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Fic: Pins and Needles
Title: Pins and Needles
Word Count: 2,358
Pairing: Ariadne/Mal, Eames/Robert
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Blood, bit of violence, and all those porny bits we love.
Summary: Ariadne and Mal share a room next door to Eames and Robert.
Author's Note: Collaboration with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
scrapbullet Much love and thanks so much to her endless patience while my mind turned to mush. And kicking me in the booty to continue.
I.
“This is ridiculous.”
Mal hums as she palms Ariadne’s pert bottom, thumbs rubbing circles into taut muscle that melts, becomes soft and malleable beneath her touch. “Where is your sense of adventure, rabbit? Hm? ” Palms spread, and Ariadne shudders, shooting a glare over her shoulder, and Mal is forever taken with those dark eyes lighting with fire. “Where is the young woman who threw herself at my feet, demanding my mouth?”
The snub nose lifts, wrinkles. The expression of disbelief on her little lovers face is so very adorable. It’s no small wonder that it ignites a yearning within, one that invites Mal to hurt her until she cries, until the lips bruise and swell, red and slick. Indeed, there are times when Mal simply can’t help herself, and she ducks her head to bite deep into a firm cheek, teeth worrying the flesh. Ariadne hisses, high and breathless, and if it weren’t for the tell-tale wetness between her legs Mal would think it one of torture.
“This is a bit-” Ariadne pulls a face, shifts her hips. The silk sheets sigh beneath her as she fidgets, undoubtedly uncomfortable. Her cheeks are umber and her palms are sweaty, leaving faint stains on the pillowcase.
No matter. There shall be quite a few more when the evening has ended.
“Hm?”
Ariadne scowls. “You know.”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
Inhale, exhale, repeat. Mal rubs her thumb along the slick lips of Ariadne’s cunt, and the ensuing moan is enough to break the tension. It lingers though, a heavy taste on the back of her tongue, a bitter flavour that taints the breathless little moans that Ariadne makes with abandon. Tracing the outermost lips with care Mal shrugs, drawing inwards – “lift your hips, dear” – drawing upwards, flicking the swollen clit.
Ariadne’s thighs tremble. Mal stills them with a steady hand. “Go on.”
Another sigh, this one tinged with arousal. There’s no denying it, not to someone such as Mal, not when the subtle nuances of her little Architect are so sweetly blatant to her admiring eyes. “Eames and-” she moans as Mal slips a finger into her cunt, crooking it. “Eames and Robert. They’re-”
“On the other side of the wall, yes?”
Ariadne growls, frustrated. Her hips rise as she attempts to fuck herself back, but Mal only laughs, high and amused, the sound of summer rain.
II.
It is only a matter of time. The door closes, Eames settles onto the bed, and Robert goes into the bathroom to take a shower. He lies back, opening his bag to his journal filled with notes about inception and far more personal things. On the other side of paper-thin walls, he hears Mal and Ariadne. Chuckling softly, he makes a note.
Twenty minutes or so later, Robert walks out wet with a towel clinging to his boney hips. He glances up at the painting above Eames as if he can see through the wall. “So vibrant, aren't they?”
“They are.” Eames grins, closing his book. “It's going to be difficult to compete.”
“In volume, perhaps, but we're not here to make noise, are we?” Robert clicks his tongue as he approaches Eames's bedside. He reaches out and caresses Eames's cheek, stroking down his neck, and lets him lean forward to lick droplets off his chest. Suddenly silent, Robert takes it as a sign that Eames is ready. He reaches down to the nightstand and pulls from it rope, soft like silk but sturdy enough to keep his forger still. Robert knows Eames is good with locks, so he's learned a trick or two about knots.
“Tell me your words, sweetheart,” Robert whispers, gently pushing Eames back onto the bed. A soft whimper comes from his pet, coy and needy, but Robert remains stern, pulling Eames's wrists over his head to tie them to the headboard.
“Yellow is to stop the moment,” Eames tells. “Red is to stop the scene.”
Robert nods. “Good.”
III.
“This competition, it’s, it’s-” Ariadne is interrupted by an exultant moan, breathless yet undoubtedly masculine, muffled by wood and plaster. They still as it continues, and Ariadne presses her face into the pillow, choking back nervous laughter. Absolutely ridiculous.”
