Fic: Eye of the Beholder
Sep. 26th, 2010 12:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
salixbabylonTitle: Eye of the Beholder
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
salixbabylon
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1516
Disclaimer: Credit goes to Christopher Nolan. I just like making them do naughty things. Thank yous tosarka for the beta!
Summary: Forlive_laugh_love, who asked for "someone getting fucked like nobody's business up against a window." Hope you like it, m'dear!
Eye of the Beholder
“They’re watching us, you know.”
“I know.”
“But you’re letting me do this anyway,” Eames said, sliding forward again, pressing deeper inside Arthur’s arse.
“I tried to stop you,” Arthur disagreed.
“That’s right, darling, you did try. It’s not your fault you failed, when I’m so much bigger and stronger than you are.”
“Oh fuck off.”
“Mmmmm. I am.”
Eames pushed forward again, arms tightening around Arthur’s body, one hand on his hip, the other on his chest. Arthur’s hands slipped on the glass of the windowpane, a little more with each thrust, and he had to reposition them every forth stroke or so.
“You’ve done this before, haven’t you? From the other side, I mean,” Eames clarified before Arthur could do more than sputter a bit in indignation. “Watched from a high-rise across the way. Scope or binoculars?”
“Scope. Not that I was ‘watching’; not everyone is as much a slave to their baser urges as you are.”
Eames chuckled, a small breathless noise of amusement. “My baser urges seem to have two slaves tonight, pet.” Arthur made another noise, disagreement or protest this time, but a change in angle made it morph into a low moan before he could form words. “So you watched a couple fucking, like this - up against a window, hundreds of feet above the world, backlit and visible to anyone looking from scores of other windows, just like we are?”
“Mmm.”
“Did it turn you on?” Eames teased, one hand going down to stroke Arthur’s cock for a moment before cupping his bollocks in a light grip as he fucked him a little faster.
“Assassination rarely makes me hard,” Arthur managed to say. The shimmer of reflection in the window showed a face flushed with arousal, hair in disarray, temples wet with sweat, and lips thin with contrariness; one of Eames’s favorite looks on Arthur.
He grinned. “But not never? I knew a pervert lurked within you, love.”
“There’s only one pervert in me,” Arthur said, and a person had to know him rather well to hear the amusement in his voice. It was probably arousal that let Eames get away with the pun, but he wasn’t going to argue.
“Was it like this? Two blokes, I mean, or a man and a woman?”
“Men. Oh God.” He made a breathless noise of pleasure as Eames shifted angles and evidently hit the right spot.
Arthur’s hands slipped again, palms sweating as Eames thrust steadily forward and back. Their clothes lay strewn about the penthouse floor, Eames’s mostly near the door, but Arthur’s multi-piece ensemble had left an incriminating trail. The lamp was knocked over, a mess of glass and metal that hinted only minimally at the struggle that had resulted in the overhead light being turned on instead. One of Eames’s better machinations, he thought, because neither he nor Arthur were exactly going to stop to turn off the lights once they’d got started. Not if he was doing it right, that is.
“Men. And the top. Was slightly shadowed. But the bottom. Was totally visible?” Eames asked, losing control over his breathing for a moment, working faster. Arthur’s body was exquisite.
“Yes.”
“Like us?”
Arthur whimpered, but it sounded more like pleasure than protest. “Yessss…”
“In Chicago, yes? Three years ago?”
Silence, punctuated only by a bit of a pause, and then a gasp. The latter may have been the result of a well-aimed thrust on Eames’s part, perhaps, but he rather hoped not.
“Well?”
“Yes,” Arthur grudgingly gave up, conceding defeat.
“It’s not nice to shoot someone mid-coitus, darling. Very bad manners.”
“Hmm.”
“Not to mention the complex it gives the bottom.”
Arthur’s hands slipped again. “That was…?”
“It was,” Eames agreed. “Set me back a week or two of work, I might add.”
“Well, good thing you’re getting payback now, then,” Arthur noted, bracing himself against the particularly hard thrusts that accompanied Eames’s scolding.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Arthur; I’d say you’re worth more than that job would have paid if I’d beaten you and…?”
“Cobb, yes.”
“…Cobb to it.”
Eames’s hands tightened on Arthur’s bollocks for a moment, before he backed off and wrapped them around the straining length of his erection instead. Moisture had collected at the tip, and Eames took a moment to spread it around with his thumb before slowly pulling in time with his strokes, harder, and gaining speed.
“I didn’t know you shot people in reality, Arthur. You are a dangerous one, aren’t you?”
