Fic: Tie'd
Sep. 26th, 2010 03:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
salixbabylonTitle: Tie'd
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
salixbabylon
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2884
Disclaimer: Credit goes to Christopher Nolan. I just like making them do naughty things. Thank yous tosarka for the beta!
Summary: Eames has been eyeing Arthur's ties. Arthur has a very creative response...
Tie'd
The seed was planted the first time Arthur grabbed Eames by his hideous tie and dragged him to the bedroom. There was no resistance, not even the semblance of such: Eames’s arms were loose by his sides, passive, and his eyes were curiously eager. Arthur filed the information away for later and fucked him steadily until they both reached a mutually satisfying end.
The time he grabbed Eames’s tie during an argument and shoved it in his mouth to shut him up simply acted as fertilizer. There was no mistaking the gleeful boyish grin around the mouthful of silk and wool - it had been an inoffensive grey one, unextraordinary in every way, from a ready-to-wear shop no more impressive than Marks & Spencer or Men’s Warehouse, and Arthur had no qualms at all about ruining it. There were hundreds more where it had come from.
Ideas grow in directions we don’t intend, organically, absorbing life from the world around them with no one’s input. This idea grew, one tendril at a time, during odd moments for the next few weeks. A windy dreamscape sent Cobb’s and Eames’s ties flying, dancing across their chests, unfettered by waistcoats or high-buttoned jackets. “You always stay so put together, darling,” Eames had said in a voice of amused admiration, eyes focused on Arthur’s tie, neatly tucked where it belonged.
“Half-Windsor, love? I’d have figured you for the full deal,” he’d scolded a week later, watching Arthur dress. Of course Eames had been wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and a hoodie, going for the chav look that never quite fit him despite all the tattoos. The middle class was an uncomfortable place to grow up in England.
Arthur had raised a brow. “It seemed overly formal for a meeting at 4:00 AM.”
Eames had laughed, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s waist and helping with the buttons of the waistcoat. “Shall I buy you a morning coat, so you’ll be properly attired for all our pre-noon engagements?”
Arthur had had no choice but to elbow him hard in the ribs.
The idea finally sprouted forth in full bloom one evening while Arthur was undressing, placing his clothes carefully on the valet stand, shoes tucked underneath, sweater-vest hung up, socks and soiled shirt in the laundry. He caught Eames watching, eyes intent, as he deftly rolled up his tie to prevent it creasing in his suitcase tomorrow. At first Arthur had had a flash of embarrassment; he tended to indulge in a moment of sensual enjoyment as he rolled his ties, letting his fingers stroke the cool, smooth silk, the balance of weight and flimsiness, the maleness of a tie. (Secretly, he wished cravats were everyday-wear, but alas. Still, the advantage of not being imprisoned or worse for liking to suck cock made up for a few modern inelegances.)
The flight the next day, from Singapore to Los Angeles afforded him plenty of time to plan. The fact that Eames had chattered incessantly and tried to strike up no less than five conversations about the celebrities featured in the magazine he’d bought at the airport only added incentive. The man was a nightmare to fly with, twitchy and loud and easily bored. On the positive side, Eames had been a member of the Mile-High club for ages and had no (well, little) interest in trying to cram the two of them into the airplane toilet for uncomfortable and unsatisfying sex. The blankets they were given did afford him the veil of secrecy necessary to sneak his hands into Arthur’s lap an inappropriate number of times (anything greater than zero). When Arthur only allowed a few gropes and squeezes, enough to let his cock fill enough to show interest but not enough for it to grant permission which Arthur would have to override, Eames gave up and finally went to sleep. It was like flying with a handsy, perverted child.
The jet lag failed to affect either of them very much anymore, and they fell into the comfortable routine of Eames going for take-out while Arthur settled in and replied to whatever emails had arrived while he was unavailable on the flight. This time, however, as soon as Eames had gone he made a direct line to the nearest thrift store and selected a number of garish, hideous, and wide ties. Two of the fifteen were surprisingly handmade from small shops Arthur had frequented before, and although they were over a decade (or three) old it was something of a shame to find them tangled with polyester tragedies and being sold for less than a dollar. He consoled himself as he bought them by making plans to give them places of honor that evening. Back home, he put some low music on the stereo; the rooms were already tidy and didn’t need any special preparation beyond the bag of ties stowed under the bed.
When he returned, Eames raised an eyebrow at the music, aware that something was up. “Is this Barbara?”
