Arthur is beautiful on his knees, all long limbs and lean muscles, there for Eames to take his pleasure. He’s waiting patiently, like Eames told him to, chest on the sheets, head cushioned on his folded arms and his lovely bum sticking out.
Eames kneels behind him, pulls Arthur’s cheeks wide open and leans close. Arthur’s hole is pink and glistening with lube, his thighs slick. He squirms, slightly embarrassed but at the same time quite obviously turned on at Eames’s close inspection. Just moments ago he was fucking himself open with his own fingers, and it had taken thoughts of Cobb and dead kittens for Eames not to come on the spot like a teenager. Thinking about squinty Cobb had actually done a rather good job.
He slides a thick thumb inside Arthur, and Arthur moans without restraint. He’s pressing his face in the sheets, but Eames can see that it’s bright red.
“Do we really have to?” Arthur’s voice is muffled and there’s a slight hitch to it.
“Yes, Arthur, we do. You promised and you’ve let me wait way past my endurance. I want to see and feel. I can’t imagine that you’re anything but lovely.”
Eames feels his face flush with excitement and anticipation. He runs his hands up and down Arthur’s sweaty back, slowly traces the knobs of his spine and stops right above his tailbone. Eames strokes the slight indentation he can see there, just a light touch of two fingers, but Arthur’s reaction is almost violent. He shivers, arches his back and demands “Harder, fuck, Eames, harder.”
Eames spans Arthur’s waist with his hands and presses his thumbs in, hard. Arthur rears up, braces himself on his arms, face washed with sweat. “Oh god, Eames… god… just… fuck me… I need…”
Eames fumbles with the lube, hastily slicks himself and pushes in. Arthur had given himself three fingers, but he’s always so tight and he’s clearly struggling to take Eames this fast. Eames’s cock is big, thick, and it takes a few moments until Arthur shoves back, signaling he’s ready.
Eames parts him wide with his hands and fucks Arthur, fucks him with deep and hard strokes that leave them both struggling for air. He pushes in, until he’s balls-deep inside and then he removes one hand from Arthur’s cheek and rubs that spot at his tailbone. Arthur sobs, a harsh and almost wounded sound, and clenches down hard. Eames gasps loudly, stops moving entirely so he doesn’t come.
“Darling,” he says, “please show me. Come and let me see you.”
They’re both completely still, and it takes a few seconds until Eames sees it.
At first two tiny knobs appear at that place he’s been stroking. They lengthen until they look like thick fingers and keep getting longer until it can’t be denied that Arthur, indeed, has tentacles growing from the small of his back.
They look nothing like tentacles from cheap horror movies, not green or knobby, no ghastly suckers at the end. They’re the same color as Arthur’s lovely pale skin and look like just like a pair of limbs, around an inch wide. They are moving slightly, one brushing against Eames’s waist.
“Oh, darling.” Eames sighs. “You're beautiful.” He touches one of the tentacles reverently and it curls around his wrist, like a cat would curl its tail around the feet of its beloved owner. It feels mostly like Arthur’s skin, dry and warm, the texture only slightly rougher.
“Eames,” Arthur moans, “move, dammit… fuck… I need you.”
Eames starts fucking Arthur slowly. He wants to draw this out, catalogue and remember every reaction and moan.
One of the tentacles slides through Eames’s pubic hair and moves over his stomach until it reaches his chest. It strokes over his left nipple, suddenly kind of melts over it and squeezes. There’s a suckling sensation on his tit and it feels wet, like a tiny mouth. The second tentacle comes up, doing the same to his other nipple.
“God, Arthur, you can morph them?” Eames is wheezing, overwhelmed by finally seeing Arthur’s tentacles and the way they feel on him.
Arthur clenches his ass, screws himself on back on Eames’s cock since Eames is too distracted to keep up a rhythm. “Mmmmh,” he says, “fuck me properly and I’ll show you how.”
They've always been competitive with each other and Eames knows a challenge when he hears one. Eames’s approval is obviously all Arthur needs to overcome his initial self-consciousness. Eames starts fucking him, pulls out and slams back in so hard that Arthur can’t support himself on his arms any longer. He drops back down onto his chest and lets Eames fuck him, takes Eames’s cock so beautifully.
Eames feels the tentacles let go of his nipples with a last tiny lick. One slithers down again, strokes over his perineum and softly over his balls. The other slides over his neck and shoulder in an affectionate caress, down his back until it rests on the cleft of his arse.
Eames's thrusts falter and slow down to a halt, his hands pressing bruises into Arthur’s hips. There’s no way he can keep this up. He’s overwhelmed by the sensations. He feels Arthur push back impatiently, but he can’t move, he simply can’t.
The tentacle at his cleft parts his cheeks and rubs over his hole. It feels good, like a too-big finger, makes him clench with want. He feels wetness trickle over his arsehole, the tentacle dripping on him. There’s steady pressure and then the tentacle, Arthur, breaches him. Eames freezes, his body on overload by the tight pressure on his cock and the fullness in his arse.