“Only him. Besides, I only. Hit him in – ooohh... In the shoulder.”
“Interrupting a perfectly good screw,” Eames pointed out. It took some effort to keep his voice steady, but Arthur always required effort of a sort.
“I’m not… I’m not an assassin. Not really. I wouldn’t kill someone.”
“Hush, I know. You’re not the type – unless you’re asleep.”
There was a squeak on the glass this time when Arthur’s hands slipped. “Fucked many assassins?” Arthur asked, or gasped, really.
“Awake? No. You’re special, love.”
That got him a snort, but also a squeeze as Arthur shifted his weight and his arse contracted around Eames’s cock. Such a lovely arse it was, too, small and compact and tight. The man gave “anal retentive” an all new – and delightful – meaning.
“You hate the idea that someone is watching, don’t you?” he breathed into the spot behind Arthur’s ear.
“Yes. Damnit, come on – fuck me.”
Eames smiled, knowing Arthur couldn’t see him unless he looked into the reflection in the glass. That desperate note in the other man’s voice was what he’d been waiting for. Their banter was good; it was brilliant, the best sort of foreplay with a man like Arthur because the moment he stopped arguing was the moment he gave in, let go, gave himself to Eames. Those moments came and went in the course of sex, but this one, now, after Eames had been fucking him for a while, teasing and touching inside and outside Arthur’s body and inside his mind, this was the best moment. This one meant Eames could release his tenuous control and fuck as hard and deep as they both needed, without words, until they both came. It was always a struggle, with Arthur, a game to see which of them would break first. Eames played to win. It was a rare coincidence that both of their totems were for games of chance.
“I thought I’d been fucking you; hadn’t you noticed?” he asked. The hand on Arthur’s chest moved to grasp his shoulder instead, pulling his entire body back onto Eames’s cock, moving him roughly, using Eames’s strength to overpower any resistance Arthur might dredge up.
“Mmmm, ah. I noticed.”
“As did the person watching, I’m sure. Is it Ariadne, do you think? She seems a bit naughty.”
“God, do you ever shut up?” Arthur asked, jerking his hips back, meeting Eames’s thrusts greedily.
“Saito maybe? The man’s a known voyeur, after all…” That suggestion only got a strangled moan; Arthur’s reflection was biting his lip. “Does he make you hot? Or is it the idea, that it could be anyone watching us? That shadow, across the way, third floor down. Anyone at all….”
“Oh God.”
“Mmm… Anyone could be in that room, watching you, seeing you getting your delightfully tight arse fucked. See you, like this, bent over, face red, hair mussed. One sock still on. Letting me.”
Arthur’s breath had grown ragged as Eames spoke, rapidly approaching the finish, cock leaking steadily in the tight grip of Eames’s hand.
“See you like I see you,” he said, lips moving against Arthur’s shoulder.
A helpless noise, not a shout but a moan of release, of surrender, accompanied the sudden tightening of every muscle in Arthur’s body as he spilled over Eames’s hand. Monumental effort was required to hold them both upright as Eames also succumbed, shaking through his own climax, supporting Arthur’s suddenly limp body. A moment later they collapsed forward against the window, Arthur’s sweat leaving streaks and flesh-prints that would incriminate them even if there had been no witness.
Across the way, the glint of light on the lens of a telescope flickered briefly, and then was obscured by what was probably the drop of a curtain. Eames smiled, contentment, satisfaction, and amusement blending together. Arthur’s eyes were still closed, satiated, but also withdrawing back into himself.
In a moment they would move, pull apart, dress. Their heavy penthouse drapes would close if Arthur had his way, or he would retreat to the en suite. Eames, comfortably nude, would wave at the window, in case the watcher was still there. Then he would join Arthur in the shower, harassing him until either Arthur departed or they began a second round. This time would be on the bed, perhaps, and maybe Arthur would top. Maybe he would tie Eames to the headboard, blindfold him, make him beg to be fucked.
Eames wouldn’t mind. Sometimes you have to lose a few battles to reach victory in the end. After all, winning is in the eye of the beholder.
~end~
counter
Author:
salixbabylonPairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1516
Disclaimer: Credit goes to Christopher Nolan. I just like making them do naughty things. Thank yous to
sarka for the beta!Summary: For
live_laugh_love, who asked for "someone getting fucked like nobody's business up against a window." Hope you like it, m'dear!Eye of the Beholder
“They’re watching us, you know.”
“I know.”
