, admiring the view. From the side, he can see those thick lips, swollen and red and still so wet, can see the way Eames’s lashes flutter with each inch he presses in, can see the dark marks in the carpet where Eames’s fingers are tugging against the pile. “Talk to me,” Robert tells him, because he wants to know. He wants to know what’s going through Eames’s mind right now.
Eames laughs breathlessly. “What,” he stops to moan shakily, “What do you want to know?”
“Tell me about your favorite fantasy,” Robert says, curious. “Tell me what you think about when you touch yourself.”
“Arthur,” Eames gasps, and his eyes are squeezed so tight that Robert doubts he even knows he’s answered until Eames repeats the name so low it’s practically a prayer.
“Tell me about him,” Robert says. Eames whimpers, rocking back into his thrusts.
“He’s,” Eames says. “God, he’s just Arthur. Stupid, boring, absolutely gorgeous Arthur.”
“And what is Arthur doing to you?” Robert asks, and Eames snorts.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“What would you want him to do to you?” Robert corrects himself.
“I,” Eames moans then, long and low, and presses his face into the crook of one arm, reaching the other back to take himself in hand with short, quick strokes. “He’s got me on the, the chair. I’m asleep, and he knows he can do anything he wants to do to me.”
“Is Arthur bigger than you?” Robert asks quietly.
Eames laughs again. “No. He’s thin; you’re actually quite similar in build,” he says, and Robert hums encouragingly. “No, the only time he could ever overpower me is when I’m asleep, and he knows it. It’s the only time he could completely control me.”
“And you want him to control you?” Robert asks. Eames’s lips go slack with the suggestion; he’s beyond moaning, fist flying over his cock as Robert pushes into him in steady, slow thrusts.
“Oh, God, yes,” Eames manages. “I, I want—”
“And what does Arthur do when he’s got you at his mercy?”
“He,” Eames stutters for breath. His thighs are corded tight beneath Robert’s hands and Robert knows it won’t be long. “He sucks me. He sucks me long and slow, and it feels like hours, I mean it is hours, until I’m going mad from it, until I can’t stand it any longer, until I—” he chokes on saliva then, drooling.
“Do you come?” And Robert’s voice is insidious, deadly soft and suggestive. Eames’s whole body shakes.
“Please,” Eames begs. “Oh, please.”
“Does Arthur let you come?” Robert insists.
“N—I don’t—”
“When you wake up, does he flip you over? Does he rim you? Does he play with you until you’re a broken, soggy mess?”
“I—please!”
Robert pauses, clenching a fist around Eames’s wrist. There’s surprising tension in his thin frame, and Eames is taut beneath him. “Does he fuck you hard?” Robert asks quietly. “Does he open you up and give you the fucking you really need?”
“Please.” Eames is a mess now, poised on the edge so delicately.
“Tell me.”
“Yes!” And Eames nearly screams the word as he seizes around Robert’s cock, back tight and arched as he comes. “Yes!”
Robert rides out the spasms, his own orgasm no less sweet for being less violent. He’s subtle, already tugging his cuffs back together and resnapping the links by the time Eames can look up at him bashfully, cheeks red with exertion and honesty. Robert gives him a half-smile. “If you ever wake up from that dream,” Robert says, and his eyes are sleepy-sated, “I’d be glad to help you dream another.”
“I,” Eames says. His voice crackles and he’s not sure what to say, but somehow he’s slightly guilty as he looks at his mark.
“I’m sure I’m no Arthur,” Robert continues blithely, then smiles. “But I’d be real.”
Eames manages a crooked smile and knows better.