"Yeah, well join the damn party," Arthur grunts, kissing back in a messy clash of teeth and lips. It's the absolute worst thing they could do right now, he's sure, but what else could they do?
Eames knows this isn't going to resolve anything, and they'll probably regret it later, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care if they end up hurting each other more, he doesn't care that the ache in his chest is just intensifying the more they kiss.
He's too busy shifting his hold on Arthur, his fingers quite possibly patterning Arthur's sides with possessive marks as he yanks Arthur flush against himself. And then they're moving again, across the little hallway and to the opposing wall where Eames can press him against the wall, pin him down as he's dragging his mouth to Arthur's neck, leaving marks that aren't going to stay for long in a dream.
He shoves his hand under Arthur's shirt and pushes it up, not caring to be too gentle about it. Sweet and caring didn't get tickets to this show.
A couple of Arthur's shirt buttons go flying with the rough treatment, but he's not exactly in the mood to care about those right now. His back's smarting a bit from being shoved against another wall and perhaps his teeth are a bit rougher against Eames' lips as revenge as a result, while his hands claw for the other man's hoodie, yanking it up along with whatever shirt he might be wearing underneath.
There's no way they're making it up the paradoxical staircase like this, so Arthur instead makes Eames back up by pulling off the man's tops and then shoving him hard in the direction of the sofa bed the Forge's been occupying since his run-in with the orcs. Whether they actually get on it or end up on the carpet in front of it remains to be seen.
There are some stumbled steps, hard, biting kisses as they travel across the floor, Eames is shirtless soon enough, only wearing the bandages that Arthur's been managing. But Arthur is still wearing his abused shirt when Eames reaches down to yank at the fastenings of his trousers, impatient hands pull the belt off, spreading zipper open, then they push under, one hand on Arthur's arse under all layers of cloth, the other between them to find Arthur's cock to fist it roughly.
They're not going to make it to the couch. They might not even make it to the floor. There are plenty of wall space for leverage in the hall. Eames usually plans these things out, he's meticulous about his business even, he knows what he's doing. It takes quite a bit for him to become unhinged like this, but apparently Arthur just has to be the exception for everything. Every fucking thing.
Going straight for the prize leaves Arthur gasping for air and panting hard against Eames' lips, his hips immediately shoving forward into that rough hand. Still, Arthur's aware that there's a certain impatience in the air and that combined with Eames' state of recovery is not going to let them go as all-out as they might otherwise.
Rather than risk things being dragged to an abrupt halt because Eames has collapsed, Arthur shoves him back again, gritting out against his lips, "Get on the bed."
It's a good thing one of them is thinking about the near future, Eames for once has nothing for it. He's living through those rushed breaths that fall on his mouth, jaw tight but the groan rising from his throat something quite unhinged.
When Arthur pushes him, he lets out an exasperated grunt and finally gives into the urging, grabbing Arthur's hips in a tight hold and practically hauls him across the floor and into the sofa-bed.
He pushes Arthur down to it and then crawls over him, kicking his legs apart so can fit himself in between them as he grounds their hips together, heavy and demanding.
That's better, but it's not quite okay just yet, as much as Arthur likes being crushed down by Eames. He grapples with the man and rolls them over, straddling Eames' hips as he drags his teeth over those stupidly plush lips.
"You're gonna hurt yourself, dumbass," he growls, keeping his hands pressed to Eames' chest to make him stay the fuck down. Then he's reaching down to shove down Eames' sweats, very much intent on getting him naked. "Shoes."
There's an irritated groan coming from Eames when Arthur pushes him down, but he doesn't try to get up. Because that will only result with another argument and while they're going at it like two horny and a little bit violent old dogs, it's still a delicate process and any rocking of the boat will shatter it.
So, Eames drops his shoes, kicking them off and lifting his arse when Arthur yanks down his sweats, leaving him naked sans the bandages. Then his hand rises to grab at Arthur's hair, fisting in it tightly as he pulls him down to a bruising kiss, teeth and tongue, all intending to ruin that pretty mouth of his that spews such bullshit.
"Stop fussing," he mutters between kisses. "I'm not going to break."
For all Arthur's pissed off still about- well, everything, he still pauses at Eames' words, staring down at him with a briefly haunted expression, remembering how just a short while ago, the Brit had been laid out on the same table right next to them, now, unconscious and torn up.