“But you’re letting me do this anyway,” Eames said, sliding forward again, pressing deeper inside Arthur’s arse.
“I tried to stop you,” Arthur disagreed.
“That’s right, darling, you did try. It’s not your fault you failed, when I’m so much bigger and stronger than you are.”
“Oh fuck off.”
“Mmmmm. I am.”
Eames pushed forward again, arms tightening around Arthur’s body, one hand on his hip, the other on his chest. Arthur’s hands slipped on the glass of the windowpane, a little more with each thrust, and he had to reposition them every forth stroke or so.
“You’ve done this before, haven’t you? From the other side, I mean,” Eames clarified before Arthur could do more than sputter a bit in indignation. “Watched from a high-rise across the way. Scope or binoculars?”
“Scope. Not that I was ‘watching’; not everyone is as much a slave to their baser urges as you are.”
Eames chuckled, a small breathless noise of amusement. “My baser urges seem to have two slaves tonight, pet.” Arthur made another noise, disagreement or protest this time, but a change in angle made it morph into a low moan before he could form words. “So you watched a couple fucking, like this - up against a window, hundreds of feet above the world, backlit and visible to anyone looking from scores of other windows, just like we are?”
“Mmm.”
“Did it turn you on?” Eames teased, one hand going down to stroke Arthur’s cock for a moment before cupping his bollocks in a light grip as he fucked him a little faster.
“Assassination rarely makes me hard,” Arthur managed to say. The shimmer of reflection in the window showed a face flushed with arousal, hair in disarray, temples wet with sweat, and lips thin with contrariness; one of Eames’s favorite looks on Arthur.
He grinned. “But not never? I knew a pervert lurked within you, love.”
“There’s only one pervert in me,” Arthur said, and a person had to know him rather well to hear the amusement in his voice. It was probably arousal that let Eames get away with the pun, but he wasn’t going to argue.
“Was it like this? Two blokes, I mean, or a man and a woman?”
“Men. Oh God.” He made a breathless noise of pleasure as Eames shifted angles and evidently hit the right spot.
Arthur’s hands slipped again, palms sweating as Eames thrust steadily forward and back. Their clothes lay strewn about the penthouse floor, Eames’s mostly near the door, but Arthur’s multi-piece ensemble had left an incriminating trail. The lamp was knocked over, a mess of glass and metal that hinted only minimally at the struggle that had resulted in the overhead light being turned on instead. One of Eames’s better machinations, he thought, because neither he nor Arthur were exactly going to stop to turn off the lights once they’d got started. Not if he was doing it right, that is.
“Men. And the top. Was slightly shadowed. But the bottom. Was totally visible?” Eames asked, losing control over his breathing for a moment, working faster. Arthur’s body was exquisite.
“Yes.”
“Like us?”
Arthur whimpered, but it sounded more like pleasure than protest. “Yessss…”
“In Chicago, yes? Three years ago?”
Silence, punctuated only by a bit of a pause, and then a gasp. The latter may have been the result of a well-aimed thrust on Eames’s part, perhaps, but he rather hoped not.
“Well?”
“Yes,” Arthur grudgingly gave up, conceding defeat.
“It’s not nice to shoot someone mid-coitus, darling. Very bad manners.”
“Hmm.”
“Not to mention the complex it gives the bottom.”
Arthur’s hands slipped again. “That was…?”
“It was,” Eames agreed. “Set me back a week or two of work, I might add.”
“Well, good thing you’re getting payback now, then,” Arthur noted, bracing himself against the particularly hard thrusts that accompanied Eames’s scolding.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Arthur; I’d say you’re worth more than that job would have paid if I’d beaten you and…?”
“Cobb, yes.”
“…Cobb to it.”
Eames’s hands tightened on Arthur’s bollocks for a moment, before he backed off and wrapped them around the straining length of his erection instead. Moisture had collected at the tip, and Eames took a moment to spread it around with his thumb before slowly pulling in time with his strokes, harder, and gaining speed.
“I didn’t know you shot people in reality, Arthur. You are a dangerous one, aren’t you?”
“Only him. Besides, I only. Hit him in – ooohh... In the shoulder.”
“Interrupting a perfectly good screw,” Eames pointed out. It took some effort to keep his voice steady, but Arthur always required effort of a sort.
“I’m not… I’m not an assassin. Not really. I wouldn’t kill someone.”
“Hush, I know. You’re not the type – unless you’re asleep.”
There was a squeak on the glass this time when Arthur’s hands slipped. “Fucked many assassins?” Arthur asked, or gasped, really.
