delicatale (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
delicatale) wrote2011-11-17 04:52 pm
delicatale) wrote2011-11-17 04:52 pm
Entry tags:
We might live like never before - Eames/Arthur - NC-17
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Another kink meme fill! I had this one in my head all day, and I just gave in. The prompt was: "Eames awakes from a dream/experiment with ridiculously heightened senses. And the pheromones from Arthur are driving him crazy.
So lots of nosing, licking, inhaling against his skin etc."
Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tailoredshirt for the help and the push to write it ^^.
So, um, yeah. Idk, it just happened. Ta-daa?
Eames knows that he should probably be worried. It’s not right, there is something definitely wrong in the way he can smell the coffee in Yusuf’s hand on the other side of the hotel suite they’re in for this job, and Ariadne’s very subtle perfume he never noticed before. He probably should tell Cobb, but then - then Arthur walks by him, all spicy smell under the starched clothes, and Eames’ eyes open wide, a shock of electricity running down his spine.
“Arthur. Arthur.” Eames’ voice shakes a little, but Arthur turns around, quirks an eyebrow at him. “I need to talk to you.”
He doesn’t add the in private but it’s implied enough, and, thank bloody fuck, Arthur follows him without a word, all the way down to Eames’ room. Arthur closes the door with a deafening click, squaring his shoulders when he looks at Eames. “What?”
Eames can’t find words. He can explain it, he can explain exactly what’s happening, it’s not common but it’s not unheard of, heightened senses after a dream, settling in for a moment longer, making the real world almost dreamlike for a few hours. But he can’t say it, he can’t say that to Arthur right now, he can only press him against the door, bury his nose in Arthur’s neck, and inhale.
Arthur – Arthur smells like Heaven, like morning coffee and sandalwood shower gel, like the rain that has been pounding outside when he stepped out to get everyone breakfast. He smells a little bit like Eames, too, a secret brand on his skin, and he smells like he wants Eames; he smells heady and lustful and Eames’ head is spinning.
“Eames, what are you doing?” Arthur’s voice is steady, calm, but his hands are curled into the back of Eames’ shirt and he doesn’t sound angry, just confused. Eames trails his nose along the downside of Arthur’s jaw, smelling his aftershave and the waves of want coming off him.
“Nothing. Just need a moment with you.” He’ll go mad if he can’t be pressed against Arthur right now, if he can’t bury his face in Arthur’s hair and let the smell of a soft winter fill his mind. Arthur smells like December fruits and fresh snow, like that Christmas in New Jersey they spent together. Eames touches that spot under Arthur’s ear with a finger, feels Arthur shiver under him.
“There is a time and a place, Eames.”
“Not going to fuck you, pet.”
“Oh.” Arthur sounds almost disappointed, but doesn’t say more, his body relaxing against Eames’, his palms moving along Eames’ back. Eames would fuck him if he didn’t think it would make his brain implode, the smells and sounds of sex, when Arthur already smells so good, and sounds so amazing, and Eames is so hard in his slacks, just from this, just from them, rubbing against each other. He runs his nose down along the curve of Arthur’s shoulder, smelling Tide and iron and sweat. He pauses for a second just over Arthur’s armpit, inhaling as deep as he can, eyes closed and mind reeling. Here, Arthur smells so much like Arthur, the Arthur Eames meets all over again every morning when they wake up, when his hair isn’t done and his clothes aren’t on. It’s mindblowing.
“I thought something was going on in the dream. You were really twitchy, when usually, you barely ever move.”
Eames grins up at Arthur, his Arthur, always noticing the smallest details. Then he drops to his knees, hands at Arthur’s belt, opening it deftly, listening to the way Arthur gasps. “Everything is fine, Arthur.”
The name sounds sweet on his lips, on his tongue. Eames smiles and pushes the tails of Arthur’s shirt out of the way once he’s opened his pants, licking a stripe up to Arthur’s belly button, feeling the coarse hairs scrape his tongue. Here, Arthur smells darker, like arousal and like he does after a long chase on foot, a smell he doesn’t share with anyone, a smell he tries to get rid of in the shower every morning. Eames loves it.
Eames almost comes in his pants when he licks the tip of Arthur’s hard cock, because it’s all too much and the knowledge that Arthur got hard just by getting touched by Eames is something that will never not make him lose his mind. The power is overwhelming if not something he can use to his advantage, since Arthur has the exact same hold on him, completely and thoroughly having Eames at his beck and call.