Ah, poor, sweet little thing. As if Mal couldn’t feel the sudden rush, as Ariadne becomes so wet that a second finger is childs play, the music of her body soft and wet and gorgeous.
“Eames has stamina,” Mal says, matter of fact. “On your back, rabbit, I want to see your face when I fuck you.”
IV.
Robert starts slow, agonizingly so. His fingers dance over cotton blend, following patterns that circle along Eames's choice of attire for the evening. Every move is faint enough that Eames arches, silently aching with need. It's enough that Robert wants to simply rip Eames's shirt off and bite his erect nipple, but he pulls back his urges to keep control.
From the nightstand again, he finds a pair of scissors Robert asked Eames to bring alongside the rope and other toys. He doesn't care how Eames got them here – passed airport security or stopping by the pharmacy – either way, he's pleased with his pet's ability to follow his instructions. Carefully, he tugs Eames's shirt from out of his slacks, ghosting wet palms across heated flesh. “Christ, you're perfect. Every bit of you. If I could, I'd cut a hole in your belly and crawl right in, hide there so we can be together always.” He grins, snipping at Eames's shirt instead. “But that won't do, will it, pet? Maybe in a dream, but here I'll have to settle for carving my name into your heart.”
Eames is silent as Robert slides bitter cold steel close to him, hearing it slice in, barely missing his body. He dares not to arch, fearing being injured or worse, being punished. Robert is so good to him, but he can be a terrifying man when disappointed.
“Name,” Robert asks. “Who are you?”
“D-daniel Eames, sir,” Eames whispers, broken slightly by Robert's grasp along his chest. His nipple is swollen and telling Robert the truth earns him a twist. He arches, grinding his cock against Robert's. “Oh god, sir. Thank you.”
“And what are you?” Robert asks, bending forward to bury himself into Eames's neck. He whispers softly, “Tell me.”
“Yours,” Eames replies.
Robert drops the scissors to the side of the bed and growls, “Mine.” He bites with blunt teeth, marking his lovely until bruises will form for days after. Muffled cries fall from eager lips being clamped shut, and Robert praises Eames by raking his fingernails down from collarbone to thighs.
He lifts up and pats Eames's cock. “Good boy. Now don't come while I'm fucking your mouth. They want a fight, and I intend on giving it to them.”
V.
The straps are easy enough; nimble fingers deftly hook and tighten, intimate with this dance. Ariadne – lying artlessly on her back, nipples pink and peaked – looks at the dildo with some trepidation as Mal applies a bit of extra slick, making the black phallus shine in the artificial light. It’s bigger than their usual fair, and Ariadne is an elf of a thing; slim-hipped and petite boned, but there is strength in there, a solidity that Mal cannot help but lean on.
Solid; like the fortified, concrete foundations of an exquisite building.
And Ariadne is very exquisite indeed.
“Shall I make you scream?” She says and Ariadne laughs, spreads her legs. Her most intimate parts are swollen, glossy, the clit engorged. With smug ease Ariadne pulls her knees up to her chest, hands hooked behind her knees; come hither, eyes heavy lidded.
There are times when Mal wonders how she ever lived without such a woman.
In the room next door, it crescendo’s. The creak of the bed is unabashed, and an especially loud outcry causes Ariadne’s mouth to drop open, eyes glassy. It is in this moment that Mal kneels on the bed and drives the dildo home, hips sliding forward slow and gradual. No doubt the stretch and burn is considerable; though her hips undulate Ariadne’s chest hitches, once, twice, and a third time before she recedes, thighs twitching to signify a frantic, unconscious spasm around the solid prick.
“Too much?”
Swallowing thickly, Ariadne merely shakes her head. A moment, then, just a moment, and Mal lowers her fingers to encircle the swollen nub and squeezes.
The surprised exhalation goes straight to Mal’s throbbing cunt; part pleasure and part pain.
“You’re such a pretty little thing, Ari, I just want to eat you all up.”
VI.
Robert pulls out, come still falling off his half-hard cock. He smiles at Eames’s eagerness to please, how his pet tugs at his restraints to bathe him still. It’s sweet, but Robert’s backhand lands against Eames’s cheek in response. “Filthy slut,” he curses, wiping Eames’s lip as if he might be able to get all of it. “Do you need a shower before we proceed?”
“No, sir,” Eames says.
