Inception - "Make You Feel My Love" (Arthur/Eames NC17)
Art Prompt Title: Untitled
Art link: Art Master Post
Artist: jo712
Fic Title: Make You Feel My Love
Author: five_of_five
Pairing(s): Arthur/Eames
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 3220
Warnings: Blindfolds, slight D/s
Summary: After a job gone horribly wrong Arthur is an emotional wreck, Eames does what he can to convince Arthur that it wasn't his fault and to make sure that Arthur feels he is loved.
Author's Notes: Written for i_reversebang
A million thanks to sneaqui for her beta work, I could not have done this without you. And also to jo712 for being an amazing artist to work with.
Title from Adele's song of the same name
Disclaimer: I don't own Inception or the song "Make You Feel My Love"
Arthur is soaked when he walks through the door, rainwater dripping off his clothes and forming little puddles in the entryway. He shivers as the air-conditioning makes his suit stiffen in the cold and seeps into his bones. Arthur knows that he should walk into the house, take off his sodden garments and climb into a hot shower, but he just can’t find the energy. Instead he leans against the door, his clothes making a faint squeak as he slides down into a heap on the floor.
“Fuck,” he whispers, eyes sliding shut. Arthur slowly pulls his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs to conserve what little heat is left in his body. He stays like that for several minutes until he hears soft footfalls coming down the stairs.
“Arthur? Is that you, love?” Eames calls out, his soft voice curling comfortingly around Arthur.
“Yeah, I’m here,” Arthur replies, voice slightly muffled by his trousers.
Eames rounds the corner and comes to an abrupt halt; Arthur knows he must make a rather pathetic sight. He can feel Eames’ eyes as they catalog not only the sodden state of Arthur’s attire, but the weary droop of Arthur’s shoulders, the overly bright shine of his eyes, the solitary strand of hair Arthur can feel clinging limp and defeated to his brow.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Eames asks, keeping a respectful distance.
“No.”
“Do you want me to leave you alone?” Eames as if he can guess Arthur’s answer dares to take a few cautions steps closer.
“No.”
“Do you want me to put on a clever disguise and murder Jamison, Hollingsworth, and Green for gross incompetence and general affront to the human race?” Arthur chokes out something nearer a laugh than a sob, the sound torn out of him.
“Ordinarily yes, but today…no,” Arthur looks up finally. His miserable gaze meets Eames’ concerned one and both flinch internally. “Despite their shortcomings, they managed to put together a decent plan. One that would have worked,” Arthur swallows, forcing the words out like broken glass. “This was my fuckup, Eames. I blew it.”
Eames closes the distance between them, falling gracefully to his knees, and if he cares that his sweatpants are soaking up one of Arthur’s rain puddles he doesn’t show it. “Arthur,” he starts but cuts himself off at the determined clench of Arthur’s jaw. He sighs. Visibly changing tactics he reaches out to cup Arthur’s cheek instead. “Do you want me to look after you?”
Unable to speak past the lump in his throat, Arthur nods.
~*~*~
It seems the first order of business is getting Arthur out of his suit jacket; it’s soaked through and weighs far more than it should. Eames reaches out, taking Arthur by the hand, cautiously getting to his feet and drawing Arthur up with him. He walks backwards a few steps, leading Arthur away from the door a few paces.
Eames smiles warmly, lifting both of Arthur’s hands to his lips for a gentle kiss before he releases them. Circling around behind Arthur, he wraps his arms around the Arthur’s slighter frame in an embrace, running his fingers lightly up from Arthur’s stomach before each hand moves to Arthur’s shoulders and slides the jacket from his still trembling body.
The offending object removed, Eames drops it carelessly onto the floor. It lands with a wet plop that’s loud enough to startle Arthur. “Shh,” Eames murmurs into Arthur’s ear, his front once again pressed against Arthur’s back, only this time the heat of Eames body bleeds through Arthur’s damp layers to warm his skin slightly. When he moves away again Arthur shivers at the loss, Eames is like a furnace on a good day; today he’s practically burning Arthur alive.
Eames kneels again in front of Arthur, meticulously untying Arthur’s shoes for him. Eames remains still while Arthur braces himself on Eames’ shoulder as he steps out of both shoes and socks. Eames takes advantage of his position and Arthur’s distraction to lean forward slightly, nuzzling against Arthur’s thigh, his head drifting lazily until he reaches Arthur’s crotch where he seals his lips over the fabric and sucks the moisture from the threads.