He can’t help it – he sniffs around, the clean, hot smell of Arthur’s cock and he moves slowly, re-learning all over again how Arthur feels in his mouth, sliding him inside deeper and listening eagerly to the soft keening noises escaping Arthur, feeling Arthur’s fingers digging into his shoulders. There’s a time and a place, Eames, Arthur said a few minutes prior, but right now it doesn’t seem to matter anymore, that they can hear Yusuf and Ariadne chat on the other side of the door.
“Eames,” Arthur says, voice broken and soft, and it’s a new wonder for Eames, who slows down and sucks harder, keeping pressure tight as he rubs circles over Arthur’s hips, the skin so fucking soft and the hipbones underneath so prominent and sharp and wonderful. Eames wants to touch Arthur forever, keep him right here, right here, in this cloud of smells and memories and low voices that Eames knows will end way too soon.
He keeps on, breathing slow and steady through his nose and taking in all the different smells Arthur carries with him unconsciously, beautiful and strong and giving him even more of a personality, and he sucks Arthur’s cock with determination and drive, tasting him all over. Eames comes first, without a hand anywhere near his cock, still trapped in his pants, just from this, Arthur. And he chokes a little and moans around Arthur’s cock and that’s that, they’re both gone, Arthur coming down Eames’ throat with fingers tugging at Eames’ hair, calling out Eames’ name in a whisper.
Eames runs a hand over his mouth when he pulls away, resting his forehead against Arthur’s thigh, pressing his nose against the skin, breathing hard. After a moment, Arthur slides down and grabs Eames’ face in his hands, forcing their eyes to meet. He’s flushed, fresh sweat covering some of the sandalwood. When Eames closes his eyes, he can see Arthur through the way he smells.
“Your pupils.”
Eames opens his eyes again. “Hmm?” He leans closer, sniffing around Arthur’s neck again. Arthur groans, and he tenses up a little, like every time he suddenly gets something.
“Fuck, heightened senses, really? Is that why you keep on sniffing me? Why didn’t you say something? For a second I thought you were in heat.”
“Well, by the way you smell, for a second I thought you were in heat.”
“Asshole. We need to tell Yusuf, maybe he can help.”
Eames shakes his head. “I can sleep it off. It’s not supposed to last.”
Arthur’s eyes darken. “What if it does?”
“Well, if it does, we’ll deal with it then. Come on. Tuck me into bed, Arthur.”
Arthur lets out a long-suffering sigh, but still, he gathers Eames in his arms. Eames, again, pushes his nose in the crook of his armpit for a second, and smiles.
Another kink meme fill! I had this one in my head all day, and I just gave in. The prompt was: "Eames awakes from a dream/experiment with ridiculously heightened senses. And the pheromones from Arthur are driving him crazy.
So lots of nosing, licking, inhaling against his skin etc."
Thanks to
tailoredshirt for the help and the push to write it ^^.So, um, yeah. Idk, it just happened. Ta-daa?
Eames knows that he should probably be worried. It’s not right, there is something definitely wrong in the way he can smell the coffee in Yusuf’s hand on the other side of the hotel suite they’re in for this job, and Ariadne’s very subtle perfume he never noticed before. He probably should tell Cobb, but then - then Arthur walks by him, all spicy smell under the starched clothes, and Eames’ eyes open wide, a shock of electricity running down his spine.
“Arthur. Arthur.” Eames’ voice shakes a little, but Arthur turns around, quirks an eyebrow at him. “I need to talk to you.”
He doesn’t add the in private but it’s implied enough, and, thank bloody fuck, Arthur follows him without a word, all the way down to Eames’ room. Arthur closes the door with a deafening click, squaring his shoulders when he looks at Eames. “What?”
Eames can’t find words. He can explain it, he can explain exactly what’s happening, it’s not common but it’s not unheard of, heightened senses after a dream, settling in for a moment longer, making the real world almost dreamlike for a few hours. But he can’t say it, he can’t say that to Arthur right now, he can only press him against the door, bury his nose in Arthur’s neck, and inhale.
Arthur – Arthur smells like Heaven, like morning coffee and sandalwood shower gel, like the rain that has been pounding outside when he stepped out to get everyone breakfast. He smells a little bit like Eames, too, a secret brand on his skin, and he smells like he wants Eames; he smells heady and lustful and Eames’ head is spinning.
“Eames, what are you doing?” Arthur’s voice is steady, calm, but his hands are curled into the back of Eames’ shirt and he doesn’t sound angry, just confused. Eames trails his nose along the downside of Arthur’s jaw, smelling his aftershave and the waves of want coming off him.
