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eternalsojournI have a bunch of things to write, but I was feeling kind of uninspired and wanted something fresh to work on. This is my second kink meme fill for this purpose, and there is likely going to be another one after this.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~5400
Warnings: Mpreg, male lactation, self-lubricating ass, Alpha/Omega dynamic
Summary: Arthur goes into heat unexpectedly during a job, and Eames breeds him for the entire heat.
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
night_reveals, and much encouragement from countrypixie1. Gorgeous, talented ladies, both, and I’m lucky to have them.
Prompt: Arthur is an omega male (self lubricating ass and the ability to get pregnant) while Eames is an alpha. They might or might not have feelings for each other. Arthur goes in heat unexpectedly, and Eames, after wiping out the competition, breeds him for the entire heat. Bonus points for impregnation and even lactation kink.
“We’ll need an escape path embedded in the design through here,” Eames said pointing with a marker to the white board where Ariadne had scribbled a rough and ready diagram of the first level. “It could be hidden in the east...” he faltered as Arthur walked behind him to take his seat. Marker held suspended, Eames sniffed the air, turning his head slightly.
“...the east wing air duct system?” Ariadne prompted, frowning at Eames in concern.
Eames flicked a look back at her before turning back to the white board. He tapped the area in question a few times, then said, “Ariadne, you can start on the adjustments. Paul, you have what you need, yeah?” He turned his head just enough to see whether their extractor nodded, then turned back and placed the marker on the ledge. “Right. Let’s reconvene tomorrow to test the new layout.” As he walked away, he went past Arthur and leaned over slightly to speak low, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
Arthur, stony faced, closed his notebook. He didn’t nod or shake his head, he simply sat. Eames was still looming over him, arms crossed, but he straightened and began to walk upstairs to the glassed-in office area that overlooked the warehouse. After he got a few steps, Arthur stood and followed.
In the office, Arthur closed the door behind him, more for sound than for real privacy, as they were visible to the entire warehouse floor.
Eames leaned on the edge of the table, the only bit of furniture in the room. His fingers gripped the edge as he sized Arthur up, took in his sheen of sweat, his pallor, the slight sag of his shoulders, the glassiness of his eyes.
“Everything all right?” he asked, voice neutral. Arthur was never late, but this was Eames’s first time leading the team and he couldn’t have Arthur setting a bad example for the younger members.
“Fine,” Arthur said. “I’m sorry, I meant to be here but I had to get the mark’s office blueprints in hard copy. Must be the only place left that doesn’t store them electronically.”
Eames was concerned; it wasn’t like Arthur to apologize. But overriding his concern was an urge, a fierce sort of anger directed everywhere but at Arthur.
Arthur stepped forward, conciliatory, and Eames breathed in sharply.
“You don’t look well, Arthur. Tell me now, am I going to need to find a new point man for this job?”
“No. It’s all right I just need...” Arthur began, reaching a hand out to the empty space between them. “I need... some rest. ” He slumped a little.
Eames nodded, lips pursed. “Is there work you can do from here? You shouldn’t go out again today.”
Arthur bobbed his head once and turned towards the door. But he didn’t make a move, just stood waiting.
Eames pushed himself off the table and passed Arthur, the scent of him filling Eames’s nostrils again. Eames just stopped himself from rumbling a growl. He forced himself to breathe evenly, not to inhale Arthur’s scent as he passed. This was Arthur: his point man, his colleague. Eames opened the door and when Arthur walked through, Eames stared at the place on Arthur’s lower back where Eames wanted to place his hand, and drifted his eyes up to Arthur’s neck where he wanted to grip and...
Arthur was at the stairs descending. Eames closed the door and followed, rubbing a hand down his face.
The few hours they had for the rest of the day were agonizing. Eames found himself pacing near Arthur’s desk, staring down Paul and Ariadne whenever they looked over curiously. Arthur began to look more feverish, more restless.
By the end of the day Arthur nearly leapt from his seat, sloppily jamming his papers into his bag and heading for the door. Eames grabbed his jacket and followed despite his better judgment — he couldn’t stop himself if he tried. As he walked he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Nine a.m. for the test run.”
Arthur was gone by the time Eames got outside.
***
There were three bars on the block, the closest ones to their hotel. One was ‘dress to impress’, one was a local’s watering hole. The other was a club that apparently sometimes functioned as a live music venue, but was hosting a DJ that night. Eames made a beeline for the door.
Eames had checked Arthur’s hotel room a few hours after dinner, had knocked for several minutes before deciding to trust his instincts and go searching for him elsewhere. As soon as he walked inside the bar he knew he’d found the right place.
The bass reverberated through Eames’s chest, the lights low, the dance floor already half full of pulsing bodies. After shifting through several groups of people, Eames spotted Arthur leaning against the barrier between a raised booth area and the dance floor, a well-built olive-skinned man with perfectly styled hair and a too-tight tee shirt leaning into him. Arthur’s hand was on his waist. From the other side of the barrier, another man, blond, leaned down and slid his hand down Arthur’s chest. Arthur reached up and lightly touched the back of the man’s roving hand. Blondie looked over at his two remaining friends in the booth and beckoned them over with his head.
Arthur was still in his suit from the day, and though he must look perfectly put together to these men, Eames could tell Arthur was glassy-eyed, breathing laboured, his sheen of sweat looking distinctly unhealthy.
Eames shouldered aside the people on the dance floor blocking his path, oblivious to their affronted glares. He shoved the olive-skinned guy’s shoulder hard to spin him and drove his fist into the man’s face, followed rapidly by his elbow. A small jump brought Eames’s high enough to grab blondie’s hair, yanking his head down to crash against the barrier. The first man landed a punch to Eames’s ribs and Eames ducked his head to the side and flicked his fist for a backwards punch which landed squarely, breaking the guy’s nose. Eames dragged blondie over the barrier and kneed him hard in the stomach, letting him fall in agony to the ground.
The other two were circling the barrier to come at Eames from either side. Eames stepped back preparing for the assault, the people on the dance floor already having cleared the area and standing around to watch.
Two bouncers were closing in fast, though they stopped walking when Eames looked at them from under his brow: fierce, glittering, focused, and terrifying. Arthur stood there sullen but unprotesting, looking resentfully at Eames.
“It’s fine, we’re leaving,” Eames growled, pushing Arthur in front of him and storming out of the club.
Outside Arthur stalked down the alley, cutting back towards the hotel and Eames was half a step behind. Eames grabbed Arthur’s arm and Arthur jerked free, turning suddenly. Eames stopped dead in his tracks.
“That was none of your business,” Arthur said, voice low, hand jittery as he jabbed a finger into Eames’s chest.
“You’re not sick, Arthur. This isn’t the fucking flu. You’re in heat. What the fuck were you thinking? Get fucked by a bunch of random strangers? You’re fucking smarter than this,” Eames was trembling with rage, crowding into Arthur’s space, head lowered and speaking inches from Arthur’s face.
“I know what I’m doing. I’ll be fine if I can just... you had no business interfering.”
