Well, it doesn't torture you all the time, does it? I am under constant attack. It hardly fosters a warm and comfortable working environment. Stupid brain. :p
I am all for PWP! It just didn't hit the characters they way I felt it should. And, you know, Arthur. Begging. I didn't realize this was a thing I needed in life, but apparently it just really, really is. And, and, and...
"I would," Arthur says, and bites his lip again, and he can't stop the way his hips push forward, in time with the sweep of Eames' thumb across his side. A gentle swipe, supposed to be calming but it's just making Arthur crazy. All he can think is how close Eames is to actually touching him while still completely refusing, even when Arthur's shirt is half-undone and he's straddling Eames' lap. He gasps, when he manages to buck just enough in Eames' grip that the pad of his thumb drags in a slow, torturous arc across the skin of Arthur's belly. "Fuck," he hisses, and somehow manages to hear through the rush of blood in his ears the way that Eames echoes it faintly and almost lost.
"I'd do it for you," Arthur tells him, finally, panting the words across Eames' cheek. Trying to direct Eames' hand to the open button of his trousers with a horrifying lack of success. "Come on, Eames, I'd do it for you."
And Eames laughs, again, like he did that time in the dreamscape when the mark's projections had gotten their hands on him and he was asking Arthur for a final kiss as Arthur pushed the barrel of a Glock into his temple. Eames laughs like he's tired. Like it hurts. And it just scrapes at Arthur in all the wrong ways, pulling out every shred of him that had clung to his reluctance to touch. Eames says, "That's hardly the same, darling, and we both know it," with a valiant effort at a smirk that falls flat somewhere around melancholy. "Wouldn't exactly take a drug to make me want it."
::clears throat::
I am getting ready to leave and go shopping, because I feel the need to spend money I shouldn't to relieve stress, and also get something with a lot of sugar that could masquerade as coffee. But I have some options for you, kk? I have a little over 4000 words on the bakery thing, and I told you I'd do my best to get it done for you and failed. So, so, I can a) try to work on the bakery thing this weekend or, b) try and write this sexpollen thing.
Also, I would be willing to trade the terrible unbetaed 4000ish words of the bakery thing that I have currently written for a peek at the fairytale thing. TRADE.
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I am all for PWP! It just didn't hit the characters they way I felt it should. And, you know, Arthur. Begging. I didn't realize this was a thing I needed in life, but apparently it just really, really is. And, and, and...
"I would," Arthur says, and bites his lip again, and he can't stop the way his hips push forward, in time with the sweep of Eames' thumb across his side. A gentle swipe, supposed to be calming but it's just making Arthur crazy. All he can think is how close Eames is to actually touching him while still completely refusing, even when Arthur's shirt is half-undone and he's straddling Eames' lap. He gasps, when he manages to buck just enough in Eames' grip that the pad of his thumb drags in a slow, torturous arc across the skin of Arthur's belly. "Fuck," he hisses, and somehow manages to hear through the rush of blood in his ears the way that Eames echoes it faintly and almost lost.
"I'd do it for you," Arthur tells him, finally, panting the words across Eames' cheek. Trying to direct Eames' hand to the open button of his trousers with a horrifying lack of success. "Come on, Eames, I'd do it for you."
And Eames laughs, again, like he did that time in the dreamscape when the mark's projections had gotten their hands on him and he was asking Arthur for a final kiss as Arthur pushed the barrel of a Glock into his temple. Eames laughs like he's tired. Like it hurts. And it just scrapes at Arthur in all the wrong ways, pulling out every shred of him that had clung to his reluctance to touch. Eames says, "That's hardly the same, darling, and we both know it," with a valiant effort at a smirk that falls flat somewhere around melancholy. "Wouldn't exactly take a drug to make me want it."
::clears throat::
I am getting ready to leave and go shopping, because I feel the need to spend money I shouldn't to relieve stress, and also get something with a lot of sugar that could masquerade as coffee. But I have some options for you, kk? I have a little over 4000 words on the bakery thing, and I told you I'd do my best to get it done for you and failed. So, so, I can a) try to work on the bakery thing this weekend or, b) try and write this sexpollen thing.
Also, I would be willing to trade the terrible unbetaed 4000ish words of the bakery thing that I have currently written for a peek at the fairytale thing. TRADE.
You get to decide!