snoozing_kitten

Title: I don’t want to set the world on fire
Pairing: Eames/Arthur
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Ordinary Sundays and alternate meanings of the word Limbo.
Notes: ‘I only want to start a flame in your heart’ There is so much about this I hate. Ung. Anyways, anyone know where I should post this thing? I assume there is a comm somewhere.

Sometimes being between one job and the next is a lot like being in limbo. They could and would go days without seeing anyone but each other, with nothing to do but fuck and play cards. Pristine and always efficient Arthur with his hair messed in his silky shorts looking content and lazy because there was no one else around to impress. Eames had already been suitably impressed, over and over and over long fingers and a flexibility that came with routinely working out, mixed with a crack shot and a sharp enough to rip you to shreds.

Right now his long-fingered hand wasn’t deftly handling a fire-arm, nor was he strangling the life out of a man, nor was he carefully sliding the needle into the visible blue-green trace-work of his veins. In fact, he was making pancakes, rather badly.

Arthur squinted at the recipe displayed on his laptop on the kitchen table, the mess of flour and eggs in front of him looking a little to lumpy still. Eames didn’t move from his sprawl in the chair to help, he was hungry, but no better at the fine art of making pancakes from scratch himself, so he was content to just watch and offer useless advice. He was supervising. Arthur’s bare feet looked oddly vulnerable without his leather loafers long naked toes; the floor had to be cold, knobby knees and hairy shins.

“What are you smiling at?” He spoke without turning around and Eames grin grew wider. Predatory.

“Always, you.” To which the other man made such an undignified noise, snorting as he stirred his batter.

“Don’t make me laugh.”

“Really, who else would I be smiling at?” He stood up, back cracking pleasantly when he stretched. Time for some more hands-on supervising.

“Stay over there, I’m cooking.” Arthur looked over his shoulder, chin right near an angry looking bite mark, a perfect imprint of Eames teeth right in the meat of his shoulder. You could see the slightly staggered edges of his dentition (Arthur had braces as a lad and of course left the straightest cutest little bite marks you ever did see.)

“No.” He grinned, stalking across the tiny kitchen of their rented apartment, feeling great and powerful in nothing but his socks and briefs. He wrapped his arms around narrow torso and pulled the smaller man back against his own chest, ducking his head to kiss the pink teeth marks. Arthur’s tummy was taught, pale skin pulled over lean muscles, and Eames ran his fingertips across the expanse lovingly, tangling just his nails in the beginnings of dark pubic hair. Arthur shivered in his arms, trying to twist away from him and the spidery ticklish sensation.

“Stop it, I’m cooking.”

“Is that what you’re calling it now?”

He let his hands rest against the chilly skin of his ribs, and hooked his chin over the other man’s sharp shoulder to watch his hands move and feel the flex of his arms and shoulders against his chest. Pressed together like that the morning didn’t seem so chilly and when Arthur shifted his weight to his other foot Eames could feel it across his entire body. Arthur didn’t try too hard to shake him off as he continued cooking, frying some ham and some eggs to go with his thin yet lumpy pancakes.

Arthur sat across from him, made a face at his own pancakes but neither of them commented on it. If this is what limbo was like, just the two of them against the universe, he could see how people could get trapped there. He never wanted to leave. Eventually they would need food, and this would get dull, but right here, right now. He might just understand why Mal had chosen to forget rather than leave.

Dirty dishes still on the table and Arthur’s tea cup only half empty, but there wasn’t anything else they could do, because Eames kept licking the sticky-sweet syrup off his lips and Arthur had slithered into his lap like he belonged there to lick it off himself. Neither of them could be bothered with the mess, or anything but the wet heat of each other’s mouths and the pinch of teeth. It wasn’t like they were going to be here long anyways; this was liminal space where the usual rules didn’t apply.

Arthurs’s narrow chest fit in the span of his hands perfectly, thumbs on his rosy nipples and pressing his mouth to the rise and fall of his rib cage and he took sharp shallow breaths. His hair was messier than usual, curls and tangles that Eames could weave his fingers through. He loved Arthur’s hair like that, a physical representation of how he could let himself go, and a bit as a place for his fingers to pull.

Eames’ nipples tightened when he thought of them, digging the flat of his thumb nails into Arthur’s to feel him arch and shake under his palms. “Ah ah.” His own raw and sore from being chewed, pinched and bitten until he’d been unable to stop the way his back curled away from the pain and over stimulation; he had dug his hands into Arthur’s hair and pulling him off his chest.

“Come on.” Arthur moaned, letting his weight fall across Eames’ thighs more fully, heat across his lap, teasing almost, inner thighs already slick from this morning when Eames made him come all over himself with nothing but his hands and too much slick while he ate Arthur’s moans straight from his mouth.

