Title: Research

Pairing: Eames/Arthur

Warnings: NC-17 for sounding (urethral play).

Notes: A return to good old fashioned straight up porn :D

"Arthur, darling, how would you like to—"

"No."

"It's this thing I read on the internet—"

"No."

Eames clutches his chest. "You wound me to the quick. Gone are the days when you at least let me finish before shooting me down."

Anyone else might have heaved a sigh. Arthur just gives him a look. "This thing you read on the internet. Is it a sex thing?"

"Of course."

Arthur puts down his copy of Business Daily with great restraint. They are supposed to be researching their next mark's background, but the others have gone hunting for a rare and expensive compound Yusuf needs (well, except Saito—he mentioned something about buying a pony for Ariadne's next birthday) and they are alone and Eames is bored. Arthur leans forward in his passive aggressive way of saying 'hey look I'm giving you my complete attention now out with it' and Eames loses his train of thought at the way those sharply tailored trousers pull tight across Arthur's thighs. A cough brings his stare back to eye level. "So tell me about this…sex thing you read. On the internet."

"Well." Eames mimics his pose and smirks at the way Arthur's gaze drops, for just a fraction of a second, to the spread of his legs. "It involves you, me, and screaming orgasms." He is very fond of the idea. Arthur is not what you'd call the vocal type. Even Eames' best tricks could only get a choked gasp, or one of those low moans that makes him instantly, painfully hard.

"Go on."

Eames licks his lips at the hint of gravel in Arthur's voice. "I take these metal rods, about the width of a knitting needle, and, with a copious amount of lube, stick them into your penis." He puts on his best 'ta-da' face.

Arthur looks pained. "You're completely serious."

"I never joke about sex. So?"

"No." Arthur crosses his legs and lifts another copy of Business Daily. "Absolutely not. Not on your life. No."

"Oh—"

Eames draws back, satisfied, and swallows.

Arthur's hand slides out of Eames' hair and traces down his cheek. "You've got come on your face."

Eames licks up the stray bit and grins. "So, about that thing."

"Oh Christ." Orgasm gives Arthur the most fetching colour in his cheeks and leaves his resolve at its weakest. He throws an arm over his eyes and Eames knows his window of opportunity is creaking open. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Nope," Eames says cheerily and nuzzles the soft skin of Arthur's balls.

"Fuck. Fine. But if anything goes wrong you can explain to Cobb why I've murdered you with knitting needles."

"God, I love you."

"Ugh."

"Oh god." Eames is having a hard time not coming over everything. Arthur is spread over the couch beneath him, his entire body a long line of erotic tension as his cock gobbles up the slim metal rod. Arthur's got a white knuckled grip on his thighs which Eames hardly feels. His hands are slippery with lube and his dick throbs angrily behind the zip of his pants, and when he gives the rod a small tug, a quick in-and-out shift, Arthur shudders and shouts, the muscles of his flat abdomen jumping crazily under the sheen of sweat.

Arthur is still in his shirt and tie, a look Eames particularly prefers when everything else is bare. His hair is a mess and his mouth is red and wet from being bitten, and Eames has never seen him lose it like this. "Oh Arthur," he says reverently.

Those dark eyes are hot and unfocused, and Arthur's red mouth trembles around his words. "Please, please, Eames. Fuck. Oh god, please."

Eames squeezes his hand around Arthur's cock and he can feel the steel underneath the hot flesh. It's new and strange and fucking good. Arthur's got a death grip on his wrists now, like he can't decide if he wants to tear Eames' hands away or jack up into them. Eames makes it easy for him and squeezes again, and Arthur turns his face into the cushions, his breath coming in high sharp gasps.

The whole team could walk in on them now and Eames wouldn't give a fuck. He wants to jack himself but no way in hell is he letting go. "What do you want? Tell me, Arthur."

Arthur shudders. "Please, Eames. I want to—let me come, oh fuck, please." Beads of pre-cum are welling from the stuffed slit at the head of his cock, pearly white against the grey sheen of the rod. Eames groans and tugs again, slower this time, sliding the rod all the way out then letting it sink in again, squeezing out more of that slippery pale fluid, and this time when he draws the rod all the way out Arthur throws his head back and howls, his cock pulsing in Eames' grip as come splatters his pristine shirt, striping silver across his neat black tie.

The rod clatters to the floor, forgotten. Eames can barely unzip himself his hands are shaking so badly. It only takes two, three fast pumps before he's coming, leaning over Arthur, panting helplessly.

When he collapses on Arthur the other man groans in protest, but Eames is shaking too badly to move. Besides, he wants to hide his huge grin for at least a little while.

"You're gloating, I can hear it," Arthur says. It's not fair how quickly he's regained that cool tone, but Eames can still feel the tremors turning through him, hear the click in his throat when Arthur swallows.

Getting up on his elbows, Eames grins down at Arthur's baleful look. "I was just thinking about this other thing I read during my research. It involves you, me, a rubber glove, and—"

Arthur glares at him, though the effect is somewhat spoiled by the colour still in his cheeks. "No. No fucking way. Not ever."

"We'll see about that," Eames says, and kisses his scowling mouth.