"... Shut up," he grunts, coming back to himself and pushing back into the kisses almost desperately, fingers briefly digging into Eames' hips as he straddles the man's thighs again.
Eames hands lower from Arthur's hair to his neck and from there to his shirt, popping open the few buttons that still are fastened. His arms have less mobility than usual due to the shoulder injury, which is why he's using that shirt to yank Arthur all the way down to him and chases that haunted look hopefully off his face with a harder, deeper kisses.
From there it's relatively easy to slide his hands down to Arthur's hips and over them to his arse, pushing under layers of cloth to curve his fingers around well rounded buttocks. He manages to mostly push down the trousers and whatever's under there, so when he pulls Arthur down and rocks his hips up, there's dick against dick through the soft cotton of Arthur's underwear.
Arthur kicks off his shoes and rises up on his knees, helping to get his underwear and trousers off before swooping back down on Eames, growling with displeasure when he sees the dark hickeys left from whoever the man was fucking the previous night. His teeth fix on an empty patch of skin just under Eames' ear, nipping and sucking at the spot as he grinds their hips together, fingers almost bruisingly tight as they grip at the Forger's arms.
Things Eames didn't know he needed: possessive Arthur.
Things Eames doesn't realise even now that he wants: the same thing without insecurity and anger.
He arches under Arthur's weight, letting out a groan as his throat is practically worn thin by savage teeth and mouth. His hands are greedy as they grab at Arthur's hips, pulling him down against himself, needing the skin to skin contact with what feels like suffocating tightness around his chest.
Somehow being with Arthur is always like this. It feels so damn good and it feels too much too little, everything at the same time, rough.
Their hips grind in a maddening rhythm against each other, Eames' heels digging into the mattress to be able to push up against Arthur. Eventually one of them needs to focus to get things further, but right now, this is somewhat doable.
It's filthy and rough, verging on painful as they rut together, but even through that, Arthur finds his head. Gritting his teeth, he pushes up and stares down at Eames as he breathes hard, hips still moving to keep his ass grinding over the hard cock under him.
"Get me some lube," he orders, knowing the Forge is far better at conjuring things out of thin air than him in a dream.
There's an impatient growl coming from the usually suave and chatty forger when Arthur pushes up and Eames is honestly debating with himself to just grab Arthur and pull him back down. But he manages to still for a moment, chest heaving with deep breaths as he stares up at Arthur, hair ruffled and lips swollen even further from rough kisses.
The request is a reasonable one. Seriously... Eames, just get to it.
He dips his hand under a blanket that's thrown over the sofa and pulls out a fat tube of lube, pushing it into Arthur's hands. He watches Arthur quietly while he flips the cork open and spills some onto his hands. When he's reaching behind himself, Eames reaches up and curves a hand around his neck, pulling him down. Then he slides his hands down to Arthur's arse and spreads his cheeks for him while his teeth find a soft spot on Arthur's neck to bite and suck, aiming to leave enough marks that Arthur will find hard to get rid of them by tomorrow.
"Pushy asshole," Arthur grunt, even as he tilts his head to one side to let Eames mark up his neck with a little shudder. It might've been a while since Arthur's had a good romp, but he's still quick and efficient in prepping himself, not bothering to tease or take time to enjoy the process, just gritting his teeth and bearing with it until he feels comfortably stretched enough to take a cock.
He's not here to be sexy or seductive. He just wants to fuck and shut Eames up for once.
It's greatly frustrating to have a limited reach with his broken body. If there were no wounds on him, he would have rolled Arthur over and fucked him senseless. But he already knows it's not going to work when he can't put weight on one arm and he probably would pass out after a couple of minutes.
Arthur is just as dogged about getting down to it, though. Which means that when Eames lets him go, Arthur is going to shift and get them where they both desperately want to be.
"Come on," Eames still hurries him with gritted teeth, lifting Arthur's arse as he shifts his grip on the man and rolls his own body to get his dick behind him. (Not a wise move, his side protests immediately, something wet touching the bandages underneath. Eames ignores this, he doesn't care if he'll feel a bit faint after this...)
Arthur's going to have some very strong words later when he's checking Eames' bandages and spots the reopened wound.