Arthur decided to give his lover the benefit of the doubt that he wasn’t uncouth enough to mistake the French chanteuse for Barbara Streisand, despite his horrific Anglicized pronunciation of her name, and nodded.
They ate leisurely: Eames obviously a touch on edge and Arthur refusing to rush. When he had time, he liked to let his inner hedonist savor the pleasures of the flesh: good food, hot baths, the texture of fine fabrics. Eames’s eternal impatience was simply another layer of flavor for Arthur’s palate tonight. The frustrated curiosity that poured off Eames when Arthur opened his laptop after the dinner dishes had been put away was better than any dessert.
When it seemed like Eames had fiddled with every object d’art in Arthur’s flat and was about to break, either figuratively or literally starting to smash things, Arthur smiled. “Undress and get on the bed.”
Eames hesitated on purpose, to let Arthur know that he was being accommodated and indulged, but then did as he was told. Eames knew he’d be far more likely to find out what Arthur was up to if he played along - and it wasn’t as if he minded being naked and subject to Arthur’s naked-related whims. They generally worked out rather well for him.
Arthur ignored him, turning off unneeded lamps, putting his computer on standby, feeling Eames’s eyes tracking every move. Finally he came to stand beside his valet, an antique number which had possibly belonged to Fred Astaire if the dealer could be believed, which Arthur didn’t, but it was still very nice. Shoes unlaced and slowly slipped off. Socks taken to the laundry basket. Belt on the appropriate hook. Slate-blue tie loosened. His cufflinks safely nestled into their velveteen slots. Wristwatch and wallet and miscellaneous pocket detritus on the small shelf. Light blue shirt untucked, unbuttoned, added to the laundry; no waistcoat today.
The heat of Eames’s impatience only made Arthur slow down. He pivoted to the side, bending more than necessary as he slid the dark trousers down his legs, letting his boxer briefs creep into the crack of his ass as he stood again. He didn’t resist the hint of a smile pulling at his lips when Eames groaned, watching him. He folded the trousers so the creases were straight and hung them up before turning around. Now clad in heather-grey boxers, a grey T-shirt, slate-blue puppytooth-check tie, his hair slightly mussed, cock more than half-hard, Arthur didn’t need to see the hungry look on Eames’s face to know he looked good. It was most enjoyable, though.
“Arm,” he said, coming to stand by the bed. Eames obliged, and Arthur retrieved two ties from the hidden bag. One he wrapped around Eames’s wrist, sleek silk tickling the skin of Eames’s forearm. The second tie secured the now-padded wrist to the headboard. Eames’s eyes sparkled and he grinned, cock jerking eagerly.
In very little time, eight ties had been used to fully secure Eames to the bed, bonds carefully wrapped and secured to prevent injury; Arthur was nothing if not meticulous. No one was getting hurt on his watch, unless that was his intention… which wasn’t a bad idea, actually; he took one of the thinner ties, doubled it up, and whipped Eames’s chest with it. It made a pleasing whistle through the air, followed by a smack, and a highly pleasing yelp from Eames.
Arthur raised an eyebrow and paused for an objection. None came; Eames shifted in the bonds, more of a writhe than protest of any sort. Arthur smiled and struck again, and again. Nipples, arms, belly, shaft of his cock; nowhere was safe. He added one tie as a blindfold, so his lover couldn’t anticipate the next blow, and was satisfied with the results.
When Eames was flushed pink and breathing harder, Arthur paused again, this time to remove his clothes. Two more ties also found homes around each of Eames’s well-muscled arms, candy-striping around his biceps like ribbons on a present. His thighs were decorated similarly.
“What are you doing, love?” Eames asked when Arthur took too long, staring at him. God, he was gorgeous like this, spread all across the bed like GQ porn….
Arthur climbed on top, straddling Eames before he answered. “Planning.” He removed the tie from Eames’s eyes and slid a pillow beneath his head. “You’ll want to see this, I think.”
“I like it already,” Eames purred, eyeing Arthur, naked on his lap, in nothing but a tie.
Sliding back, Arthur rolled his eyes. “I meant this.” Deft fingers wrapped the former-blindfold tightly around Eames’s cock and balls. Once it was snug, he glanced at Eames to make sure it was all right, and got a nod. He licked his lips to get them nice and wet, grinning at the moan that got, and then bent to lick delicately at Eames’s straining cock. He teased with tiny kitten licks up and down the length, noting how much harder his lover’s cock grew, how the maroon color deepened, how the head of his cock became more and more taut, like a ripe plum, nearly bursting. It was irresistible, so Arthur nibbled, gently, dragging his teeth over the too-sensitive flesh.
