Eames is leaning against the wall of the shower, because he’s tired and disgusting and frankly he can’t be bothered to do anything more than lean against the wall and let the hot water run over him and try to loosen some of the dirt and grime and sweat and blood from this morning’s adventure. It’s barely four in the afternoon, and he’s already: ran up and down Quebec’s cobblestone streets, chased by Interpol; shot a man, tied him to a concrete block, and dropped his body into the St. Lawrence River; ran back up the stairs of death to the old city; ran up and then rappelled back out of the tower of the Notre Dame du Quebec; ran back down the stairs of death to the lower town; dived into the St. Lawrence River to get the body back; fished out a packet of secret documents from the dead man’s jacket; dropped him back into the St. Lawrence River; ran back up the stairs of death to the old city to find that the entire block around the Notre Dame had been blown up, thanks to Yusuf; hotwired a cab, and then drove all the way out here to Ariadne’s parents’ house to find her brother practically bleeding out in the middle of the road. So it’s been a long day, and Eames is very tired, thank you very much, and he would just like to enjoy his well-deserved shower in peace.
He squeezes out some toothpaste onto his toothbrush and sticks it in his mouth, lazily brushing away, and leans his head back so it hits the shower wall. The shower head is pointed directly at his cock, and the water tickles as it runs between his bush and his skin and trickles down his legs. He spits out some toothpaste and turns around, intending to wash off his rear, but before he can grab the bar of soap, the toilet door opens.
“Fuck off, I’m showering,” he calls at the intruder, and the door closes again. Eames breathes out a sigh of relief and leans back into the warm spray and-
Oh.
Oh.
“You like that?” asks Arthur, and pushes his finger the rest of the way in.
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timeasmymeasure
Part 1/2? Shower sex.
Date: 2011-04-27 03:07 am (UTC)He squeezes out some toothpaste onto his toothbrush and sticks it in his mouth, lazily brushing away, and leans his head back so it hits the shower wall. The shower head is pointed directly at his cock, and the water tickles as it runs between his bush and his skin and trickles down his legs. He spits out some toothpaste and turns around, intending to wash off his rear, but before he can grab the bar of soap, the toilet door opens.
“Fuck off, I’m showering,” he calls at the intruder, and the door closes again. Eames breathes out a sigh of relief and leans back into the warm spray and-
Oh.
Oh.
“You like that?” asks Arthur, and pushes his finger the rest of the way in.