“No business? Arthur, I —” choking on his rage, Eames pushed Arthur face first into the brick wall beside them, tugged Arthur’s shirt tails out and undid his belt and trousers. Arthur just let himself be manhandled, which ratcheted up Eames’s anger even further. Pressing Arthur with a palm in the centre of his back, Eames leaned in and shoved his hand into Arthur’s boxer briefs, rubbing his fingers across Arthur’s hole. “Is this what you need so badly? Jesus Christ, you’re so wet. Look at you.” Wonder mingled with frustration in his tone.
Eames slid two fingers up inside and Arthur keened, moving to rest his head on his forearms against the wall. When he spoke his voice was shaky, muffled. “Do it, Eames. Stick your cock in me, I need it. Please. Now.”
It took a scant few seconds for Eames to shove Arthur’s pants down around his thighs and undo his own trousers just enough to release his cock, but it was long enough for Arthur to begin whimpering, mouthing a barely audible, “please, please”.
With one hand bracing himself against the wall, Eames used the other to line himself and rub his cock head firmly against Arthur’s hole a few times, slipping freely through Arthur’s wetness. A desperate little mewl escaped Arthur’s lips and Eames held himself firm and pressed inside. The sob that wracked Arthur’s body was part pleasure, part relief.
It was hard and fast, Eames grunting angrily, yanking hard on Arthur’s body to meet his thrusts, and Arthur moaning, grateful, shoving himself back artlessly, mindlessly taking what he needed.
The clip clop of footsteps sounded at the end of the alley, steadily, then stopped, then quickly moved on, but Arthur and Eames carried on, oblivious.
Arthur reached down and tugged at himself. It took barely a minute of rapid jerking before he was spraying the wall, rapid breathing making his keening pulse out in time with Eames’s driving thrusts. It was only a few more moments before Eames clenched his fingers hard into the flesh of Arthur’s hip and emptied himself, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut.
Eames pulled out and tucked himself away while Arthur took a few deep breaths before pulling up his trousers and tucking his shirt back in, rumpled but presentable.
Eames was calmer, no longer shaking, but his voice was stern when he said, “All right, back to the hotel. You’ll stay in my room.”
Arthur began, “I’m fine now, I —”.
Eames interrupted, “Is that a no?”
Arthur paused then shook his head.
“Good, let’s go.” Eames said, placing a hand at the centre of Arthur’s back to lead him back to the hotel.
***
The door of the warehouse opened and Eames walked through, locking his eyes on Arthur’s. When Ariadne said ‘good morning’, it took Eames a second to tear his gaze away to look at her.
“Good morning, love. How’s the layout? Ready?”
Ariadne nodded and Arthur began to roll up his sleeve. Eames shook his head.
“You watch over us this time,” Eames didn’t wait for a reply, just turned and began to set up the PASIV, unrolling three lines for Ariadne, himself and Paul, who was crossing the warehouse from where he had been pouring over his notes at a table. He tipped his head back to finish his coffee before rolling up his own sleeve.
Arthur hung his jacket on the back of his chair and sat down to open his laptop, looking over at the team settling themselves in. Arthur’s adjusted in his seat, stretching his aching muscles, feeling the slight tenderness of his arse.
Eames had stripped him bare and fucked him again back in his hotel room, folding Arthur in half, holding him by his foot and coming with his dickhead just pressed against Arthur’s hole, sliding it back in after he was spent, pushing the come deep inside.
Arthur shivered at the memory. His skin still felt raw, feverish, though his head was a little clearer than the previous day. The need still tugged at him. He looked over at Eames, top few buttons undone, reclined in the lawn chair, peaceful-looking. Arthur recalled the look on Eames’s face above him, intense and beautiful, a different man from this one so vulnerably asleep. Something about the contrasted tugged at Arthur. He’d only ever sought anonymous encounters to fill his need when the time came. Although he knew Eames was the type he needed, the most likely mate for times like this, Arthur had never dared jeopardize what they had.
But seeing him there, reclined, Arthur wanted to go over, ease Eames’s cock out, tease it to hardness and straddle him, sit on it and feel the exquisite burn of stretching himself.
He shook his head and turned back to his computer, determined to get all the phone records he needed before the team woke up and Eames would again be a distraction.
A short twenty minutes later, Arthur was saving his files and all three team members began to stir.
“Your work is so detailed, it’s amazing,” Paul fawned over Ariadne. “What was that room based on? Someplace you’ve been?” Ariadne smiled, pleased, and began to tell him, both of them walking over to Ariadne’s models.
Eames stood and walked past Arthur, sparing him a pointed glance and walked towards the washroom, a long, multi stalled number with several standup showers. Arthur waited a few minutes, ensuring Paul and Ariadne were deep in conversation — a quick look proved them absorbed in the finer points of architecture — and Arthur rose quietly and slipped off to join Eames.
As Arthur stepped into the bathroom he was immediately accosted, his shirt tails wrenched from his trousers, Eames’s warm, large hands sliding up his back. Arthur closed his eyes and shuddered, leaning into Eames’s comforting solidness. Knowing what was coming calmed him, eased his itch. Arthur mouthed at Eames’s neck, pressing his tongue into the hollow below Eames’s ear before pushing himself back to remove his trousers.
Without waiting for Eames to position him, Arthur approached the counter, bracing himself against it and leaning forward. Eames came up behind, slipped his arms around Arthur’s waist and slid his hands up his chest, pressing his erection into Arthur’s cleft. For too long he simply rubbed the length of it up and down through Arthur’s slickness, smearing it, and eventually Arthur growled in frustration.
“Eames,” he said, impatiently.
Eames chuckled but his breathlessness betrayed his calm exterior as he eased back, tilted his hips into position and shoved in. With no preparation, rubbing Arthur’s sensitive skin, it was harsh but satisfying, like scrubbing hard in a too-hot shower. Eager to open himself up further, Arthur lifted one leg onto the counter and Eames shifted to better his angle, pushing himself inside. Arthur’s head dangled forward, focused on the feeling of being entered.
Eames was having none of it, though, as he reached around to lift Arthur’s chin to meet his eyes in the mirror. When he spoke it was close to Arthur’s ear, but he never tore his eyes from Arthur’s gaze.
“Look at me, Arthur. I want to see you.”
The request made Arthur feel strangely bare. But he couldn’t look away, could only clench his fists and notice the way Eames, for all his fierceness and challenging demeanour, looked every bit as desperate as Arthur himself with his brow creased, his mouth open. It stopped any embarrassment he might have felt at his wantonness.
As it was, Arthur was fascinated by Eames’s expression and derived too much pleasure from being held steady, from being filled, to worry about anything. He didn’t look away until Eames did, pressing his nose into the back of Arthur’s hair and coming on an barely voiced, “fffuuuuuck”.
After a few moments Eames looked in the mirror again, his expression unreadable as he put himself away. Without a word he turned and left Arthur to clean himself up.
