Inception - Good for Your Health
Aug. 16th, 2010 10:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
charybdisFor this prompt on the Inception kink meme. The original 'inappropriate yogurt fetish' fic is by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
canyousayhot on livejournal.
Title: Good for Your Health
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Summary: Arthur eats yogurt sexily. Then there's sex. Featuring topping-from-the-bottom Arthur and tied-to-a-chair Eames. NC-17, 2,400 words
It starts in Narita, at the airport. They're waiting in a lounge for Saito to lure the mark in, and someone brings them lunch and a handful of snacks.
It's lunch time, but the first thing Arthur reaches for is the yogurt -- it looks like sophisticated stuff, in a glass jar with green lettering and a neat metal cover more reminiscent of a home-farm operation than a mass produced health food. Clearly, the Japanese take their yogurt seriously. Arthur appreciates the finer things in life, so it's not too strange, really. Eames wouldn't have noticed at all, if it weren't for the way Arthur eats it.
It shouldn't be significant -- he holds the jar in one hand and uses a spoon, just like anyone else. But Arthur's got a method of scooping up his yogurt, a specific, almost absent twist of wrist and fingers, both elegant and efficient. Eames finds it mesmerizing -- and that's before the spoon gets anywhere near Arthur's mouth. The glimpse of tongue flickering along the curve of the spoon is almost his undoing. Avidly, he watches Arthur's lips close around the bowl of the spoon, moist and pursed in an unfamiliar pout.
And then he turns the spoon over. In his mouth.
His jaw drops to make room for the side-along spoon as it turns, hollowing his cheeks and drawing his lips even tighter in around the handle of the spoon. Eames chokes, assaulted by thousands of obscene thoughts.
Thank god Arthur isn't looking in his direction. He might be listening to Yusuf explain the interactions of the various types of dream-sharing chemicals they'll be using on this trip. Or he might be waiting for Ariadne to finish a lecture about rocket-propelled squirrels -- Eames neither knows nor cares.
The spoon slips out of Arthur's mouth, his lips sliding along the wet curve of it, the tip of his tongue pink and glistening, barely visible around the edges of the bowl.
Arthur flips the spoon back over in his clever fingers and starts to take another scoop of yogurt. Eames excuses himself to have a little 'personal time' in the bathroom.
***
On the next job they're in Greece on Yusuf's recommendation, just the three of them, as Ariadne groaned about midterms and portfolio projects.
The job is still in the research stages, and they're meeting at midday to debrief and consolidate their findings. The Mediterranean air is humid and warm, and a light breeze brings the scent of the sea to the little outdoor restaurant where they've planned to meet.
This time, Eames arranges for yogurt to be part of their lunchtime fare, just to find out if Arthur eats Greek yogurt with the same enchanting motions. It's sort of a desperate long shot, and Yusuf gives him a weirded-out stare, but it's entirely worth it when Eames discovers that Arthur does.
Long fingers curling around the bowl, Arthur scoops up the yogurt in a motion that Eames is already in love with. He seems completely unconcerned with the obscenity of his appearance as he parts his lips and takes the spoon into his mouth, turns it over, and slowly draws it out. It's the sexiest thing Eames has ever seen in his life.
Then Arthur licks his lips. Eames has to excuse himself again
***
It's not until they're back in the US -- well, Arthur is, anyway, Eames is just visiting -- that he admits to himself that he might have some kind of inappropriate yogurt fetish. Because now, every time he sees a cup of yogurt, he thinks of Arthur. And Arthur's hands. And his tongue and his lips and his hollowed cheeks.
The job is easy, in-and-out, fifteen minutes, at most. Just extraction of the whereabouts of a certain family heirloom that went to the wrong daughter.
Arthur's already done the background check, so Eames meets him at home. It's a rather nice townhouse, and Arthur answers the door in slacks and shirtsleeves. He doesn't look surprised to find Eames on his doorstep at one in the afternoon. Mildly irritated, perhaps, but if he hadn't wanted Eames to come to his house, he should have specified a location and made it a little more difficult to find his address.
