Rating: NC-17 for sex
Summary: Suddenly, Arthur hears the familiar opening bars of “Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien” swelling up around them in the small space. His surprise is trumped only by the shot of adrenaline coursing through his veins, the thread of desire that curls around his stomach and cinches like a knot.
Word count: ~500
Spoilers: Yes, but mostly stuff that won't make sense unless you've seen the film.
Author's note: Betaed by nova33 ♥!
Eames has very sophisticated taste in music. Arthur shouldn’t be surprised anymore, but he can’t keep his mouth shut when Eames starts unbuttoning his shirt after dinner one night while Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7 plays in the background.
“Impressive,” says Arthur, as Eames’s mouth slides over his jaw. “I hope you didn’t buy that just for me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” says Eames, and nudges him back onto the bed.
Tonight, though, there is no Beethoven. Eames is fucking him slowly from behind as Arthur digs his fingertips into the headboard and a woman sings in a low mezzo about her heartless lover.
“Fitting, isn’t it?” says Arthur, and Eames answers with a nip at his shoulder.
“If you can translate while we’re fucking,” says Eames, “then one of us is doing something wrong. And it isn’t me.”
“I’ve always been good at multi-tasking,” says Arthur, earning a well-aimed thrust that leaves him gasping. He drops his hands from the headboard so that he’s on all fours and starts pushing back, meeting Eames halfway. Eames skims his hand along Arthur’s hips and thighs, nudging his legs apart further as the music fades.
Suddenly, Arthur hears the familiar opening bars of “Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien” swelling up around them in the small space. His surprise is trumped only by the shot of adrenaline coursing through his veins, the thread of desire that curls around his stomach and cinches like a knot. Eames’s fingers find the base of Arthur’s cock as he presses his forehead against Arthur’s temple.
“Hurry,” Eames murmurs in his ear, stroking Arthur’s cock in time with the music. “Don’t have much time left.”
“Fuck,” Arthur says, pushing into Eames’s hand. Eames pushes into him again, and even his fucking is perfectly in sync with the music. Arthur tries to open his mouth, tries to say, fuck, Eames and faster, hurry and oh god oh god fuck and a million other strings of words with no meaning, but he is so completely turned on that he can’t even form a coherent thought. He gasps and pushes, curls his fists around the bedsheets as Eames speeds up his thrusts.
“Non, rien de rien...”
Arthur comes with lights behind his eyes, falling and shivering, with the feeling of his heart collapsing into his stomach as he rides the swell of music into climax. He is barely aware of Eames’s fingertips digging into his inner thighs, and Eames muttering curses under his breath as he empties himself inside of him.
Arthur is still recovering when Eames collapses beside him, tugging Arthur down onto the bed and pulling the sheets up around them.
“Well,” says Eames, still collecting his breath, “the next Kick should be interesting.”
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