Back in the warehouse Paul and Ariadne stared at him incredulously, and whatever discretion Arthur thought he’d exercised was clearly not enough. He glanced towards Eames, who glowered at Paul and Ariadne until they looked in his direction and dropped their eyes at his unspoken challenge to voice their opinions on the matter. Arthur didn’t quite know what to do with the strange bloom of pride he felt.
Arthur had returned to his laptop and, with his freshly cleared head was just tucking into the credit card statements when a bottle of water and a granola bar was pushed towards his elbow. He looked up and Eames just cocked his head towards his offering, indicating that Arthur should take it. Arthur did, and Eames lightly touched his fingertips to Arthur’s shoulder before walking off.
Arthur didn’t have a name for the feeling that welled up in him then.
***
By mid-afternoon Arthur looked feverish again despite his morning relief. By dinnertime he was rubbing at his chest and fidgeting, a slight downturn to his lips indicating his discomfort.
Eames was deep in conversation with Paul, who had some solid ideas about what to include in the dreamspace that the mark would use to hide his secrets. Ever aware of Arthur, though, Eames noted the steady decline of Arthur’s condition. When he finished consulting and Paul seemed confident in his planned course of action, Eames dismissed the team early.
During the walk from the car to the hotel room, Arthur briefed Eames on the mark’s upcoming appointments. Eames half-listened, noting which would make for easy apprehension of the mark. When Arthur winced tiredly and rubbed at his chest again, Eames interrupted.
“Is this your first heat?” he asked, looking at Arthur intently.
“No,” Arthur said, rubbing his eyes and shifting in his seat yet again. “But it’s never been this bad. Or this long.” He looked down at his shirt, which was showing dark stains at his nipples. “Oh Jesus. Fuck. How long has that been like that?”
“Only just,” Eames replied as they exited the elevator. He walked just beside and behind Arthur, arm wrapped protectively around him as he pulled Arthur’s hand down from where it was rubbing himself again.
As he opened the door, Eames said, “Arthur, you need to eat. At a time like this you need nourishment.”
But before the door even closed behind him, Arthur was already working at his buttons with jittery fingers and peeling himself out of his clothes. He went directly to the shower and stepped in, flinching at the cold water and sighing as it heated. Eames followed through the open door and slid the shower door open enough to watch.
Arthur soaped himself down quickly, briskly, lightening his touch around his chest. He glanced over at Eames a few times, but it looked as though he was merely reassuring himself of Eames’s presence. When Arthur tipped his head back under the spray to rinse off his shampoo, Eames reached out and brushed a finger over Arthur’s swollen, reddened nipple, water darkening Eames’s coral sleeve to a deep maroon where it was rolled up to his elbow. Arthur gasped and wiped his face clear of water to look down, blinking dewy eyelashes at Eames’s touch.
Eames withdrew and turned away.
“Don’t go,” Arthur said, then snapped his mouth shut.
Eames looked at Arthur and blindly reached for the towel he’d left to get, then held it out. Arthur, sheepish, turned off the water and reached out but Eames changed his mind and pulled it back.
“Step out,” he said, and tossed a hand towel on the floor for Arthur to step on, pulling the edges out gently with his foot. Arthur did and Eames stepped forward with the towel spread out and began to dry Arthur off. With a sweep of his finger, he indicated for Arthur to turn, then dried his back, his arms, and down his legs. He swept a palm up the inner length of Arthur’s leg, thumbing the crease where arse met thigh.
He spun Arthur once more and dried his front, gently rubbing at Arthur’s dark hair, lifting his semi-stiff cock out of the way. He heard Arthur swallow in the quiet of the room, the only sound other than the drip drip of the shower and their soft breathing. When Eames rose and dried Arthur’s chest, he eased the pressure over Arthur’s nipples, which looked tender and raw. Still Arthur hissed.
Eames smiled mischievously and dropped the towel, rubbing his thumb more firmly over the swollen nub. Arthur frowned at him but stayed put. Eames put his mouth to it, laving it with his tongue and when he applied some suction, sweet wetness greeted his tongue. He groaned and closed his eyes.
“Oh fuck, Arthur.” Eames slid his hand firmly up Arthur’s ribs and began to knead, pressing the flesh to coax more out, licking greedily and catching stray droplets with his lips. He latched on and sucked, causing Arthur to cough out a sob as his thighs began to tremble slightly, his fingers gripped in Eames’s hair, pressing Eames’s head to his chest.
Eames stood straight and placed his hand at the back of Arthur’s head, the skull feeling fragile under his palm and kissed him demandingly, deeply. Arthur uttered a small sound at the taste, licking in to chase it further.
Eames pushed Arthur out the door and into the main room, pushing him down onto the bed, pulling his clothes off quickly and following him down, kissing him, lapping at his nipples, squeezing and rubbing both until Arthur was wet and dripping a trickle of milk down his ribs to the bed. He flicked his tongue across Arthur’s plumped nub, got his lips wet and brought them up to Arthur’s, simply holding himself centimetres away from Arthur’s mouth until Arthur arched up and licked the milk off Eames’s lips.
“Eames,” Arthur mumbled into Eames’s mouth. “I need your cock in me. Fuck me. Please.” He spread his legs, wrapping them around Eames’s torso. He writhed against Eames, trying to pull him in, pull him closer, his skin hot and sweating already despite having just come from the shower. Eames had to remove Arthur’s hands, placing them firmly on the bed in order to extract himself enough to shift back and watch as he lightly fingered Arthur’s hole.
Eames rubbed with just a little pressure, examining the damage he’d caused over the past few days. He pushed Arthur’s thighs up to his chest and spread him further, and Arthur held himself there. Eames shifted down and began to pet the tender red skin there, puffy and raw. “You need a break. Tomorrow, Arthur. Rest tonight.”
Arthur grunted in frustration, dropping his legs to wrap around Eames again and pull him in, his lean legs strong and demanding. “No, now,” he said. “It has to be now.”
Eames bit his lower lip, a flare of need igniting him. He echoed Arthur’s sound. “Tomorrow. You’ll need to take a break.”
“Fine, yes. Just —” Arthur clutched at Eames’s shoulders, pulling him down.
Eames roughly pushed Arthur’s legs up again and moved down, pressing his lips to Arthur’s glistening puckered skin. It was soft and plump, the flesh yielding but the muscle a hard ring underneath, slick and tangy. Arthur whimpered, yanking his legs up further and Eames firmly laved Arthur’s flesh, massaging him, teasing him open, though Arthur hardly needed it, greedy as he was to be entered. Eames slipped two fingers inside, wetness gathering in the crease between them. Arthur moaned low in his throat, needy, gratified.
“You’re ready for me, aren’t you, love?” Eames said, crawling back up but leaving his fingers inside. “You’ve never been like this, have you?”
Arthur reached up and pulled Eames down for a kiss, then slid his hands down to Eames’s arse trying to pull him in. Eames’s cock poked at Arthur’s sac, then slid down past his hole. Eames had to reach down to guide himself in, careful to press gently at first, testing Arthur’s pain threshold. But if Arthur was sore and tender, it appeared to only add to his mindless loss into sensation as he dropped his head back, eyes closed, licking his lower lip.
