seeorseem | (no subject)

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This is new and a particular shade of not good that Eames has very rarely considered before. In his time, he's forged men, women, beings of no gender at all, aliens, and an array of animals in order to get inside a mark's head and find their secrets. What he has not done is lost all his clothes as he wandered into Arthur's room at the hotel and found himself in a simplistic mind-set that's only concerned with a few things.

Play being one of them, food another, and affection a third.

He lets out a sad whine as he tries to adjust his mind and remember what movement as an animal is like. There are four legs to account for instead of the usual two and as Eames trots into the room, tail wagging (because he's still very happy to see Arthur), he thinks that this hotel is practically forger academy, forcing him to learn how to work and walk in other forms while in reality.

He should increase his rates. His skills are getting quite the workout.

Settling his chin on Arthur's knee, he gives another plaintive dog-cry, peering up at him with eyes he hopes are every bit as forlorn as he's intending them to be.

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Arthur laughs and grinds his hips down against Eames' and kisses him with a quick, sharp nip. "Is this what you expected of me?"

"I like it, though I've learned my lesson about expecting anything from you. Ever since the inception job, you've proven to me that you're much more imaginative than I'd given you credit for." He's still impressed by the jerry-rig in the elevator, given that it's a trick right out of Eames' playbook.

Arthur grins and shifts a little, pressing at Eames with one finger, smiling at him. "Remind me, later, to show you exactly how imaginative I am."

"Must have picked it up from a good influence in your life," Eames drawls with a soft gasp at the press, turning it into a leering grin. "You will have to tell me all about him, because he sounds like an infinitely charming man."

"Please, Mr. Eames, don't be so narcissistic when you're at my mercy," Arthur chides him, crooking his finger up.

"Some of my deviant tendencies are my own."

"You've known me nearly decades, plural, and you're still wondering that I can be a narcissist?" he wonders, half innocent as he snorts derisively, given the inherent disbelief that goes along with that. "I'm clearly not trying hard enough." He gives a small thrill of a sound as he bears down on Arthur with an intent look. "I'm more than happy to credit you, of course."

"Or maybe I'm just not nearly as prudish as you think," Arthur says, pressing in a second finger and watching Eames' face. He really does, he finds, enjoy the sight.

"Not prudish," Eames counters, because he doesn't actually think that. "You're not as forward, though, when it comes to sex. I think because you always put career and the job first," he says, continuing in his honesty.

"Why would I be so forward with the vulnerable parts of myself in a business context?" He searches deep into Eames with his fingers, crooking them up a little, even as he continues on as if he's unaware of what he's doing. "I am, after all, a very private man."

"Which I have both learned about and been told in detail," is Eames wry reply, breathing deeply in order to try and steady himself as Arthur pushes. "You're certainly well practiced in this, so you can't have slacked too much," he notes, trying to keep his words even.

"If we're having this detailed a conversation, I'm clearly not doing my job right," Arthur muses. He twists his fingers again, deep and against the spot that he knows will silence Eames.

Eames lets out a breath that had been intended to be words, but oh, wouldn't you know, Arthur's proven himself to be quite capable of robbing him of those troubling little things. Letting out a low groan, he catches Arthur's eye, long enough to give him a wink to say he's precisely on point.

Arthur smiles, a more lascivious look than many of his acquaintances would ever expect him to make, and continues to exploit Eames' pleasure. Three fingers now, more than enough, but he enjoys being thorough.

Eames' eyes roll into the back of his head and he tries not to feel too overwhelmed, but Arthur does have that talent when he wants to bear it. "Oh, now that is very good," he praises with a breathless laugh, having used most of his energy just to get the words out.

Arthur kisses him, looking pleased as a cat. "Are you ready, Mr. Eames?"

"Entirely, utterly, uncontrollably," Eames agrees, his stomach fluttering as he laughs with delight, winking at Arthur as he spreads his knees a little wider.

Arthur smiles and reaches for a condom with his free hand, not withdrawing his fingers from Eames yet.

He's clean and monogamous, but he also tends to assume it's wanted rather than not.

Eames gives the condom a look of disappointment, but he doesn't protest because he hasn't exactly been tested himself and he knows that giving Arthur an STD isn't exactly a very lovely gift. "I love you filling me up," he half-purrs. "It's, honestly, wonderful."

Arthur raises an eyebrow at him but doesn't relent. It's practicality, but also that lingering uncertainty of who they are to each other. What they are.

He eases in, forgetting his trepidations in that look on Eames' face. "You look very good, sprawled out beneath me."

Eames laughs, low and lazy. "Dear, I look good in any manner," is his wry smirked reply, stretching out and getting comfortable as he cocks his head to the side, waiting and waiting, basking in the pleasurable feeling rolling over him.

"And so humble," Arthur says, affecting the tone of someone using flattery to avoid a bruised ego. Keeping himself upright with one arm, Arthur's other hand slides up Eames' body until his fingertips are playing over his mouth again.

He parts his lips to make sure he can trap those wayward fingers with a bright smile bursting forth on his lips, somewhat contrary to what they're doing, but this has always filled him with an innate sense of joy that's hard to shake off. "I am, at that."

Arthur plays his fingers over Eames' mouth, watching his face as he bottoms out, settles inside him. His hips shake, betraying his control.

Eames nips lightly at the fingers, grinning like an idiot as he bucks his hips upwards, trying to urge Arthur to go deeper than before, wanting that more than anything, which he hopes to get across with a low, eager moan.

The sound thrills through him and Arthur begins to move in earnest, hips not quite snapping. Yet.