For now, he's shifting and looking back, grasping Eames' cock and positioning himself over the fat tip before sinking down without much hesitation. His eyes might roll back as he gets filled, but he refocuses fast, staring down at Eames' face as he settles over the man's groin with a satisfied little groan deep in his throat.
Impatience is the word of the night, though, and Arthur doesn't give either of them enough time to adjust before he's moving. Mouth falling open on a silent gasp, his brow puckers in a tight frown of concentration as he starts to move, hand braced on Eames' abs to steady himself and to keep the dumb Brit down.
Eames gives a groan as Arthur sinks on him, his head pushing back to the cushions of the couch as he grabs at those hips with a thigh pair of hands, not sure if he's trying to slow things down or if he's pushing Arthur down harder.
It doesn't matter because Arthur's not in the mood to ask if he can fuck himself on Eames' dick. And honestly there's little else to do than to hold on for dear life and let him have his fill. Eames would like to thrust up but he already feels the wetness spreading under the bandages and doing that would definitely mean breaking more stitches.
So, he's stuck with wrapping his hands around Arthur's middle and pulling him down when he gets up, and staring at the man with lust-dark eyes, his mouth open to allow harsher breaths past his lips. He's so bloody gorgeous like this, bouncing up and down on Eames' cock, focused and demanding.
Eames would give him whatever he wanted, right that moment. If Arthur would just have the boldness to ask.
Arthur's not exactly in the right space to make demands, not when he's so thoroughly distracted by the cock he's happily fucking himself on. As he grows used to the penetration, he bites his lip and rocks his hips demandingly so that even if he's not getting quite so deep, full thrusts, he's able to feel every inch grinding inside of him.
"Fuck," he gasps, eyes squeezing shut when he manages to drag that cock right against his prostate, his own dick jerking and leaking from the sensation.
Eames' jaw is tight when he reaches up to press his hand onto Arthur's stomach, making him lean back a little, cant his hips so that dick is going to brush against his prostate with each and every urgent fall of his hips.
Arthur clings to him tight and so damn good, Eames' heart is thundering in his ears and he has to close his mouth and breathe through his nose to hold on, to keep it going. There's wildness to Arthur that he hasn't seen for a long while, and if that doesn't drive him mad, very little else can.
"Come on," he urges in a low, rough voice as his other hand wraps around Arthur's cock to stroke him in time with the hard bouncing Arthur's doing.
"Eames..." he breathes, a hoarse moan dragged out of his throat as he feels that big hand wrap around him. There's no way this brutal pace is going to let them last long, which Arthur laments to some extent, but he can tell it's going to be damn satisfying.
He does his best to ride Eames hard, forcing his eyes open to watch that reddened, rugged face, tempted again as always to lean down and bite at those lips. His body's tight, tense, primed for release, but he's determined not to until he's wrung Eames dry, first.
Eames has always found Arthur beautiful. He's all long lines and beautiful proportions. But this, this right here is how he prefers to appreciate that beauty. Flushed and straining, his expression cracking into pleasure, no pretense of cool surface available.
He groans deep within his throat as Arthur's hips come slamming down at his, each dragging pull bringing him a little closer to an inevitable release that he yearns but doesn't want yet, not yet, please not yet. He struggles against the tide, core tight and his hand on Arthur's stomach straining, trembling with the effort.
They're both so very stubborn, who even knows which one of them is going to give up first.
Arthur has to reach up to roughly swipe his hair back because it's falling forward into his eyes, and like hell is he letting anything obscure his view. It's a special kind of madness that's got hold of them both, making Arthur press forward against Eames' hands, relishing in those points of contact even if he might vehemently deny wanting it at any other time.
Even if the pace is still rough, Arthur's slowed down a bit, just enough so he can concentrate on clenching down around Eames' cock to push him harder towards the edge. "Come on, Eames," he murmurs, biting his lip on a particularly hard grind down, his own dick twitching in the Forge's hand as it leaks eagerly.
All it really takes is Arthur asking him somewhat nicely.
Perhaps that lip biting and hair swiping has something to do with it too. Arthur sits on him so tight Eames sees stars at the drag of his clenched ass over him.
"Christ", he swallows the curse in a mighty inhale as his back arches and head tilts back, mouth open even as he forgets to breathe when the tide comes in and his orgasm washes over him like a hot sea of flames, raw, near violent, making him shudder again and again as Arthur's arse keeps milking him dry.