Eames rolled his hips in, sinking balls-deep and pulling out almost all the way before slipping back inside, the movement hot and slick, almost too easy from all the wetness for him to get enough friction to come. But Arthur was tight on his cock and Eames looked down, taking in Arthur’s lean muscular torso, the dip of his throat at his collar bone, the slight swell of his adam’s apple. He ducked his head to once more mouth at one of Arthur’s leaking nipples and Arthur started to swear, pressing up into it. Eames took no more mercy on the tender flesh there and sucked in hard, feeling the rush of warm, sweet milk on his tongue, the soft skin distending up into his mouth.
When he raised his head finally, his cock grown so hard and sensitive that Arthur’s sheath was nudging Eames towards his orgasm, Eames slipped a hand under Arthur’s nape.
“No, look at me,” Eames said and Arthur opened his eyes, a vulnerability showing there that Eames had never seen. “Look at you. So needy. So ready — ready for me.” Eames was breathless, beyond control, shoving himself up into Arthur and rubbing himself towards completion. “Ready for my baby, aren’t you Arthur?”
“Yes,” Arthur whispered, panting. “Put one in me, Eames. Fuck.”
Eames sped up, gripping Arthur’s neck till his fingers turned white. The clean smell of soap and shampoo was undercut by the smell of Arthur, the subtley sweet milky scent, the warm, primed musk of him. Eames detached from conscious thought, could only obey his body’s imperative to plant his seed, was overwhelmed by the desire to embrace Arthur in a hold strong enough to hold him, keep him, protect him. And with a final glance down at Arthur’s form, so willing beneath him, he came in a blinding rush, shoving his cock as far in as it would go and pulsing hot gushes into Arthur’s waiting body.
When he was fully spent, Eames raised his upper body, leaving his erection buried and looked at Arthur’s reddened prick, twitchy and bouncing as Eames’s cock shifted inside him. Eames reached down and petted it with his thumb, then wrapped three fingers around and stroked as Arthur choked out a groan.
“That’s good, let it out. Show me how badly you need it,” Eames murmured, gathering a bit of Arthur’s wetness from where they were joined and returning to rub him again. “That’s it, that’s my boy, push up into my hand. Come on, come for me.” Eames’s cock was slipping out with Arthur’s arching but he was so clearly close, Eames let himself fall right out, a little come dribbling down. “Come for me, Arthur.” He arched down and licked Arthur’s purple head and Arthur came, spraying hard all over himself as Eames pulled back, dragging his tongue up the underside of Arthur’s cock as the twitching eased.
As Eames laid on his side, pressing a kiss to Arthur’s forehead, Arthur lowered his legs shakily.
“How do you feel?” Eames asked, taking in Arthur’s tired but clear gaze, the sweat on his skin that lacked his previous pallor, the heavy breaths that spoke of a relief deeper than that accomplished by coming alone.
“Good. I need to sleep. For a week,” Arthur laughed weakly.
“You need to eat. You sleep for a bit. I’m going to shower and come back with something for us for dinner.”
Arthur hauled himself under the covers and closed his eyes, a frown appearing between his brows.
Eames touched his fingers to Arthur’s jaw and kissed him lightly, but long before saying, “Don’t think so hard. Not right now. I’ll be back in a while.”
He walked to the shower feeling lighter than air but with a nagging, tugging worry around the periphery. He tried to hold onto that lightness, but by the time he stepped out of the shower it was a ghost of a memory, an abstraction of a feeling, like trying to remember the taste of strawberries.
***
An hour later Arthur woke to the sound and smell of Eames opening the lids of some take-away containers on the coffee table of their room. His stomach rumbled and he realized how hungry he was. He rolled out of bed and pulled on Eames’s boxers from the floor, the first pair he came across.
Dishing himself some Thai noodles into a bowl, Arthur was aware of Eames looking at him, but he stubbornly refused to raise his eyes. They ate in silence until Arthur had his fill and sat back.
“You look better,” Eames said eventually, guardedly.
“I feel better. I think I’m over the worst of it,” Arthur looked up at Eames who looked expectantly at Arthur for so long that Arthur finally continued. “Eames, I was wondering. Why did you get so angry when you found me at the club?”
Eames shifted in his seat, then leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I knew what you were. I’ve always known. I’d thought that, given all we’ve been through, you’d come to me when the time came. Or anyone other than a random bunch of guys in a bar who you could maybe take in a fight under normal circumstances but —” Eames clenched his fists.
“No, I get it,” Arthur interrupted. “...thanks,” he added quietly. “Look, I know it was really inconvenient having this happen in the middle of a job, and it jeopardized our progress. But we’re still on track, and I’m okay now so...” he looked at Eames, hoping he didn’t have to finish. Eames’s unimpressed look wasn’t encouraging. “So I should probably move back to my room.”
“And that’s what you want, is it?” Eames’s voice was tightly controlled but Arthur heard the tinge of resentment. He’d heard it enough when Eames spoke to Cobb after the Fischer job.
“Well, no,” Arthur replied, considering his options. “I’m well aware of the implications of today. Biologically my body was trying to... anyway. Like I said, I’ve experienced heats before but this was different. But I don’t want you to feel obligated here.”
Eames frowned, his lip curling slightly. “Why don’t you let me decide what my obligations are and whether I want to honour them? What do you think I did here? A favour to you? You let me in, Arthur. You can’t shut the door now and deny me the opportunity to be a father to a child I helped create — if that is indeed the case.” He had leaned forward on his knees, shoulders relaxed but his expression was sharp, alert, thinking too many thoughts that Arthur couldn’t read.
Arthur thought of Ariadne asking for Eames’s advice despite his lack of an architecture background. He thought of Eames stepping up to help every time, even when others fell down in their duties. It hit him then how being needed was what kept Eames coming back. “That wasn’t my intention. And anyway, we don’t even know yet,” Arthur said.
“No. We don’t,” Eames said tiredly. “Arthur. You can stay here.”
Arthur shook his head, a small smile touching the corners of his lips. “I’ll go back to my room, it’s fine. But am I to take that to mean that I can come back? If I want?”
Eames nodded. Arthur stood and gathered his clothes from various places on the floor, pulling them on. As he walked to the door, Eames rose and followed.
“I’ll make an appointment tomorrow to find out. And I’ll see you at the warehouse,” Arthur said as Eames opened the door for him.
“You keep me informed,” Eames replied, his tone hinting at an order. Arthur smiled, placed his hand on Eames’s neck and pulled him in, pressing his lips to Eames’s.
“Of course,” he said quietly and turned to go.
***
Eames paced through the duty-free shop, stopping at the sunglasses rack for the fifth time but not really looking at them. The job was done, not without its glitches, Arthur and Eames having not been at the top of their game during the planning stages. It was successful nonetheless.
His phone buzzed in his pocket and he fumbled a little in his hurry to take it out. It was a text from Arthur. He hesitated a second before opening the message, taking a deep breath.