"I'm having lunch." Arthur goes into the kitchen, where the mark's file is open on the counter next to a ridiculously stylish pen and Arthur's lunch, which appears to consist of a sandwich, a glass of juice, and a cup of yogurt. Eames turns away as soon as he possibly can. Because he's here to do a job.
Jumping Arthur's bones will have to wait until after the job.
Arthur waves him in the direction of the fridge. "I'd tell you to help yourself, but I doubt you need an invitation."
Eames chokes on all the lewd suggestions that rush to queue behind his teeth. He opens the door of the fridge.
Yogurt. Rows of it.
Eames reaches in and pulls out a cup of yogurt, touching his totem with his other hand, just to ascertain that this is neither dream nor hallucination. He's aware that his voice is strained when he hold up the yogurt and says, "Darling, I think you have an addiction," because it's the only thing he can think of that doesn't directly involve body parts. Naked body parts.
"I'm eating yogurt, not cocaine," Arthur responds drily, and turns back to his food.
Eames is treated to watching Arthur eat yogurt in profile, this time.
He must spend a little too long just gaping at him. The silence stretches thin, and when Arthur glances at him, he's still got the spoon in his mouth, upside down, handle grasped almost delicately between thumb and forefinger. He takes out the spoon to speak.
"Eames? Is there a problem?"
"You're eating yogurt," Eames replies blankly, "again."
This time the reply comes with a quirked eyebrow. "I eat yogurt almost every day. It's good for your health."
"I'm sure it is," Eames mutters.
"Listen, do you want to get some rest and do this tomorrow," Arthur says, more a command than a question. Normally, Eames would acquiesce -- one of the things that makes Arthur good at point is his sense of whether or not they're prepared for the job. But this will only get worse if Eames is forced to watch him eat yogurt every day.
He's already putting the file away when Eames says, "No, no, no. Let's not delay the job on my account. I really don't need to rest."
It isn't until Arthur looks at him that Eames realises how close they are. He's drifted towards Arthur until he's looming over him, half-bent down, as though hesitating in the moment before stealing a kiss. The turn of Arthur's head brings their faces within inches of each other.
"Eames?"
He doesn't make a conscious decision. Arthur's mouth is right there, and he keeps thinking about the tantalizing glimpse of tongue around the silver spoon, about the inviting purse of lips; Eames kisses him.
Arthur goes very still in surprise, but his mouth is slightly open, and Eames takes advantage, because he never did need an invitation. The inside of Arthur's mouth tastes a little like roast beef and apple juice, and mostly like the tang of high-quality yogurt. Eames groans quietly and proceeds to search out every last taste of it, sliding his tongue between Arthur's teasing lips and licking the inside of his mouth thoroughly.
Eames is afraid he'll only have a few seconds before Arthur gathers his thoughts and pushes him away, so he makes the most of it, cups Arthur's face in his hands, tips his chin upwards, and kisses him good and hard.
When he pulls away, Arthur stands up so quickly that his chair almost falls over.
Eames backs off at once, not at all interested in getting his face smashed in. But he hadn't counted on how quickly Arthur would recover and in the next instant, he finds himself trapped against the counter, awkwardly bowed backward and staring at Arthur's mouth.
If he'd thought Arthur eating yogurt was bad, this was much, much worse. Arthur's lips are red and bruised from being kissed, slick with spit, and generally the most erotic thing that Eames has ever seen. Their bodies are so close, Arthur's hands braced on the countertop behind Eames, bracketing his hips like laying a bloody claim, or something.
"Took you long enough," is all Arthur says, before his mouth covers Eames', hot and wet and exasperated all at once. They barely make it to the bedroom.
***
SOMETIME LATER
Eames wakes up tied to a chair. Which isn't that new, except usually such rude awakenings are preceded by a knock on the head or a drugging, and he could swear that he fell asleep in bed, slow and natural against Arthur's bare shoulder. He's actually still in the bedroom, and he's naked, too. Another common occurrence. But the confluence of these events is decidedly uncommon.
As Eames is pondering his current state, Arthur comes in. And that explains everything.