"Arthur..." It's weak and spills from his lips incoherently.
It's breathtaking to watch and Arthur shudders eagerly as he feels that faint heat as Eames fills him. He groans quietly and leans forward, bracing his hands on either side of Eames' chest, staring down at the man with a smug, pleased little smirk, hips rocking as he squeezes down on that spurting cock, riding Eames all through his orgasm.
When the man seems to have recovered his wits a bit, he gruffly directs, "Touch me."
He's not so nice as to let just Eames get off on this, and is selfish enough in the moment to demand his own release come from the man's hand directly.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Talk?
God forbid.
Besides, Arthur's due a little physical release.
no subject
He's too busy shifting his hold on Arthur, his fingers quite possibly patterning Arthur's sides with possessive marks as he yanks Arthur flush against himself. And then they're moving again, across the little hallway and to the opposing wall where Eames can press him against the wall, pin him down as he's dragging his mouth to Arthur's neck, leaving marks that aren't going to stay for long in a dream.
He shoves his hand under Arthur's shirt and pushes it up, not caring to be too gentle about it. Sweet and caring didn't get tickets to this show.
no subject
There's no way they're making it up the paradoxical staircase like this, so Arthur instead makes Eames back up by pulling off the man's tops and then shoving him hard in the direction of the sofa bed the Forge's been occupying since his run-in with the orcs. Whether they actually get on it or end up on the carpet in front of it remains to be seen.
no subject
They're not going to make it to the couch. They might not even make it to the floor. There are plenty of wall space for leverage in the hall. Eames usually plans these things out, he's meticulous about his business even, he knows what he's doing. It takes quite a bit for him to become unhinged like this, but apparently Arthur just has to be the exception for everything. Every fucking thing.
no subject
Rather than risk things being dragged to an abrupt halt because Eames has collapsed, Arthur shoves him back again, gritting out against his lips, "Get on the bed."
no subject
When Arthur pushes him, he lets out an exasperated grunt and finally gives into the urging, grabbing Arthur's hips in a tight hold and practically hauls him across the floor and into the sofa-bed.
He pushes Arthur down to it and then crawls over him, kicking his legs apart so can fit himself in between them as he grounds their hips together, heavy and demanding.
cw: sexy times going in
"You're gonna hurt yourself, dumbass," he growls, keeping his hands pressed to Eames' chest to make him stay the fuck down. Then he's reaching down to shove down Eames' sweats, very much intent on getting him naked. "Shoes."
Kick them off, please.
no subject
So, Eames drops his shoes, kicking them off and lifting his arse when Arthur yanks down his sweats, leaving him naked sans the bandages. Then his hand rises to grab at Arthur's hair, fisting in it tightly as he pulls him down to a bruising kiss, teeth and tongue, all intending to ruin that pretty mouth of his that spews such bullshit.
"Stop fussing," he mutters between kisses. "I'm not going to break."
no subject
"... Shut up," he grunts, coming back to himself and pushing back into the kisses almost desperately, fingers briefly digging into Eames' hips as he straddles the man's thighs again.
no subject
From there it's relatively easy to slide his hands down to Arthur's hips and over them to his arse, pushing under layers of cloth to curve his fingers around well rounded buttocks. He manages to mostly push down the trousers and whatever's under there, so when he pulls Arthur down and rocks his hips up, there's dick against dick through the soft cotton of Arthur's underwear.
"Get these off," he demands impatiently.
no subject
no subject
Things Eames doesn't realise even now that he wants: the same thing without insecurity and anger.
He arches under Arthur's weight, letting out a groan as his throat is practically worn thin by savage teeth and mouth. His hands are greedy as they grab at Arthur's hips, pulling him down against himself, needing the skin to skin contact with what feels like suffocating tightness around his chest.
Somehow being with Arthur is always like this. It feels so damn good and it feels too much too little, everything at the same time, rough.
Their hips grind in a maddening rhythm against each other, Eames' heels digging into the mattress to be able to push up against Arthur. Eventually one of them needs to focus to get things further, but right now, this is somewhat doable.
no subject
"Get me some lube," he orders, knowing the Forge is far better at conjuring things out of thin air than him in a dream.
no subject
The request is a reasonable one. Seriously... Eames, just get to it.