“Please?”
Arthur pretended to consider for a moment, meeting Eames’s gaze mischievously, then let his eyes close halfway as he took Eames’s entire cock into his mouth.
“Oh God yes….”
Arthur chuckled, letting his amusement reverberate against the flesh in his mouth, and was rewarded with more groans and invocations to deities. He used one end of the tie to pull Eames’s dick upright, towards his mouth, while the other hand cupped and gently stroked his balls with the wide end of the silky tie. He gave Eames a while to enjoy it, until his lover was jerking at the restraints involuntarily, overstimulated, with no hope of escape.
He wasn’t unaffected, himself; Arthur was hard and he’d been pressing against the bed, slowly grinding his cock against it, letting Eames’s abandon wash over him and carry him along, too. He pulled away, licking his lips as he considered. One more tie: he took the particularly hideous paisley one he’d set aside and slid it behind Eames’s neck. A sloppy four-in-hand later and he stepped back to contemplate the effect, then nodded, smirking as he climbed atop Eames again.
“Doing all right?”
“Very, very much so,” Eames said with a glazed smile.
“Think you can handle a bit more?”
“For you? Always.”
Trying to attribute the sudden flush in his cheeks to arousal, Arthur grabbed the lubricant from beside the bed and squirted a healthy amount into his palm. He prepared himself quickly, slid a condom onto Eames’s cock, and eased down.
“Look at me.” When Eames opened his eyes again, Arthur leaned forward, both of them groaning as one hand went to Eames’s shoulder, the other to the tie around his neck, and Arthur began to move. The stimulation against his prostate was delicious, as was being in control like this, Eames letting him do this, Eames losing his fucking mind from this, a stream of pleas spilling from his mouth. Arthur jerked on the tie around Eames’s neck, relentlessly demanding eye contact. Eames was making an effort, for sure, but not having much success. Understandable, when he was covered in ties, bound, and being fucked out of control, totally unable to come thanks to the binding around his balls.
It was too much for Arthur to last very long, and besides, he still had plans. He sat back, grinding so that the fat head of Eames’s cock rubbed him inside, perfect, and retrieved the loose end of the cock-ring tie. “Filthy,” he commented, and it was. “Lube and precome and my asshole, all over the silk.”
Eames made a broken noise, hands fisting around his restraints.
“I think you should see this,” Arthur moaned, wrapping the end of the tie around his cock and stroking off. He rocked back and forth as the pressure inside and out started to boil over, letting his head fall to the side, eyes closed as pleasure filled him, more and more and more, until finally he spilled, soaking the tie in his hand.
“Arthur, please!”
Eames’s imploring tone caused another shudder to travel through Arthur’s body, squeezing the still-rock-hard cock in his ass. Slowly he tipped forward, holding his body away from the mess covering Eames’s chest, and kissed him. Arthur’s lips may have been languorous and satiated, but Eames’s were hungry, devouring, greedy.
“Seriously, darling, please” was the broken entreaty he got when their mouths finally separated.
“All right, shh. Just one more thing, and I’ll let you come, all right?” Eames groaned in protest but nodded, and Arthur slowly pulled up and off of his cock. Satiated, he took a moment to let his limbs stretch out, moving them carefully while his lover watched in helpless frustration.
Arthur untied one ankle, then the other, and removed the final item from the bag under the bed.
“What the hell is that?” Eames asked, surprised out of his aroused haze.
“It’s a condom dildo… Stuffed with ties.”
“Well, aren’t you the DIY sort tonight….”
Arthur smacked him on the inside of one thigh. “Legs up. Or do I need to tie them to your arms after all?”
“Just fuck me already, you bastard.”
The homemade dildo was disturbingly lightweight but filled the condom to taut fullness. Arthur had followed the directions on the internet and then added some extra layers for “ribbing.” He slicked up the latex and teased it against Eames’s asshole, which relaxed eagerly and accepted the intrusion. Eames swore under his breath, above.
“Well? What do you think?”
“I can’t believe you’re fucking me with a tie,” Eames protested, groaning. “You kinky little fucker.”