“Jesus, Eames,” Arthur gasps, wavering on suddenly unsteady legs as he feels his erection grow and press against Eames’ lips.
“Just making sure I still have your attention, Arthur,” Eames teases wickedly and stands, being careful not to let his body brush against Arthur’s as he does. “Do you think you’ll survive if I leave for a moment?” He deftly dodges the light smack Arthur aims at his head. “I’ll take that as a yes then, back in a tic,” and without further comment Eames walks from the entryway leaving Arthur standing aroused and severely disgruntled, his toes splashing impatiently in one of the rain puddles.
Arthur listens to Eames steps as he darts quickly up the stairs. He hears the creak of a floorboard from above, Eames is in the bedroom. Taking deep, relaxing breaths, Arthur counts to forty-seven before he hears Eames once again at the top of the staircase. Three breaths later has Eames standing in front of Arthur, one hand behind his back, with that same mischievous smile that’s led Arthur into countless escapades, usually with mixed outcomes, some good, some bad, all well worth it.
“Do you trust me, Arthur?” Eames asks.
“Always,” Arthur answers without hesitation.
Eames’ smile softens for a moment, lighting up the room as he pulls his hand out from behind his back and dangles a length of black cloth in front of Arthur’s face.
“You’re sure about that?”
“Yes,” Arthur says again, his breath catching a little in excitement.
Eames presses forward, molding himself to Arthur’s front as he places the blindfold across Arthur’s eyes. Reaching behind Arthur’s head in something like an embrace he ties the cloth securely, careful not to catch Arthur’s hair in the knot. Almost against his will, Arthur leans into the heat radiating off of Eames’, ducking so his nose runs along Eames’ jaw, filling his lungs with the familiar scent of Eames.
“That’s the spirit, Arthur,” Eames says. Cupping Arthur’s face so he stays still, Eames runs his stubbled jaw across Arthur’s lips making them tingle. Arthur’s tongue darts out to soothe them, catching on Eames’ cheek for a split second. Not that Eames minds judging from the groan he releases or the speed with which his lips find Arthur’s, claiming them in a searing kiss.
When Eames finally pulls away Arthur is gasping for air, his heart hammering in his chest, fingers clutching at Eames’ shirt as he hangs on like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood. Gently Eames eases Arthur’s hands away from his body, but keeps hold of them.
“Come with me, one foot in front of the other, I won’t let you fall,” Eames promises as he leads Arthur out of the entryway.
“I know you won’t,” Arthur tells him, feeling warm for the first time all day.
“We’re coming up on the steps now,” Eames voice is like warm honey as it curls around vowels and consonants in a way that’s downright indecent. “Left foot up, then right, there you go on the landing. Two steps forward, now right foot up, that’s the first stair, and I’ll let you know when we’re at the top.” Eames hands are still holding Arthur’s own, his voice coming from slightly above Arthur as he climbs the steps ahead of him, backing up the staircase, all his attention focused on Arthur.
“One more and you’re on the second floor, good,” Arthur feels slightly ridiculous. Like he’s a prized show-dog or something being cajoled and taught new tricks, but the greater part of him is sinking deeper into Eames’ voice; into just doing what he’s told and trusting Eames to take care of him. The loss of his sight makes Arthur curl towards where he can feel Eames’ body, into each sound the man makes as he leads Arthur through their home, the soft smell of his shampoo, the taste of Eames’ lips that Arthur still has on his tongue. It all draws Arthur in more effectively than he would have believed possible.
“Turn left, now stop,” Eames places his palm flat against Arthur’s chest. Dropping his other hand, Eames must reach for a door handle, Arthur can hear the metal workings as it turns and the slight creak from the door opening.
Taking his hands again, Eames urges Arthur forward. Arthur knows the floor-plan of their house well enough to know where they are, even without the benefit of his eyes. Trying to bite back his smile he walks into their bedroom, all thoughts of his awful day falling away for the moment. They’ll be back, they always are, but for now he just wants this, just him and Eames and their bed.
Eames takes him approximately halfway into the room before stopping him again with that hand to the chest, just over Arthur’s heart.