He's wearing Eames' shirt and nothing else -- the ultimate state of debauchery. It's much too big across the shoulders, and the cuffs have slipped down his wrists and half-covered his hands. His hair is disheveled and there's a small, tender smile lurking around the corners of his eyes. He looks terrifyingly beautiful and very, very young.
He is carrying a cup of yogurt and a spoon.
"Arthur?"
The smile turns wicked and stages a takeover of his face. "Good morning, Mr. Eames." With his free hand, Arthur manhandles the chair Eames is tied to so that it's facing the bed, then he sits on the edge of the bed in front of him.
He opens the yogurt. The foil top makes an evil little 'snick' sound as it's peeled off and left on the nightstand.
The helpless noise that comes out of Eames' throat only makes Arthur smirk harder. He plants his feet on the floor, and Eames can see straight up that shirt, knees spread and half-hard, but he's more interested in Arthur's hands just now.
Long fingers wrap around the yogurt cup, holding it at just the right angle for the coordinated twist of the spoon.
"Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for you?" Arthur asks conversationally, spoon inches away from his mouth.
"Waiting?" Eames manages, too aroused to bother being confused.
Arthur licks yogurt off the back of the spoon, one slow movement that has Eames flushed and hard in moments.
"You looked at me the last time we were in Japan. And I thought it was going to be then." He puts the spoon into his mouth, does that little trick of flipping it over, and Eames groans, thinking of those pursed lips around his dick, that tongue flickering along his length.
Arthur draws the spoon out of his mouth with a wet pop. "I thought you'd drag me into the bathroom and fuck me into next week."
"Oh god."
Arthur eats a few more spoonfuls of yogurt, never taking his eyes off Eames,
"Who knew you were such a gentleman."
"Let me go, love, and I'll show you what a gentleman I am."
Arthur shakes his head. "No. You've already missed your chance. We're going to do this my way."
Eames jerks futilely at the bindings around his hands, but they don't give more than a millimeter.
"Calm down, Eames," Arthur laughs at his expression of dismay, "I know you like to watch."
He lounges back on the bed, and proceeds to eat the rest of his yogurt in the most lascivious manner possible, lapping it out of the spoon, licking his lips and watching Eames squirm. When he scrapes the bottom of the cup, he gets up and offers the last spoonful to Eames.
It's good -- of course it is -- rich and tart and creamy. Eames closes his eyes and enjoys it, sucks on the spoon for a moment before Arthur draws it away. When he opens his eyes again, Arthur is fixated on his mouth. At this distance, he can clearly see Arthur's eyes, nearly all black with lust, an instant before he leans in and runs his tongue teasingly across Eames' lips.
Eames makes a very undignified sound when he pulls away, but Arthur sets the spoon and empty cup on the nightstand and pulls off the shirt in record time, so maybe this isn't the best time to be complaining. Especially not when Arthur's fingering himself open and straddling Eames on the chair, sinking down on his cock -- oh god oh god -- forearm wrapped around the nape of Eames' neck to steady himself.
He's saying something -- Eames can hardly make it out over the roar of his own pulse. It sounds like it might be finally and beautiful and more. He clenches his hands into fists, aching with the need to touch, to wrap his arms around Arthur and hold on.
Eames plants his feet and thrusts helplessly into the tight heat of Arthur's body, but it can't last -- they're both too wound up. Arthur reaches for his own cock, fucks into his hand two- three times and spills, hot and messy all over Eames' chest and stomach. He tightens around Eames and hisses into his ear, but it's the look on his face, grateful and awed, that pushes Eames over, thrusting into him, saying Arthur Arthur Arthur.
Afterwards, Arthur unties him and massages feeling back into his arms and shoulders. They curl naked on the bed together, and Eames tucks his face against the curve of Arthur's spine.
"Does this mean you're going to stop being such a tease with the bloody yogurt?"
Arthur laughs at him, chiding and familiar. "Don't be ridiculous, Eames. Yogurt's good for your health."
********
IN OTHER NEWS: I want to include a sort of 'author's notes' section to this journal, so I can babble to the Internets about how and why I write and whatnot. I'm trying to figure out a way to do that without interrupting the fic-reading experience of those who aren't interested in my rambling. Comments? Suggestions?
