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Of tables and shoes

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It’s been a long day. A long long day. There is nothing on the telly and Arthur is immersed in something or other that Eames can’t even pretend to want to know about – all equations and numbers. Blah.

He looks over at Arthur. Arthur glances at him, his glasses glinting in the light. Eames sighs and looks back at the telly, pushing his leg up on the table.

“Hey.” He turns to Arthur, and Arthur is looking at him, indicating to his shoe “No.”

Eames ignores him, lolling his head back again.

“I’m due for a fuck, you know.”

Eames looks back at Arthur again. Arthur is regarding him, calmly.

“What? Don’t look at me like that. Used to be when I got back from a job you couldn’t wait to shove me up a wall.”

Arthur is silent.

Eames watches him. He knows what a nice, slick, bout of dirty talk can do to his husband.
“I haven’t tasted your cum in months.”

Finally. Arthur closes the laptop and takes off his glasses. Eames looks back to the telly with a small smile.

Arthur gets up, openly adjusting his hardening cock and unbuckling his belt. Eames shivers at the sound as Arthur rounds the couch. His face is serious, dark.

The line of his cock straining his pants is eye level to Eames. Eames regards Arthur, his running his fingers over his lips absently, except not absently at all, knowing exactly what it does to Arthur. He looks up to Arthur’s dark eyes, they hold a gaze for a while, both getting on the same page.

Eames puts his drink down. He stands up from the couch and moves over Arthur, they are inches away from each other. Then he sinks down on his knees, unzipping his own pants on the way down, starting to work his half hard cock himself with one hand.

Arthur gives him a slow and heady smile, starting to stroke his cock, a sliver away from Eames’ parted lips- his mouth slack and tongue slick inside, ready to taste, but just out of the way. His scent is musky and delicious. His hand works around the thick girth slowly.

Eames runs his free hand up the back of Arthur’s thighs. “I need to suck your cock. I have missed your taste. Your cum.” Arthur watches him, eyes hooded, as he strokes. Eames continues, lifting his eyes to Arthur’s hazy gaze “Do you want me to suck you my darling? Do you want to fuck my mouth?”

Arthur groans slightly, and tries to calm his strokes, a shaky hand slowly moving to the back of Eames’ head, tangling his fingers in there, keeping his lips just a breath away from Arthur’s ministrations.

Eames knows this game well. He is the king of this game. Arthur has taught him well.

Eames starts to moan at his own stroking, leaning into Arthur’s hand in his hair.
“Do you want to fuck my mouth, darling? Do you want to come in my mouth? Down my throat? Do you want to make me bend over for you, spread my legs, show you how tight my asshole is for you?”

Arthur’s breathing is growing heavy, his hand shaking, gripping Eames harder. His hand on his cock is sliding over the head, the entire length of him glistening with pre-cum, the smell intense, wonderful, delicious. Eames, himself, is also nearing a breaking point – literally wanking himself in his pants like a teenager, Arthur’s eyes moving from his mouth, his eyes to his moving hand between his legs.

“Do you want to make me beg, Arthur? Do you want me to ask you, to beg you, to push inside me, no condom, no lube, just skin on skin and your spit on your cock. Like the first time. Like how you pushed me down into the pillows, your cock so thick between my thighs, my hole so hungry for you. Do you remember that? Pushing into me? Making me beg for every inch? Being my first? Slowly fucking me open as I cried out, riding me deep and intense…”

Arthur yanks him up by the hair and Eames turns over, pushing down his pants to his knees and widening the spread of his legs as he steadies himself on the couch. Arthur spits into his hand and it almost drives him over the edge, just the sound of it. Arthur places a hand on his lower back to steady him “Tell me if it is too much”

Arthur’s voice is so raw and low that Eames doubts Arthur will be able to stop even if it became too much. With the first two fingers that Arthur breaches him Eames’ legs almost give out, he moans loudly into the couch, his arms shaking. It takes a while for him to get wide enough to take Arthur’s head, and when it stretches inside it pushes the breath out of his lungs – just like the first time, the time that Arthur showed him how it was to be taken by a man, to have his underwear pulled off, his hips gripped and to be fucked, utterly and gloriously fucked, by a cock.

He comes and Arthur makes him take it, makes him take every thrust, right through his orgasm, until Arthur grips him back deeply, coming with a shuddering moan inside of him.

They collapse in a messy, sweaty heap on the couch.

Arthur pulls out, not gently – the way that Eames likes it – and gives his naked ass a hard slap before he pulls up his pants, zipping up.

“Now, keep your shoes off the table.”

Eames laughs wiping the cum between his legs with a palm, satisfied.