“Here we are,” Eames says. Arthur resists the urge to pout when Eames lets go of him again and steps away completely. Eames remains quiet enough that it’s hard to pinpoint his exact location. Arthur stays absolutely still and feels the subtle shift in air currents that indicate movement, the presence of another warm body. Still, he jumps slightly when Eames’ voice comes from directly behind him.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Eames whispers, disturbing the little hairs on Arthur’s neck. It takes a moment too long for the words to register, but when they do Arthur feels himself tense. “You did everything that you could, it wasn’t your fault.”
“You weren’t there,” Arthur grinds out from between clenched teeth, crossing his arms defensively.
“No, I wasn’t,” Eames agrees easily. “It still wasn’t your fault.” Arthur can hear the slight smile in his voice, the mixture of teasing and truth so particular to Eames that for a second Arthur can’t hear past the rapid beating of his heart and the blood pounding in his ears. Whether from anger or out of some futile hope that maybe Eames might be right, Arthur can’t tell. It all feels like despair and rage to him right now.
“I’m point; it’s my job to make sure things run smoothly. To anticipate problems before they can fuck up a job,” Arthur sighs. Taking a breath then another when the first doesn’t do the trick, he unclenches his fists, dropping them from where they’ve gripped his arms too tightly. He winces at the half-circles he can feel from his nails biting into soft flesh.
Eames holds Arthur close, wrapping his arms around him from behind. “You did everything you could, there was no way you could have stopped what happened,” he says resting his head briefly on Arthur’s shoulder.
Arthur tries to struggle out of Eames hold, his fingers twitching to remove the blindfold so he can look Eames in the eyes and tell him to fuck off. Eames just clings more tightly, chin digging into Arthur. “Now, now, none of that,” he chides quietly. Sweeping his hands up and down Arthur’s chest, pausing now and then to tweak at one of Arthur’s nipples through his dress shirt, Eames hums and rocks Arthur’s body to some nameless tune in his head.
Almost against his will Arthur feels himself relax into Eames’ body, swaying with him. A small gasp escapes Arthur’s lips when Eames begins unfastening the buttons of Arthur’s shirt, caressing each inch of skin that is revealed on his slow, inexorable journey downwards. Finally the last button is gone; Arthur feels his shirt stick to his skin in patches while Eames slides it off his torso.
“There now, much better,” Eames praises. He runs his hands over every inch of skin on Arthur’s chest and down his arms. He’s not caressing this time; instead Eames is briskly massaging life and warmth into Arthur’s limbs. The lingering damp on his skin is quickly rubbed away by the friction; it’s rough and just the right side of painful.
Arthur’s too distracted by the delicious tingling in his arms to notice when Eames circles back around to stand in front of him. But he definitely notices when Eames drops once more to his knees, nimble fingers making quick work of Arthur’s belt and pants.
“Out of these wet things, come along Arthur,” Eames encourages when Arthur just stands there instead of stepping out of his clothes. He gets with the program quickly though, once again bracing himself on Eames’ shoulders as he kicks off pants and boxers in one slightly less than smooth move.
Standing completely bare in front of Eames is nothing new for Arthur, but doing so when he can’t see the way the sight of his body makes Eames’ eyes darken is different. Arthur can tell that Eames hasn’t removed any of his own clothing, so it’s just Arthur, naked, exposed, and vulnerable. He tries to take a half step back, away from where Eames hands are giving the same rubdown down to his lower extremities as they did the upper. Arthur stops when Eames tsks at him, digging his hands into the flesh of Arthur’s ass to hold him still.
“Do you trust me, Arthur?” He asks again, no hint of amusement in his voice. No teasing lilt to the question.
Arthur takes a moment to center himself; focus on the warm body in front of him, forcing down his own insecurities. He nods shakily, wincing when Eames tightens his hold.
“Do you trust me, Arthur?”
“Yes,” Arthur says, knowing nothing less than a verbal confirmation will do.
“Then trust me.”
Arthur nods shakily. “Okay,” he shakes the tension from his arms, pressing back into Eames’ hands.
“There you are,” Eames says voice full of praise. “That’s it,” his voice ghosts across Arthur’s erection for a moment before swallowing him down.
Arthur can’t contain the whimper as he feels Eames’ wet heat surround his cock. Christ, Eames is fantastic at giving blowjobs on a normal day, his lips full of sin, and his gag reflex practically nonexistent. But now, like this, only able to feel instead of seeing, it’s almost better. Arthur wouldn’t trade the sight of Eames on his knees taking all of Arthur for anything. But the way his world is focused now to sensation and the obscene, wet sounds Eames makes as he slides his lips as far down as they can go, and then just a little bit more, it’s enough to make Arthur lose his fucking mind.