“Good,” Robert whispers and retrieves his final toys for the evening. Almost methodically, he attends to Eames’s cock, wrapping a latex ring around it and Eames’s shaved balls to keep him from coming too soon. It would be a pity to lose him that way. Then he picks up the sterilized needle and breaks its package, climbing back on over to straddle his pet. “You can scream as much as you want, sweetheart. I can almost promise you our darlings next door won’t hear you.”
He begins just above Eames’s swollen nub, slanting his line to form an R. It’s applied over and over again, sweeping carefully each time. At first, it’s like scratches; he knows this from practicing on himself before ever touching his lover. Then he digs a little deeper, causing droplets of blood, then a stream that he laps up like a trophy of their progress.
It’s that lick, delicate and concerned, that makes Eames moan.
VII.
These games they play – at times Ariadne finds them frustrating. She has no patience, and as she scowls she heaves herself up onto her elbows to seize Mal’s mouth in a kiss. “You’re a wench,” she mutters, mouth to mouth, a slip slide of tongue and heat and teeth. “One of these days- ah-”
A shallow thrust, just once, and the friction is enough. It always is, when Ariadne is so very responsive; letting gravity bring her back down, cheeks flushed and fingers scrabbling for purchase.
“Yes?” Mal grins, perky breasts bouncing as her chest rises and falls. “Well?”
No words, only a hitch of hips as the rhythm continues, and Ariadne falls.
It’s a sight; it always is. Mal kisses the jut of Ariadne’s collarbone, feels the tremble beneath, the juxtaposition of friction and pressure, the sweat that pools in the deft valley of the chest. Ariadne twists, flushed and delirious, spreading her legs wider, and as her quick fingers dart between their bodies to stroke the quickening slickness, it comes. It comes, the spasm of the delicate muscles within and Mal fucks Ariadne right through it, until the breathless exhalations crescendo.
Dazed and delirious Ariadne clutches at Mal’s forearms as if her very life depended on it.
“Just the one?” Mal murmurs, pitying, and Ariadne hisses as she soothes the swollen flesh, oversensitive. Mal coats her fingers in the glistening excess and brings it to her lips – sucking down the tang of musk, savouring it. “Should I be insulted?” Working the phallus out is no bother, the straps undone, the toy discarded.
A hum, and the architect arches her back, almost feline, though decidedly sated. “...smug.”
“Just a bit.”
“You weren’t all that interested were you, not really.”
Mal stretches, supine. She tucks Ariadne in against her, kissing her tousled hair. “Perceptive.” She smirks. “Perhaps I simply wanted to hear Robert scream.”
VIII.
“Robert, sir . . . uh, Master,” Eames moans, delirious from his nerves set on edge and Robert being merciless in his play. He doesn’t even realize that Robert’s gotten off to clean his brand and put some antibiotics on it.
Robert caresses Eames’s cheek again once he’s pressing the bandage over. “Shhhh, sweetheart. Right here. Almost there.”
“Love you.”
“I know,” Robert replies and kisses Eames’s lips despite being caked with dried come and snot. He darts out his tongue and pries open Eames’s mouth, kissing him deeply. “Love you, too.” After applying the tape, he unbuckles and removes the last barrier between them, slipping it off and folding it almost reverently. Then he straddles Eames one, last time and releases his knots with a bit of tugging. “Stay with me. Fuck me hard.” He holds Eames’s cock in one hand at his tight hole, unprepared and ready while snipping the rings with his scissors.
That small cut snaps Eames into immediate attention, his hips thrusting upward into Robert’s heat. His body falls, and Robert continues to impale himself, trying hard to force Eames’s cock deeper until he’s to the balls. Eames manages to pull himself up to wrap his arms around Robert, clawing at Robert’s back, down it and toward his thighs. He grabs hold of Robert’s hips and digs in, knowing such pale flesh will bruise and that will be the least of his lover’s worries.
It carries Robert over and into orgasm a second time, his body turning rigid as every bit of his muscles constrict and conform around Eames.
Eames can only push himself a few more times, thrusting until his body is weak and worn.
Robert is careful to fall back to Eames’s side rather than on top, thoughtful on all accounts as he lingers there in his space.
“I’ll draw you a bath,” Eames says as he gets up. He passes a hand over Robert’s ribs, steady breathes, and jutted hip. “Wouldn’t want Ariadne to worry that I was too hard on you.”