“Three ties, actually. And you’ve no idea,” Arthur said, thrusting the toy in deep, experimenting until he got a noise that told him he’d found the right spot. “In fact…” He let go of the leg he was holding up and wiped the tie Eames was wearing around his throat through the sticky splatters that Arthur had left on his chest. He rubbed the come-soaked silk against Eames’s lips, and when he opened them, pushed the fabric inside.
Eames gurgled, then made sucking noises that almost had Arthur hard again. “Ready?” he asked. Without waiting for a reply, he loosened the improvised cock-ring, wrapping the fabric around Eames’s now deeply purple dick, and started milking it in time with the thrusts of the dildo in Eames’s ass.
Eames had been far too aroused for far too long for it to last, but that had rather been Arthur’s intention so he wasn’t at all displeased when Eames began to shake. Muscles clenched involuntarily, arms jerking hard at the restraints on the headboard, jaw clenching, teeth chewing on the tie in his mouth. His feet slammed into the bed, pelvis heaving upward, and Eames hovered for a moment, balls gone impossibly tight. Arthur rubbed his fingertips through the silk covering Eames’s cockhead, and his lover came crashing down to the bed with a roar, ejaculate shooting all the way up to his shoulders, neck, face, coming utterly untied.
Arthur climbed back onto the bed, settling down next to Eames, not quite cuddling, just touching as Eames relaxed, the occasional final shudders still passing through his body. Arthur trailed his fingers along flesh and silk, indulging himself as he untied the final bonds from the headboard and left the rest.
Finally Eames turned his head to the side and kissed him. “Wonderful. Didn’t know you had it in you.”
Arthur shrugged as best he could while lying down. “You seemed to have an appreciation for my wardrobe that went beyond envy. When I figured out you had a tie fetish, it wasn’t difficult to plan something that would use them.”
Eames chuckled, wrapping Arthur in a warm embrace, heedless of the sticky mess spreading between them. “You’re very thoughtful, darling, but you’re wrong. It’s not a tie fetish; it’s an Arthur fetish.”
Rolling his eyes, Arthur snorted. He never liked being wrong, but in this case he didn’t mind so much. Plus, now he could let go of the tiny but nagging concern that Eames would ruin his wardrobe.
~ end ~
For info on DIY dildos: http://myvag.net/zine/2004summer/condomdildos/
hit counter dreamweaver
Author:
salixbabylonPairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2884
Disclaimer: Credit goes to Christopher Nolan. I just like making them do naughty things. Thank yous to
sarka for the beta!Summary: Eames has been eyeing Arthur's ties. Arthur has a very creative response...
Tie'd
The seed was planted the first time Arthur grabbed Eames by his hideous tie and dragged him to the bedroom. There was no resistance, not even the semblance of such: Eames’s arms were loose by his sides, passive, and his eyes were curiously eager. Arthur filed the information away for later and fucked him steadily until they both reached a mutually satisfying end.
The time he grabbed Eames’s tie during an argument and shoved it in his mouth to shut him up simply acted as fertilizer. There was no mistaking the gleeful boyish grin around the mouthful of silk and wool - it had been an inoffensive grey one, unextraordinary in every way, from a ready-to-wear shop no more impressive than Marks & Spencer or Men’s Warehouse, and Arthur had no qualms at all about ruining it. There were hundreds more where it had come from.
Ideas grow in directions we don’t intend, organically, absorbing life from the world around them with no one’s input. This idea grew, one tendril at a time, during odd moments for the next few weeks. A windy dreamscape sent Cobb’s and Eames’s ties flying, dancing across their chests, unfettered by waistcoats or high-buttoned jackets. “You always stay so put together, darling,” Eames had said in a voice of amused admiration, eyes focused on Arthur’s tie, neatly tucked where it belonged.
“Half-Windsor, love? I’d have figured you for the full deal,” he’d scolded a week later, watching Arthur dress. Of course Eames had been wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and a hoodie, going for the chav look that never quite fit him despite all the tattoos. The middle class was an uncomfortable place to grow up in England.
Arthur had raised a brow. “It seemed overly formal for a meeting at 4:00 AM.”
Eames had laughed, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s waist and helping with the buttons of the waistcoat. “Shall I buy you a morning coat, so you’ll be properly attired for all our pre-noon engagements?”
Arthur had had no choice but to elbow him hard in the ribs.
