Eames sighed, pulled off his glasses and let them dangle from his hand. He pressed his thumb and forefinger between his eyes and squeezed, feeling a headache coming on. The only light in the study was the soft glow from his desk lamp and yet it still hurt his eyes, but anything less and he wouldn't be able to grade the papers in front of him.
He had spent the best part of the evening sat hunched over his desk, getting more and more use out of his red pen as each essay he graded became increasingly disappointing. He leant back and rolled his shoulders, reaching for the bottle of scotch he kept on his desk for nights such as these. He poured himself a healthy measure and swallowed it down with a grimace, before shoving his glasses back up his nose and picking up his pen again.
He was halfway through an essay written in particularly appalling chicken scratch when the door swung open.
Eames glanced up as Authur sauntered into the room. He could already tell what was coming by his posture and the stern line of his mouth.
"Aren't you finished yet? I'm so fucking bored."
Eames just about remembered what boredom felt like and knew that at seventeen it was unlikely that Arthur took any pleasure in sitting around in Eames' living room, entertaining himself while Eames worked. But all the same, the kid should have gotten used to Eames' heavy workload by now.
"Not yet, Arthur. Aren't there any cartoons on that you could be watching?"
"You're hilarious." Arthur rolled his eyes and trailed his fingers along the spines of the books on Eames' bookcase. Eames knew it was mostly from habit as Arthur had read most of them, understood half of them better than Eames did himself, and had even gone as far as to criticise some of his choices ("Really, Eames? This translation? You may as well not have even bothered.")
Eames tried to concentrate on annotating his paper as Arthur pulled a book at random from the shelf, leafed through the pages and started to hum. Eames' jaw clenched and he fought the urge to pour himself another drink.
But Arthur lasted mere seconds, shoving the book back onto the shelf when he failed to get a rise out of Eames.
"I'm horny," he announced, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
"You're always horny."
"Yes, and you're normally not this difficult to entice into fucking me when I am."
Eames watched from his peripheral vision as Arthur crossed his arms and knotted his eyebrows, a pout playing around his mouth.
"And although it would normally be my pleasure, I have to have these done by tomorrow morning, no ifs, ands or buts." He glanced up and smirked. "Not even yours," he added, unable to resist.
Arthur tutted, unamused.
"Haven't you got homework?" Eames asked, suddenly remembering. "That history paper you were whining about being too easy and an insult to your intelligence?"
"Finished last week," said Arthur, walking up to Eames' desk and letting his fingers play over the bottle of scotch. "I get my work done in time, unlike some."
Eames wanted to retort that the reason why he was so late in finishing was that Arthur had demanded to be fucked that morning, not once but twice, and Eames had had to sleep it off that afternoon.
Arthur came around behind his chair and wrapped his arm around his shoulders.
"Come on," he murmured. "This shit can wait, come fuck me. We haven't done it with me on top in a while. You’d like that, hmm?"
Eames shut his eyes and resisted the urge to arch his neck as Arthur pressed a kiss behind his ear.
"I promise I'll fuck you however you like later, darling. But right now you have to let me concentrate."
"No, now." Arthur tugged the pen from Eames' grasp and tossed it across the desk, leaving a red splodge of ink across an essay.
Eames clenched his fist. He was about to shrug Arthur off and tell him to get the fuck out of his study, but then Arthur upped the ante.
"Please, Daddy?" he whispered, running a hand along Eames' tensing forearm.
They didn't play this game often. It had taken Eames a good chunk of their relationship to get over the discomfort and guilt from when Arthur had first let the word slip from his mouth, but Arthur was too astute not to notice how it had made Eames fuck him harder than he had ever done before. Since then, it had become Arthur's guaranteed way of getting Eames' attention.
Tonight was no exception.
Eames' heart thumped and a shiver ran down his spine as the word left Arthur's mouth. He grabbed Arthur's wrist and clenched the fine bone in a tight grip.
"What did I just say, Arthur?"
"I'm sorry Daddy, did I make you cross?" Eames didn't fail to notice how Arthur raised his voice an octave higher than usual.
Eames pulled off his glasses and sent them skidding across the desk, reaching up to grab Arthur by the scruff of his neck.
"Yes, Arthur. It makes me angry when you don't do as you're told."