Word Count: 2,358
Pairing: Ariadne/Mal, Eames/Robert
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Blood, bit of violence, and all those porny bits we love.
Summary: Ariadne and Mal share a room next door to Eames and Robert.
Author's Note: Collaboration with
scrapbullet Much love and thanks so much to her endless patience while my mind turned to mush. And kicking me in the booty to continue. I.
“This is ridiculous.”
Mal hums as she palms Ariadne’s pert bottom, thumbs rubbing circles into taut muscle that melts, becomes soft and malleable beneath her touch. “Where is your sense of adventure, rabbit? Hm? ” Palms spread, and Ariadne shudders, shooting a glare over her shoulder, and Mal is forever taken with those dark eyes lighting with fire. “Where is the young woman who threw herself at my feet, demanding my mouth?”
The snub nose lifts, wrinkles. The expression of disbelief on her little lovers face is so very adorable. It’s no small wonder that it ignites a yearning within, one that invites Mal to hurt her until she cries, until the lips bruise and swell, red and slick. Indeed, there are times when Mal simply can’t help herself, and she ducks her head to bite deep into a firm cheek, teeth worrying the flesh. Ariadne hisses, high and breathless, and if it weren’t for the tell-tale wetness between her legs Mal would think it one of torture.
“This is a bit-” Ariadne pulls a face, shifts her hips. The silk sheets sigh beneath her as she fidgets, undoubtedly uncomfortable. Her cheeks are umber and her palms are sweaty, leaving faint stains on the pillowcase.
No matter. There shall be quite a few more when the evening has ended.
“Hm?”
Ariadne scowls. “You know.”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
Inhale, exhale, repeat. Mal rubs her thumb along the slick lips of Ariadne’s cunt, and the ensuing moan is enough to break the tension. It lingers though, a heavy taste on the back of her tongue, a bitter flavour that taints the breathless little moans that Ariadne makes with abandon. Tracing the outermost lips with care Mal shrugs, drawing inwards – “lift your hips, dear” – drawing upwards, flicking the swollen clit.
Ariadne’s thighs tremble. Mal stills them with a steady hand. “Go on.”
Another sigh, this one tinged with arousal. There’s no denying it, not to someone such as Mal, not when the subtle nuances of her little Architect are so sweetly blatant to her admiring eyes. “Eames and-” she moans as Mal slips a finger into her cunt, crooking it. “Eames and Robert. They’re-”
“On the other side of the wall, yes?”
Ariadne growls, frustrated. Her hips rise as she attempts to fuck herself back, but Mal only laughs, high and amused, the sound of summer rain.
II.
It is only a matter of time. The door closes, Eames settles onto the bed, and Robert goes into the bathroom to take a shower. He lies back, opening his bag to his journal filled with notes about inception and far more personal things. On the other side of paper-thin walls, he hears Mal and Ariadne. Chuckling softly, he makes a note.
Twenty minutes or so later, Robert walks out wet with a towel clinging to his boney hips. He glances up at the painting above Eames as if he can see through the wall. “So vibrant, aren't they?”
“They are.” Eames grins, closing his book. “It's going to be difficult to compete.”
“In volume, perhaps, but we're not here to make noise, are we?” Robert clicks his tongue as he approaches Eames's bedside. He reaches out and caresses Eames's cheek, stroking down his neck, and lets him lean forward to lick droplets off his chest. Suddenly silent, Robert takes it as a sign that Eames is ready. He reaches down to the nightstand and pulls from it rope, soft like silk but sturdy enough to keep his forger still. Robert knows Eames is good with locks, so he's learned a trick or two about knots.
“Tell me your words, sweetheart,” Robert whispers, gently pushing Eames back onto the bed. A soft whimper comes from his pet, coy and needy, but Robert remains stern, pulling Eames's wrists over his head to tie them to the headboard.
“Yellow is to stop the moment,” Eames tells. “Red is to stop the scene.”
Robert nods. “Good.”
III.
“This competition, it’s, it’s-” Ariadne is interrupted by an exultant moan, breathless yet undoubtedly masculine, muffled by wood and plaster. They still as it continues, and Ariadne presses her face into the pillow, choking back nervous laughter. Absolutely ridiculous.”