“Hmm?” He hummed, and sank his teeth into the bit of flesh he could pull into his mouth. It left a pink mark with the deeper impressions of his teeth in it. He wondered if it would be obvious of him if he left teeth marks all over Arthur, just kept biting until he looked like a Dalmatian

“Fuck me already.” He growled, voice low and scratchy, and they’d fucked so much already that he was sore all through, and yet Eames would never be able to deny him anything.

“Just sit back.” Hands slid down his sides, nails scraping cherry-pretty lines down the softness of his skin until his hands were curling around his hips. Arthur reached back, steadying himself and guiding himself down on the thickness of his cock. His face scrunched up, eyebrows drawing together as he held his breath, sinking down lower and lower in short pulses, like it was too much and Eames’ thighs tensed wanting to push up hard and fast but willing to let Arthur control the pace. He had to be sore by now, tender little piece of skin, fucked, licked, and fingered until Arthur was sobbing with it, legs trembling and quivering and still Eames wanted more.

He groaned low in his chest, tossing his head back and pressing up into the slick heat in a shallow little pulse that pulled on the already sore muscles in his thighs and stomach. Arthur was hot, so hot, burning inside and he pressed himself closer, the other man tipping his head back for a savage kiss. Arthur bit at his lips and tongued the sting away, nails digging in softly into his scalp as they kissed. It was like this each time they fucked, over and over like it was the end of the world and this time was no different, the burn of friction making him buck up the best he could against the weight of Arthur pinning him to the chair. Arthur’s kisses were anything but gentle, practically eating out his mouth and fucking him with his tongue while muttering hot dirty, breathy little nothings against his chin and lips.

’So good, perfect.’

’Feels so fucking full.’

’God, your mouth’

Arthur’s hands slipped from his hair to the table as he shifted his weight forward, and the whole thing made it screech across the tile the chair held though, both of them balanced just barely. Eames used the movement to slide his hands down his back, the lean muscles solid under his fingers all tight with the effort of grinding down with barely any leverage from his toes on the floor. Digging his nails in a little to criss-cross older pink welts he imagined he could feel, hot under his fingers. Arthur moaned against his cheek, lips burning against his own flushed skin. His fingers stole away under his ass, brushing against the space where his dick was stretching the other man wide, each drop and grind of his weight was a glide of friction and heat against his cock and the curious tips of his fingers.

He dug his feet into tile, spreading his legs and in turn forcing Arthur to spread wider, the ends of his toes lifting off the ground and forcing him to cling to his shoulders for balance. He curled his hands under Arthur’s ass and pressed back against the chair, with more leverage they could fuck harder and faster. He helped lift Arthur up, fucking up into him while he groaned loud and shameless in their kitchen.

“Touch yourself.” He groaned letting his mouth slide away from Arthur’s hungry lips so he could press them against the pale expanse of his neck ducking his head and pushing his body harder, the tingle of his orgasm settling like a heavy stone in his belly. One of his hands pried itself from the muscle of his shoulder, probably leaving red marks in his wake, not deep enough to bruise, but tender.

Lewd sounds, skin moving and the soft almost breathless groans from Arthur and the deeper sounds of Eames getting closer and closer. Impossible to stop, like a freight train screaming down the tracks, friction on his dick tightening his stomach as he’s got first taste of it beginning to stir tightening in his balls. Gritting his teeth, he needed to hold it, surging up and seemingly deeper still, making Arthur make the most delicious little sounds all shocked pleasure and demands for more.

“Yes.” Arthur hissed, tossing his head back and his normally pale neck was flushed pink and too pretty, the bite marks were a vivid dark red, the sharp lines of his jaw and chest standing out stark and too sharp as he slowly came undone. The closer he was to coming the more pink his chest would flush, body curling forward and going taut and mumbling something unintelligible that might have been a prayer, a plea or simply a warning. He was coming sticky and warm all over Eames’s stomach and he’d need to wash it off or it was doing to dry and pull the smattering of hair there when it dried, but he probably wasn’t going to.

Arthur shuttered through it with a low almost wounded sound. Eames held him close to his chest and pressed and grinding up with tight almost painful circles moaning deep in his chest as he repeated the motion. Tight and hot and perfect his Arthur was, and then he was coming with a muted sound, shivering as it tore up from his toes and his balls and his fingers and everything at once. He filled him up right, groaning low in his chest as he did.

They stayed like that, curled against each other, sitting in their temporary kitchen, and Eames was still wearing his boxers, just pulled down and out of the way. There was a thousand things he could say, Arthur’s ear was right there, he could tell him that he wanted to stay here like this, and fuck him over and over until this becomes their reality, that hot tight place where there is only saliva and come and the explosive lust between them.

“I feel gross.” Arthur said, and his voice was all raspy and wrecked.

“That doesn’t sound like a complaint to me love.”