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Little Aftercare Vignette

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"That's it,"  Arthur's hand smoothes down his throat, and Eames can't help himself, he can't, his hips thrust again and again into nothing but air, Arthur holding him still just above his collarbone. "That's it.  My sweet Eames.  So needy.  You need my touch, don't you?"

He nods as best as his position will allow.  Kneeling, tied to the bedposts, well-paddled arse stinging, head draped back over Arthur's shoulder.

"Sing for me."  Arthur touches his cock.  Even now, it's not enough to make him come, too light, too gentle.  Eames shudders and the cry finally comes as if Arthur had pulled it out of him, somehow hooking deep into him with his fingers and tugging, a wordless yearning noise that Arthur can only evoke from him after hours of torment.  

"Yes, that's it.  My sweet."  The endearment undoes him, as it always will.  "Such a sweet voice, crying out for my touch.  That's what you need, isn't it?  Isn't it?"

At Arthur's urging, Eames reaches new heights, unaware of volume, of pitch, of anything but the relentless need, the need to feel that capable hand claiming his flesh, Arthur's body still clothed against his, and the whispered instruction to come.

Arthur's instruction is finally, blessedly, delivered after three smooth jerks to his cock, "come."  Eames does, blinded by orgasm, faint, heart beating fast faster fastest until he's exploding with pleasure, contained only by Arthur's hands, at throat and cock, by Arthur's body supporting his limp flesh.

When he blinks, aware again, Arthur has released him and wrestled him onto his side, stroking him, telling him again and again, how perfect he is, how pleased Arthur is with him, how well he did tonight, suffered so beautifully for Arthur, hands running up and down his sides, thumbs digging into his legs to stimulate circulation, checking his wrists and reddened arse to ensure there's no abrasion, then returning to stroke all the skin Arthur can reach.

Once his heart rate approaches normal Arthur prods and pushes them both until Eames is on his regular side of the bed, and partly covers Eames with the quillt he'd left out waiting for that very moment.  Eames smiles and inhales, smelling Arthur's cologne on it.  

"I'll be right back."

He's only gone for moments, returning with a wet towel to wipe away come, and a bottle of water.  Makes Eames drink all of it, though he's sure he can't when he first opens his mouth.  Trusts Arthur to know best, and when he pulls the bottle away and kisses him, chasing the cool down Eames's wet mouth, then makes him drink the rest, Eames feels each cell under his care reinvigorating, from his tingling scalp to the curl of his toes over the taste of cold flavored with Arthur in his mouth.