regular-glasses-joe replied to your post “can you tag otayuri? it weirds me out because one of them is 15 and...”
is there someone a dick, because some of us like underage stuff
Context and my overall thoughts on such matters.
I don’t think it’s my right to enforce what a person should and should not ship. If asked to tag content, therefore, I always will. Put you should never attack someone for shipping something you don’t like. Stay as far away from the content as you can (I do with R///ylo) but don’t think that screaming at people will make it all go away.
This person only did this once, though, on a now deactivated blog. It’s okay to let the matter rest. I just never heard back to them about it and wanted to make it clear that I don’t find that behavior okay.
“I can’t believe you talked me into this.” Comin’ right up!
Eames wasn’t much for exercise. That wasn’t to say that he was lazy or that he didn’t care about how he looked, and that certainly didn’t mean he was unhealthy, but he never understood the thrill of running for the sake of it. When a job went belly up, he got all the running in that he could stand. He’d do it if he had to, but he felt that he worked better if he gave off the impression that he was relaxed and disarming, and a sweaty fellow didn’t tend to give people reason to believe that.
Arthur, on the other hand, seemed to do at least some form of exercise religiously, on the job or off. When asked, he’d explain that he needed to be in top shape since the pointman was usually the last to leave a job sight even when a job went badly. He had to be focused and skilled and quick enough to get their shit and get the hell out of dodge as soon as he could. Sometimes Arthur had literal seconds to escape gunfire. It was definitely fair that he he’d want to be able to handle his cardio.
The results of Arthur’s morning jogs and salads and whatnot left him with appealing results that Eames certainly didn’t mind drinking in-- a long, naturally slender frame with lean yet powerful musculature. Eames had been a bit like that himself, back in his youth, but age had made him burlier and not quite as... aerodynamic.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” he panted, leaning forward to put his hands on his knees. They were in New York for a job, and Eames had spent the night in Arthur’s hotel room thinking they could have a lazy morning before getting started. Arthur had suggested that night Eames come along for a jog in the morning, and maybe he was just a little too in love or a little too blissful at least, so he’d said he would. He had no idea that Arthur planned to run this far or this long or that he’d planned to do it at the crack of dawn. Eames hadn’t even had the proper trainers to wear on his feet, so he’d had to wear his normal pair, and he was pretty sure he was getting a blister.
Arthur bounced on his toes, running in place while he waited for Eames to catch his breath. “You can always go back to the hotel and wait for me,” he said, smirking. The little bastard was probably enjoying this more than the sex. Arthur always did love an opportunity to prove how good he was at something. You don’t get to be the best by settling for second place.
“I know how to run,” Eames said, “or at least how to run to not die. I din’t think we’d be taking in the whole city. How many miles have we gone? Four? Five?”
“One and a half, tops. Probably not even that. If it’ll motivate you, I could give away our location.”
“You are cruel and savage,” Eames said, wiping his face with the front of his shirt. He still took the water bottle the cruel and savage man offered to him though. “I hate running. You caught me in a post-orgasm haze. You tricked me.”
“It always sucks the first time,” Arthur said, “but after a while it starts to feel good to get up and go in the morning.”
“That’s because you’re a morning person. Humans aren’t meant to run anymore. We’ve been domesticated. We’re supposed to laze around like house cats.”
“I thought you were a dog person.”
“I appreciate a cat’s sensibility.” Eames took a long drink from the bottle. It did help a little.
“We’re not going much further,” Arthur said, a little more gently than his teasing had been. “Think you can stomach another half a mile? There’s a really good place where we can get breakfast. We’ll even take a cab back.”
“That almost sounds like a date. Are we dating now, or is this just mercy on an old, sweaty man?”
“First of all, you’re not old, and second, when have you ever known me to show mercy?”
“So, you and I are getting serious then?” Eames asked, grinning.
“I certainly don’t run with people I’m not serious about,” Arthur said matter-of-factly as he turned back toward the path.
“Who else have you run with?” Eames asked, but Arthur was already sprinting down the path, leaving Eames in the dust. Eames had to really force himself forward to catch up. He supposed it was fair for Arthur to leave a little bit of mystery about himself.
“If I vomit at breakfast, you won’t hold that against me, right? I could still maybe take you to dinner later?” Eames called out.
Arthur laughed. Eames pretended he didn’t notice that Arthur slowed his pace so they could move in tandem rather than one behind the other.
“Well, if that’s a yes, just know that I’m taking you by car.”
“If I say I’ll have dinner with you, does that mean you’ll run with me tomorrow morning too?”
Eames snorted. “Darling, if I take you to dinner, tomorrow morning you’re not going to want to leave my bed, I promise you that.”
“Well, all this depends on you making it to breakfast so I guess you’d better pick up the pace.”
And Arthur was sprinting off again.
Eames sighed, wondering if maybe the delight he was feeling was that ‘runner’s high’ he’d heard so much about. He doubted it... but hey, he’d run to the ends of the earth for Arthur.