There was just one character on the screen: “+”.
He laughed, shaky.
**End**
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~5400
Warnings: Mpreg, male lactation, self-lubricating ass, Alpha/Omega dynamic
Summary: Arthur goes into heat unexpectedly during a job, and Eames breeds him for the entire heat.
Beta:
night_reveals, and much encouragement from countrypixie1. Gorgeous, talented ladies, both, and I’m lucky to have them.Prompt: Arthur is an omega male (self lubricating ass and the ability to get pregnant) while Eames is an alpha. They might or might not have feelings for each other. Arthur goes in heat unexpectedly, and Eames, after wiping out the competition, breeds him for the entire heat. Bonus points for impregnation and even lactation kink.
Scorch
“We’ll need an escape path embedded in the design through here,” Eames said pointing with a marker to the white board where Ariadne had scribbled a rough and ready diagram of the first level. “It could be hidden in the east...” he faltered as Arthur walked behind him to take his seat. Marker held suspended, Eames sniffed the air, turning his head slightly.
“...the east wing air duct system?” Ariadne prompted, frowning at Eames in concern.
Eames flicked a look back at her before turning back to the white board. He tapped the area in question a few times, then said, “Ariadne, you can start on the adjustments. Paul, you have what you need, yeah?” He turned his head just enough to see whether their extractor nodded, then turned back and placed the marker on the ledge. “Right. Let’s reconvene tomorrow to test the new layout.” As he walked away, he went past Arthur and leaned over slightly to speak low, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
Arthur, stony faced, closed his notebook. He didn’t nod or shake his head, he simply sat. Eames was still looming over him, arms crossed, but he straightened and began to walk upstairs to the glassed-in office area that overlooked the warehouse. After he got a few steps, Arthur stood and followed.
In the office, Arthur closed the door behind him, more for sound than for real privacy, as they were visible to the entire warehouse floor.
Eames leaned on the edge of the table, the only bit of furniture in the room. His fingers gripped the edge as he sized Arthur up, took in his sheen of sweat, his pallor, the slight sag of his shoulders, the glassiness of his eyes.
“Everything all right?” he asked, voice neutral. Arthur was never late, but this was Eames’s first time leading the team and he couldn’t have Arthur setting a bad example for the younger members.
“Fine,” Arthur said. “I’m sorry, I meant to be here but I had to get the mark’s office blueprints in hard copy. Must be the only place left that doesn’t store them electronically.”
Eames was concerned; it wasn’t like Arthur to apologize. But overriding his concern was an urge, a fierce sort of anger directed everywhere but at Arthur.
Arthur stepped forward, conciliatory, and Eames breathed in sharply.
“You don’t look well, Arthur. Tell me now, am I going to need to find a new point man for this job?”
“No. It’s all right I just need...” Arthur began, reaching a hand out to the empty space between them. “I need... some rest. ” He slumped a little.
Eames nodded, lips pursed. “Is there work you can do from here? You shouldn’t go out again today.”
Arthur bobbed his head once and turned towards the door. But he didn’t make a move, just stood waiting.
Eames pushed himself off the table and passed Arthur, the scent of him filling Eames’s nostrils again. Eames just stopped himself from rumbling a growl. He forced himself to breathe evenly, not to inhale Arthur’s scent as he passed. This was Arthur: his point man, his colleague. Eames opened the door and when Arthur walked through, Eames stared at the place on Arthur’s lower back where Eames wanted to place his hand, and drifted his eyes up to Arthur’s neck where he wanted to grip and...
Arthur was at the stairs descending. Eames closed the door and followed, rubbing a hand down his face.
The few hours they had for the rest of the day were agonizing. Eames found himself pacing near Arthur’s desk, staring down Paul and Ariadne whenever they looked over curiously. Arthur began to look more feverish, more restless.
By the end of the day Arthur nearly leapt from his seat, sloppily jamming his papers into his bag and heading for the door. Eames grabbed his jacket and followed despite his better judgment — he couldn’t stop himself if he tried. As he walked he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Nine a.m. for the test run.”
Arthur was gone by the time Eames got outside.
***
There were three bars on the block, the closest ones to their hotel. One was ‘dress to impress’, one was a local’s watering hole. The other was a club that apparently sometimes functioned as a live music venue, but was hosting a DJ that night. Eames made a beeline for the door.
Eames had checked Arthur’s hotel room a few hours after dinner, had knocked for several minutes before deciding to trust his instincts and go searching for him elsewhere. As soon as he walked inside the bar he knew he’d found the right place.
The bass reverberated through Eames’s chest, the lights low, the dance floor already half full of pulsing bodies. After shifting through several groups of people, Eames spotted Arthur leaning against the barrier between a raised booth area and the dance floor, a well-built olive-skinned man with perfectly styled hair and a too-tight tee shirt leaning into him. Arthur’s hand was on his waist. From the other side of the barrier, another man, blond, leaned down and slid his hand down Arthur’s chest. Arthur reached up and lightly touched the back of the man’s roving hand. Blondie looked over at his two remaining friends in the booth and beckoned them over with his head.
Arthur was still in his suit from the day, and though he must look perfectly put together to these men, Eames could tell Arthur was glassy-eyed, breathing laboured, his sheen of sweat looking distinctly unhealthy.
Eames shouldered aside the people on the dance floor blocking his path, oblivious to their affronted glares. He shoved the olive-skinned guy’s shoulder hard to spin him and drove his fist into the man’s face, followed rapidly by his elbow. A small jump brought Eames’s high enough to grab blondie’s hair, yanking his head down to crash against the barrier. The first man landed a punch to Eames’s ribs and Eames ducked his head to the side and flicked his fist for a backwards punch which landed squarely, breaking the guy’s nose. Eames dragged blondie over the barrier and kneed him hard in the stomach, letting him fall in agony to the ground.
The other two were circling the barrier to come at Eames from either side. Eames stepped back preparing for the assault, the people on the dance floor already having cleared the area and standing around to watch.
Two bouncers were closing in fast, though they stopped walking when Eames looked at them from under his brow: fierce, glittering, focused, and terrifying. Arthur stood there sullen but unprotesting, looking resentfully at Eames.
“It’s fine, we’re leaving,” Eames growled, pushing Arthur in front of him and storming out of the club.
Outside Arthur stalked down the alley, cutting back towards the hotel and Eames was half a step behind. Eames grabbed Arthur’s arm and Arthur jerked free, turning suddenly. Eames stopped dead in his tracks.
“That was none of your business,” Arthur said, voice low, hand jittery as he jabbed a finger into Eames’s chest.
“You’re not sick, Arthur. This isn’t the fucking flu. You’re in heat. What the fuck were you thinking? Get fucked by a bunch of random strangers? You’re fucking smarter than this,” Eames was trembling with rage, crowding into Arthur’s space, head lowered and speaking inches from Arthur’s face.
“I know what I’m doing. I’ll be fine if I can just... you had no business interfering.”