Man, I should just make my Inception icon my default.
canyousayhot on livejournal.Title: Good for Your Health
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Summary: Arthur eats yogurt sexily. Then there's sex. Featuring topping-from-the-bottom Arthur and tied-to-a-chair Eames. NC-17, 2,400 words
It starts in Narita, at the airport. They're waiting in a lounge for Saito to lure the mark in, and someone brings them lunch and a handful of snacks.
It's lunch time, but the first thing Arthur reaches for is the yogurt -- it looks like sophisticated stuff, in a glass jar with green lettering and a neat metal cover more reminiscent of a home-farm operation than a mass produced health food. Clearly, the Japanese take their yogurt seriously. Arthur appreciates the finer things in life, so it's not too strange, really. Eames wouldn't have noticed at all, if it weren't for the way Arthur eats it.
It shouldn't be significant -- he holds the jar in one hand and uses a spoon, just like anyone else. But Arthur's got a method of scooping up his yogurt, a specific, almost absent twist of wrist and fingers, both elegant and efficient. Eames finds it mesmerizing -- and that's before the spoon gets anywhere near Arthur's mouth. The glimpse of tongue flickering along the curve of the spoon is almost his undoing. Avidly, he watches Arthur's lips close around the bowl of the spoon, moist and pursed in an unfamiliar pout.
And then he turns the spoon over. In his mouth.
His jaw drops to make room for the side-along spoon as it turns, hollowing his cheeks and drawing his lips even tighter in around the handle of the spoon. Eames chokes, assaulted by thousands of obscene thoughts.
Thank god Arthur isn't looking in his direction. He might be listening to Yusuf explain the interactions of the various types of dream-sharing chemicals they'll be using on this trip. Or he might be waiting for Ariadne to finish a lecture about rocket-propelled squirrels -- Eames neither knows nor cares.
The spoon slips out of Arthur's mouth, his lips sliding along the wet curve of it, the tip of his tongue pink and glistening, barely visible around the edges of the bowl.
Arthur flips the spoon back over in his clever fingers and starts to take another scoop of yogurt. Eames excuses himself to have a little 'personal time' in the bathroom.
***
On the next job they're in Greece on Yusuf's recommendation, just the three of them, as Ariadne groaned about midterms and portfolio projects.
The job is still in the research stages, and they're meeting at midday to debrief and consolidate their findings. The Mediterranean air is humid and warm, and a light breeze brings the scent of the sea to the little outdoor restaurant where they've planned to meet.
This time, Eames arranges for yogurt to be part of their lunchtime fare, just to find out if Arthur eats Greek yogurt with the same enchanting motions. It's sort of a desperate long shot, and Yusuf gives him a weirded-out stare, but it's entirely worth it when Eames discovers that Arthur does.
Long fingers curling around the bowl, Arthur scoops up the yogurt in a motion that Eames is already in love with. He seems completely unconcerned with the obscenity of his appearance as he parts his lips and takes the spoon into his mouth, turns it over, and slowly draws it out. It's the sexiest thing Eames has ever seen in his life.
Then Arthur licks his lips. Eames has to excuse himself again
***
It's not until they're back in the US -- well, Arthur is, anyway, Eames is just visiting -- that he admits to himself that he might have some kind of inappropriate yogurt fetish. Because now, every time he sees a cup of yogurt, he thinks of Arthur. And Arthur's hands. And his tongue and his lips and his hollowed cheeks.
The job is easy, in-and-out, fifteen minutes, at most. Just extraction of the whereabouts of a certain family heirloom that went to the wrong daughter.
Arthur's already done the background check, so Eames meets him at home. It's a rather nice townhouse, and Arthur answers the door in slacks and shirtsleeves. He doesn't look surprised to find Eames on his doorstep at one in the afternoon. Mildly irritated, perhaps, but if he hadn't wanted Eames to come to his house, he should have specified a location and made it a little more difficult to find his address.
"I'm having lunch." Arthur goes into the kitchen, where the mark's file is open on the counter next to a ridiculously stylish pen and Arthur's lunch, which appears to consist of a sandwich, a glass of juice, and a cup of yogurt. Eames turns away as soon as he possibly can. Because he's here to do a job.