The idea finally sprouted forth in full bloom one evening while Arthur was undressing, placing his clothes carefully on the valet stand, shoes tucked underneath, sweater-vest hung up, socks and soiled shirt in the laundry. He caught Eames watching, eyes intent, as he deftly rolled up his tie to prevent it creasing in his suitcase tomorrow. At first Arthur had had a flash of embarrassment; he tended to indulge in a moment of sensual enjoyment as he rolled his ties, letting his fingers stroke the cool, smooth silk, the balance of weight and flimsiness, the maleness of a tie. (Secretly, he wished cravats were everyday-wear, but alas. Still, the advantage of not being imprisoned or worse for liking to suck cock made up for a few modern inelegances.)
The flight the next day, from Singapore to Los Angeles afforded him plenty of time to plan. The fact that Eames had chattered incessantly and tried to strike up no less than five conversations about the celebrities featured in the magazine he’d bought at the airport only added incentive. The man was a nightmare to fly with, twitchy and loud and easily bored. On the positive side, Eames had been a member of the Mile-High club for ages and had no (well, little) interest in trying to cram the two of them into the airplane toilet for uncomfortable and unsatisfying sex. The blankets they were given did afford him the veil of secrecy necessary to sneak his hands into Arthur’s lap an inappropriate number of times (anything greater than zero). When Arthur only allowed a few gropes and squeezes, enough to let his cock fill enough to show interest but not enough for it to grant permission which Arthur would have to override, Eames gave up and finally went to sleep. It was like flying with a handsy, perverted child.
The jet lag failed to affect either of them very much anymore, and they fell into the comfortable routine of Eames going for take-out while Arthur settled in and replied to whatever emails had arrived while he was unavailable on the flight. This time, however, as soon as Eames had gone he made a direct line to the nearest thrift store and selected a number of garish, hideous, and wide ties. Two of the fifteen were surprisingly handmade from small shops Arthur had frequented before, and although they were over a decade (or three) old it was something of a shame to find them tangled with polyester tragedies and being sold for less than a dollar. He consoled himself as he bought them by making plans to give them places of honor that evening. Back home, he put some low music on the stereo; the rooms were already tidy and didn’t need any special preparation beyond the bag of ties stowed under the bed.
When he returned, Eames raised an eyebrow at the music, aware that something was up. “Is this Barbara?”
Arthur decided to give his lover the benefit of the doubt that he wasn’t uncouth enough to mistake the French chanteuse for Barbara Streisand, despite his horrific Anglicized pronunciation of her name, and nodded.
They ate leisurely: Eames obviously a touch on edge and Arthur refusing to rush. When he had time, he liked to let his inner hedonist savor the pleasures of the flesh: good food, hot baths, the texture of fine fabrics. Eames’s eternal impatience was simply another layer of flavor for Arthur’s palate tonight. The frustrated curiosity that poured off Eames when Arthur opened his laptop after the dinner dishes had been put away was better than any dessert.
When it seemed like Eames had fiddled with every object d’art in Arthur’s flat and was about to break, either figuratively or literally starting to smash things, Arthur smiled. “Undress and get on the bed.”
Eames hesitated on purpose, to let Arthur know that he was being accommodated and indulged, but then did as he was told. Eames knew he’d be far more likely to find out what Arthur was up to if he played along - and it wasn’t as if he minded being naked and subject to Arthur’s naked-related whims. They generally worked out rather well for him.
Arthur ignored him, turning off unneeded lamps, putting his computer on standby, feeling Eames’s eyes tracking every move. Finally he came to stand beside his valet, an antique number which had possibly belonged to Fred Astaire if the dealer could be believed, which Arthur didn’t, but it was still very nice. Shoes unlaced and slowly slipped off. Socks taken to the laundry basket. Belt on the appropriate hook. Slate-blue tie loosened. His cufflinks safely nestled into their velveteen slots. Wristwatch and wallet and miscellaneous pocket detritus on the small shelf. Light blue shirt untucked, unbuttoned, added to the laundry; no waistcoat today.
The heat of Eames’s impatience only made Arthur slow down. He pivoted to the side, bending more than necessary as he slid the dark trousers down his legs, letting his boxer briefs creep into the crack of his ass as he stood again. He didn’t resist the hint of a smile pulling at his lips when Eames groaned, watching him. He folded the trousers so the creases were straight and hung them up before turning around. Now clad in heather-grey boxers, a grey T-shirt, slate-blue puppytooth-check tie, his hair slightly mussed, cock more than half-hard, Arthur didn’t need to see the hungry look on Eames’s face to know he looked good. It was most enjoyable, though.