Eames pulls off, leaving Arthur’s cock slick and aching in the cool air. Arthur feels Eames move up his body, licking at various patches of skin as Eames stands, taking Arthur’s hands once more.
“Let’s get you a bit more horizontal, shall we?” Eames pulls Arthur along, then spins them, forcing Arthur to walk backwards until he can feel the mattress behind him. A gentle press to his shoulders tells Arthur to sit and he does so without complaint.
“Scootch back a bit, like that,” Eames guides Arthur until he’s lying in the middle of the bed, resting comfortably against their pillows. “Just a moment,” Eames moves away and begins removing his clothing if the sounds Arthur hears are correct. The soft whisper of cotton against skin is loud in the suddenly quiet room.
Before long Eames is on top of Arthur again, pressing him into the mattress, a long line of heat and muscle holding Arthur still and safe.
“Will you spread your legs for me, Arthur?” Eames taps the inside of his thighs like another question.
“Yes,” an involuntary moan escapes his lips as he moves to allow Eames to settle between his legs.
“Thank you,” Eames says and he sounds- fuck, he sounds like he means it, like Arthur is the one doing something wonderful for Eames. Arthur is distracted from pursuing it further by the familiar snap of plastic from their bottle of lube. Next thing he feels Eames pressing around his entrance, not breaching him, just massaging the skin around his hole, another request.
“Yes,” Arthur says again, canting his hips up so Eames’ finger slips inside. It’s like the breaking of a dam; all restraint vanishes as Eames eagerly presses first one and then two fingers into him. Eames doesn’t even have to search, he just quirks his fingers on the down stroke and nails Arthur’s prostate on the first try, playing Arthur’s body with the strong, unyielding thrusts of three fingers now, and the twist of his wrist.
Arthur is getting lost in sensation, the feeling of Eames inside him, the sound of Eames’ lubed fingers entering him over and over again, the smell of sweat, pre-come, and fabric softener filling Arthur’s nose; he’s so close he can almost taste it.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Eames says out of nowhere, breaking the spell. Arthur is yanked back from the edge, his brain reeling and conflicted.
“Wha- Eames,” he begins intelligently. “Don’t, please, don’t go there. Not now,” Arthur pants, trying to lose himself in the feel of Eames’ fingers and block out his voice. The problem being that without his eyes, all his other senses are rushing to compensate, and Arthur can’t close off his ears.
“You did everything you could,” Eames ignores Arthur’s request. “Losing Kara wasn’t your fault. It was just bad luck,” Eames’ voice is gentle like he thinks Arthur might break. Like he isn’t still pushing his fingers into Arthur’s body hard and uncompromising.
“I should have known,” Arthur’s voice breaks, though whether from emotion or from Eames pressing against his prostate, he’ll never tell. “I should have known about the fifth bodyguard. I should have anticipated his sweep. I should have gotten her out of there alive,” Arthur cuts off with a moan as Eames’ fingers leave him. He feels empty in every sense of the word.
Eames’ hand presses against his heart, holding him down as he positions himself at Arthur’s entrance. “He wasn’t meant to be working that day. You had no way of knowing that he would come in on his day off for the extra cash.” Eames pushes inside, Arthur’s body arching up to accept Eames’ cock willingly. Eames keeps his hand a firm pressure over Arthur’s heart as he thrusts into Arthur’s tight body, his words coming out strained but steady.
“You saved the rest of your team, you got them out, and you survived,” Eames is fully inside of him now. He lifts one of Arthur’s legs, so he can press even closer, his lips ghosting across Arthur’s in an almost kiss. “Arthur, you did everything you could do.”
“It wasn’t enough,” Arthur sobs out, clutching Eames shoulders. Pulling him in and in, until he can’t tell where he ends and Eames begins.
Eames reaches up, sliding the blindfold off, brushing it back and running his hands through Arthur’s hair. Arthur blinks at the brightness of the room, eyes blurring for a moment before focusing on Eames’ face.
“You came home to me,” Eames whispers. “It was enough.”
Arthur closes his eyes and sees Kara's empty eyes staring back at him, her mouth still open in surprise, a trickle of blood staining her lips. He's not so sure.
