Eames arranged himself artfully on the hotel bed, spread-eagled and looking louche and seductive, wearing just the little boxer-briefs that clung to him in a way he knew attracted Arthur’s eye. Arthur was on a job and Eames was not, meaning that every day when Arthur came “home” Eames would lay about making much of how very at-leisure he was, yawning and stretching and showing off his tan as Arthur scoffed under his breath and rolled his eyes.
Today Eames happened to be reading a book he picked up in the hotel gift shop, a sordid paperback, honestly what was termed a bodice-ripper, with a lurid painting on the cover and gilded swirling text spelling out the name and title. The heroine had a flowing purple dress, long curling red hair, and snow-white cleavage; the hero was bare-chested, tan, with long black hair, wearing a kilt. Eames was sold on it without looking through it. It had been such a long time since he’d indulged himself in reading some trashy smut.
By the time Arthur was back, Eames was actually engrossed in the plot, such as it was, and almost forgot to make sure he was arranged as flatteringly and temptingly as possible. He was startled by the sound of Arthur unlocking the door and calling his name as he walked toward the bedroom of the suite, and managed to resume his seductive position just in time, albeit a tad clumsily since he had honest to God been distracted by the book. He was probably flushed, as well.
Arthur strode in, bags and all, genial if a bit tired. “Keeping busy, I see,” he added after the usual greeting pleasantries, looking over Eames on the bed with a glint of fond amusement in his damnably pretty eyes. “No bon bons?” he asked, setting down his bags.
“I ate them already,” Eames replied.
“That’s too bad. What’s the book about? Fine literature?” Arthur took off his coat, and then his jacket. Eames found Arthur and his clothes delightfully distracting.
“It’s what is called a ‘bodice ripper,’ I do believe,” Eames said, watching Arthur’s strong, capable, long-fingered hands unfasten his cufflinks and unbutton his dress shirt. Arthur tucked his cufflinks into his bag and sat on the bed to take off his boots.
“Mm,” he said. “And this is a genre you typically read?”
“From time to time,” Eames said. “I’ve been known to.”
Arthur took off his dress shirt and sat in his undershirt, stretching. After cracking his neck, he unbuckled his belt and whipped the leather through the loops, and Eames found himself immediately remembering the heroine in his silly book, taken to task by the hero for being a strong-willed lass who needed to understand who was boss, which naturally involved a good spanking. Eames swallowed. By and by, Arthur noticed he was quiet and turned to look at him. Eames quickly returned to paging through the book. “I mean, honestly, Arthur, listen to this,” he said, and began to read (Arthur always enjoyed hearing him read aloud), from a few paragraphs before the actual threatening of spanking. Of course, he affected a Scottish accent for the hero -- he was in a kilt after all, and his dialog was written atrociously, although Eames couldn’t say he’d ever met a Scottish bloke named Logan -- he wasn’t at all opposed -- it just wasn’t particularly realistic.
“Cassandra stared at him. ‘You’re under my roof, lass,’ he said, ‘and ye’ll do as I order ye.’ She stood up from the table on impulse, and ran, ran out of the dining hall to the great hallway, feet bare on the stone. She almost thought she’d made it until she heard his booted footsteps running up behind her and felt his hand latch firmly onto her arm, stopping her entirely and pulling her to him. ‘Ye’ll not get away from me so easily as all that,’ he growled in her ear as she struggled to get away. It was no use, as he was far stronger than she was.”
“Riveting,” Arthur commented. “I suppose now she’ll have to be punished for her disobedience.” He sounded more amused than mocking. Eames felt his ears turn pink. He rolled over onto his stomach.
“I suppose,” he said. “I don’t know why there were so many books at the store with Scotsmen on the covers. They’re not especially sexy, are they?”
“It’s the accent,” Arthur said. “Americans love Scottish accents.”
“You can’t hear an accent when reading a book,” Eames said, shaking his head.
“Then it’s the kilts.”
“They don’t really all go about wearing kilts all the time, nor do you really get visuals when reading a book,” Eames said.
“Then it’s a cultural stereotype of the wild, manly Scotsman that can only be tamed by true love,” Arthur said dryly.
“Must be. All the best of luck with that, my dear,” he said to the image of Cassandra on the cover, in the throes of passion. “Between all the caber-tossing and broadsword-fighting they don’t have a lot of free time.”
“So, is it a sexy book?” Arthur’s tone was lightly teasing.
