fic: A Little Less Sixteen Candles, a Little More Touch Me (1/1, R)
Title: A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More Touch Me
Author: Cherry Vanilla
Rating: Hard R
Word Count: 2,821
Written for: prompt #3 at harlequincepted - forced bed sharing. This so does not follow the rules, but I’ve fallen in love with this ‘verse, so it’s what I’ve got.
Summary: “Get all the sighs and the moans just right.” Or, in which Nash is a dick.
Note: Third in the Glycerine series. Follows …Slowdance on the Inside and Existentialism on Prom Night. And that thing where I use emo song titles for a story set in the 90s? Yeah, that’s totally a thing.
((_______________))
It’s been three months since they met. Arthur has no expectations of Eames remembering or making it a thing. They vaguely mentioned it at the one month mark; Eames looked at the date on Arthur’s planner and said ‘hmm’ and then Arthur said, ‘Oh. Yeah,’ and Eames bought him a rose from 7-11 as a joke while picking up cigarettes. They laughed the entire way to meet Mal and Dom. The second month, however, passed by without fanfare so month three shouldn’t be any different. Except that it is half of six months which, in turn, is half of a year. In retrospect, Arthur readily admits he can be rather girlish about these things.
It appears to be a thing, though. Eames picks him up at his house and takes him to a nearby Arcade. They play skee-ball and Pac-Man, and some racing game Arthur sucks at. The arcade has a mini-golf course in back with waterfalls and rock formations and Eames promises they’ll go when the weather’s nice. It’s such a throw-away comment; it shouldn’t set loose butterflies in Arthur’s belly. Eames buys them pizza and then ice cream which they eat in an abandoned parking lot two blocks from Eames’ school in between kisses.
It’s when Arthur’s licking a long swipe off of Eames’ ice cream cone (and good god, Arthur wishes that weren’t a metaphor right now) that Eames’ eyes go dark and he clears his throat. He reaches into his jean jacket and pulls out a carefully wrapped envelope shaped package. “This is for you. Um, happy three months?”
Arthur blinks at the gift, then up at Eames. “Seriously?”
Eames grins, but it waivers slightly, and he runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, go on then,” he says, holding out the gift.
Arthur opens it with the vigor reserved for a child on Christmas morning. “You bought me tickets to Lollapalooza?!”
“Well, us, but yes,” says Eames, dryly.
Arthur launches himself into Eames’ arms. “Oh my god, thank you!” He tries desperately not to think about how it’s only February and Eames has just bought them tickets to something in June.
“The line-up isn’t the greatest but I couldn’t pass up Cocteau Twins. Thus, my intentions are not entirely altruistic.”
Arthur kind of loves that they’re on the same level intellectually. Arthur’s used to being smart, and Eames is not only smart but funny and gorgeous and he may not be able to spell altruistic but he knows what it means and can use it in a sentence and that’s all that really matters.
“I forgive you. Because there’ll be Rage, and Soundgarden, and Rancid and the Ramones and The Violent Femmes.”
“Don’t forget your precious Ben Folds Five. Sometimes I don’t understand you, darling.”
Eames ruffles his hair and Arthur tries not to reveal that he’s finding it hard to breathe. Instead, he leans in for another kiss, running his tongue along Eames’ lips. When he pulls backs, Eames’ pupils are blown and his cheeks are flushed. Arthur wants take him apart.
He sits back a little and digs the folded piece of paper out of his pocket. “I uh. Got you something too. Just. In case? Um, it’s at my house but I printed a picture. Here.” He nearly throws it at Eames, inexplicitly nervous.
Arthur starts babbling as soon as Eames unfolds the paper. “I know you’re like, anti-CD, so I figured I’d retrograde you further.” Eames is just staring at the printed picture of the record player, a little grainy due his parents’ shitty printer. “It’s kinda retro, you know? Big, and it’s stackable.. um. It has a cassette player on the side, too. I thought that was kind of cool.”
Eames blinks at the paper, running his finger over it. “Arthur this… is the nicest thing anyone’s ever gotten me.”
