Even After All This Time - Inception Fic (for nessismore)
Title: Even After All This Time
Word Count: 2720
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Robert/Eames
Rating: R
Warnings: Nudity, strong sexual content, adult situations, adult language
Written For: nessismore
I wrote this for nessismore who graciously donated $10 to the auction over on help_japan ~ :D She wanted Eames/Robert and this prompt right here! I hope I did well with it, I really wasn't sure what to do. But I kind of like the idea of Robert and Eames having a good dry hump in the copier room. 8)
The affair had been brief and should not have lingered at the back of his mind the way it did. Robert Fischer had been a conquest, and Eames could not have phrased it any more succintly than that. Inside of his dreams, Eames had seen the frailty of the man, and he had wanted to get his hands on him. It wasn't that Eames was a vicious man, just that he knew what he wanted. Also, he rather liked the idea of breaking Robert Fischer, no matter how much they had all tried to avoid it. The man with the china doll complexion had shattered as easily as one, and he had enjoyed watching the little sweetness that had been left in Fischer's eyes darken and twist.
Okay, so maybe Eames was a little vicious.
It had been more than wanting to taint Fischer, though. Robert had represented something to Eames, something that Eames had not been able to understand and still could not understand. Something noble and pure that Eames had wanted to touch and hold and steal. Not to leave his own taint there, but to take a little of Robert’s goodness with him. Some would argue that Robert Fischer was not exactly a good man, but Eames would counter that in a world full of liars and thieves and killers - well, in a world full of men like Eames - Robert was probably the last decent man alive.
At least in America.
It had started innocently enough. Their flirtations had been harmless and had stemmed from Robert’s loneliness and Eames’ incorrigible nature. He had purposefully stood a little too close to Robert in the office, nudging him with his hip and elbow, breathing against his neck. An ‘accidental’ brush of his groin against Robert’s rear had netted him a nice little gasp from the man. He had gone out of his way on a daily basis to hear this.
Robert had known him only as ‘Eames’, some assistant in the office who had no prospects. A grunt who fetched coffee and beat up the copier when it was low on toner was all Robert had seen. It had been precisely what Eames had wanted him to see. There had been no need for Robert Fischer to notice him, not until Eames had wanted to be noticed.
Months had passed and their little game in the copier room had escalated. Eames had stopped brushing against Robert and had graduated to literally grinding him against the photocopier. Robert had known only that name, and he had growled it out as Eames had dry-humped him. Eames had done his best to ruffle the man's pressed suit and impeccably combed hair; he had wanted him to look like a flustered whore, it had been Eames’ daily goal.
Robert had looked forward to their rendezvous, Eames had always known. He would find the man in the dark, and he would follow his quiet whisper until their bodies were together and grinding. Eames had gotten a strange high out of listening to Robert’s little groans and whimpers, and he had waited for the slight catch in his breath and the feel of Robert’s manicured nails digging into his wrist as he came.
But the way it had started didn't matter. Eames had obsessed enough over that particular portion of their ‘relationship’. What mattered was how it had ended.
<~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~>
“I need more.”
“More?,” Eames asked, straightening his tie, “What ‘more’ do you need, sweet’eart? I got a tie on in case you haven't noticed.”
“No,” Robert said, “I need more.”
Eames could remember how naked Robert’s eyes had been that night. He had been sitting on the bed, his hair falling over his brow, his pale eyes dangerously deep and yet disastrously fragile. Eames had felt a strong urge to go to him, but he had possessed enough common sense to understand he was not the comforting type, and Robert was not the type to be comforted.
“What do you want?,” Eames asked. He had already known, but he had felt compelled to ask. At the time Eames had thought he had only needed to be sure of what Robert needed, but in retrospect he knew that he had only been trying to delay the inevitable.
“More than this,” Robert whispered, “More than... Whatever this is. Whatever we're doing here together."
“We're havin’ a good time,” Eames said, moving closer and brushing back Robert’s bangs from his forehead. “What's wrong with that?”
Robert laughed, caustically, and pulled back from Eames’ touch. “We’ve been having a good time for a while now. To tell you the truth, I’ve stopped having a good time. When this started, I thought that what we had was... Purely sexual. I was fine with that small, dark room and that faceless stranger rubbing against me. I was perfectly content to be your office slut.”