“No business? Arthur, I —” choking on his rage, Eames pushed Arthur face first into the brick wall beside them, tugged Arthur’s shirt tails out and undid his belt and trousers. Arthur just let himself be manhandled, which ratcheted up Eames’s anger even further. Pressing Arthur with a palm in the centre of his back, Eames leaned in and shoved his hand into Arthur’s boxer briefs, rubbing his fingers across Arthur’s hole. “Is this what you need so badly? Jesus Christ, you’re so wet. Look at you.” Wonder mingled with frustration in his tone.
Eames slid two fingers up inside and Arthur keened, moving to rest his head on his forearms against the wall. When he spoke his voice was shaky, muffled. “Do it, Eames. Stick your cock in me, I need it. Please. Now.”
It took a scant few seconds for Eames to shove Arthur’s pants down around his thighs and undo his own trousers just enough to release his cock, but it was long enough for Arthur to begin whimpering, mouthing a barely audible, “please, please”.
With one hand bracing himself against the wall, Eames used the other to line himself and rub his cock head firmly against Arthur’s hole a few times, slipping freely through Arthur’s wetness. A desperate little mewl escaped Arthur’s lips and Eames held himself firm and pressed inside. The sob that wracked Arthur’s body was part pleasure, part relief.
It was hard and fast, Eames grunting angrily, yanking hard on Arthur’s body to meet his thrusts, and Arthur moaning, grateful, shoving himself back artlessly, mindlessly taking what he needed.
The clip clop of footsteps sounded at the end of the alley, steadily, then stopped, then quickly moved on, but Arthur and Eames carried on, oblivious.
Arthur reached down and tugged at himself. It took barely a minute of rapid jerking before he was spraying the wall, rapid breathing making his keening pulse out in time with Eames’s driving thrusts. It was only a few more moments before Eames clenched his fingers hard into the flesh of Arthur’s hip and emptied himself, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut.
Eames pulled out and tucked himself away while Arthur took a few deep breaths before pulling up his trousers and tucking his shirt back in, rumpled but presentable.
Eames was calmer, no longer shaking, but his voice was stern when he said, “All right, back to the hotel. You’ll stay in my room.”
Arthur began, “I’m fine now, I —”.
Eames interrupted, “Is that a no?”
Arthur paused then shook his head.
“Good, let’s go.” Eames said, placing a hand at the centre of Arthur’s back to lead him back to the hotel.
***
The door of the warehouse opened and Eames walked through, locking his eyes on Arthur’s. When Ariadne said ‘good morning’, it took Eames a second to tear his gaze away to look at her.
“Good morning, love. How’s the layout? Ready?”
Ariadne nodded and Arthur began to roll up his sleeve. Eames shook his head.
“You watch over us this time,” Eames didn’t wait for a reply, just turned and began to set up the PASIV, unrolling three lines for Ariadne, himself and Paul, who was crossing the warehouse from where he had been pouring over his notes at a table. He tipped his head back to finish his coffee before rolling up his own sleeve.
Arthur hung his jacket on the back of his chair and sat down to open his laptop, looking over at the team settling themselves in. Arthur’s adjusted in his seat, stretching his aching muscles, feeling the slight tenderness of his arse.
Eames had stripped him bare and fucked him again back in his hotel room, folding Arthur in half, holding him by his foot and coming with his dickhead just pressed against Arthur’s hole, sliding it back in after he was spent, pushing the come deep inside.
Arthur shivered at the memory. His skin still felt raw, feverish, though his head was a little clearer than the previous day. The need still tugged at him. He looked over at Eames, top few buttons undone, reclined in the lawn chair, peaceful-looking. Arthur recalled the look on Eames’s face above him, intense and beautiful, a different man from this one so vulnerably asleep. Something about the contrasted tugged at Arthur. He’d only ever sought anonymous encounters to fill his need when the time came. Although he knew Eames was the type he needed, the most likely mate for times like this, Arthur had never dared jeopardize what they had.
But seeing him there, reclined, Arthur wanted to go over, ease Eames’s cock out, tease it to hardness and straddle him, sit on it and feel the exquisite burn of stretching himself.
He shook his head and turned back to his computer, determined to get all the phone records he needed before the team woke up and Eames would again be a distraction.
A short twenty minutes later, Arthur was saving his files and all three team members began to stir.
“Your work is so detailed, it’s amazing,” Paul fawned over Ariadne. “What was that room based on? Someplace you’ve been?” Ariadne smiled, pleased, and began to tell him, both of them walking over to Ariadne’s models.
Eames stood and walked past Arthur, sparing him a pointed glance and walked towards the washroom, a long, multi stalled number with several standup showers. Arthur waited a few minutes, ensuring Paul and Ariadne were deep in conversation — a quick look proved them absorbed in the finer points of architecture — and Arthur rose quietly and slipped off to join Eames.
As Arthur stepped into the bathroom he was immediately accosted, his shirt tails wrenched from his trousers, Eames’s warm, large hands sliding up his back. Arthur closed his eyes and shuddered, leaning into Eames’s comforting solidness. Knowing what was coming calmed him, eased his itch. Arthur mouthed at Eames’s neck, pressing his tongue into the hollow below Eames’s ear before pushing himself back to remove his trousers.
Without waiting for Eames to position him, Arthur approached the counter, bracing himself against it and leaning forward. Eames came up behind, slipped his arms around Arthur’s waist and slid his hands up his chest, pressing his erection into Arthur’s cleft. For too long he simply rubbed the length of it up and down through Arthur’s slickness, smearing it, and eventually Arthur growled in frustration.
“Eames,” he said, impatiently.
Eames chuckled but his breathlessness betrayed his calm exterior as he eased back, tilted his hips into position and shoved in. With no preparation, rubbing Arthur’s sensitive skin, it was harsh but satisfying, like scrubbing hard in a too-hot shower. Eager to open himself up further, Arthur lifted one leg onto the counter and Eames shifted to better his angle, pushing himself inside. Arthur’s head dangled forward, focused on the feeling of being entered.
Eames was having none of it, though, as he reached around to lift Arthur’s chin to meet his eyes in the mirror. When he spoke it was close to Arthur’s ear, but he never tore his eyes from Arthur’s gaze.
“Look at me, Arthur. I want to see you.”
The request made Arthur feel strangely bare. But he couldn’t look away, could only clench his fists and notice the way Eames, for all his fierceness and challenging demeanour, looked every bit as desperate as Arthur himself with his brow creased, his mouth open. It stopped any embarrassment he might have felt at his wantonness.
As it was, Arthur was fascinated by Eames’s expression and derived too much pleasure from being held steady, from being filled, to worry about anything. He didn’t look away until Eames did, pressing his nose into the back of Arthur’s hair and coming on an barely voiced, “fffuuuuuck”.
After a few moments Eames looked in the mirror again, his expression unreadable as he put himself away. Without a word he turned and left Arthur to clean himself up.