“Please, your parents are rich,” Arthur snorts. But Eames’ eyes are earnest when they meet his and Arthur swallows.
“That doesn’t exactly mean anything, believe me.” He takes Arthur’s hand and squeezes it lightly. “I’ve never received a more amazing gift.”
Arthur’s eyes feel slightly wet and he has to blink and look away. Seriously, Ariadne would be laughing hysterically if she could see him right now.
((_______________))
It’s because today was nearly perfect that Arthur still cannot fathom how he ends up angry, frustrated, and horny in Eames’ dorm room bed. Only one of those three should ever occur in this location. Instead, they’re lying inches apart in near darkness - the only light in the room emanating from the streetlamps outside the window - bodies tense.
Arthur is staring daggers at Nash’s prone form on the other side of the room. Fact: Nash is Eames’ roommate. Fact: Nash is a dick. He’s lazy, boring and every time Arthur sees him his first thought is ‘asshole!’ He’s got long greasy hair and mustache and beard and he looks a little like Chris Cornell. Along with ‘asshole!’ Arthur sometimes hears the opening to Hunger Strike in his mind upon first sight. And finally, fact: Nash has ruined Arthur’s plans for tonight. Well, not - plans - desire. Arthur absolutely didn’t plan on losing his virginity tonight just because it’s today. He didn’t. It’s just that he really wants it to happen tonight.
Instead of going out like Nash had originally planned, he decided to stay in and get ridiculously drunk and high. He succeeded in making himself spectacularly sick and spent the evening alternating between throwing up and passing out. Arthur and Eames played video games until Nash complained about the bright colors, then listening to music until Nash complained about the noise. It was now after midnight and they spent the good part of the last hour lying next to one another on the bed, while Nash slept off his plight on the other side of the room. They couldn’t even beg off to hang with Dom as he and Mal were having a romantic evening of their own.
“I could take you home, if you’d rather. No one’s forcing you to stay in this bed.”
“Oh please,” Arthur hisses.
Eames shifts onto his side and peers are Arthur quizzically. “You’re being held against your will, darling? Shall I phone the police?”
Arthur turns to him, ignoring the closeness of their bodies, mouth set in a hard line. “I already told my mom I was staying at Yusuf’s. I’m not about to go home.”
Eames looks utterly unimpressed. “Then I’ll take you to Yusuf’s.”
Arthur glares at him, and whispers sharply, “Yusuf told his mom he’s staying at my house. He is in fact, making out with Ariadne at some undisclosed location.”
Arthur could see Eames’ raised eyebrow even in the dim light. “Those two finally stopped their dance? Smashing.”
“Don’t change the subject!”
“Arthur,” Eames says, his voice lowering a register. This meant trouble. Eames tugs Arthur closer, slotting their hips together. “I’m not pleased things got cocked up tonight,” Eames murmurs, his hips snapping against Arthur’s upon emphasis of the word. “This is hard for me too,” he finishes, grinding his erection against Arthur’s thigh. Eames has stripped down to just his briefs. Arthur decided to keep his T-shirt and boxers on.
“Oh my god, you’re so cheesy.”
Eames rolls their hips together, fingertips sliding down Arthur’s sides and resting just above the waistband of his boxers. “You love it.” Arthur shivers. Eames groans, loudly, and smacks a hand against the bed sheets. “Oi! Nash! Don’t you have scads of birds you could be fucking?”
“Wha?” responds Nash, sleepily. “I don’t fuck birds.”
Eames turns to look at Arthur for a beat before they both collapse into laughter, shaking with it. “Positively scandalous!” Eames whispers in mock horror.
Arthur laughs some more, his stomach hurting from his attempt to keep quiet. “You’re such a dork.”
Eames presses his fingers tightly against Arthur’s waist. His eyes are shining happily. “Only with you, darling.”
Arthur’s chest tightens at the words. The thought of Eames showing a different side of himself to only Arthur is thrilling. Moreover, the possibility of Eames showing Arthur his real self - the person he hides away from the rest of the world is too much to even consider and probably inaccurate but god, how Arthur selfishly wishes it true.