Robert had laughed again, but it had been no where near an angry bark; it was bitter, depressed laughter. Directed at himself, Eames had known, he had seen the truth in Robert’s naked eyes.
“I’m not content to be that any longer,” Robert said, pulling Eames down by his tie. It had taken some bargaining to get Eames into a tie, actually. His memory had grown a little foggy, but Eames thought it had involved Robert wearing a pair of lacy panties. “I need you to give me something more,” Robert continued, his full, sensual lips a slight tickle against Eames’ mouth, “Or I need you to get out.”
Eames had gotten out.
<~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~>
Even after so much time, Eames still thought of him. Almost three years after the end of... Whatever they had had together, he would catch himself wondering what Robert had done with himself, where he had gone, who he might be spending his nights with.
He had tried to separate himself from Robert’s shadow. He had taken on jobs and assignments; nothing like his little foray into inception, but enough to get him by on. What little Eames had left over after gambling and drinking he squirreled away. He existed, but he could claim no more than that. Mere existence had its merits, he felt. It afforded him the luxury of surviving on beer and cigarettes and late night talk shows. But in many ways, he was a walking, breathing corpse.
Eames did not believe he had been shattered by the loss of Robert. He did believe that he had been paralyzed. Stagnation. That was Eames’ problem.
But fuck it, he’d gotten too close, that was all. Robert had reeled him in with his pretty eyes and high cheek bones and shapely little body and he had sucker punched him with his need for more. Eames wasn't an idiot, he knew just what his problem was: he had left without a word. He had thought Robert would chase after him and beg him to stay, but Robert hadn’t.
Even after so much time, Eames still wanted him. It was a truth he could no longer hide from, and one that he could no longer live with. When they had started, Eames had wanted nothing more than that lusty little moan and the curl of Robert’s fingernails into his wrist. Something had changed in their short time together; Eames had found something in Robert that he had not expected. A kindred spirit.
He had known the first morning they had laid in bed together, happy just to be twined around eachother, that he and Robert could never last.
Even after so much time, Eames ached for him. It was an ache that began in his chest and drifted through his veins, as cold and shocking as ice-water. There was only one way to end that ache, but Eames doubted Robert would want to see him. He didn't even know where Robert Fischer was.
But it would be easy enough to find out.
<~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~>
He’d never been good with computers. It kind of pissed him off that some pimply faced teenager in a Grateful Dead tee shirt could maneuver their way more easily through the maze of the internet than he could. Trained professional or not, Eames struggled to find the information he needed. He’d never been trained on computers, sorry pieces of shit.
Eventually, Eames did find what he needed - or rather, what he wanted. A small newspaper clipping detailed Robert Fischer’s move from the city, into one of the outlying suburban areas. He had closed shop and become something of a recluse, according to the fellow who had written the article. Eames couldn't imagine Robert living any kind of shut-in lifestyle; he had always been a bit of a social butterfly. Fluttering around to galleries and parties and social functions. At first, it had seemed that Robert had maintained the lifestyle as an homage to his father, but Eames had seen the light in Robert’s eyes as he had hob-nobbed and rubbed elbows with the cream of the crop. He had gotten a high out of schmoozing and making nice.
Eames had just liked the free booze.
The article went on to say the name of the town where Robert Fischer lived. It did not list an address - understandably so - but Eames didn't think it would be too hard to track the man down. A celebrity of his level wouldn't blend in so easily. Eames imagined he would come into town only to find Robert in the middle of the road arguing with some man who had scratched his Mercedes. Robert in his Italian suits with his Rolex a flash of gold on his wrist. Robert with his pale eyes and full mouth and high cheekbones. Robert with his hair falling around his face and into his eyes, his hand pushing it back absently.
Robert. . . Eames could almost taste him.
<~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~>
Eames decided to make an attempt to dress up. He was headed for a gated community, and he doubted they were fond of men in Hawaiian shirts and three days growth of beard. He shaved and pulled on a blazer, frowning at himself in the mirror.
He looked like a fucking square.
It was perfect.
It took him most of the afternoon to track Robert down. Eames must have stopped at every coffee shop and diner looking for the man. He tried to be discreet, but it mattered little. No one had ever heard of Robert Fischer. It didn't surprise Eames, stopping at little dives and shitty eateries; Robert wasn't the type. He made some progress when he stopped a man outside some cold, imposing looking building: apparently the small town's version of a museum.