“Arm,” he said, coming to stand by the bed. Eames obliged, and Arthur retrieved two ties from the hidden bag. One he wrapped around Eames’s wrist, sleek silk tickling the skin of Eames’s forearm. The second tie secured the now-padded wrist to the headboard. Eames’s eyes sparkled and he grinned, cock jerking eagerly.
In very little time, eight ties had been used to fully secure Eames to the bed, bonds carefully wrapped and secured to prevent injury; Arthur was nothing if not meticulous. No one was getting hurt on his watch, unless that was his intention… which wasn’t a bad idea, actually; he took one of the thinner ties, doubled it up, and whipped Eames’s chest with it. It made a pleasing whistle through the air, followed by a smack, and a highly pleasing yelp from Eames.
Arthur raised an eyebrow and paused for an objection. None came; Eames shifted in the bonds, more of a writhe than protest of any sort. Arthur smiled and struck again, and again. Nipples, arms, belly, shaft of his cock; nowhere was safe. He added one tie as a blindfold, so his lover couldn’t anticipate the next blow, and was satisfied with the results.
When Eames was flushed pink and breathing harder, Arthur paused again, this time to remove his clothes. Two more ties also found homes around each of Eames’s well-muscled arms, candy-striping around his biceps like ribbons on a present. His thighs were decorated similarly.
“What are you doing, love?” Eames asked when Arthur took too long, staring at him. God, he was gorgeous like this, spread all across the bed like GQ porn….
Arthur climbed on top, straddling Eames before he answered. “Planning.” He removed the tie from Eames’s eyes and slid a pillow beneath his head. “You’ll want to see this, I think.”
“I like it already,” Eames purred, eyeing Arthur, naked on his lap, in nothing but a tie.
Sliding back, Arthur rolled his eyes. “I meant this.” Deft fingers wrapped the former-blindfold tightly around Eames’s cock and balls. Once it was snug, he glanced at Eames to make sure it was all right, and got a nod. He licked his lips to get them nice and wet, grinning at the moan that got, and then bent to lick delicately at Eames’s straining cock. He teased with tiny kitten licks up and down the length, noting how much harder his lover’s cock grew, how the maroon color deepened, how the head of his cock became more and more taut, like a ripe plum, nearly bursting. It was irresistible, so Arthur nibbled, gently, dragging his teeth over the too-sensitive flesh.
“Please?”
Arthur pretended to consider for a moment, meeting Eames’s gaze mischievously, then let his eyes close halfway as he took Eames’s entire cock into his mouth.
“Oh God yes….”
Arthur chuckled, letting his amusement reverberate against the flesh in his mouth, and was rewarded with more groans and invocations to deities. He used one end of the tie to pull Eames’s dick upright, towards his mouth, while the other hand cupped and gently stroked his balls with the wide end of the silky tie. He gave Eames a while to enjoy it, until his lover was jerking at the restraints involuntarily, overstimulated, with no hope of escape.
He wasn’t unaffected, himself; Arthur was hard and he’d been pressing against the bed, slowly grinding his cock against it, letting Eames’s abandon wash over him and carry him along, too. He pulled away, licking his lips as he considered. One more tie: he took the particularly hideous paisley one he’d set aside and slid it behind Eames’s neck. A sloppy four-in-hand later and he stepped back to contemplate the effect, then nodded, smirking as he climbed atop Eames again.
“Doing all right?”
“Very, very much so,” Eames said with a glazed smile.
“Think you can handle a bit more?”
“For you? Always.”
Trying to attribute the sudden flush in his cheeks to arousal, Arthur grabbed the lubricant from beside the bed and squirted a healthy amount into his palm. He prepared himself quickly, slid a condom onto Eames’s cock, and eased down.
“Look at me.” When Eames opened his eyes again, Arthur leaned forward, both of them groaning as one hand went to Eames’s shoulder, the other to the tie around his neck, and Arthur began to move. The stimulation against his prostate was delicious, as was being in control like this, Eames letting him do this, Eames losing his fucking mind from this, a stream of pleas spilling from his mouth. Arthur jerked on the tie around Eames’s neck, relentlessly demanding eye contact. Eames was making an effort, for sure, but not having much success. Understandable, when he was covered in ties, bound, and being fucked out of control, totally unable to come thanks to the binding around his balls.