“Oh, it’s packed full of sex. I believe she lets him stick it in her arse at one point, even.”
“Yeah, but does it turn you on?” Now Arthur was definitely teasing.
“Why else would one get a trashy romance novel, Arthur?”
“I do believe you’re blushing. Never thought I’d see the day.”
“I’m not used to being queried about my taste in reading,” Eames said loftily.
“Yeah, right. So what happens next?”
Eames pretended to read the passage over, as if he wasn’t perfectly aware. “Er, let’s see. He threatens to spank her, looks like.”
“I bet he’ll make good on it. Manly Scotsman and all.”
“He does,” Eames confirmed.
“Does he fuck her afterward?”
“Yes indeed. Technically, the way it’s put, he ‘takes her.’ They can no longer restrain their passions, you see.”
“Was that the first time they had sex?”
“Yes it was.” Eames read a few paragraphs. “The first time she ever had sex, apparently.”
”Now that’s character development,” Arthur said. “Well, I’m glad you managed to find something to do with yourself while I was making money.”
“Fuck off,” Eames said distractedly, paging through the sex scene, which had Logan digging his fingers into the firm, womanly swells of Cassandra’s buttocks -- heedless of her bruises -- as he fucked her, with Cassandra loving every minute of it, the hussy.
“Ever gotten up to anything like that?” Arthur asked.
“Hmm? Oh. Like what?” Eames swallowed.
“Dominating. Being dominated. Whichever.”
Eames didn’t look up. “Not to any… real extent.”
“Mm.” Arthur yawned. “I’m going to order room service, want anything?”
Eames sagged a little in relief. “I ate earlier, I’m not hungry.”
“Oh yeah, what’d you have?” Arthur stood to get to the phone.
“Croissant with ham and cheese and some fruit.” Cassandra was being awakened the next morning by Logan’s strong, hot hands all over her body, proprietary and possessive.
Arthur ordered, and Eames took the opportunity to change his position on the bed to release the pressure on his cock, not because he didn’t like it but because he was starting to be tempted to rub himself against it, and for some reason it was important to him to continue the farce that he was not really very much at all aroused by this book.
When the food arrived, bloody Arthur proceeded to eat it while watching telly, seemingly indifferent to Eames’ being engrossed in this sodding book. He was going to need to have a wank shortly, that is, if he didn’t just let it subside, and it would be obvious why. He wasn’t sure what was making him so hesitant -- it was a sexy book, it was natural to find it arousing.
Once he’d finished eating, Arthur gravitated toward his laptop and then finally flat out started working on it. Eames sighed, and returned to his reading. Arthur made some phone calls, and finally said to Eames, “I’m fucking exhausted, I’m going to turn in early” and took no notice of the pointed glare Eames gave him.
Arthur got ready for bed. Once he was under the covers, a put-out Eames went to the ensuite and had an angry, silent wank.
Back at the bed, he found Arthur was sound asleep. Arthur slept like the dead, and did not respond to Eames’ admittedly childish efforts to move the mattress as much as possible as he himself got into bed.
He woke up to Arthur kissing his neck and running lazy but proprietary hands all over him. He flashed back to a scene in the damned bodice-ripper where Logan had done the same to Cassandra, the morning after he took her virginity. She’d protested that he didn’t own her, and he’d replied, “We’ll see about that.”
Arthur, however, just said “Good morning” in a sleep-hoarse voice. He gave Eames’ arse a squeeze so firm it made Eames gasp. “Would you like breakfast in bed?”
“It’s no great concession if you’re simply ordering room service,” Eames grumped, inhaling sharply when Arthur got his hands under his waistband and started groping everywhere.
“Is that a no?”
“Crepes with strawberries and bananas,” Eames said, a little breathless.
“If you’re good.” Arthur gave Eames’ bum a firm pinch.
“Bloody hell, Arthur.” Eames suddenly felt hot all over, and his heart began to race.
“Mmm.” Arthur gave his arsecheek a smack, and Eames nearly jumped out of bed. Arthur did get a bit proprietary and handsy with him anyway as a matter of course, but with the book on his mind, Eames wasn’t sure he wasn’t adding more of a context to this than it merited.
Eames cleared his throat. “What does being ‘good’ constitute, exactly?”
“Doing as I say,” Arthur answered smoothly.
“Why should I do as you say?”
“Because you’re mine,” Arthur said, and nibbled at his neck.
