ruffians | maybe we show some mercy

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maybe we show some mercy

[Usually, facing your fears means discovering they're not as bad as they seemed in your head. That your mind catastrophises and exaggerates and the reality is nowhere near what it seemed. Eames certainly wishes that were the case here, but it turns out the reality is far worse than anything that crossed his mind. He'd long since come to terms with the idea that getting caught meant death, but the captain of this discreet little crew made a point of talking about "re-education" with such conviction that it seems like a very real possibility. A real possibility that terrifies Eames in ways he didn't even know he could feel.]

[It's hard not to be mad at himself, and in fact he is. He's fucking furious. Years of being meticulous about hiding from the Empire rendered obsolete because some asshole wanted to make some quick money and Eames hadn't spotted the signs even though that's exactly the kind of thing he's supposed to be good at. And now here he is, bound in a cell on a ship, no idea how long he's been here or where they are — no idea about much of anything outside this room, actually — pumped full of power inhibitors to make doubly sure he can't escape.]

[Fucking hell but it hurts. Hands cuffed behind his back, made to stay on his knees for... A long time. Simultaneously can't feel his legs and yet the muscles burn and ache. All of him a mess of cuts and bruises, a mix of injuries from fighting back and some from cruelty passed off as discipline. He thinks his nose might be broken and one of his eyes is swollen into a semi-permanant squint. The longer he kneels here, the more Eames thinks the inhibitor injections were less about preventing escape and more about making sure he couldn't heal away the beatings; making sure he'd suffer through every moment of the trip "home."]

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[He's going about this pretty casually but not wasting any time, giving himself a couple strokes to get lubed up and then getting into position between Eames' legs. There's nothing fancy going on here, he just wants to fuck Eames the way they usually fuck when they just want to feel good; hard but not too hard, steady and quick so it gets both of them off.]

[Of course he has to work up to that a little bit, so it starts with a slow slide in and a moan from Arthur who lowers himself down to catch Eames in a kiss.]

[Eames gasps and arches, pressing his lips together on a whine at the feeling of Arthur inside him again. He lifts his hands to hold Arthur's face so he can kiss him back eagerly.]

[Arthur hums happily and a little urgently as he starts getting faster. He was very hard when he started and being inside Eames is providing a more overwhelming relief than he anticipated. It gives way to a steadier type of pleasure as he gets into more of a rhythm, rolling his hips at an automatic pace that just feels right.]

[Eames opens his eyes to look at Arthur, as much as he can with their faces so close, combing his fingers through Arthur's hair and holding his face in an outpouring of affection. A second pair of arms he wraps around Arthur, pushing his palms up Arthur's back.]

[In contrast to Arthur though, Eames is still sensitive, and it shows in the way he arches and writhes under Arthur, moans coming out closer to whimpers as if he might actually be in pain.]

[The noise would generally prompt Arthur to asks if everything's okay, but he has four hands on him right now and that definitely offsets the worry he might feel. He opens his eyes, lids heavy and pupils blown wide, and just looks at Eames' face as he keeps going. There's a lot of jostling going on but nothing could make him want to look away.]

[Eames is too overwhelmed to maintain a steady gaze back, much as he wants to look at him, every time Arthur hits or brushes over his prostate is like a shock that walks a knife's edge of pleasure and pain. In hindsight, maybe he should've taken a few minutes to cool off, but now he's here and this is all Eames wants. Part of him thinking he'd put up with any amount of pain to have Arthur inside him like this right now.]

[He wants to communicate some version of this, looking up at Arthur with a desperate expression, but all that comes out is a moan at one of those shocks that makes him screw his eyes shut and throw his head back.]

[Eames is almost intoxicating like this and Arthur mutters something about how amazing he feels as he redigs his knees into the bed and grunts with the effort. It won’t be long for him now but he wants to keep it going as long as it takes for Eames to have another orgasm if he can.]

[This close to the last time he came, with how sensitive he's feeling and how long it was before that, it probably won't take long for Eames to come again. He feels like a raw nerve, every little thing is almost too much to take, and he lifys his legs to wrap those around Arthur too. Clinging to Arthur and dragging his fingertips down his back as he shudders and moans.]

[Arthur lets out a stream of curses and moans and compliments, feeling that familiar knot in the pit of his stomach.]

[He doesn't bother holding on to it this time, not that Eames could if he wanted to, fingers digging in where his hands are pressed against Arthur back and hands balling into fists in his hair. He's tense and silent for the briefest of moments, and then when Eames comes he's practically sobbing.]

[When he feels Eames tense up below him, Arthur relaxes somewhat, giving his body permission to release. He's hot on Eames' heels for that reason, finishing with a few short quick thrusts as he moans, practically shouting with pleasure. He pulls out quickly once he's done in case Eames is way too oversensitive now, but he stays close and leans down for a clumsy kiss.]

[Eames is a shivering, oversensitised mess. He moans weakly when Arthur pulls out and kisses him back as best he can, but mostly he's just about insensate and going to need a minute or two before he can move or think.]

You okay?

[He feels like it's necessary to ask, even just to check in physically as he noses in at Eames' face.]

[He hums to the affirmative, he doesn't really trust his voice right now, half aware he's still got six limbs wrapped around Arthur but he can't bring himself to let go just yet.]

[Arthur manages to get his hand up to Eames' hair to smooth it down, humming as he gently kisses his cheekbone.]

[Eames closes his eyes with a soft sigh to enjoy the affection, carefully withdrawing all his body parts at the same time so there's just one pair of arms wrapped loosely around Arthur.]

[Arthur carefully lowers himself down to lay on Eames comfortably.]

That was all I had in mind.

[Eames laughs a little at that.]

Maybe I should've taken a breather between rounds.

That may have been wise.

[Arthur says it dryly because when have they ever been wise about anything to do with sex.]

I just needed you so badly. I still...

[He frowns and trails off, making a vague attempt to pass it off with one of those aftershocks still passing through him intermittently.]

[Arthur pulls back just a little bit and cups Eames' face. His brows knit together as he tries to think of what to say; he wants to tell Eames that it's okay to talk if he wants but doesn't know how not to sound condescending about it.]

[Eames looks up at Arthur with a deep frown of concentration, voice low and quiet the way he is when he's almost afraid to actually be heard.]

I've never needed anything the way I need you.

[He shakes his head and looks past Arthur, up at the ceiling.]

Scares the shit out of me, to be completely honest, knowing I'd do anything for you without question.

[The last thing he felt that way about was the empire and, well. That's not a relationship that ended well, as they can both clearly see.]

[Arthur sighs and gives Eames an attempt at a reassuring smile.]

Eames, I feel the same way. When you were gone, I... I never realized just how much I needed you before that.

I didn't think you'd come for me.

[He says it with a bit of a laugh even though it's not really a joke.]

Never once occurred to me that you'd go to those lengths for me, I figured you'd just... Move on.

[Arthur's thumb brushes along Eames' cheekbone affectionately as he frowns down at him.]

I don't think I'm capable of moving on.

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