Arthur made to leave, trying to tug his wrist from Eames' grip.
"I didn't mean to be bad, Daddy. I'm sorry."
His voice broke and Arthur turned to look down at him. Eames swallowed when he saw the quiver that shook Arthur's lower lip.
"I know you are. But you have to be taught a lesson now, don't you?"
Arthur blinked and nodded. His eyes were wide and huge and he suddenly looked far less than his seventeen years.
"You know what has to happen now?" asked Eames, pushing his chair back from the desk.
Arthur let out a shuddering sigh and moved to stand between Eames' spread legs. He twisted and curled his hands together shyly, and Eames saw just how far Arthur wanted to take this tonight.
"Go on," Eames told him.
Arthur bit his lip and brought his shaking hands to his belt. He tugged it open and fumbled over his button and zip, his head bowed, glancing at Eames beneath a lock of hair loose across his forehead.
Eames' nails dug into the arms of his chair as Arthur got his jeans down around his slim thighs, revealing blue underpants which strained around Arthur's half-hard cock. Eames shifted himself closer and Arthur's hands fluttered around in front of his crotch as though to hide himself from Eames' eyes.
Eames grabbed his arm and pulled him over his lap, Arthur putting up an admirable show of resistance. Eames pressed down on the back of his head to direct his gaze to the floor before running a heavy hand over the soft cotton of Arthur's ass.
Arthur clung to his thigh as Eames pulled down his underwear, letting the elastic waistband snap back against his thighs, just to hear Arthur shriek.
"You know that Daddy loves you, don't you?" asked Eames. He pushed Arthur's head back down as he raised it to answer.
"Yes," he sighed.
"But you understand that I have to punish you?"
Arthur nodded. Eames took a steadying breath and pushed Arthur's t-shirt further up his back, smoothing a hand down the curve of his spine. He loved watching Arthur's body tense in anticipation almost as much as he enjoyed spanking him.
He swung his hand up and brought it down on Arthur's ass with more force than Arthur was no doubt expecting. He jerked and gasped, his fingers clenching into Eames' thigh, but Eames didn't much care. Arthur had wound him up far too much tonight and he wasn't in the mood to work Arthur up from gentle smacks.
He brought his hand down again before he could notice the sting of his palm. He whacked Arthur across the soft mound of his cheeks, biting his lip as the flesh jiggled and Arthur cried out. He was however, Eames noted with approval, careful to keep his head bent to the floor.
He hit Arthur five times without pause, leaving long red streaks around the curve of his buttocks. Eames felt sweat gather at his temples, every jerk of Arthur's body rubbing the seam of his trousers tighter against his crotch. He stopped and massaged Arthur's ass, watching his back shudder as he tried to pull away from the pain.
"I think you need a few more," he said, clenching Arthur's flesh between his fingers. His skin was so flawless and soft that it took Eames' breath away every damn time. "What do you think?"
Arthur pressed his hips up into Eames hand and exhaled over a shaky breath.
"Yes, Daddy," he forced out, already bracing himself.
Eames bunched Arthur's t-shirt in his fist and smacked Arthur across the sensitive skin at the curve where his buttocks met his thighs. He gasped at the loud thwack that filled the room.
Arthur took a beat longer to respond. He started to tremble, clenching his teeth down on Eames' thigh, sobbing something indecipherable. Eames hit him again and again, his palm screaming and Arthur's little teeth biting him hard enough for Eames to know he'd have a round, indentented bruise in the morning.
The thought sped blood to his cock and he shifted his hips against Arthur's stomach. He gave Arthur a moment, tracing a thumb over a knob of his vertebrae, listening to his muffled pants.
Eames had raised his hand again before he saw it - Arthur's thighs spreading, revealing the bulge of his balls between his legs - and he swore under his breath. He grabbed Arthur by the back of his damp neck and grit his teeth.
He smacked Arthur on the crease of his ass, his fingertips landing on his balls. He grunted with each slap he rained down on him until the skin glowed red, Arthur gasping and whimpering to the floor.
Eames brought his hand down on Arthur for a final time and groaned as the globe of his flesh throbbed with heat in his palm. He grabbed Arthur by the hair and tugged his head back, stomach clenching in pleasure at the sight of his tear streaked face and his cheeks glowing as red as his ass.