Art link: Art Master Post
Artist: jo712
Fic Title: Make You Feel My Love
Author: five_of_five
Pairing(s): Arthur/Eames
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 3220
Warnings: Blindfolds, slight D/s
Summary: After a job gone horribly wrong Arthur is an emotional wreck, Eames does what he can to convince Arthur that it wasn't his fault and to make sure that Arthur feels he is loved.
Author's Notes: Written for i_reversebang
A million thanks to sneaqui for her beta work, I could not have done this without you. And also to jo712 for being an amazing artist to work with.
Title from Adele's song of the same name
Disclaimer: I don't own Inception or the song "Make You Feel My Love"
Arthur is soaked when he walks through the door, rainwater dripping off his clothes and forming little puddles in the entryway. He shivers as the air-conditioning makes his suit stiffen in the cold and seeps into his bones. Arthur knows that he should walk into the house, take off his sodden garments and climb into a hot shower, but he just can’t find the energy. Instead he leans against the door, his clothes making a faint squeak as he slides down into a heap on the floor.
“Fuck,” he whispers, eyes sliding shut. Arthur slowly pulls his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs to conserve what little heat is left in his body. He stays like that for several minutes until he hears soft footfalls coming down the stairs.
“Arthur? Is that you, love?” Eames calls out, his soft voice curling comfortingly around Arthur.
“Yeah, I’m here,” Arthur replies, voice slightly muffled by his trousers.
Eames rounds the corner and comes to an abrupt halt; Arthur knows he must make a rather pathetic sight. He can feel Eames’ eyes as they catalog not only the sodden state of Arthur’s attire, but the weary droop of Arthur’s shoulders, the overly bright shine of his eyes, the solitary strand of hair Arthur can feel clinging limp and defeated to his brow.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Eames asks, keeping a respectful distance.
“No.”
“Do you want me to leave you alone?” Eames as if he can guess Arthur’s answer dares to take a few cautions steps closer.
“No.”
“Do you want me to put on a clever disguise and murder Jamison, Hollingsworth, and Green for gross incompetence and general affront to the human race?” Arthur chokes out something nearer a laugh than a sob, the sound torn out of him.
“Ordinarily yes, but today…no,” Arthur looks up finally. His miserable gaze meets Eames’ concerned one and both flinch internally. “Despite their shortcomings, they managed to put together a decent plan. One that would have worked,” Arthur swallows, forcing the words out like broken glass. “This was my fuckup, Eames. I blew it.”
Eames closes the distance between them, falling gracefully to his knees, and if he cares that his sweatpants are soaking up one of Arthur’s rain puddles he doesn’t show it. “Arthur,” he starts but cuts himself off at the determined clench of Arthur’s jaw. He sighs. Visibly changing tactics he reaches out to cup Arthur’s cheek instead. “Do you want me to look after you?”
Unable to speak past the lump in his throat, Arthur nods.
~*~*~
It seems the first order of business is getting Arthur out of his suit jacket; it’s soaked through and weighs far more than it should. Eames reaches out, taking Arthur by the hand, cautiously getting to his feet and drawing Arthur up with him. He walks backwards a few steps, leading Arthur away from the door a few paces.
Eames smiles warmly, lifting both of Arthur’s hands to his lips for a gentle kiss before he releases them. Circling around behind Arthur, he wraps his arms around the Arthur’s slighter frame in an embrace, running his fingers lightly up from Arthur’s stomach before each hand moves to Arthur’s shoulders and slides the jacket from his still trembling body.
The offending object removed, Eames drops it carelessly onto the floor. It lands with a wet plop that’s loud enough to startle Arthur. “Shh,” Eames murmurs into Arthur’s ear, his front once again pressed against Arthur’s back, only this time the heat of Eames body bleeds through Arthur’s damp layers to warm his skin slightly. When he moves away again Arthur shivers at the loss, Eames is like a furnace on a good day; today he’s practically burning Arthur alive.
Eames kneels again in front of Arthur, meticulously untying Arthur’s shoes for him. Eames remains still while Arthur braces himself on Eames’ shoulder as he steps out of both shoes and socks. Eames takes advantage of his position and Arthur’s distraction to lean forward slightly, nuzzling against Arthur’s thigh, his head drifting lazily until he reaches Arthur’s crotch where he seals his lips over the fabric and sucks the moisture from the threads.