“Awake? No. You’re special, love.”
That got him a snort, but also a squeeze as Arthur shifted his weight and his arse contracted around Eames’s cock. Such a lovely arse it was, too, small and compact and tight. The man gave “anal retentive” an all new – and delightful – meaning.
“You hate the idea that someone is watching, don’t you?” he breathed into the spot behind Arthur’s ear.
“Yes. Damnit, come on – fuck me.”
Eames smiled, knowing Arthur couldn’t see him unless he looked into the reflection in the glass. That desperate note in the other man’s voice was what he’d been waiting for. Their banter was good; it was brilliant, the best sort of foreplay with a man like Arthur because the moment he stopped arguing was the moment he gave in, let go, gave himself to Eames. Those moments came and went in the course of sex, but this one, now, after Eames had been fucking him for a while, teasing and touching inside and outside Arthur’s body and inside his mind, this was the best moment. This one meant Eames could release his tenuous control and fuck as hard and deep as they both needed, without words, until they both came. It was always a struggle, with Arthur, a game to see which of them would break first. Eames played to win. It was a rare coincidence that both of their totems were for games of chance.
“I thought I’d been fucking you; hadn’t you noticed?” he asked. The hand on Arthur’s chest moved to grasp his shoulder instead, pulling his entire body back onto Eames’s cock, moving him roughly, using Eames’s strength to overpower any resistance Arthur might dredge up.
“Mmmm, ah. I noticed.”
“As did the person watching, I’m sure. Is it Ariadne, do you think? She seems a bit naughty.”
“God, do you ever shut up?” Arthur asked, jerking his hips back, meeting Eames’s thrusts greedily.
“Saito maybe? The man’s a known voyeur, after all…” That suggestion only got a strangled moan; Arthur’s reflection was biting his lip. “Does he make you hot? Or is it the idea, that it could be anyone watching us? That shadow, across the way, third floor down. Anyone at all….”
“Oh God.”
“Mmm… Anyone could be in that room, watching you, seeing you getting your delightfully tight arse fucked. See you, like this, bent over, face red, hair mussed. One sock still on. Letting me.”
Arthur’s breath had grown ragged as Eames spoke, rapidly approaching the finish, cock leaking steadily in the tight grip of Eames’s hand.
“See you like I see you,” he said, lips moving against Arthur’s shoulder.
A helpless noise, not a shout but a moan of release, of surrender, accompanied the sudden tightening of every muscle in Arthur’s body as he spilled over Eames’s hand. Monumental effort was required to hold them both upright as Eames also succumbed, shaking through his own climax, supporting Arthur’s suddenly limp body. A moment later they collapsed forward against the window, Arthur’s sweat leaving streaks and flesh-prints that would incriminate them even if there had been no witness.
Across the way, the glint of light on the lens of a telescope flickered briefly, and then was obscured by what was probably the drop of a curtain. Eames smiled, contentment, satisfaction, and amusement blending together. Arthur’s eyes were still closed, satiated, but also withdrawing back into himself.
In a moment they would move, pull apart, dress. Their heavy penthouse drapes would close if Arthur had his way, or he would retreat to the en suite. Eames, comfortably nude, would wave at the window, in case the watcher was still there. Then he would join Arthur in the shower, harassing him until either Arthur departed or they began a second round. This time would be on the bed, perhaps, and maybe Arthur would top. Maybe he would tie Eames to the headboard, blindfold him, make him beg to be fucked.
Eames wouldn’t mind. Sometimes you have to lose a few battles to reach victory in the end. After all, winning is in the eye of the beholder.
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![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-09-26 07:57 pm (UTC)This time would be on the bed, perhaps, and maybe Arthur would top. Maybe he would tie Eames to the headboard, blindfold him, make him beg to be fucked.
I think you should write this. ;)
no subject
Date: 2010-09-27 02:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-26 09:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-27 02:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-27 12:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-27 01:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-27 01:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-27 12:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-27 02:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-27 01:26 am (UTC)I so do not have an exhibition kink at all, and yet I found unbelievably hot. I think it was the mini-plot of Arthur taking shots at Eames' previous mark mid-coitus that did it. Hot.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-27 02:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-27 03:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-28 01:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-27 03:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-28 01:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-28 02:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-27 06:02 pm (UTC)And I'm completely unopposed to Arthur tying Eames up in any and all sequels to this very hot little story. (We'd all win.)
no subject
Date: 2010-09-28 02:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-27 06:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-28 02:04 am (UTC)