"Are you hard, Arthur?" he asked, sliding his fingers down to rub at his balls.
Arthur shut his eyes and nodded, frantic, another tear sliding down over the curve of his cheek.
"Yes, Daddy. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry - "
"You know how wicked you are for enjoying this, don't you? You're a wicked boy."
Arthur writhed and looked up at him through glassy eyes as his cock gave a jerk against Eames' thigh. He looked a wreck, all of his cocky arrogance gone.
"I know I'm bad, I know - "
He broke off into a whine and Eames eased his grip from his hair, letting Arthur's head fall back down again. He stroked his hand through Arthur's hair, brushing the curling, sweaty strands from his temples and slid his fingers back up the crease of his buttocks.
"Do you need to come, baby?" he murmured, watching Arthur's cheeks as they parted, raw and plump, to admit his fingers.
"Oh yes Daddy, please!"
Eames pulled back and reached for the top drawer of his desk, clumsy with lust as he fumbled through its contents. He swore and slammed it shut before pulling open the next one, appearing a second later with the tube of lubricant. He pulled off the cap with his teeth and spat it to God knew where and squeezed some out onto his fingers.
"You'll be a good boy from now on, won't you? You'll let me work when I tell you to?" Eames slid a finger into Arthur's hole up to the joint, rubbing it in and out. He paused, waiting for Arthur's answer.
"Yes, yes I promise!"
Eames added another finger and Arthur's hips jumped from his lap, his toes skidding along the floor as he fought he press up into Eames' hand.
"Do you want to come like this?" asked Eames, stretching Arthur's hole with twists of his wrist. He knew the answer already, knew it in how Arthur's hips bucked with every press of his fingers, how the whines from his throat grew more desperate with every brush across his prostate.
Arthur shook his head and twisted around to stare up at Eames, his lips shining in the lamp light.
"No, I want - Daddy please, I want - "
"You want Daddy's cock?"
"Mmm hmm." Arthur licked his lips and shifted, rubbing against Eames' crotch.
Eames swore and yanked open his belt. He had barely pulled his cock out before Arthur had twisted around, his eyes shut and mouth open in search of his cock.
He guided Arthur by his hair and grunted when his lips wrapped around the head. Arthur made a little moan of relief and his eyebrows quirked up, before he bobbed his head and sucked Eames down.
Eames clenched a hand on Arthur's buttock, staring down at his cock as it slid in and out of Arthur's mouth. Eames felt the pressure, hot and urgent, as it sped towards his groin.
"Do you need to get fucked now, baby?" he breathed.
Arthur raised his head.
"Yes Daddy, fuck me," Arthur whispered, his wet lips brushing the head of Eames' cock.
"You think you deserve it?" Eames cocked his head to the side and wiped his precome from Arthur's lip.
"Please, I'll be so good for you, I promise."
Eames whacked his ass, right across his fading handprint. Arthur threw his head back and whined through his teeth.
He opened his eyes and glared at Eames, his eyelashes clumped with tears.
"Put you big, hard cock in me, Daddy."
Eames grabbed him by the arm and shoved him face down over his desk. He threw out an arm and sent papers and stationary flying, his bottle of scotch hitting the floor with a heavy thud. He held Arthur down with a hand between his shoulder blades, Arthur's fingers scratching across the wood before gripping the edges of the desk, his knuckles turning white.
He couldn't spread his legs far apart with his jeans and underwear bunched around his knees, so Eames grabbed the mound of his buttock, spreading him wide, his wet, losened hole clenching.
"Good boy," Eames whispered, rubbing the head of his cock against the hole as Arthur's head twisted on the table.
Eames pressed forward slowly until he was burried to the hilt, Arthur's hole stretching to take him in. Arthur shifted beneath Eames' hand but Eames held him steady, pulling back to thrust back in, setting a quick pace. His cock felt impossibly huge inside Arthur's tight body, his hips tiny and fragile as they jumped with every thrust.
"Is this what you wanted?" Eames panted. "For your Daddy to fuck your ass?"
Arthur bit his lip and groaned, trying to push back onto Eames' cock.
"God yes, yes, I'm so hard for you - "
Eames grabbed him by the hip and tilted his lower body off the table, angling his cock and smirking when Arthur cried out.