“Jesus, Eames,” Arthur gasps, wavering on suddenly unsteady legs as he feels his erection grow and press against Eames’ lips.
“Just making sure I still have your attention, Arthur,” Eames teases wickedly and stands, being careful not to let his body brush against Arthur’s as he does. “Do you think you’ll survive if I leave for a moment?” He deftly dodges the light smack Arthur aims at his head. “I’ll take that as a yes then, back in a tic,” and without further comment Eames walks from the entryway leaving Arthur standing aroused and severely disgruntled, his toes splashing impatiently in one of the rain puddles.
Arthur listens to Eames steps as he darts quickly up the stairs. He hears the creak of a floorboard from above, Eames is in the bedroom. Taking deep, relaxing breaths, Arthur counts to forty-seven before he hears Eames once again at the top of the staircase. Three breaths later has Eames standing in front of Arthur, one hand behind his back, with that same mischievous smile that’s led Arthur into countless escapades, usually with mixed outcomes, some good, some bad, all well worth it.
“Do you trust me, Arthur?” Eames asks.
“Always,” Arthur answers without hesitation.
Eames’ smile softens for a moment, lighting up the room as he pulls his hand out from behind his back and dangles a length of black cloth in front of Arthur’s face.
“You’re sure about that?”
“Yes,” Arthur says again, his breath catching a little in excitement.
Eames presses forward, molding himself to Arthur’s front as he places the blindfold across Arthur’s eyes. Reaching behind Arthur’s head in something like an embrace he ties the cloth securely, careful not to catch Arthur’s hair in the knot. Almost against his will, Arthur leans into the heat radiating off of Eames’, ducking so his nose runs along Eames’ jaw, filling his lungs with the familiar scent of Eames.
“That’s the spirit, Arthur,” Eames says. Cupping Arthur’s face so he stays still, Eames runs his stubbled jaw across Arthur’s lips making them tingle. Arthur’s tongue darts out to soothe them, catching on Eames’ cheek for a split second. Not that Eames minds judging from the groan he releases or the speed with which his lips find Arthur’s, claiming them in a searing kiss.
When Eames finally pulls away Arthur is gasping for air, his heart hammering in his chest, fingers clutching at Eames’ shirt as he hangs on like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood. Gently Eames eases Arthur’s hands away from his body, but keeps hold of them.
“Come with me, one foot in front of the other, I won’t let you fall,” Eames promises as he leads Arthur out of the entryway.
“I know you won’t,” Arthur tells him, feeling warm for the first time all day.
“We’re coming up on the steps now,” Eames voice is like warm honey as it curls around vowels and consonants in a way that’s downright indecent. “Left foot up, then right, there you go on the landing. Two steps forward, now right foot up, that’s the first stair, and I’ll let you know when we’re at the top.” Eames hands are still holding Arthur’s own, his voice coming from slightly above Arthur as he climbs the steps ahead of him, backing up the staircase, all his attention focused on Arthur.
“One more and you’re on the second floor, good,” Arthur feels slightly ridiculous. Like he’s a prized show-dog or something being cajoled and taught new tricks, but the greater part of him is sinking deeper into Eames’ voice; into just doing what he’s told and trusting Eames to take care of him. The loss of his sight makes Arthur curl towards where he can feel Eames’ body, into each sound the man makes as he leads Arthur through their home, the soft smell of his shampoo, the taste of Eames’ lips that Arthur still has on his tongue. It all draws Arthur in more effectively than he would have believed possible.
“Turn left, now stop,” Eames places his palm flat against Arthur’s chest. Dropping his other hand, Eames must reach for a door handle, Arthur can hear the metal workings as it turns and the slight creak from the door opening.
Taking his hands again, Eames urges Arthur forward. Arthur knows the floor-plan of their house well enough to know where they are, even without the benefit of his eyes. Trying to bite back his smile he walks into their bedroom, all thoughts of his awful day falling away for the moment. They’ll be back, they always are, but for now he just wants this, just him and Eames and their bed.
Eames takes him approximately halfway into the room before stopping him again with that hand to the chest, just over Arthur’s heart.