Back in the warehouse Paul and Ariadne stared at him incredulously, and whatever discretion Arthur thought he’d exercised was clearly not enough. He glanced towards Eames, who glowered at Paul and Ariadne until they looked in his direction and dropped their eyes at his unspoken challenge to voice their opinions on the matter. Arthur didn’t quite know what to do with the strange bloom of pride he felt.
Arthur had returned to his laptop and, with his freshly cleared head was just tucking into the credit card statements when a bottle of water and a granola bar was pushed towards his elbow. He looked up and Eames just cocked his head towards his offering, indicating that Arthur should take it. Arthur did, and Eames lightly touched his fingertips to Arthur’s shoulder before walking off.
Arthur didn’t have a name for the feeling that welled up in him then.
***
By mid-afternoon Arthur looked feverish again despite his morning relief. By dinnertime he was rubbing at his chest and fidgeting, a slight downturn to his lips indicating his discomfort.
Eames was deep in conversation with Paul, who had some solid ideas about what to include in the dreamspace that the mark would use to hide his secrets. Ever aware of Arthur, though, Eames noted the steady decline of Arthur’s condition. When he finished consulting and Paul seemed confident in his planned course of action, Eames dismissed the team early.
During the walk from the car to the hotel room, Arthur briefed Eames on the mark’s upcoming appointments. Eames half-listened, noting which would make for easy apprehension of the mark. When Arthur winced tiredly and rubbed at his chest again, Eames interrupted.
“Is this your first heat?” he asked, looking at Arthur intently.
“No,” Arthur said, rubbing his eyes and shifting in his seat yet again. “But it’s never been this bad. Or this long.” He looked down at his shirt, which was showing dark stains at his nipples. “Oh Jesus. Fuck. How long has that been like that?”
“Only just,” Eames replied as they exited the elevator. He walked just beside and behind Arthur, arm wrapped protectively around him as he pulled Arthur’s hand down from where it was rubbing himself again.
As he opened the door, Eames said, “Arthur, you need to eat. At a time like this you need nourishment.”
But before the door even closed behind him, Arthur was already working at his buttons with jittery fingers and peeling himself out of his clothes. He went directly to the shower and stepped in, flinching at the cold water and sighing as it heated. Eames followed through the open door and slid the shower door open enough to watch.
Arthur soaped himself down quickly, briskly, lightening his touch around his chest. He glanced over at Eames a few times, but it looked as though he was merely reassuring himself of Eames’s presence. When Arthur tipped his head back under the spray to rinse off his shampoo, Eames reached out and brushed a finger over Arthur’s swollen, reddened nipple, water darkening Eames’s coral sleeve to a deep maroon where it was rolled up to his elbow. Arthur gasped and wiped his face clear of water to look down, blinking dewy eyelashes at Eames’s touch.
Eames withdrew and turned away.
“Don’t go,” Arthur said, then snapped his mouth shut.
Eames looked at Arthur and blindly reached for the towel he’d left to get, then held it out. Arthur, sheepish, turned off the water and reached out but Eames changed his mind and pulled it back.
“Step out,” he said, and tossed a hand towel on the floor for Arthur to step on, pulling the edges out gently with his foot. Arthur did and Eames stepped forward with the towel spread out and began to dry Arthur off. With a sweep of his finger, he indicated for Arthur to turn, then dried his back, his arms, and down his legs. He swept a palm up the inner length of Arthur’s leg, thumbing the crease where arse met thigh.
He spun Arthur once more and dried his front, gently rubbing at Arthur’s dark hair, lifting his semi-stiff cock out of the way. He heard Arthur swallow in the quiet of the room, the only sound other than the drip drip of the shower and their soft breathing. When Eames rose and dried Arthur’s chest, he eased the pressure over Arthur’s nipples, which looked tender and raw. Still Arthur hissed.
Eames smiled mischievously and dropped the towel, rubbing his thumb more firmly over the swollen nub. Arthur frowned at him but stayed put. Eames put his mouth to it, laving it with his tongue and when he applied some suction, sweet wetness greeted his tongue. He groaned and closed his eyes.
“Oh fuck, Arthur.” Eames slid his hand firmly up Arthur’s ribs and began to knead, pressing the flesh to coax more out, licking greedily and catching stray droplets with his lips. He latched on and sucked, causing Arthur to cough out a sob as his thighs began to tremble slightly, his fingers gripped in Eames’s hair, pressing Eames’s head to his chest.
Eames stood straight and placed his hand at the back of Arthur’s head, the skull feeling fragile under his palm and kissed him demandingly, deeply. Arthur uttered a small sound at the taste, licking in to chase it further.
Eames pushed Arthur out the door and into the main room, pushing him down onto the bed, pulling his clothes off quickly and following him down, kissing him, lapping at his nipples, squeezing and rubbing both until Arthur was wet and dripping a trickle of milk down his ribs to the bed. He flicked his tongue across Arthur’s plumped nub, got his lips wet and brought them up to Arthur’s, simply holding himself centimetres away from Arthur’s mouth until Arthur arched up and licked the milk off Eames’s lips.
“Eames,” Arthur mumbled into Eames’s mouth. “I need your cock in me. Fuck me. Please.” He spread his legs, wrapping them around Eames’s torso. He writhed against Eames, trying to pull him in, pull him closer, his skin hot and sweating already despite having just come from the shower. Eames had to remove Arthur’s hands, placing them firmly on the bed in order to extract himself enough to shift back and watch as he lightly fingered Arthur’s hole.
Eames rubbed with just a little pressure, examining the damage he’d caused over the past few days. He pushed Arthur’s thighs up to his chest and spread him further, and Arthur held himself there. Eames shifted down and began to pet the tender red skin there, puffy and raw. “You need a break. Tomorrow, Arthur. Rest tonight.”
Arthur grunted in frustration, dropping his legs to wrap around Eames again and pull him in, his lean legs strong and demanding. “No, now,” he said. “It has to be now.”
Eames bit his lower lip, a flare of need igniting him. He echoed Arthur’s sound. “Tomorrow. You’ll need to take a break.”
“Fine, yes. Just —” Arthur clutched at Eames’s shoulders, pulling him down.
Eames roughly pushed Arthur’s legs up again and moved down, pressing his lips to Arthur’s glistening puckered skin. It was soft and plump, the flesh yielding but the muscle a hard ring underneath, slick and tangy. Arthur whimpered, yanking his legs up further and Eames firmly laved Arthur’s flesh, massaging him, teasing him open, though Arthur hardly needed it, greedy as he was to be entered. Eames slipped two fingers inside, wetness gathering in the crease between them. Arthur moaned low in his throat, needy, gratified.
“You’re ready for me, aren’t you, love?” Eames said, crawling back up but leaving his fingers inside. “You’ve never been like this, have you?”
Arthur reached up and pulled Eames down for a kiss, then slid his hands down to Eames’s arse trying to pull him in. Eames’s cock poked at Arthur’s sac, then slid down past his hole. Eames had to reach down to guide himself in, careful to press gently at first, testing Arthur’s pain threshold. But if Arthur was sore and tender, it appeared to only add to his mindless loss into sensation as he dropped his head back, eyes closed, licking his lower lip.