“Mr. Fischer? Oh, yeah, I know him. I mean, I know where he is. Over on Ridgeway Drive, real fancy place. I did his yardwork for him, ah, ‘bout two years ago? Guy wanted a topiary garden.” The man laughed and scratched his head. “Hell if I knew what that was, but Mr. Fischer was pretty nice about it. Let me take my time, paid me more than I even asked for. Even let me and the boys come inside when it was hot and have some lemonade.”
Eames had to hide a smirk. Robert had probably encouraged the fellow and his buddies to strip down if they were hot. He was so damn considerate.
“You know where he is?,” Eames asked, “I'd really like to speak with him. I’m, an old friend of his.”
The man looked at him curiously. “Mr. Fischer doesn't like to give out his address to just anyone. If he wanted you to have it, well, you’d have it.”
“I could make it worth your while,” Eames said, reaching into his wallet and tucking a fifty into the breast pocket of the man's overalls, “If you catch my drift?”
The man raised an eyebrow, but didn't refuse the money. His eyes darted around, as though someone passing by would tackle him to the sidewalk in an attempt to keep him quiet. “You don't tell him who told you,” the man said, “He's pretty particular about who he socializes with.”
This time Eames couldn't stop himself from smirking. “Oh yeah,” Eames said, struggling not to laugh, “He’s always been a particular sort.”
<~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~>
“One second. Hold on.”
Robert broke into a jog when he reached the foyer, shoving his hair back from his brow irritably. The person on the other side of the door must have been leaning on the doorbell. It rang endlessly through the house, bleating into his brain.
“Hold on, I said,” Robert snapped. He debated whether or not he should peer at his ‘visitor’ through the peep hole, and decided against it. In the three years he had been living there he had never heard of any crimes - violent of otherwise - occurring anywhere in the neighborhood.
When he opened the door he almost wished it were someone intent on robbing or killing him. His heart sunk into his gut when he found Eames on his doorstep, looking positively smug with his little smile. Three years of quietly burying and grieving over the death of... Whatever they had had together, and Eames had chosen now to show up. Now, when Robert had finally managed to get on with his life after three years of waiting for Eames to chase after him.
“Go away,” Robert said flatly, moving to close the door.
Eames jammed his thick body between the door and the doorframe. “I can’t do that, love. Just, listen to me for a second? That’s all I want.”
“I would have listened three years ago,” Robert said, “I would have gladly listened to anything you had to say. It’s too late now.” Robert swallowed, evidence of his struggle. Every inch of him burned for Eames, even still, but he had not been content to be Eames’ whore three years before, and he was not content now.
“I didn't know what to say to you,” Eames said, almost pleading. Robert could admit hearing that desperate edge to Eames’ voice excited him. “I didn't even know what you wanted from me. I sat there like an ass expecting you to come back to me.” Eames laughed self derisively and pushed against the door. “C’mon, open up sweetheart, you're crushing me.”
“That’s the idea,” Robert said.
“Robert,” Eames cautioned, “Stop busting my balls for one minute, would you? I came here---”
“I know why you came here,” Robert said, “You came to convince yourself there was something worth saving. But there is nothing left, Eames. Whatever we had, whatever that was, it’s over. Let it go. I did.”
“Did you?,” Eames asked, and his eyes were far too naked and aware for comfort. Robert looked away from him, which might as well have been him begging Eames to come inside. When Eames forced his way in, Robert managed to put up only a tired defense, grunting with mild threat when Eames held his face and forced their eyes to meet.
“Did you?,” Eames asked again, breath warm against Robert’s mouth.
Robert could remember kissing that mouth until their lips had bruised and bled, so wild and hungry for Eames that he had been unable to get enough of him. He could remember the feel of Eames' skin under his fingers - taut and hairy and plump in surprising, wonderful places. The ghost of Eames’ lips against his throat and chest and every place beyond had been almost maddening. I want you all over me, Robert had wanted to say, but he had been far too proud then. I want you so deep in me you’ll never find your way out.
“No,” Robert whispered, “I didn’t.”
“Awe, you love me, pet,” Eames whispered, mouth cocking in that ridiculously sweet smile of his, “Even after all this time?”
Robert closed his eyes, and when Eames’ lips were not a ghost but a firm reality on him, he sighed, “Even after all this time.”