“Here we are,” Eames says. Arthur resists the urge to pout when Eames lets go of him again and steps away completely. Eames remains quiet enough that it’s hard to pinpoint his exact location. Arthur stays absolutely still and feels the subtle shift in air currents that indicate movement, the presence of another warm body. Still, he jumps slightly when Eames’ voice comes from directly behind him.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Eames whispers, disturbing the little hairs on Arthur’s neck. It takes a moment too long for the words to register, but when they do Arthur feels himself tense. “You did everything that you could, it wasn’t your fault.”
“You weren’t there,” Arthur grinds out from between clenched teeth, crossing his arms defensively.
“No, I wasn’t,” Eames agrees easily. “It still wasn’t your fault.” Arthur can hear the slight smile in his voice, the mixture of teasing and truth so particular to Eames that for a second Arthur can’t hear past the rapid beating of his heart and the blood pounding in his ears. Whether from anger or out of some futile hope that maybe Eames might be right, Arthur can’t tell. It all feels like despair and rage to him right now.
“I’m point; it’s my job to make sure things run smoothly. To anticipate problems before they can fuck up a job,” Arthur sighs. Taking a breath then another when the first doesn’t do the trick, he unclenches his fists, dropping them from where they’ve gripped his arms too tightly. He winces at the half-circles he can feel from his nails biting into soft flesh.
Eames holds Arthur close, wrapping his arms around him from behind. “You did everything you could, there was no way you could have stopped what happened,” he says resting his head briefly on Arthur’s shoulder.
Arthur tries to struggle out of Eames hold, his fingers twitching to remove the blindfold so he can look Eames in the eyes and tell him to fuck off. Eames just clings more tightly, chin digging into Arthur. “Now, now, none of that,” he chides quietly. Sweeping his hands up and down Arthur’s chest, pausing now and then to tweak at one of Arthur’s nipples through his dress shirt, Eames hums and rocks Arthur’s body to some nameless tune in his head.
Almost against his will Arthur feels himself relax into Eames’ body, swaying with him. A small gasp escapes Arthur’s lips when Eames begins unfastening the buttons of Arthur’s shirt, caressing each inch of skin that is revealed on his slow, inexorable journey downwards. Finally the last button is gone; Arthur feels his shirt stick to his skin in patches while Eames slides it off his torso.
“There now, much better,” Eames praises. He runs his hands over every inch of skin on Arthur’s chest and down his arms. He’s not caressing this time; instead Eames is briskly massaging life and warmth into Arthur’s limbs. The lingering damp on his skin is quickly rubbed away by the friction; it’s rough and just the right side of painful.
Arthur’s too distracted by the delicious tingling in his arms to notice when Eames circles back around to stand in front of him. But he definitely notices when Eames drops once more to his knees, nimble fingers making quick work of Arthur’s belt and pants.
“Out of these wet things, come along Arthur,” Eames encourages when Arthur just stands there instead of stepping out of his clothes. He gets with the program quickly though, once again bracing himself on Eames’ shoulders as he kicks off pants and boxers in one slightly less than smooth move.
Standing completely bare in front of Eames is nothing new for Arthur, but doing so when he can’t see the way the sight of his body makes Eames’ eyes darken is different. Arthur can tell that Eames hasn’t removed any of his own clothing, so it’s just Arthur, naked, exposed, and vulnerable. He tries to take a half step back, away from where Eames hands are giving the same rubdown down to his lower extremities as they did the upper. Arthur stops when Eames tsks at him, digging his hands into the flesh of Arthur’s ass to hold him still.
“Do you trust me, Arthur?” He asks again, no hint of amusement in his voice. No teasing lilt to the question.
Arthur takes a moment to center himself; focus on the warm body in front of him, forcing down his own insecurities. He nods shakily, wincing when Eames tightens his hold.
“Do you trust me, Arthur?”
“Yes,” Arthur says, knowing nothing less than a verbal confirmation will do.
“Then trust me.”
Arthur nods shakily. “Okay,” he shakes the tension from his arms, pressing back into Eames’ hands.
“There you are,” Eames says voice full of praise. “That’s it,” his voice ghosts across Arthur’s erection for a moment before swallowing him down.
Arthur can’t contain the whimper as he feels Eames’ wet heat surround his cock. Christ, Eames is fantastic at giving blowjobs on a normal day, his lips full of sin, and his gag reflex practically nonexistent. But now, like this, only able to feel instead of seeing, it’s almost better. Arthur wouldn’t trade the sight of Eames on his knees taking all of Arthur for anything. But the way his world is focused now to sensation and the obscene, wet sounds Eames makes as he slides his lips as far down as they can go, and then just a little bit more, it’s enough to make Arthur lose his fucking mind.