It was too much for Arthur to last very long, and besides, he still had plans. He sat back, grinding so that the fat head of Eames’s cock rubbed him inside, perfect, and retrieved the loose end of the cock-ring tie. “Filthy,” he commented, and it was. “Lube and precome and my asshole, all over the silk.”
Eames made a broken noise, hands fisting around his restraints.
“I think you should see this,” Arthur moaned, wrapping the end of the tie around his cock and stroking off. He rocked back and forth as the pressure inside and out started to boil over, letting his head fall to the side, eyes closed as pleasure filled him, more and more and more, until finally he spilled, soaking the tie in his hand.
“Arthur, please!”
Eames’s imploring tone caused another shudder to travel through Arthur’s body, squeezing the still-rock-hard cock in his ass. Slowly he tipped forward, holding his body away from the mess covering Eames’s chest, and kissed him. Arthur’s lips may have been languorous and satiated, but Eames’s were hungry, devouring, greedy.
“Seriously, darling, please” was the broken entreaty he got when their mouths finally separated.
“All right, shh. Just one more thing, and I’ll let you come, all right?” Eames groaned in protest but nodded, and Arthur slowly pulled up and off of his cock. Satiated, he took a moment to let his limbs stretch out, moving them carefully while his lover watched in helpless frustration.
Arthur untied one ankle, then the other, and removed the final item from the bag under the bed.
“What the hell is that?” Eames asked, surprised out of his aroused haze.
“It’s a condom dildo… Stuffed with ties.”
“Well, aren’t you the DIY sort tonight….”
Arthur smacked him on the inside of one thigh. “Legs up. Or do I need to tie them to your arms after all?”
“Just fuck me already, you bastard.”
The homemade dildo was disturbingly lightweight but filled the condom to taut fullness. Arthur had followed the directions on the internet and then added some extra layers for “ribbing.” He slicked up the latex and teased it against Eames’s asshole, which relaxed eagerly and accepted the intrusion. Eames swore under his breath, above.
“Well? What do you think?”
“I can’t believe you’re fucking me with a tie,” Eames protested, groaning. “You kinky little fucker.”
“Three ties, actually. And you’ve no idea,” Arthur said, thrusting the toy in deep, experimenting until he got a noise that told him he’d found the right spot. “In fact…” He let go of the leg he was holding up and wiped the tie Eames was wearing around his throat through the sticky splatters that Arthur had left on his chest. He rubbed the come-soaked silk against Eames’s lips, and when he opened them, pushed the fabric inside.
Eames gurgled, then made sucking noises that almost had Arthur hard again. “Ready?” he asked. Without waiting for a reply, he loosened the improvised cock-ring, wrapping the fabric around Eames’s now deeply purple dick, and started milking it in time with the thrusts of the dildo in Eames’s ass.
Eames had been far too aroused for far too long for it to last, but that had rather been Arthur’s intention so he wasn’t at all displeased when Eames began to shake. Muscles clenched involuntarily, arms jerking hard at the restraints on the headboard, jaw clenching, teeth chewing on the tie in his mouth. His feet slammed into the bed, pelvis heaving upward, and Eames hovered for a moment, balls gone impossibly tight. Arthur rubbed his fingertips through the silk covering Eames’s cockhead, and his lover came crashing down to the bed with a roar, ejaculate shooting all the way up to his shoulders, neck, face, coming utterly untied.
Arthur climbed back onto the bed, settling down next to Eames, not quite cuddling, just touching as Eames relaxed, the occasional final shudders still passing through his body. Arthur trailed his fingers along flesh and silk, indulging himself as he untied the final bonds from the headboard and left the rest.
Finally Eames turned his head to the side and kissed him. “Wonderful. Didn’t know you had it in you.”
Arthur shrugged as best he could while lying down. “You seemed to have an appreciation for my wardrobe that went beyond envy. When I figured out you had a tie fetish, it wasn’t difficult to plan something that would use them.”
Eames chuckled, wrapping Arthur in a warm embrace, heedless of the sticky mess spreading between them. “You’re very thoughtful, darling, but you’re wrong. It’s not a tie fetish; it’s an Arthur fetish.”
Rolling his eyes, Arthur snorted. He never liked being wrong, but in this case he didn’t mind so much. Plus, now he could let go of the tiny but nagging concern that Eames would ruin his wardrobe.
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