Word Count: 2720
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Robert/Eames
Rating: R
Warnings: Nudity, strong sexual content, adult situations, adult language
Written For: nessismore
I wrote this for nessismore who graciously donated $10 to the auction over on help_japan ~ :D She wanted Eames/Robert and this prompt right here! I hope I did well with it, I really wasn't sure what to do. But I kind of like the idea of Robert and Eames having a good dry hump in the copier room. 8)
The affair had been brief and should not have lingered at the back of his mind the way it did. Robert Fischer had been a conquest, and Eames could not have phrased it any more succintly than that. Inside of his dreams, Eames had seen the frailty of the man, and he had wanted to get his hands on him. It wasn't that Eames was a vicious man, just that he knew what he wanted. Also, he rather liked the idea of breaking Robert Fischer, no matter how much they had all tried to avoid it. The man with the china doll complexion had shattered as easily as one, and he had enjoyed watching the little sweetness that had been left in Fischer's eyes darken and twist.
Okay, so maybe Eames was a little vicious.
It had been more than wanting to taint Fischer, though. Robert had represented something to Eames, something that Eames had not been able to understand and still could not understand. Something noble and pure that Eames had wanted to touch and hold and steal. Not to leave his own taint there, but to take a little of Robert’s goodness with him. Some would argue that Robert Fischer was not exactly a good man, but Eames would counter that in a world full of liars and thieves and killers - well, in a world full of men like Eames - Robert was probably the last decent man alive.
At least in America.
It had started innocently enough. Their flirtations had been harmless and had stemmed from Robert’s loneliness and Eames’ incorrigible nature. He had purposefully stood a little too close to Robert in the office, nudging him with his hip and elbow, breathing against his neck. An ‘accidental’ brush of his groin against Robert’s rear had netted him a nice little gasp from the man. He had gone out of his way on a daily basis to hear this.
Robert had known him only as ‘Eames’, some assistant in the office who had no prospects. A grunt who fetched coffee and beat up the copier when it was low on toner was all Robert had seen. It had been precisely what Eames had wanted him to see. There had been no need for Robert Fischer to notice him, not until Eames had wanted to be noticed.
Months had passed and their little game in the copier room had escalated. Eames had stopped brushing against Robert and had graduated to literally grinding him against the photocopier. Robert had known only that name, and he had growled it out as Eames had dry-humped him. Eames had done his best to ruffle the man's pressed suit and impeccably combed hair; he had wanted him to look like a flustered whore, it had been Eames’ daily goal.
Robert had looked forward to their rendezvous, Eames had always known. He would find the man in the dark, and he would follow his quiet whisper until their bodies were together and grinding. Eames had gotten a strange high out of listening to Robert’s little groans and whimpers, and he had waited for the slight catch in his breath and the feel of Robert’s manicured nails digging into his wrist as he came.
But the way it had started didn't matter. Eames had obsessed enough over that particular portion of their ‘relationship’. What mattered was how it had ended.
<~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~>
“I need more.”
“More?,” Eames asked, straightening his tie, “What ‘more’ do you need, sweet’eart? I got a tie on in case you haven't noticed.”
“No,” Robert said, “I need more.”
Eames could remember how naked Robert’s eyes had been that night. He had been sitting on the bed, his hair falling over his brow, his pale eyes dangerously deep and yet disastrously fragile. Eames had felt a strong urge to go to him, but he had possessed enough common sense to understand he was not the comforting type, and Robert was not the type to be comforted.
“What do you want?,” Eames asked. He had already known, but he had felt compelled to ask. At the time Eames had thought he had only needed to be sure of what Robert needed, but in retrospect he knew that he had only been trying to delay the inevitable.
“More than this,” Robert whispered, “More than... Whatever this is. Whatever we're doing here together."
“We're havin’ a good time,” Eames said, moving closer and brushing back Robert’s bangs from his forehead. “What's wrong with that?”
Robert laughed, caustically, and pulled back from Eames’ touch. “We’ve been having a good time for a while now. To tell you the truth, I’ve stopped having a good time. When this started, I thought that what we had was... Purely sexual. I was fine with that small, dark room and that faceless stranger rubbing against me. I was perfectly content to be your office slut.”
