Arthur loves Eames's strength. The strength of his shooter's stance, of his work and reputation, the strength of his presence in a room.
The strength of his body, his sleek shoulders and strong thighs, are possibly the most obvious manifestation of his strength, and when they're straining over Arthur, holding him down so that Eames can settle himself down incrementally slowly onto Arthur's cock and then lifing up and pushing down again over and over - that might just be Arthur's favourite part.
Soon the restraint of their rhythm is lost, and Eames is riding Arthur in earnest, rolling his body up and over so that Arthur slides and out without having to do anything, which is good, because Arthur can't move - hips pinned by Eames's thighs, and wrists pinned by Eames's hands, his piano-player's handspan used to its fullest here, wrapping Arthur's wrists entirely.
'Don't come,' Arthur says, hoarsely. 'Not til I do, Eames, you hear me? You listening to me? Not til I do - not til we're both ready, yeah?'
And Eames nods, his nostrils flaring and his teeth gritted with the effort, and just picks himself up again and puts himself down over and over.
Before long, Arthur can't take it any longer and his body overrides his brain and lurches up into Eames, spasming and shuddering its release, and Eames's eyes roll back into his head and he comes as well, teeth biting hard into his lip.
And after that, Eames rolls over and stretches, and disposes of the condom, and gets dressed again, pressing a stubble-lined kiss into Arthur's temple.
'I'll see you later, at Cobb's next little pep-talk,' he says. 'Got to get some files in order first. Not all of us are as organised as you, kitten,' and Arthur thinks, insofar as he's capable of thought at all, that Eames's strength of mind is perhaps his favourite part of all.
just a short thing :)
The strength of his body, his sleek shoulders and strong thighs, are possibly the most obvious manifestation of his strength, and when they're straining over Arthur, holding him down so that Eames can settle himself down incrementally slowly onto Arthur's cock and then lifing up and pushing down again over and over - that might just be Arthur's favourite part.
Soon the restraint of their rhythm is lost, and Eames is riding Arthur in earnest, rolling his body up and over so that Arthur slides and out without having to do anything, which is good, because Arthur can't move - hips pinned by Eames's thighs, and wrists pinned by Eames's hands, his piano-player's handspan used to its fullest here, wrapping Arthur's wrists entirely.
'Don't come,' Arthur says, hoarsely. 'Not til I do, Eames, you hear me? You listening to me? Not til I do - not til we're both ready, yeah?'
And Eames nods, his nostrils flaring and his teeth gritted with the effort, and just picks himself up again and puts himself down over and over.
Before long, Arthur can't take it any longer and his body overrides his brain and lurches up into Eames, spasming and shuddering its release, and Eames's eyes roll back into his head and he comes as well, teeth biting hard into his lip.
And after that, Eames rolls over and stretches, and disposes of the condom, and gets dressed again, pressing a stubble-lined kiss into Arthur's temple.
'I'll see you later, at Cobb's next little pep-talk,' he says. 'Got to get some files in order first. Not all of us are as organised as you, kitten,' and Arthur thinks, insofar as he's capable of thought at all, that Eames's strength of mind is perhaps his favourite part of all.