"That the spot, baby?"
Arthur choked and gasped over his reply and Eames fucked a few more of the sounds out of him. His balls were tightening and he felt himself harden more in Arthur's ass. He knew he couldn't last much longer and he clenched his teeth, fighting the coil of pleasure tightening in his gut, until -
"Oh - oh god, PLEASE!"
Arthur groped for Eames' hand and tugged it between his legs. He pressed his forehead against the table, neck arching as he strained to see Eames' hand on his cock.
Eames fisted Arthur's t-shirt and yanked him up and backwards, his warm, damp back heavy against Eames' chest.
Arthur shuddered at the new angle, his fingers biting into Eames' forearm as he wrapped a hand around Arthur's cock.
"That's it, darling," Eames panted into Arthur's ear, nosing along the line of his throat. He pulled Arthur's cock and felt a vein pulse as he fucked Arthur with sharp jerks against his ass.
Arthur suddenly whined and tensed in his arms.
"That's it baby, come on."
"Daddy, I'm coming!"
Arthur bucked and came in Eames' fist, his come shooting across the desk. Eames rubbed him through it, tonguing a raised tendon in Arthur's neck and fighting the clench in the pit of his stomach as he fucked through Arthur's orgasm. Arthur had barely finished before Eames grunted and pressed him to the table again, mindless of the splatter of come.
"Fucking hell, Arthur," he growled, bucking against Arthur's ass as he came deep inside him, deaf to Arthur's whimpers over the sound of blood pounding in his ears.
He leant against the table for a moment, bracketing Arthur in his arms as he gasped for breath. He pulled out of Arthur's body, the slick slide of come and lubricant making them both shudder.
Eames dropped back into his chair and watched as Arthur slowly caught his breath, sweat rolling from the ends of his hair to dampen the collar of his t-shirt.
Arthur pushed himself up, bending at the waist to pull up his underwear and jeans. He let Eames watch the trickle of come that left his ass and Eames closed his eyes. He knew Arthur was already planning on using it as an incentive to get fucked again in bed and he scrubbed a hand over his face, wondering how much Arthur was likely to bitch if he wasn't able to find the energy for it.
Arthur turned to face him, laughing as he took in Eames' spent body - his head rolled back, his softening cock, his hands limp on the arms of his chair.
"You're getting too easy for me, old man."
"Watch your mouth," Eames mumbled, his mind too wonderfully blank for a more intelligent retort.
Arthur leaned over him and pressed their lips together. Eames opened his mouth for him and Arthur hummed, slipping his tongue into Eames mouth and sliding a hand over his cheek, his thumb stroking over a cheekbone.
"Seeing as you were so kind as to fuck me so well, I'll let you do your work now," Arthur whispered against his mouth.
"Awfully good of you."
Arthur bent to retrieve the bottle of scotch (which was, thankfully, undamaged) and the scattered essays. He jostled them into a neat pile and ran his gaze down the topmost paper.
"You marked this date as right but it's actually wrong - it's supposed to be 1847, not 1846," he said, tapping the paper.
Eames sighed as he redid his trousers.
"Yes, Arthur thank you. Always grateful to have a seventeen year old point out my mistakes."
Arthur gave him a huge, dimpled smile.
"You're welcome," he said, heading to the door. He stopped and glanced over his shoulder, illuminated in the darkness from the bright light in the hallway.
"I'll be in bed, when you're done." he said, shutting the door.
Eames pulled himself up to his desk, found his pen again and was correcting the mistake which Arthur had pointed out - the freakishly intelligent little shit - before he noticed the scratches on the edge of the table - grooves left by Arthur's nails.
Eames ran a thumb over them and vaguely acknowledging the fact that he should be furious, given that the table had cost more than what he paid in rent each month. He licked his lips and forced his gaze back to the essay but the words blurred together, so he shut his eyes and leant back in his chair instead.
He let his hand drop heavily to his thigh and gasped in pain. He knotted his eyebrows in confusion before he realised - Arthur's teeth, biting open mouthed at his thigh. Eames pressed his hand down harder and grit his teeth as the growing bruise flared beneath his palm.
"Fuck it," he announced to the empty room, pushing himself out of his chair and heading to the bedroom, lying to himself that he would find the time to finish his work in the morning.