Eames pulls off, leaving Arthur’s cock slick and aching in the cool air. Arthur feels Eames move up his body, licking at various patches of skin as Eames stands, taking Arthur’s hands once more.
“Let’s get you a bit more horizontal, shall we?” Eames pulls Arthur along, then spins them, forcing Arthur to walk backwards until he can feel the mattress behind him. A gentle press to his shoulders tells Arthur to sit and he does so without complaint.
“Scootch back a bit, like that,” Eames guides Arthur until he’s lying in the middle of the bed, resting comfortably against their pillows. “Just a moment,” Eames moves away and begins removing his clothing if the sounds Arthur hears are correct. The soft whisper of cotton against skin is loud in the suddenly quiet room.
Before long Eames is on top of Arthur again, pressing him into the mattress, a long line of heat and muscle holding Arthur still and safe.
“Will you spread your legs for me, Arthur?” Eames taps the inside of his thighs like another question.
“Yes,” an involuntary moan escapes his lips as he moves to allow Eames to settle between his legs.
“Thank you,” Eames says and he sounds- fuck, he sounds like he means it, like Arthur is the one doing something wonderful for Eames. Arthur is distracted from pursuing it further by the familiar snap of plastic from their bottle of lube. Next thing he feels Eames pressing around his entrance, not breaching him, just massaging the skin around his hole, another request.
“Yes,” Arthur says again, canting his hips up so Eames’ finger slips inside. It’s like the breaking of a dam; all restraint vanishes as Eames eagerly presses first one and then two fingers into him. Eames doesn’t even have to search, he just quirks his fingers on the down stroke and nails Arthur’s prostate on the first try, playing Arthur’s body with the strong, unyielding thrusts of three fingers now, and the twist of his wrist.
Arthur is getting lost in sensation, the feeling of Eames inside him, the sound of Eames’ lubed fingers entering him over and over again, the smell of sweat, pre-come, and fabric softener filling Arthur’s nose; he’s so close he can almost taste it.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Eames says out of nowhere, breaking the spell. Arthur is yanked back from the edge, his brain reeling and conflicted.
“Wha- Eames,” he begins intelligently. “Don’t, please, don’t go there. Not now,” Arthur pants, trying to lose himself in the feel of Eames’ fingers and block out his voice. The problem being that without his eyes, all his other senses are rushing to compensate, and Arthur can’t close off his ears.
“You did everything you could,” Eames ignores Arthur’s request. “Losing Kara wasn’t your fault. It was just bad luck,” Eames’ voice is gentle like he thinks Arthur might break. Like he isn’t still pushing his fingers into Arthur’s body hard and uncompromising.
“I should have known,” Arthur’s voice breaks, though whether from emotion or from Eames pressing against his prostate, he’ll never tell. “I should have known about the fifth bodyguard. I should have anticipated his sweep. I should have gotten her out of there alive,” Arthur cuts off with a moan as Eames’ fingers leave him. He feels empty in every sense of the word.
Eames’ hand presses against his heart, holding him down as he positions himself at Arthur’s entrance. “He wasn’t meant to be working that day. You had no way of knowing that he would come in on his day off for the extra cash.” Eames pushes inside, Arthur’s body arching up to accept Eames’ cock willingly. Eames keeps his hand a firm pressure over Arthur’s heart as he thrusts into Arthur’s tight body, his words coming out strained but steady.
“You saved the rest of your team, you got them out, and you survived,” Eames is fully inside of him now. He lifts one of Arthur’s legs, so he can press even closer, his lips ghosting across Arthur’s in an almost kiss. “Arthur, you did everything you could do.”
“It wasn’t enough,” Arthur sobs out, clutching Eames shoulders. Pulling him in and in, until he can’t tell where he ends and Eames begins.
Eames reaches up, sliding the blindfold off, brushing it back and running his hands through Arthur’s hair. Arthur blinks at the brightness of the room, eyes blurring for a moment before focusing on Eames’ face.
“You came home to me,” Eames whispers. “It was enough.”
Arthur closes his eyes and sees Kara's empty eyes staring back at him, her mouth still open in surprise, a trickle of blood staining her lips. He's not so sure.