It’s smaller than a cock, maybe as big as two of Arthur’s fingers, but it still burns with the lack of proper lubrication. It keeps sliding inside him slowly and Eames involuntarily clenches at the small hurt.
“Fuck, Eames, you… oh god…” Arthur sobs out, “is this ok?”
“Oh… yes,… I…“ Eames is wrecked, can’t find the words, but he trusts Arthur to know what he needs.
Arthur stops for a few moments to let Eames adjust. Then the tentacle slithers deeper, tickles over his prostate, and Eames feels it expand inside him, growing as thick as a real cock. He shoves back, his ass twitching, and this is all Arthur needs to start fucking him in earnest. It still burns, pulls at his too-dry rim on the outstroke, but every time the tentacle presses inside it moves over his prostate in a long smooth glide and Eames can only try to hang on and not come on the spot.
Eames is sweating, dripping on Arthur’s back. He’s hot, so hot, and barely able to breathe.
The second tentacle, the one that had been lightly stroking his balls all this time, starts moving again. It slides over Eames’s balls and up Arthur’s perineum, squeezes between Arthurs’s cheeks and then rubs over the rim of his arsehole where he’s stretched so wide around Eames’s cock. Arthur keeps making little broken noises into the sheets, damp where he’s been panting into them, his wet hole pulsing around Eames.
Eames parts Arthur’s cheeks and stares, almost loses it at the sight of Arthur stroking them both where Eames fills him.
“Put it inside,” he says breathlessly, “I want to feel you.”
“Eames… I don’t think I can…”
“Do it. I want to see your pretty hole stretched so wide, taking us both… Oh god.” Eames breathes heavily and blinks the sweat out of his eyes. He clenches around the tentacle filling him, now immobile because Arthur is too worked up to to concentrate on fucking him with it.
He strokes his thumbs between Arthur’s cheeks, one brushing against the tentacle. It moves and lines up next to his cock, and then he feels it pressing against Arthur’s already tightly stretched hole. Arthur clenches around Eames and against his own intrusion, sobs out “I can’t. I want to, but it’s too much.”
“Shhh, pet, I know you can take us both.” Eames pulls out a little to give Arthur more room, strokes over the place where the tentacles grow out of Arthur’s body and Arthur suddenly melts around him. His hole opens up easily and Eames feels the tentacle push in next to his own cock inside the heat of Arthur’s arse.
The tentacle inside him grows even thicker, but it doesn’t move, Arthur clearly too far gone to fuck Eames. Instead he contracts his arse around Eames cock and himself.
“Fuck me… Oh god, move… Fuck me, Eames…”
Eames pushes in, feels the tentacle pull out in a long wet slide against his cock. They set up a fast and relentless rhythm, fucking Arthur with deep and hard strokes. His hole is a dark pink, wet and smooth, stretched too wide around the both of them. It’s beautiful and Eames can’t stop looking.
His orgasm comes as a surprise, slams into him when he feels the tentacle inside his arse lick over his prostate. Everything goes white and he spurts helplessly inside Arthur, pressing himself inside as deep as he can. His arse clenches around Arthur, the tentacle licking him through his orgasm until he’s spent.
Finally, it retreats slowly. Arthur keeps fucking himself, the tentacle’s movements frantic and too much against Eames’s over-sensitive cock. He pulls his softening cock out, watches the way his come is pushed out by the motion and the still moving tentacle.
“Eames, goddammit, Eames, … I… ah… ahh... need…” Arthur urges, words gone. His hips move restlessly, his hard cock heavy between his spread legs. Arthur’s hands are clenched in the sheets near his face. He’s soaked in sweat, a beautiful picture of devastation and debauchery. Eames will paint him just like that.
“Shhhh,” Eames says, some of his wits finally returning. “Put the other one inside, love, fuck yourself open with your beautiful tentacles. Let me see.”
He palms Arthur wide open and crouches down to look. The second tentacle pushes inside and Arthur fucks himself with deep and rough strokes. Arthur’s face is bright red and he’s panting harshly into the sheets.
Eames’s come is dripping out of Arthurs’s hole, pushed out by the movement of the tentacles. Eames leans closer and licks a broad swipe over Arthur’s red rim. Arthur goes rigid, muscles locked, and comes with something close to a shout. His cock is spurting, streaking his thighs with come. Eames feels Arthur’s hole flutter his tongue, keeps lapping at him, gentling him like that through the aftershocks for a long moment.
Arthur collapses in a boneless heap right into the mess he made. The tentacles have retreated and all that’s left is the small indentation at the small of his back, the place where Eames likes to touch him when he ushers him through a door. Eames is lying across the lower part of Arthur’s body, head pillowed right next to that spot.
“Asshole,” Arthur says breathlessly, “you came first.”
If Eames had any energy left, he’d bristle at that, surely he can’t be held responsible for the things Arthur’s delectable arse does to him. Or, more precisely, Arthur’s delectable arse and tentacles do to him. Right now he’s too fucked out to care. Arthur can’t be that pissed if he only gives him shit about not being a gentleman but doesn’t complain about lying in the wet spot.
He tiredly presses a chaste kiss to the top of Arthur’s arse.
“I’ll try to do better next time, kitten."