Eames considered arguing this on the grounds that one thing did not necessarily follow the other, but he shuddered instead, his lashes fluttering for a moment. He cleared his throat. “Right,” he got out, “and, theoretically, what is it I should be doing?”
“Simple,” Arthur said. “I’m going to strip you down, tie your hands, and blindfold you, and you’re going to let me.”
“Hmm.” Eames paused, heart pounding as he pretended to consider. “And then you can do with me as you wish?”
“Yup.” Arthur grinned at him.
“Well. All right,” Eames said, and cleared his throat again.
“Then,” Arthur continued, “I’ll call down for those crepes, and after we eat, we’ll have a bubble bath.”
“Excellent,” Eames said, and squirmed. Arthur laughed, and kissed him until Eames was breathless and clutching at him while attempting not to be too obvious about it.
Arthur got him out of his underpants, put Eames on his back, and sucked his cock just enough to make Eames really quite put out when he stopped. He then got out a tie and blindfolded Eames with it.
“I haven’t done this before, you know,” Eames remarked, quietly, as an aside as he felt Arthur kneel next to him.
“Oh yeah?” Arthur sounded surprised. “Nothing like this, none of this stuff?”
“No.” Eames shrugged. “Not too many people I’m on such good terms with,” he added lightly.
Arthur was quiet, and Eames started feeling unsettled until Arthur kissed him, this time very gently, almost chastely. Just as the thumping in Eames’ chest started to turn to panic, Arthur was gone, and suddenly Eames felt his wrists taken up and tied with cloth, attached to the headboard. He allowed it; he knew Arthur wouldn’t hurt him, unless Eames wanted him to. The truth of that thought felt perfectly natural to him, and that shook him.
Then Arthur pinched both of his nipples at once, hard.
Eames’ cock throbbed, and he stifled a moan. “Jesus, Arthur,” he said, raising his head.
“Got a complaint about how I treat what belongs to me?” Arthur said, almost a growl, low and amused.
Eames started to say something and immediately forgot it when Arthur pinched his nipples again, then twisted them, then pulled. “Arthur,” he gasped.
“Eames,” Arthur replied, then surprised him by closing his teeth on one nipple, breath gusting out over Eames’ sensitized skin. Eames pulled at the ties holding him to the bed, and Arthur stopped, and seemed to move back.
“Now, now,” he said, gently scolding.
Eames sighed, but went still. Arthur gave him a few moments before he rubbed his palms up and down over Eames’ chest. “You have fantastic tits, Eames,” he said, and Eames choked. He’d long been rather pleased with his chest and knew Arthur liked its appearance, and he’d been known to occasionally give his nipples some attention, but this -- How did Arthur know he wanted more of this? As Eames wondered, Arthur returned to biting at him. Eames’ cock was beginning to feel terribly neglected.
“Arthur-- Won’t you--”
“Shhhh.” Arthur pressed a finger gently to Eames’ lips. Eames parted his lips and attempted to lick it, and Arthur huffed out a laugh. “You’ll take what I decide to give you. What I decide to do to you.”
Eames sighed again. “Oh, how I suffer.”
“I could always gag you,” Arthur warned.
Eames gasped in mock dismay. “You’d never.”
“Imagine: tied up, blindfolded, and gagged. At my mercy.”
“Arthur. You’re terrible.” Eames’ cock was getting quite impatient.
“Gag,” Arthur said, and slid his finger into Eames’ mouth, but before Eames could really demonstrate much on it, he withdrew it. Then he pinched Eames’ nipples again.
“You’re going to make me terribly sore,” Eames couldn’t resist saying, trying not to sound breathless.
Instead of silencing him, Arthur said, “Oh yeah, you want me to get some ice?” Oh, Lord.
“Perhaps another time,” Eames gasped out, as Arthur nipped his way down his chest to his cock. He started teasing at it with his tongue. “Arthur--”
“Hmmm?” Arthur hummed, taking him in. Eames pulled at the ties, and Arthur let Eames slip from his mouth. Eames could practically feel Arthur looking at him.
Eames forced himself to go still, and nodded. After another beat, Arthur resumed. But naturally he didn’t go on for very long, just enough to get Eames panting again.
“You won’t be coming yet,” Arthur said, and then Eames could hear the sounds of Arthur getting out of his underwear. Next, Arthur seemed to be moving to… straddle Eames’ chest.