Robert had laughed again, but it had been no where near an angry bark; it was bitter, depressed laughter. Directed at himself, Eames had known, he had seen the truth in Robert’s naked eyes.
“I’m not content to be that any longer,” Robert said, pulling Eames down by his tie. It had taken some bargaining to get Eames into a tie, actually. His memory had grown a little foggy, but Eames thought it had involved Robert wearing a pair of lacy panties. “I need you to give me something more,” Robert continued, his full, sensual lips a slight tickle against Eames’ mouth, “Or I need you to get out.”
Eames had gotten out.
<~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~>
Even after so much time, Eames still thought of him. Almost three years after the end of... Whatever they had had together, he would catch himself wondering what Robert had done with himself, where he had gone, who he might be spending his nights with.
He had tried to separate himself from Robert’s shadow. He had taken on jobs and assignments; nothing like his little foray into inception, but enough to get him by on. What little Eames had left over after gambling and drinking he squirreled away. He existed, but he could claim no more than that. Mere existence had its merits, he felt. It afforded him the luxury of surviving on beer and cigarettes and late night talk shows. But in many ways, he was a walking, breathing corpse.
Eames did not believe he had been shattered by the loss of Robert. He did believe that he had been paralyzed. Stagnation. That was Eames’ problem.
But fuck it, he’d gotten too close, that was all. Robert had reeled him in with his pretty eyes and high cheek bones and shapely little body and he had sucker punched him with his need for more. Eames wasn't an idiot, he knew just what his problem was: he had left without a word. He had thought Robert would chase after him and beg him to stay, but Robert hadn’t.
Even after so much time, Eames still wanted him. It was a truth he could no longer hide from, and one that he could no longer live with. When they had started, Eames had wanted nothing more than that lusty little moan and the curl of Robert’s fingernails into his wrist. Something had changed in their short time together; Eames had found something in Robert that he had not expected. A kindred spirit.
He had known the first morning they had laid in bed together, happy just to be twined around eachother, that he and Robert could never last.
Even after so much time, Eames ached for him. It was an ache that began in his chest and drifted through his veins, as cold and shocking as ice-water. There was only one way to end that ache, but Eames doubted Robert would want to see him. He didn't even know where Robert Fischer was.
But it would be easy enough to find out.
<~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~>
He’d never been good with computers. It kind of pissed him off that some pimply faced teenager in a Grateful Dead tee shirt could maneuver their way more easily through the maze of the internet than he could. Trained professional or not, Eames struggled to find the information he needed. He’d never been trained on computers, sorry pieces of shit.
Eventually, Eames did find what he needed - or rather, what he wanted. A small newspaper clipping detailed Robert Fischer’s move from the city, into one of the outlying suburban areas. He had closed shop and become something of a recluse, according to the fellow who had written the article. Eames couldn't imagine Robert living any kind of shut-in lifestyle; he had always been a bit of a social butterfly. Fluttering around to galleries and parties and social functions. At first, it had seemed that Robert had maintained the lifestyle as an homage to his father, but Eames had seen the light in Robert’s eyes as he had hob-nobbed and rubbed elbows with the cream of the crop. He had gotten a high out of schmoozing and making nice.
Eames had just liked the free booze.
The article went on to say the name of the town where Robert Fischer lived. It did not list an address - understandably so - but Eames didn't think it would be too hard to track the man down. A celebrity of his level wouldn't blend in so easily. Eames imagined he would come into town only to find Robert in the middle of the road arguing with some man who had scratched his Mercedes. Robert in his Italian suits with his Rolex a flash of gold on his wrist. Robert with his pale eyes and full mouth and high cheekbones. Robert with his hair falling around his face and into his eyes, his hand pushing it back absently.
Robert. . . Eames could almost taste him.
<~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~>
Eames decided to make an attempt to dress up. He was headed for a gated community, and he doubted they were fond of men in Hawaiian shirts and three days growth of beard. He shaved and pulled on a blazer, frowning at himself in the mirror.
He looked like a fucking square.
It was perfect.
It took him most of the afternoon to track Robert down. Eames must have stopped at every coffee shop and diner looking for the man. He tried to be discreet, but it mattered little. No one had ever heard of Robert Fischer. It didn't surprise Eames, stopping at little dives and shitty eateries; Robert wasn't the type. He made some progress when he stopped a man outside some cold, imposing looking building: apparently the small town's version of a museum.
