Prompt Post No. 12
Welcome to Round 12 of the Inception Kink Meme.
Prompting System
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Arthur raises an eyebrow. “Coming from you, that probably means he's going to strangle me and shove me in a dumpster in some sketchy back alley.”
Nash shrugs and hops back on his bicycle. “It's going to be a fucking awesome party, Arthur,” he says over his shoulder as he rides away, skinny hipster scarf flapping in the wind, “so just get it done, alright?”
“You're not getting any of my shit if I get murdered tonight!” Arthur yells after him. Nash flips him the bird as he rounds a corner and disappears.
Arthur turns the card over in his hands and reads it aloud. “'EAMES. 555-9478. CASH ONLY. BEST IN TOWN. SERVICE WITH A SMILE.' Jesus Christ...” he says, but digs out his cellphone and taps in the number. It only rings once before he hears a click on the other end.
“Eames.”
“Uh. Hi.”
“Let me guess,” the voice drawls on the other end, “fake I.D., yeah?”
The accent throws him off momentarily and it takes a few seconds for him to answer.
“Hello?”
“Yes! Yes. Hi. That would be... good.”
Jesus, Arthur thinks, kicking at the stray patch of grass emerging from the crack in the sidewalk, try to sound more like a teenager.
Eames laughs and Arthur's brain buzzes just slightly. “98C Hillcrest Avenue, 6:30pm. If you're late, I won't be there. I'm a very busy man, you know.”
Eames hangs up before Arthur has a chance to respond. He stares at his phone for a moment before shoving it back in his pocket beside the grimy business card and hopping on his bike. There's just enough time for him to make it to the bank and then to Eames's place before 6:30 if he rides like a complete maniac.
- - - - -
He shows up at 6:29, sweating like a pig, hair tousled beyond repair, but with money in hand. Arthur rings the bell and rests his head against the cool brick for moment, trying to catch his breath, until he hears the lock click open.
“With only a minute to spare, how... impressive.” Arthur hears his voice catch slightly on the last word and looks up. His first thought is 'lips', then 'tattoos', then 'muscles', then 'holy sweet Jesus I have never wanted to fuck anyone more in my life'. Arthur's only messed around with a few guys. None of them were particularly skilled, and most of them were around his size (except for that one football player) which wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing except Arthur likes his men a bit... burlier. Eames looks like he could scoop Arthur up in one arm and hold him against the wall while he does all kinds of perverse and delicious things to him, and Arthur shifts uncomfortably on Eames's front porch as he feels his jeans start to become a little too tight around the crotch.
Eames is kind of just... staring at him. Arthur is still breathing hard, and he licks his lips, looking directly into Eames's eyes.
“I'm Arthur.”
Eames's hand tightens on the doorframe.
“How lovely,” he says. He finally snaps himself out of whatever daze he had been in and stands aside, motioning for Arthur to come in. “First door on the left.”
Arthur slides past him, purposely angling himself so his ass brushes lightly against Eames's hips. He drops his bag by the door and runs a hand through his hair again, trying in vain to tame it just a little. He can feel it curling at the back of his neck, damp with sweat, and he curses himself for not getting it cut before he came here.
“Need a comb?” Eames asks as he follows him in to the room.
Arthur shakes his head. “It wouldn't help. It has a mind of it's own.”
Eames stares at Arthur's hair and Arthur is sure he's going to reach up to touch it, but he doesn't. Arthur's shoulders sag as Eames just turns around and starts setting up his camera. Pull it together, he thinks. What would a sexy, fuckable thirty-something want with a skinny little teenager?
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