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Snippet from what might be a longer revolution!verse story, wherein Arthur and Eames are on vacation having ALL the filthy sex (and also having Arthur unpack his privilege and Eames worry about Arthur not having any friends of his own, but that's really not relevant to the snippet. UM). The funny bit is I wanted to write this because I read a bunch of fics where one party talks about tying the other down and keeping them there to be fucked all day/week/month, but haven't read any where they follow through. So I... wrote 1k words where they talk about it and don't do it. <.<

Content notes: Herein be discussion of consent, discussion of past attempt at sexual assault, violence in self-defence, and much talk of Eames tying Arthur down and doing things to him. Also mpreg, alpha/omega, etc.

~~

"A guy asked me once," Arthur says, hushed. "No, I'm telling it wrong, I was in heat and I -- I can stop," he says when Eames stiffens, helpless against the wave of possessiveness.

"No, I want to hear." He strokes Arthur's hair, pulls him closer. Not that he was far to begin with: the bed is barely sufficient for more than one person. The moon shines through the windows, bright in a cluttered sea of stars. Eames likes the city but he loves it here, away from light polution. A weak breeze drifts in, just enough to keep their naked selves from overheating.

"I was in heat, I took out an ad, he replied. Seemed okay, so I went over." Arthur swallows audibly, pushes his face into the crook of Eames' neck. "And while he was, while we were--"

"Yes, do go on." He kisses the top of Arthur's head to counter the snippiness.

"He started talking about tying me down and keeping me there as a human fuck toy." Arthur's voice is low, with the tone he takes when quoting someone verbatim.

Eames' arms tighten around him without conscious thought, but he's careful to keep his words uninflected. "Then what happened?"

"I came. Really hard." Arthur's pushing into Eames' touch, and if Eames isn't mistaken, his face is heating up as well. "After he finished, he pulled out a pair of handcuffs. I said no. He tried to overrule me."

Eames won't utter a word until Arthur asks for a response.

"So I kinda ended up breaking his nose, putting him in the damned handcuffs, and yelling at him for fifteen minutes straight."

Eames can't help it, he bursts into laughter, hugging Arthur harder still. "You're marvelous," he whispers into Arthur's hair.

Arthur leans up, face sufficiently visible in the moonlight that Eames can detect an eyeroll. "It was really stupid of me. I should've just ran. What if he had a gun?"

"Let's be thankful he didn't," Eames says. It's not an idea he cares to dwell on overmuch.

"Yeah." Arthur grunts, shifting. His bare skin of his belly rubs against Eames' hip bone, just starting to swell. On a whim Eames pushes him to lie on his back, so that Eames can nuzzle the bottom of his stomach.

Arthur's next words are quiet, carried better through vibrations in his skin than through the air. "And then I went home and jerked off thinking about it for, like, a month."

"All in a row? Impressive." Eames blows a raspberry on Arthur's stomach. Arthur laughs and curls away, prompting Eames to move upwards and hold him down by his shoulders, licking the line of his groomed eyebrow while Arthur squirms and says "Fuck off, Eames, c'mon--"

Eames lets go abruptly, his actions and Arthur's story clashing in his head in a truly unpleasant manner.

"What's wrong?" Arthur's face turns into a careful blank. "Is it because I--"

Eames has no idea how this sentence ends, but it can't be good. He smushes his face in Arthur's chest. "Nothing, darling," he says. "Had an attack of conscience."

After a moment, Arthur says, "You always stopped when I needed you to. You're pretty good at telling when I really mean it."

That seems awfully scant praise to Eames. "I don't know that pretty good is enough."

Arthur pinches him in the shoulder.

"Ow!" Eames glares at him. "What was that for?"

"To get your attention," Arthur says. "Thought it could work as a signal if I need you to stop."

That's clever of him, actually, especially so given that Arthur's often rendered nonverbal by sex. Could use a bit of work, though. "What if I'm pinning your hands down, or you're leaning on them?"

"I could always kick you." Arthur dimples.

Eames laughs. "I suppose that could work. Just aim away from the bollocks."

Arthur's hand moves down Eames' belly, gives a passing pet to his cock before settling on said bollocks. "Nah, I want those parts functioning." Rolls them lightly in his grip until Eames sighs and lies on his back, manouvering Arthur to lie over him.

Such lovely hands Arthur has. The loveliest. Long fingers curling slim, taking firm hold of Eames. It's a cruel tease, just enough of a jolt to send Eames' hips snapping.

"But what if I'm tied up," Arthur muses, indifferent to Eames' suffering beneath him. "My arms and my legs, and I'm too worked up to talk, and you're just - watching me, how will you know when to stop then?"

Eames gasps and swears. "Maybe I won't," he says, bullshit leaving his mouth the way it always does when he's getting off. "Maybe I'll just leave you there with a nice toy stuffing you until I'm ready to come back and fuck you, maybe I'll leave the toy in you until you're good and begging -- Ah."

Possibly as an award, Arthur finally moves his hand to Eames' cock.

"Spread you open, pull it out with my teeth and push my fingers in, you'll take them so well, I know you will, Arthur," this because Arthur has just slipped his mouth over the head of Eames' cock.

"Keep talking," Arthur says. Eames hastens to comply, because every minute he's being deprived the heat of Arthur's mouth is agony.

"And I'll tie your legs open like that so you couldn't resist, couldn't even move, just stayed there for me to fuck into, mmm, fuck, your sweet little tight arse, I'll make you cry out, rub your prick till you come all over yourself for me."

Arthur moans low in his throat, his fingers clamping over the base of Eames' cock. Eames reacts to the pressure, feels the muscles in the bottom of his stomach jumping as his prick thickens and widens in Arthur's grip, strong enough to keep this pleasureable and not frustrating. Just one good suck more, please--

Whether he said it out loud or not, Arthur obliges him, and Eames spills down his throat, head thrown back against the pillows.

"Come here," he says, throaty, reaching for Arthur to find soft, spent wetness.

"In my defense, you're really hot like that," Arthur mumbles.

Eames takes his hand, sucks come off Arthur's fingers. "Why would you need a defense?"

Once Arthur's hand is clean they settle in for sleep, Eames' face pressed into Arthur's nape. "Did you really want me to do all that?"

Arthur exhales. "I think so, yeah. If I need you to stop, I'll just say so outright." He elbows Eames, good naturedly. "I don't always know what I want, but I'm pretty good about knowing what I don't."

Eames nuzzles him. "We'll need to think of how to put you so I can fuck you however I want, and you'll stay comfortable for a good long while."

Arthur presses back against him. Eames falls asleep trying to recall knots.
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