“Mr. Fischer? Oh, yeah, I know him. I mean, I know where he is. Over on Ridgeway Drive, real fancy place. I did his yardwork for him, ah, ‘bout two years ago? Guy wanted a topiary garden.” The man laughed and scratched his head. “Hell if I knew what that was, but Mr. Fischer was pretty nice about it. Let me take my time, paid me more than I even asked for. Even let me and the boys come inside when it was hot and have some lemonade.”
Eames had to hide a smirk. Robert had probably encouraged the fellow and his buddies to strip down if they were hot. He was so damn considerate.
“You know where he is?,” Eames asked, “I'd really like to speak with him. I’m, an old friend of his.”
The man looked at him curiously. “Mr. Fischer doesn't like to give out his address to just anyone. If he wanted you to have it, well, you’d have it.”
“I could make it worth your while,” Eames said, reaching into his wallet and tucking a fifty into the breast pocket of the man's overalls, “If you catch my drift?”
The man raised an eyebrow, but didn't refuse the money. His eyes darted around, as though someone passing by would tackle him to the sidewalk in an attempt to keep him quiet. “You don't tell him who told you,” the man said, “He's pretty particular about who he socializes with.”
This time Eames couldn't stop himself from smirking. “Oh yeah,” Eames said, struggling not to laugh, “He’s always been a particular sort.”
<~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~>
“One second. Hold on.”
Robert broke into a jog when he reached the foyer, shoving his hair back from his brow irritably. The person on the other side of the door must have been leaning on the doorbell. It rang endlessly through the house, bleating into his brain.
“Hold on, I said,” Robert snapped. He debated whether or not he should peer at his ‘visitor’ through the peep hole, and decided against it. In the three years he had been living there he had never heard of any crimes - violent of otherwise - occurring anywhere in the neighborhood.
When he opened the door he almost wished it were someone intent on robbing or killing him. His heart sunk into his gut when he found Eames on his doorstep, looking positively smug with his little smile. Three years of quietly burying and grieving over the death of... Whatever they had had together, and Eames had chosen now to show up. Now, when Robert had finally managed to get on with his life after three years of waiting for Eames to chase after him.
“Go away,” Robert said flatly, moving to close the door.
Eames jammed his thick body between the door and the doorframe. “I can’t do that, love. Just, listen to me for a second? That’s all I want.”
“I would have listened three years ago,” Robert said, “I would have gladly listened to anything you had to say. It’s too late now.” Robert swallowed, evidence of his struggle. Every inch of him burned for Eames, even still, but he had not been content to be Eames’ whore three years before, and he was not content now.
“I didn't know what to say to you,” Eames said, almost pleading. Robert could admit hearing that desperate edge to Eames’ voice excited him. “I didn't even know what you wanted from me. I sat there like an ass expecting you to come back to me.” Eames laughed self derisively and pushed against the door. “C’mon, open up sweetheart, you're crushing me.”
“That’s the idea,” Robert said.
“Robert,” Eames cautioned, “Stop busting my balls for one minute, would you? I came here---”
“I know why you came here,” Robert said, “You came to convince yourself there was something worth saving. But there is nothing left, Eames. Whatever we had, whatever that was, it’s over. Let it go. I did.”
“Did you?,” Eames asked, and his eyes were far too naked and aware for comfort. Robert looked away from him, which might as well have been him begging Eames to come inside. When Eames forced his way in, Robert managed to put up only a tired defense, grunting with mild threat when Eames held his face and forced their eyes to meet.
“Did you?,” Eames asked again, breath warm against Robert’s mouth.
Robert could remember kissing that mouth until their lips had bruised and bled, so wild and hungry for Eames that he had been unable to get enough of him. He could remember the feel of Eames' skin under his fingers - taut and hairy and plump in surprising, wonderful places. The ghost of Eames’ lips against his throat and chest and every place beyond had been almost maddening. I want you all over me, Robert had wanted to say, but he had been far too proud then. I want you so deep in me you’ll never find your way out.
“No,” Robert whispered, “I didn’t.”
“Awe, you love me, pet,” Eames whispered, mouth cocking in that ridiculously sweet smile of his, “Even after all this time?”
Robert closed his eyes, and when Eames’ lips were not a ghost but a firm reality on him, he sighed, “Even after all this time.”