Ah, poor, sweet little thing. As if Mal couldn’t feel the sudden rush, as Ariadne becomes so wet that a second finger is childs play, the music of her body soft and wet and gorgeous.
“Eames has stamina,” Mal says, matter of fact. “On your back, rabbit, I want to see your face when I fuck you.”
IV.
Robert starts slow, agonizingly so. His fingers dance over cotton blend, following patterns that circle along Eames's choice of attire for the evening. Every move is faint enough that Eames arches, silently aching with need. It's enough that Robert wants to simply rip Eames's shirt off and bite his erect nipple, but he pulls back his urges to keep control.
From the nightstand again, he finds a pair of scissors Robert asked Eames to bring alongside the rope and other toys. He doesn't care how Eames got them here – passed airport security or stopping by the pharmacy – either way, he's pleased with his pet's ability to follow his instructions. Carefully, he tugs Eames's shirt from out of his slacks, ghosting wet palms across heated flesh. “Christ, you're perfect. Every bit of you. If I could, I'd cut a hole in your belly and crawl right in, hide there so we can be together always.” He grins, snipping at Eames's shirt instead. “But that won't do, will it, pet? Maybe in a dream, but here I'll have to settle for carving my name into your heart.”
Eames is silent as Robert slides bitter cold steel close to him, hearing it slice in, barely missing his body. He dares not to arch, fearing being injured or worse, being punished. Robert is so good to him, but he can be a terrifying man when disappointed.
“Name,” Robert asks. “Who are you?”
“D-daniel Eames, sir,” Eames whispers, broken slightly by Robert's grasp along his chest. His nipple is swollen and telling Robert the truth earns him a twist. He arches, grinding his cock against Robert's. “Oh god, sir. Thank you.”
“And what are you?” Robert asks, bending forward to bury himself into Eames's neck. He whispers softly, “Tell me.”
“Yours,” Eames replies.
Robert drops the scissors to the side of the bed and growls, “Mine.” He bites with blunt teeth, marking his lovely until bruises will form for days after. Muffled cries fall from eager lips being clamped shut, and Robert praises Eames by raking his fingernails down from collarbone to thighs.
He lifts up and pats Eames's cock. “Good boy. Now don't come while I'm fucking your mouth. They want a fight, and I intend on giving it to them.”
V.
The straps are easy enough; nimble fingers deftly hook and tighten, intimate with this dance. Ariadne – lying artlessly on her back, nipples pink and peaked – looks at the dildo with some trepidation as Mal applies a bit of extra slick, making the black phallus shine in the artificial light. It’s bigger than their usual fair, and Ariadne is an elf of a thing; slim-hipped and petite boned, but there is strength in there, a solidity that Mal cannot help but lean on.
Solid; like the fortified, concrete foundations of an exquisite building.
And Ariadne is very exquisite indeed.
“Shall I make you scream?” She says and Ariadne laughs, spreads her legs. Her most intimate parts are swollen, glossy, the clit engorged. With smug ease Ariadne pulls her knees up to her chest, hands hooked behind her knees; come hither, eyes heavy lidded.
There are times when Mal wonders how she ever lived without such a woman.
In the room next door, it crescendo’s. The creak of the bed is unabashed, and an especially loud outcry causes Ariadne’s mouth to drop open, eyes glassy. It is in this moment that Mal kneels on the bed and drives the dildo home, hips sliding forward slow and gradual. No doubt the stretch and burn is considerable; though her hips undulate Ariadne’s chest hitches, once, twice, and a third time before she recedes, thighs twitching to signify a frantic, unconscious spasm around the solid prick.
“Too much?”
Swallowing thickly, Ariadne merely shakes her head. A moment, then, just a moment, and Mal lowers her fingers to encircle the swollen nub and squeezes.
The surprised exhalation goes straight to Mal’s throbbing cunt; part pleasure and part pain.
“You’re such a pretty little thing, Ari, I just want to eat you all up.”
VI.
Robert pulls out, come still falling off his half-hard cock. He smiles at Eames’s eagerness to please, how his pet tugs at his restraints to bathe him still. It’s sweet, but Robert’s backhand lands against Eames’s cheek in response. “Filthy slut,” he curses, wiping Eames’s lip as if he might be able to get all of it. “Do you need a shower before we proceed?”
“No, sir,” Eames says.