Jumping Arthur's bones will have to wait until after the job.
Arthur waves him in the direction of the fridge. "I'd tell you to help yourself, but I doubt you need an invitation."
Eames chokes on all the lewd suggestions that rush to queue behind his teeth. He opens the door of the fridge.
Yogurt. Rows of it.
Eames reaches in and pulls out a cup of yogurt, touching his totem with his other hand, just to ascertain that this is neither dream nor hallucination. He's aware that his voice is strained when he hold up the yogurt and says, "Darling, I think you have an addiction," because it's the only thing he can think of that doesn't directly involve body parts. Naked body parts.
"I'm eating yogurt, not cocaine," Arthur responds drily, and turns back to his food.
Eames is treated to watching Arthur eat yogurt in profile, this time.
He must spend a little too long just gaping at him. The silence stretches thin, and when Arthur glances at him, he's still got the spoon in his mouth, upside down, handle grasped almost delicately between thumb and forefinger. He takes out the spoon to speak.
"Eames? Is there a problem?"
"You're eating yogurt," Eames replies blankly, "again."
This time the reply comes with a quirked eyebrow. "I eat yogurt almost every day. It's good for your health."
"I'm sure it is," Eames mutters.
"Listen, do you want to get some rest and do this tomorrow," Arthur says, more a command than a question. Normally, Eames would acquiesce -- one of the things that makes Arthur good at point is his sense of whether or not they're prepared for the job. But this will only get worse if Eames is forced to watch him eat yogurt every day.
He's already putting the file away when Eames says, "No, no, no. Let's not delay the job on my account. I really don't need to rest."
It isn't until Arthur looks at him that Eames realises how close they are. He's drifted towards Arthur until he's looming over him, half-bent down, as though hesitating in the moment before stealing a kiss. The turn of Arthur's head brings their faces within inches of each other.
"Eames?"
He doesn't make a conscious decision. Arthur's mouth is right there, and he keeps thinking about the tantalizing glimpse of tongue around the silver spoon, about the inviting purse of lips; Eames kisses him.
Arthur goes very still in surprise, but his mouth is slightly open, and Eames takes advantage, because he never did need an invitation. The inside of Arthur's mouth tastes a little like roast beef and apple juice, and mostly like the tang of high-quality yogurt. Eames groans quietly and proceeds to search out every last taste of it, sliding his tongue between Arthur's teasing lips and licking the inside of his mouth thoroughly.
Eames is afraid he'll only have a few seconds before Arthur gathers his thoughts and pushes him away, so he makes the most of it, cups Arthur's face in his hands, tips his chin upwards, and kisses him good and hard.
When he pulls away, Arthur stands up so quickly that his chair almost falls over.
Eames backs off at once, not at all interested in getting his face smashed in. But he hadn't counted on how quickly Arthur would recover and in the next instant, he finds himself trapped against the counter, awkwardly bowed backward and staring at Arthur's mouth.
If he'd thought Arthur eating yogurt was bad, this was much, much worse. Arthur's lips are red and bruised from being kissed, slick with spit, and generally the most erotic thing that Eames has ever seen. Their bodies are so close, Arthur's hands braced on the countertop behind Eames, bracketing his hips like laying a bloody claim, or something.
"Took you long enough," is all Arthur says, before his mouth covers Eames', hot and wet and exasperated all at once. They barely make it to the bedroom.
***
SOMETIME LATER
Eames wakes up tied to a chair. Which isn't that new, except usually such rude awakenings are preceded by a knock on the head or a drugging, and he could swear that he fell asleep in bed, slow and natural against Arthur's bare shoulder. He's actually still in the bedroom, and he's naked, too. Another common occurrence. But the confluence of these events is decidedly uncommon.
As Eames is pondering his current state, Arthur comes in. And that explains everything.
He's wearing Eames' shirt and nothing else -- the ultimate state of debauchery. It's much too big across the shoulders, and the cuffs have slipped down his wrists and half-covered his hands. His hair is disheveled and there's a small, tender smile lurking around the corners of his eyes. He looks terrifyingly beautiful and very, very young.