Arthur feels warm fingers trail down his jaw. “Hey, you okay?”
Seized with emotion he can’t even put into words, Arthur blurts, “I wanted today to be special.”
Eames tips his head further against the pillow. “It was..”
Arthur bites his lip, suddenly happy for the darkness in the room. “I uh, I. Iwantedyoutofuckme,” he says in a rush and resists the urge to bury his face in the pillows. This shouldn’t still be so fucking hard.
Arthur hears a sharp intake of breath and raises his eyes to Eames’. Eames, who is openly staring at him like he’s just won the fucking lottery.
“Christ, Arthur,” Eames breathes and then he’s tugging Arthur closer and slotting their hips together again. Arthur moans quietly at the friction.
Arthur laughs, unsteadily. “Um, guess the thought is appealing then?”
“What do you think?” He whispers dirtily, licking the shell of Arthur’s ear. Arthur locks his arms around the small of Eames’ back and steadies his own hips. “But uh,” Eames pulls back and his eyes are serious in the darkness. “I wouldn’t - I don’t want to when it’s… planned, Arthur. That could just lead to - nervousness and ridiculous expectations and to be honest, I don’t want to disappoint.”
Arthur frowns and bites the inside of his cheek because it wasn’t - it’s not because of the day, dammit, and if anyone should be worried about... he opens his mouth to tell Eames this, but Eames’ finger is over his lips. “I know you. You researched it, right? And maybe you bought stuff, which is fine and good, but Arthur - whenever it happens, it happens, okay? Let’s not - add additional pressure, yeah?”
Arthur sighs against his shoulder, and okay, so maybe he’d been planning for it to happen on this day and this day alone and maybe he’s thought about it every fucking day for the last three weeks. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to do research on my computer at home, Eames? Do you? The damn connection timed out 5 times in 7 minutes - and when I was logged on I spent most of the time looking over my shoulder for my parents. Dial-up, Eames. It’s the bane of my existence.” His words are rush of soft breath against Eames’ neck and he feels Eames shake with laughter in response.
“Arthur,” Eames says, voice full of affection. Arthur smiles against his shoulder. Then he feels Eames’ thighs brushing against his, and the hard line of his erection flush against his own. He swallows. “Arthur,” Eames says again, voice amazingly different; lower, rougher. “Have you thought about it?”
“God, yes,” Arthur responds, letting his teeth trail against the stubble beneath Eames’ jaw.
“Tell me,” Eames asks, nearly pleads, as his fingers skim just below Arthur’s waistband.
Arthur can’t - they can’t. He pulls back, putting some distance between them, and watches Eames’ face; the intent, feral look, his pupils dark and wanting. Eames still keeps their hips together, slipping his leg between Arthur’s thighs so he can’t break away. “I um. I touched myself while in the shower, my. My finger.”
“God,” Eames breathes and traces Arthur’s lips with his fingers. “Did you think of me? Did you wank yourself with your finger in your arse?”
Arthur feels the heat rush to his face and his groin at once; he moans softly around Eames fingers, inching his tongue out and watching as Eames licks his own lips in response. “God, Eames, yes.”
Eames grinds himself slowly, shamelessly, against Arthur’s dick, letting him feel the hot press of his cock through the tight fabric. Eames ducks his head down, replacing his fingers with his lips. “I wanna do all there is to you,” Eames sighs and tugs Arthur’s bottom lip roughly between his teeth, sucking and releasing him slowly, so fucking slowly that Arthur can’t help a slightly loud moan.
He tries to think through the haze that is now his brain. “Have, have you ever..?”
Eames’ thumb is stroking against the overheated skin of Arthur’s thigh. “I have, but I’ve never.. had it done back. Just, wasn’t all that interested.”
Arthur nods, looking down, because of course Eames has fucked guys, until Eames lifts his chin with his fingers. “But uh, with you. I’d really like to,” he whispers, and it’s the shyest Arthur’s ever heard him. Arthur can’t help the ridiculous grin that spreads against his face at the thought (terrifying as it is) of being able to give Eames something new in comparison to all the firsts he’s given Arthur.