Eames rolled his hips in, sinking balls-deep and pulling out almost all the way before slipping back inside, the movement hot and slick, almost too easy from all the wetness for him to get enough friction to come. But Arthur was tight on his cock and Eames looked down, taking in Arthur’s lean muscular torso, the dip of his throat at his collar bone, the slight swell of his adam’s apple. He ducked his head to once more mouth at one of Arthur’s leaking nipples and Arthur started to swear, pressing up into it. Eames took no more mercy on the tender flesh there and sucked in hard, feeling the rush of warm, sweet milk on his tongue, the soft skin distending up into his mouth.
When he raised his head finally, his cock grown so hard and sensitive that Arthur’s sheath was nudging Eames towards his orgasm, Eames slipped a hand under Arthur’s nape.
“No, look at me,” Eames said and Arthur opened his eyes, a vulnerability showing there that Eames had never seen. “Look at you. So needy. So ready — ready for me.” Eames was breathless, beyond control, shoving himself up into Arthur and rubbing himself towards completion. “Ready for my baby, aren’t you Arthur?”
“Yes,” Arthur whispered, panting. “Put one in me, Eames. Fuck.”
Eames sped up, gripping Arthur’s neck till his fingers turned white. The clean smell of soap and shampoo was undercut by the smell of Arthur, the subtley sweet milky scent, the warm, primed musk of him. Eames detached from conscious thought, could only obey his body’s imperative to plant his seed, was overwhelmed by the desire to embrace Arthur in a hold strong enough to hold him, keep him, protect him. And with a final glance down at Arthur’s form, so willing beneath him, he came in a blinding rush, shoving his cock as far in as it would go and pulsing hot gushes into Arthur’s waiting body.
When he was fully spent, Eames raised his upper body, leaving his erection buried and looked at Arthur’s reddened prick, twitchy and bouncing as Eames’s cock shifted inside him. Eames reached down and petted it with his thumb, then wrapped three fingers around and stroked as Arthur choked out a groan.
“That’s good, let it out. Show me how badly you need it,” Eames murmured, gathering a bit of Arthur’s wetness from where they were joined and returning to rub him again. “That’s it, that’s my boy, push up into my hand. Come on, come for me.” Eames’s cock was slipping out with Arthur’s arching but he was so clearly close, Eames let himself fall right out, a little come dribbling down. “Come for me, Arthur.” He arched down and licked Arthur’s purple head and Arthur came, spraying hard all over himself as Eames pulled back, dragging his tongue up the underside of Arthur’s cock as the twitching eased.
As Eames laid on his side, pressing a kiss to Arthur’s forehead, Arthur lowered his legs shakily.
“How do you feel?” Eames asked, taking in Arthur’s tired but clear gaze, the sweat on his skin that lacked his previous pallor, the heavy breaths that spoke of a relief deeper than that accomplished by coming alone.
“Good. I need to sleep. For a week,” Arthur laughed weakly.
“You need to eat. You sleep for a bit. I’m going to shower and come back with something for us for dinner.”
Arthur hauled himself under the covers and closed his eyes, a frown appearing between his brows.
Eames touched his fingers to Arthur’s jaw and kissed him lightly, but long before saying, “Don’t think so hard. Not right now. I’ll be back in a while.”
He walked to the shower feeling lighter than air but with a nagging, tugging worry around the periphery. He tried to hold onto that lightness, but by the time he stepped out of the shower it was a ghost of a memory, an abstraction of a feeling, like trying to remember the taste of strawberries.
***
An hour later Arthur woke to the sound and smell of Eames opening the lids of some take-away containers on the coffee table of their room. His stomach rumbled and he realized how hungry he was. He rolled out of bed and pulled on Eames’s boxers from the floor, the first pair he came across.
Dishing himself some Thai noodles into a bowl, Arthur was aware of Eames looking at him, but he stubbornly refused to raise his eyes. They ate in silence until Arthur had his fill and sat back.
“You look better,” Eames said eventually, guardedly.
“I feel better. I think I’m over the worst of it,” Arthur looked up at Eames who looked expectantly at Arthur for so long that Arthur finally continued. “Eames, I was wondering. Why did you get so angry when you found me at the club?”
Eames shifted in his seat, then leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I knew what you were. I’ve always known. I’d thought that, given all we’ve been through, you’d come to me when the time came. Or anyone other than a random bunch of guys in a bar who you could maybe take in a fight under normal circumstances but —” Eames clenched his fists.
“No, I get it,” Arthur interrupted. “...thanks,” he added quietly. “Look, I know it was really inconvenient having this happen in the middle of a job, and it jeopardized our progress. But we’re still on track, and I’m okay now so...” he looked at Eames, hoping he didn’t have to finish. Eames’s unimpressed look wasn’t encouraging. “So I should probably move back to my room.”
“And that’s what you want, is it?” Eames’s voice was tightly controlled but Arthur heard the tinge of resentment. He’d heard it enough when Eames spoke to Cobb after the Fischer job.
“Well, no,” Arthur replied, considering his options. “I’m well aware of the implications of today. Biologically my body was trying to... anyway. Like I said, I’ve experienced heats before but this was different. But I don’t want you to feel obligated here.”
Eames frowned, his lip curling slightly. “Why don’t you let me decide what my obligations are and whether I want to honour them? What do you think I did here? A favour to you? You let me in, Arthur. You can’t shut the door now and deny me the opportunity to be a father to a child I helped create — if that is indeed the case.” He had leaned forward on his knees, shoulders relaxed but his expression was sharp, alert, thinking too many thoughts that Arthur couldn’t read.
Arthur thought of Ariadne asking for Eames’s advice despite his lack of an architecture background. He thought of Eames stepping up to help every time, even when others fell down in their duties. It hit him then how being needed was what kept Eames coming back. “That wasn’t my intention. And anyway, we don’t even know yet,” Arthur said.
“No. We don’t,” Eames said tiredly. “Arthur. You can stay here.”
Arthur shook his head, a small smile touching the corners of his lips. “I’ll go back to my room, it’s fine. But am I to take that to mean that I can come back? If I want?”
Eames nodded. Arthur stood and gathered his clothes from various places on the floor, pulling them on. As he walked to the door, Eames rose and followed.
“I’ll make an appointment tomorrow to find out. And I’ll see you at the warehouse,” Arthur said as Eames opened the door for him.
“You keep me informed,” Eames replied, his tone hinting at an order. Arthur smiled, placed his hand on Eames’s neck and pulled him in, pressing his lips to Eames’s.
“Of course,” he said quietly and turned to go.
***
Eames paced through the duty-free shop, stopping at the sunglasses rack for the fifth time but not really looking at them. The job was done, not without its glitches, Arthur and Eames having not been at the top of their game during the planning stages. It was successful nonetheless.
His phone buzzed in his pocket and he fumbled a little in his hurry to take it out. It was a text from Arthur. He hesitated a second before opening the message, taking a deep breath.
There was just one character on the screen: “+”.
He laughed, shaky.
**End**