He is carrying a cup of yogurt and a spoon.
"Arthur?"
The smile turns wicked and stages a takeover of his face. "Good morning, Mr. Eames." With his free hand, Arthur manhandles the chair Eames is tied to so that it's facing the bed, then he sits on the edge of the bed in front of him.
He opens the yogurt. The foil top makes an evil little 'snick' sound as it's peeled off and left on the nightstand.
The helpless noise that comes out of Eames' throat only makes Arthur smirk harder. He plants his feet on the floor, and Eames can see straight up that shirt, knees spread and half-hard, but he's more interested in Arthur's hands just now.
Long fingers wrap around the yogurt cup, holding it at just the right angle for the coordinated twist of the spoon.
"Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for you?" Arthur asks conversationally, spoon inches away from his mouth.
"Waiting?" Eames manages, too aroused to bother being confused.
Arthur licks yogurt off the back of the spoon, one slow movement that has Eames flushed and hard in moments.
"You looked at me the last time we were in Japan. And I thought it was going to be then." He puts the spoon into his mouth, does that little trick of flipping it over, and Eames groans, thinking of those pursed lips around his dick, that tongue flickering along his length.
Arthur draws the spoon out of his mouth with a wet pop. "I thought you'd drag me into the bathroom and fuck me into next week."
"Oh god."
Arthur eats a few more spoonfuls of yogurt, never taking his eyes off Eames,
"Who knew you were such a gentleman."
"Let me go, love, and I'll show you what a gentleman I am."
Arthur shakes his head. "No. You've already missed your chance. We're going to do this my way."
Eames jerks futilely at the bindings around his hands, but they don't give more than a millimeter.
"Calm down, Eames," Arthur laughs at his expression of dismay, "I know you like to watch."
He lounges back on the bed, and proceeds to eat the rest of his yogurt in the most lascivious manner possible, lapping it out of the spoon, licking his lips and watching Eames squirm. When he scrapes the bottom of the cup, he gets up and offers the last spoonful to Eames.
It's good -- of course it is -- rich and tart and creamy. Eames closes his eyes and enjoys it, sucks on the spoon for a moment before Arthur draws it away. When he opens his eyes again, Arthur is fixated on his mouth. At this distance, he can clearly see Arthur's eyes, nearly all black with lust, an instant before he leans in and runs his tongue teasingly across Eames' lips.
Eames makes a very undignified sound when he pulls away, but Arthur sets the spoon and empty cup on the nightstand and pulls off the shirt in record time, so maybe this isn't the best time to be complaining. Especially not when Arthur's fingering himself open and straddling Eames on the chair, sinking down on his cock -- oh god oh god -- forearm wrapped around the nape of Eames' neck to steady himself.
He's saying something -- Eames can hardly make it out over the roar of his own pulse. It sounds like it might be finally and beautiful and more. He clenches his hands into fists, aching with the need to touch, to wrap his arms around Arthur and hold on.
Eames plants his feet and thrusts helplessly into the tight heat of Arthur's body, but it can't last -- they're both too wound up. Arthur reaches for his own cock, fucks into his hand two- three times and spills, hot and messy all over Eames' chest and stomach. He tightens around Eames and hisses into his ear, but it's the look on his face, grateful and awed, that pushes Eames over, thrusting into him, saying Arthur Arthur Arthur.
Afterwards, Arthur unties him and massages feeling back into his arms and shoulders. They curl naked on the bed together, and Eames tucks his face against the curve of Arthur's spine.
"Does this mean you're going to stop being such a tease with the bloody yogurt?"
Arthur laughs at him, chiding and familiar. "Don't be ridiculous, Eames. Yogurt's good for your health."
********
IN OTHER NEWS: I want to include a sort of 'author's notes' section to this journal, so I can babble to the Internets about how and why I write and whatnot. I'm trying to figure out a way to do that without interrupting the fic-reading experience of those who aren't interested in my rambling. Comments? Suggestions?
Man, I should just make my Inception icon my default.