“Yeah, yes,” Arthur says and they stare at one another in the darkness, hips still moving slightly. Arthur darts his eyes over toward Nash and then back to Eames, who is now running his palms down Arthur’s thighs in earnest, not even bothering to control the thrumming want in his body. “Eames..”
“Oh fuck, come here,” and then Arthur’s on top of him, his leg between Eames’ parted thighs, his hands braced on Eames’ forearms. Eames runs his hands over Arthur’s ass, gripping slightly beneath the boxers. Their mouths smash together and Arthur lets out an involuntary groan. “Shhhh,” Eames whispers against his lips and he’s laughing and then Arthur is too, silently, and in between kisses for long seconds until Eames rolls his hips hard with intent and it’s no longer funny. It’s intense, and needy, and Arthur shakes with it, his thighs trembling with each thrust downward. Eames arches against him, sucking hard on his tongue and licking into Arthur’s mouth; exploring as though he’d like to get lost.
Arthur tangles his tongue with Eames’, bruises his lips, fucks his mouth like he wants Eames to fuck him. It makes Eames gasp and then he’s tugging on Arthur’s hair and wrenching his lips away. His eyes are nearly black in the darkness. “Arthur, I -“ , his voice sounds desperate to Arthur’s ears.
“What?” Arthur whispers, softly, carefully, feeling his stomach tighten for some inexplicable reason.
Eames shakes his head, almost imperceptibly. “You’re amazing,” he mutters, against Arthur’s lips and pulls him in close. Arthur fastens his mouth against the curve of Eames’ collarbone. “So are you.”
Their movements grow erratic; Arthur’s hips begin stuttering and Eames is all long lines and muscle beneath him, his thighs and his forearms and Arthur just scratches his nails up and down Eames’ forearms, feeling drunk on this. Eames’ fingers slip beneath Arthur’s boxers, and then Arthur’s pulled impossibly closer against the heat of Eames’ cock, his own dripping and poking out of the soft fabric. Eames runs a finger along the cleft of Arthur’s ass, gently slipping between his cheeks. Arthur moans and bucks against him. Eames’ finger teases around his hole, repeatedly, but doesn’t enter.
“God, I want to fuck you,” Eames pants against Arthur’s jaw and that’s all Arthur needs. His thighs tense and quiver and he feels white heat at the base of his spine like a blinding flash. Eames holds him close, whispering, “fuck, yes, come for me,” and sucking Arthur’s tongue deep into his mouth, effectively swallowing Arthur’s moans. Arthur’s fingers clench above the waistband of Eames’ briefs as he pulsates against Eames’ thigh. Eames gasps against his lips and breaks away, “Oh fuck, Arthur.’ Eames surges upward, this hands clenching Arthur’s ass as he comes apart. They hold each other, Arthur braced above Eames, panting as they ride out the wave.
“Oh, shit,” Arthur breathes wetly, their lips a breath apart.
“Shite is right,” Eames grins, a little shakily, in the darkness.
Arthur hears a sound from the other side of the room, like someone hitting a pillow. “For fucking serious?!” Nash calls loudly, and then it sounds like he’s punching said pillow and flipping over.
“Fuck off,” Eames responds cheerfully, “Go fuck some birds,” and just tugs Arthur closer and buries his face in his hair, completely ignoring the wetness between them while Nash yells, “oh my god, I don’t fuck birds!” Eames laughs loudly and Arthur is soon following suit, helpless to control it.
He still finds it difficult to comprehend just how this smart, gorgeous British guy waltzed his way into Ariadne’s basement and subsequently Arthur’s heart. Sometimes Arthur thinks he’s dreaming, but then he remembers school still sucks, and his parents exchange slightly worried glances when Eames calls, and his sister is leaving for college next fall which means it’ll just be him in the house, and Eames is planning a trip back to England in the summer... So, this is indeed reality. And if reality is often dream-like with some minor imperfections around the edges, he’ll take it.
[end]