"Probably not trying to plant an idea, then," Eames murmurs as he pushes himself up a little, just so he can reach down to press his mouth to the swell of Gerard's arse, and drag it, his chin with a little bit of stubble down to those exposed thighs and continue to kiss, and nip and brush his chin across those trembling legs.
He leaves Gerard's dick and his arsehole well alone for now. Because he knows this is something Gerard doesn't get when he's awake, the touch on his bare skin that actually would feel like something other than pressure.
It doesn't stop his asshole from twitching with anticipation just the same, the feel of Eames' lips and the rough stubble sending little jolts of sensation through him. It's been forever but his body hasn't forgotten, and it leaves him panting and whimpering, pressing his face against the pillow to muffle the sounds that threaten to echo in the dream cave.
The sounds he's making are quite lovely and keep Eames rather interested in trailing his mouth and hands down along Gerard's legs, patterning his skin with his touch. He teases the soft skin at the inside of the knee, describes the arch of a calf with his chin and stubble while his fingers trace the outline of Gerard's body. A kiss is dropped to both ankles, prickling stubble rubbed across the soles of Gerard's feet and then Eames' fingers push between his toes before he's on his way back up, repeating the process but backwards.
The bed squeaks a little but Eames ignores it. He magics up a buttplug from his pocket and some lube, dropping them on the bed between Gerard's legs before he lets his tongue slip between those quivering cheeks and lap over Gerard's twitching hole.
Gerard's skin reddenes easily with the brush of Eames' stubble, every nerve alight with the smallest sensations. He's a panting mess from it, trying not to squirm, to just let Eames surprise him with where he touches. He reaches up to grab at the bar along the headboard just to have something more substantial than fabric in his grip. The air is so much cooler against his skin but so warmed where Eames touches, passing over him like a summer storm.
Eames hums out a chuckle and leaves Gerard to interpret it the way he likes. Fucking, however, is definitely on the menu here.
He's too busy for confirming or denying, however, with his tongue pressing flat against Gerard's hole, teasing and teasing, fluttering against it before he lets the tip of it press inside him, just a teasing little bit. His hands are busy spreading Gerard and after a moment he pulls up to wiggle his fingers invitingly. "Hands," he says and when Gerard surrenders them, Eames puts them on his his own cheeks. "Keep them spread for me, love," he says before he dives in there again, lapping the flat of his tongue over that puckered ring of muscle again and again.
The teasing leaves him gasping, practically choking on the air he's desperate to remember he needs, but Eames' tongue is such a tease against his hole. Barely inside before back out again, just enough to make Gerard want to cry for how much he wants more. His fingers are cramped from how hard he was holding onto the bar, but he holds himself open for Eames at his direction, holding tight enough to leave marks behind if this wasn't a dream.
Eames shifts him into his knees by grabbing Gerard's hips and pulling him up, helping him to get those thighs folded under himself before he gets back down to it, his tongue worming its way back to Gerard's hole and licking over it boldly.
His hands work under Gerard, pulling his dick gently down between his legs and urges him to close his thighs. For a moment he thinks about ropes but discards the idea for now. They'll get to play around with all of that later.
When his tongue spears up again and dives into Gerard, it's probably a little longer and limber than what Gerard expected. This is a dream and Eames is free to play with physics as much as he wants.
Gerard follows Eames' direction - he can't not right now, all he can think about is Eames' tongue inside of him working him up in an utterly wicked fashion. He wonders, absurdly, if they're showing any signs of arousal in the waking world and if he even gives a single fuck about that right now. He doesn't, he decides a second later, because Gerard may be new to rimming but he's fairly certain Eames' tongue isn't that long and all the perverse possibilities of being in a dream seem even more wild and open than before. He's slurring Eames' name on his tongue, repeated like a prayer as he clenches around him.
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He leaves Gerard's dick and his arsehole well alone for now. Because he knows this is something Gerard doesn't get when he's awake, the touch on his bare skin that actually would feel like something other than pressure.
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The bed squeaks a little but Eames ignores it. He magics up a buttplug from his pocket and some lube, dropping them on the bed between Gerard's legs before he lets his tongue slip between those quivering cheeks and lap over Gerard's twitching hole.
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"Oh!" Gerard cries out, asshole eagerly submitting to Eames' tongue. "Fuck, Eames, please-"
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He's too busy for confirming or denying, however, with his tongue pressing flat against Gerard's hole, teasing and teasing, fluttering against it before he lets the tip of it press inside him, just a teasing little bit. His hands are busy spreading Gerard and after a moment he pulls up to wiggle his fingers invitingly. "Hands," he says and when Gerard surrenders them, Eames puts them on his his own cheeks. "Keep them spread for me, love," he says before he dives in there again, lapping the flat of his tongue over that puckered ring of muscle again and again.
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"Please - please, Eames, oh, fuck-"
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His hands work under Gerard, pulling his dick gently down between his legs and urges him to close his thighs. For a moment he thinks about ropes but discards the idea for now. They'll get to play around with all of that later.
When his tongue spears up again and dives into Gerard, it's probably a little longer and limber than what Gerard expected. This is a dream and Eames is free to play with physics as much as he wants.
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