#341 - [FIC] Everything About You (Eames/Fischer), 2/3
Title: Everything About You (2/3)
Word Count: 4,510 (of ~19,000 total)
Pairing: Eames/Fischer
Rating: a softer NC-17
Disclaimer: Neither Fischer nor Eames belong to me. :(
Author's Note: This is dedicated to the lovely forgerness, who requested some Eames/Fischer from me a while back and is only now having her prayers answered. ;)
Secondly, this is meant to follow the events of Inception, so I’m hesitant to call it an AU, but at the same time, it’s only in my mind that Robert would ever work in a record store, listen to the Smiths, and own a Royal typewriter. I’ve taken the notion that the inception would change everything about him to extremes. Consider yourself warned!
Part II
Robert stared listlessly at the ceiling as he lay in bed, trying to figure out what the hell went wrong. The chemistry had been great, the sex phenomenal, and Robert hadn’t even known it was possible for one man to evoke so many smiles from him. He had been sure they would work out, but it was three weeks later and here he was, languishing in the same clothes he’d been wearing for days and hoping to contract lung cancer with the cigarettes he kept for when he was writing.
He’d gone in for work a week ago and Lexi had sent him packing with an ultimatum to either get his shit together or lose his job.
At the present, he wasn’t feeling particular.
Nicotine, he decided, was not working quickly enough. It was time to break out the big guns and drink himself to death, or possibly into a coma. Whichever came first-he wasn’t particular about that, either.
He was rummaging around in the cupboards for something suitable when the phone rang. He’d thrown it over next to the neglected Royal, and he debated not answering, but after forty-five seconds of listening to the clanging ringtone, he gave in.
“What do you want?” he snapped.
“Did you know it was me, or is that just how you’ve been answering?”
It was Eames and for several seconds Robert said nothing, just held his breath and stared at the dishes piled up in the sink and on the counters, wondering if it wouldn’t be easier to set fire to the place and walk out. He exhaled slowly.
“You’ve every right to be cross with me Robert. I’ve been a right prick, I know that, and I’m not asking you to forgive me, just give me a chance to explain.”
Robert picked at a spot of dried mustard on one of his plates. “Your voice sounds far away.”
“I’m at the airport. Reception’s not exactly brilliant,” he said. “Look, the plane’ll be boarding soon. I should be in late tonight. Can I come see you?”
The words caught in his throat and he couldn’t speak. Confusion, anger, and a hundred other emotions kept his lips sealed.
“Please, Robert. I don’t want things to end like this.”
He wanted to say, ‘What about what I want?’ but he didn’t. He tried not to betray the way Eames’ voice made his eyes sting and his chest feel tight, restricting his reply to a single syllable: “Fine.”
“I’ll make it up to you, love. I promise.”
With that, he was gone.
- - - - -
It was two in the morning when Eames knocked on his door, looking haggard in the dim light of the hallway. His clothes had that distinct rumpled look from the airplane, but Robert was unsympathetic and put up his arm when Eames went to side-step him. Though the other man clearly had a weight advantage and could easily have pushed him aside, he didn’t.
“So you’re not going to let me in, then.”
“Not until you explain.”
“You really want to have this out in the hallway?”
Robert stood his ground and Eames threw up his hands.
“Brilliant,” he said. “Hallway it is, then.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and wet his lips like he was nervous. It looked a lot like stalling from where Robert was standing.
“You can start by telling me where you’ve been.”
He wet his lips again. “Out of the country,” he said. “London.”
“What were you doing in London?”
“You might’ve noticed that I’m not from here.” When Robert didn’t crack a smile, he sighed and rocked back on his heels. “You’re not making this easy, love.”
Robert crossed his arms over his chest. “All you have to do is tell me the truth.”
“The truth,” he repeated.
“I’m assuming you’ve encountered the concept before, if only in passing.”
Eames barked a laugh. “The truth, then. The truth is that I was there on business. I wanted to ring you before I left, but the call just came so suddenly and when I got there it was all such a bloody cock-up, I couldn’t think of anything else.”
Something didn’t add up. “You told me you were an actor.”
“That’s right,” Eames said.
“So, what kind of acting job is so urgent it gets you called away to London for three weeks with no prior notice?”