Then, of course, he nudged his cock against Eames’ lips. “Suck,” he said.
“Speaking of gagging,” Eames said, and took him in. Arthur groaned low in his throat.
Now, this, this was something Eames loved doing, especially for Arthur. He knew what made Arthur tick, what he liked best, what made him shudder and moan and grab at Eames’ hair.
Doing it blindfolded was certainly interesting; Eames had to focus on the taste, the feel. Even though sight didn’t necessarily have that much importance in the middle of a blowjob, the lack of it did cause him to concentrate more on other aspects. For instance, the little sounds Arthur made in his throat, his whispered half-words that served as immediate feedback, the slick noises of Eames’ tongue on his cock, the panting of both their breaths.
Being tied and unable to touch Arthur, as well as unable to move away, gave him a certain vulnerability that excited him more than he was willing to admit. He found himself thinking of the girl in the book, taken in hand, shown who was boss, pinned down and submitting and happy to do it. Yes, it was pure fantasy but something in it spoke to Eames, difficult as it was to admit it, even just to himself.
Just then, Arthur put a hand on either side of Eames’ head, and started fucking his mouth. Eames drew in shuddering breaths through his nose, opening his throat, letting Arthur use him.
Use him. Eames couldn’t think of anyone else he would have even dreamed of in those terms. And that wasn’t even scaring him.
Arthur came with a groan, gripping the headboard, murmuring about how good Eames was, slowing his thrusts and leaving Eames messy and slick as he withdrew. He wiped the tip of his cock on Eames’ lips.
“Very good,” Arthur said, and kissed his way down Eames’ chest again, to take Eames’ cock in his mouth.
It took Eames not long at all to come. With anyone else it would have almost been embarrassing.
Arthur was leisurely about untying Eames and undoing his blindfold, wiping his mouth, dotting his skin with kisses here and there. Eames stretched, and stretched again. Then he let himself relax, conscious of Arthur smiling at him as he called down for crepes.
Arthur made himself decent, to answer the door, and then brought the food back to the bedroom. “Thank you, darling,” Eames sighed, as Arthur brought a few plates to him, to lay near him in the sheets. Arthur sat next to him, and they were quiet as they ate, Eames grateful to have the time to relax a bit and gather his thoughts (and sate his hunger).
Once Arthur was finished, he went to draw a bath, leaving Eames to finish up. “I thought you weren’t supposed to go swimming until an hour after eating,” Eames called.
“Let me know if you have any cramps,” Arthur replied. Whatever scent he’d added to the bath was exquisite. “Ready,” Arthur called. Then, “Wait, I have an idea. Stay there.”
Arthur, in his dress shirt and boxers now, sauntered back into the room and picked up the tie he’d blindfolded Eames with. “Get up,” he said, and Eames did, grumbling a bit (the bed was so comfortable). He tied the blindfold over Eames’ eyes again, and moved around him to hold both of Eames’ arms behind his back. Mouth close to Eames’ ear, he murmured, “We’ll walk there like this. Trust me to guide you.”
“All right,” Eames said. “You know, you could have kept me blindfolded and fed me breakfast.”
“True,” Arthur said, gently nudging him forward. “But I wanted to eat too, you know. Next time.”
“Ice next time too,” Eames reminded him, walking forward, taking careful steps although Arthur was steady behind him.
Arthur led him carefully to the fragrant bath, the steam of which was evident in the air. He took off the blindfold and stripped off until he was as naked as Eames, and then kissed him soundly.
“Bubbles will all be gone,” Eames said, a little breathless. Arthur laughed softly, and they got in the tub, Arthur laying back and Eames sitting in front of him. Somehow, he felt more secure knowing Arthur was there, but not looking directly at him.
Arthur stroked his fingers through Eames’ hair, idle. “Well,” he said. “That was fun.” There was a smile in his voice.
“It was,” Eames agreed, although he was finding that inwardly, he was beginning to panic, thinking of the many ways in which he’d just made himself ridiculously vulnerable. And in front of Arthur! In… front of… Arthur.
“I’m glad you’re on such… good terms with me,” Arthur said, almost as if he’d known what Eames was thinking. He shifted to kiss the back of Eames’ head. “You’re a magnificent specimen, Eames,” he added, gently teasing, making the compliment easier to take. Arthur knew him. Arthur knew him!
“Oh, Arthur,” Eames sighed, relaxing back against him.