“Good,” Robert whispers and retrieves his final toys for the evening. Almost methodically, he attends to Eames’s cock, wrapping a latex ring around it and Eames’s shaved balls to keep him from coming too soon. It would be a pity to lose him that way. Then he picks up the sterilized needle and breaks its package, climbing back on over to straddle his pet. “You can scream as much as you want, sweetheart. I can almost promise you our darlings next door won’t hear you.”
He begins just above Eames’s swollen nub, slanting his line to form an R. It’s applied over and over again, sweeping carefully each time. At first, it’s like scratches; he knows this from practicing on himself before ever touching his lover. Then he digs a little deeper, causing droplets of blood, then a stream that he laps up like a trophy of their progress.
It’s that lick, delicate and concerned, that makes Eames moan.
VII.
These games they play – at times Ariadne finds them frustrating. She has no patience, and as she scowls she heaves herself up onto her elbows to seize Mal’s mouth in a kiss. “You’re a wench,” she mutters, mouth to mouth, a slip slide of tongue and heat and teeth. “One of these days- ah-”
A shallow thrust, just once, and the friction is enough. It always is, when Ariadne is so very responsive; letting gravity bring her back down, cheeks flushed and fingers scrabbling for purchase.
“Yes?” Mal grins, perky breasts bouncing as her chest rises and falls. “Well?”
No words, only a hitch of hips as the rhythm continues, and Ariadne falls.
It’s a sight; it always is. Mal kisses the jut of Ariadne’s collarbone, feels the tremble beneath, the juxtaposition of friction and pressure, the sweat that pools in the deft valley of the chest. Ariadne twists, flushed and delirious, spreading her legs wider, and as her quick fingers dart between their bodies to stroke the quickening slickness, it comes. It comes, the spasm of the delicate muscles within and Mal fucks Ariadne right through it, until the breathless exhalations crescendo.
Dazed and delirious Ariadne clutches at Mal’s forearms as if her very life depended on it.
“Just the one?” Mal murmurs, pitying, and Ariadne hisses as she soothes the swollen flesh, oversensitive. Mal coats her fingers in the glistening excess and brings it to her lips – sucking down the tang of musk, savouring it. “Should I be insulted?” Working the phallus out is no bother, the straps undone, the toy discarded.
A hum, and the architect arches her back, almost feline, though decidedly sated. “...smug.”
“Just a bit.”
“You weren’t all that interested were you, not really.”
Mal stretches, supine. She tucks Ariadne in against her, kissing her tousled hair. “Perceptive.” She smirks. “Perhaps I simply wanted to hear Robert scream.”
VIII.
“Robert, sir . . . uh, Master,” Eames moans, delirious from his nerves set on edge and Robert being merciless in his play. He doesn’t even realize that Robert’s gotten off to clean his brand and put some antibiotics on it.
Robert caresses Eames’s cheek again once he’s pressing the bandage over. “Shhhh, sweetheart. Right here. Almost there.”
“Love you.”
“I know,” Robert replies and kisses Eames’s lips despite being caked with dried come and snot. He darts out his tongue and pries open Eames’s mouth, kissing him deeply. “Love you, too.” After applying the tape, he unbuckles and removes the last barrier between them, slipping it off and folding it almost reverently. Then he straddles Eames one, last time and releases his knots with a bit of tugging. “Stay with me. Fuck me hard.” He holds Eames’s cock in one hand at his tight hole, unprepared and ready while snipping the rings with his scissors.
That small cut snaps Eames into immediate attention, his hips thrusting upward into Robert’s heat. His body falls, and Robert continues to impale himself, trying hard to force Eames’s cock deeper until he’s to the balls. Eames manages to pull himself up to wrap his arms around Robert, clawing at Robert’s back, down it and toward his thighs. He grabs hold of Robert’s hips and digs in, knowing such pale flesh will bruise and that will be the least of his lover’s worries.
It carries Robert over and into orgasm a second time, his body turning rigid as every bit of his muscles constrict and conform around Eames.
Eames can only push himself a few more times, thrusting until his body is weak and worn.
Robert is careful to fall back to Eames’s side rather than on top, thoughtful on all accounts as he lingers there in his space.
“I’ll draw you a bath,” Eames says as he gets up. He passes a hand over Robert’s ribs, steady breathes, and jutted hip. “Wouldn’t want Ariadne to worry that I was too hard on you.”