“Nothing. Just need a moment with you.” He’ll go mad if he can’t be pressed against Arthur right now, if he can’t bury his face in Arthur’s hair and let the smell of a soft winter fill his mind. Arthur smells like December fruits and fresh snow, like that Christmas in New Jersey they spent together. Eames touches that spot under Arthur’s ear with a finger, feels Arthur shiver under him.
“There is a time and a place, Eames.”
“Not going to fuck you, pet.”
“Oh.” Arthur sounds almost disappointed, but doesn’t say more, his body relaxing against Eames’, his palms moving along Eames’ back. Eames would fuck him if he didn’t think it would make his brain implode, the smells and sounds of sex, when Arthur already smells so good, and sounds so amazing, and Eames is so hard in his slacks, just from this, just from them, rubbing against each other. He runs his nose down along the curve of Arthur’s shoulder, smelling Tide and iron and sweat. He pauses for a second just over Arthur’s armpit, inhaling as deep as he can, eyes closed and mind reeling. Here, Arthur smells so much like Arthur, the Arthur Eames meets all over again every morning when they wake up, when his hair isn’t done and his clothes aren’t on. It’s mindblowing.
“I thought something was going on in the dream. You were really twitchy, when usually, you barely ever move.”
Eames grins up at Arthur, his Arthur, always noticing the smallest details. Then he drops to his knees, hands at Arthur’s belt, opening it deftly, listening to the way Arthur gasps. “Everything is fine, Arthur.”
The name sounds sweet on his lips, on his tongue. Eames smiles and pushes the tails of Arthur’s shirt out of the way once he’s opened his pants, licking a stripe up to Arthur’s belly button, feeling the coarse hairs scrape his tongue. Here, Arthur smells darker, like arousal and like he does after a long chase on foot, a smell he doesn’t share with anyone, a smell he tries to get rid of in the shower every morning. Eames loves it.
Eames almost comes in his pants when he licks the tip of Arthur’s hard cock, because it’s all too much and the knowledge that Arthur got hard just by getting touched by Eames is something that will never not make him lose his mind. The power is overwhelming if not something he can use to his advantage, since Arthur has the exact same hold on him, completely and thoroughly having Eames at his beck and call.
He can’t help it – he sniffs around, the clean, hot smell of Arthur’s cock and he moves slowly, re-learning all over again how Arthur feels in his mouth, sliding him inside deeper and listening eagerly to the soft keening noises escaping Arthur, feeling Arthur’s fingers digging into his shoulders. There’s a time and a place, Eames, Arthur said a few minutes prior, but right now it doesn’t seem to matter anymore, that they can hear Yusuf and Ariadne chat on the other side of the door.
“Eames,” Arthur says, voice broken and soft, and it’s a new wonder for Eames, who slows down and sucks harder, keeping pressure tight as he rubs circles over Arthur’s hips, the skin so fucking soft and the hipbones underneath so prominent and sharp and wonderful. Eames wants to touch Arthur forever, keep him right here, right here, in this cloud of smells and memories and low voices that Eames knows will end way too soon.
He keeps on, breathing slow and steady through his nose and taking in all the different smells Arthur carries with him unconsciously, beautiful and strong and giving him even more of a personality, and he sucks Arthur’s cock with determination and drive, tasting him all over. Eames comes first, without a hand anywhere near his cock, still trapped in his pants, just from this, Arthur. And he chokes a little and moans around Arthur’s cock and that’s that, they’re both gone, Arthur coming down Eames’ throat with fingers tugging at Eames’ hair, calling out Eames’ name in a whisper.
Eames runs a hand over his mouth when he pulls away, resting his forehead against Arthur’s thigh, pressing his nose against the skin, breathing hard. After a moment, Arthur slides down and grabs Eames’ face in his hands, forcing their eyes to meet. He’s flushed, fresh sweat covering some of the sandalwood. When Eames closes his eyes, he can see Arthur through the way he smells.
“Your pupils.”
Eames opens his eyes again. “Hmm?” He leans closer, sniffing around Arthur’s neck again. Arthur groans, and he tenses up a little, like every time he suddenly gets something.
“Fuck, heightened senses, really? Is that why you keep on sniffing me? Why didn’t you say something? For a second I thought you were in heat.”
“Well, by the way you smell, for a second I thought you were in heat.”
“Asshole. We need to tell Yusuf, maybe he can help.”
Eames shakes his head. “I can sleep it off. It’s not supposed to last.”
Arthur’s eyes darken. “What if it does?”
“Well, if it does, we’ll deal with it then. Come on. Tuck me into bed, Arthur.”
Arthur lets out a long-suffering sigh, but still, he gathers Eames in his arms. Eames, again, pushes his nose in the crook of his armpit for a second, and smiles.