He dips his hand under a blanket that's thrown over the sofa and pulls out a fat tube of lube, pushing it into Arthur's hands. He watches Arthur quietly while he flips the cork open and spills some onto his hands. When he's reaching behind himself, Eames reaches up and curves a hand around his neck, pulling him down. Then he slides his hands down to Arthur's arse and spreads his cheeks for him while his teeth find a soft spot on Arthur's neck to bite and suck, aiming to leave enough marks that Arthur will find hard to get rid of them by tomorrow.
no subject
He's not here to be sexy or seductive. He just wants to fuck
and shut Eames up for once."Stop, I'm ready-"
no subject
Arthur is just as dogged about getting down to it, though. Which means that when Eames lets him go, Arthur is going to shift and get them where they both desperately want to be.
"Come on," Eames still hurries him with gritted teeth, lifting Arthur's arse as he shifts his grip on the man and rolls his own body to get his dick behind him. (Not a wise move, his side protests immediately, something wet touching the bandages underneath. Eames ignores this, he doesn't care if he'll feel a bit faint after this...)
no subject
For now, he's shifting and looking back, grasping Eames' cock and positioning himself over the fat tip before sinking down without much hesitation. His eyes might roll back as he gets filled, but he refocuses fast, staring down at Eames' face as he settles over the man's groin with a satisfied little groan deep in his throat.
Impatience is the word of the night, though, and Arthur doesn't give either of them enough time to adjust before he's moving. Mouth falling open on a silent gasp, his brow puckers in a tight frown of concentration as he starts to move, hand braced on Eames' abs to steady himself and to keep the dumb Brit down.
no subject
It doesn't matter because Arthur's not in the mood to ask if he can fuck himself on Eames' dick. And honestly there's little else to do than to hold on for dear life and let him have his fill. Eames would like to thrust up but he already feels the wetness spreading under the bandages and doing that would definitely mean breaking more stitches.
So, he's stuck with wrapping his hands around Arthur's middle and pulling him down when he gets up, and staring at the man with lust-dark eyes, his mouth open to allow harsher breaths past his lips. He's so bloody gorgeous like this, bouncing up and down on Eames' cock, focused and demanding.
Eames would give him whatever he wanted, right that moment. If Arthur would just have the boldness to ask.
no subject
"Fuck," he gasps, eyes squeezing shut when he manages to drag that cock right against his prostate, his own dick jerking and leaking from the sensation.
no subject
Arthur clings to him tight and so damn good, Eames' heart is thundering in his ears and he has to close his mouth and breathe through his nose to hold on, to keep it going. There's wildness to Arthur that he hasn't seen for a long while, and if that doesn't drive him mad, very little else can.
"Come on," he urges in a low, rough voice as his other hand wraps around Arthur's cock to stroke him in time with the hard bouncing Arthur's doing.
no subject
He does his best to ride Eames hard, forcing his eyes open to watch that reddened, rugged face, tempted again
as alwaysto lean down and bite at those lips. His body's tight, tense, primed for release, but he's determined not to until he's wrung Eames dry, first.no subject
He groans deep within his throat as Arthur's hips come slamming down at his, each dragging pull bringing him a little closer to an inevitable release that he yearns but doesn't want yet, not yet, please not yet. He struggles against the tide, core tight and his hand on Arthur's stomach straining, trembling with the effort.
They're both so very stubborn, who even knows which one of them is going to give up first.
no subject
Even if the pace is still rough, Arthur's slowed down a bit, just enough so he can concentrate on clenching down around Eames' cock to push him harder towards the edge. "Come on, Eames," he murmurs, biting his lip on a particularly hard grind down, his own dick twitching in the Forge's hand as it leaks eagerly.
no subject
somewhatnicely.Perhaps that lip biting and hair swiping has something to do with it too. Arthur sits on him so tight Eames sees stars at the drag of his clenched ass over him.
"Christ", he swallows the curse in a mighty inhale as his back arches and head tilts back, mouth open even as he forgets to breathe when the tide comes in and his orgasm washes over him like a hot sea of flames, raw, near violent, making him shudder again and again as Arthur's arse keeps milking him dry.
"Arthur..." It's weak and spills from his lips incoherently.
no subject
When the man seems to have recovered his wits a bit, he gruffly directs, "Touch me."
He's not so nice as to let just Eames get off on this, and is selfish enough in the moment to demand his own release come from the man's hand directly.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)