He was silent for so long that Robert decided to forget about trying to patch things up and crawl back into bed. Eames caught the door with his foot as Robert was closing it.
“Wait,” he said, and that one syllable sounded more raw, more pathetic, than anything he had said previously and, against his better judgment, Robert stopped.
“I’m not an actor. At least,” he said, “not the way I let you think. I’ve never been in… in a bloody play, or an advert on the telly, but what I said about being in London on business? That was true. I swear it.”
Robert took a few moments to absorb this. “You’re not an actor, except you are. I don’t know what that means, Eames.”
“Just let me in and I’ll tell you.”
“Tell me and I’ll let you in,” he retorted. It was childish, but he couldn’t help himself. “How bad could it be? I mean, what the hell are you,” he laughed, “a traveling conman?”
Eames cleared his throat awkwardly and stared down at his shoes.
“You’re kidding.”
“Just let me in, yeah? This is bloody embarrassing.”
Robert seized him by the front of his shirt and jerked him roughly inside, kicking the door shut behind them. It was only through extreme effort that he managed not to shout. “You’re a goddamn conman?”
Eames spread his hands helplessly. “What was I supposed to say?”
Robert narrowed his eyes. “Are you conning me?”
“What?” Eames cried. “Of course I’m fucking not!”
“And I’m supposed to believe that?”
Eames looked at him like he was crazy. “Why in the bloody fuck would I be conning you? You work in a bloody record store. And why,” he said, gesturing wildly, “would I be in London if you were the mark? Honestly, love. That makes no bloody sense.”
Robert had to concede. “Good point. Who are your marks?”
“Rich, old bastards who have it coming? I dunno. Does it matter?”
“You tell me, Robin Hood.”
Eames snorted. “I think I’ll leave that to Cary Elwes, thanks. So,” he said, a smile playing on his lips, “does this mean I’m forgiven, then?”
He considered it. “I’ll think about it. But only if you stop looking at me like that.”
Eames’ voice was perfectly innocent. “Like what, love?”
“Like a stray puppy someone just kicked. Seriously,” he said, “it’s starting to freak me out a little.”
“Okay, okay,” he grumbled and closed the few steps between them, wrapping his arms around Robert and kissing him softly on the mouth. Eames nuzzled his neck and Robert let himself relax into the embrace. Everything would be okay. Even if Eames-
“Did you just lick me?”
“Woof, woof.”
He laughed and tried to wriggle free as Eames whined and licked him again. “You’re a sick bastard, you know that?”
“Oh, but you love it.”
- - - - -
They settled into a more comfortable rhythm after a somewhat rocky start, though Eames remained more or less incommunicado on the subject of his work after his initial confession, citing his safety among other things. Robert didn’t know how much of it was real and how much was Eames playing at James Bond, but it really didn’t matter, he’d come to find. Whether it was more for Eames’ benefit or his, Robert didn’t know, but Eames didn’t bring his work home with him, even on the nights he flew out late and came back later. His comings and goings, irregular as they were, became just another part of their routine, easily lost among all the rest.
They spent more time together than Robert was used to from his past relationships, talking and going out, making love and spending long mornings in bed asking each other ridiculous questions as they tried to figure it all out. He would wake up some mornings to find Eames sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee or standing at the bathroom sink, naked and scrubbing his teeth with Robert’s toothbrush despite having been told a thousand times to use his own. Eames sang Italian opera, in what was actually a very decent tenor, when he showered and once, the super knocked on his door looking very disgruntled and told Robert to tell Pavarotti to keep it down.
He had yet to see where it was that Eames spent his days when they weren’t together, few as they were, but that wasn’t unusual in itself, really. The suspenders-braces, to his English conman-Eames had forgotten after their first night together turned out to be quite the harbinger of things to come. It started with a few extra changes of clothing, par for the course, and the odd pack of French cigarettes. Then there were new books on his shelf and boxes of tea in his cupboards, a cast iron frying pan on top of his stove, and a hundred other things as Eames moved himself into the apartment piece by piece.
On nights when one, or both, of them was too tired-or, as was more often the case for Robert, too broke-to bother going out, they would curl up together on the loveseat and watch Jeopardy. As it turned out, Eames was something of a trivia whiz, answering easily and quickly and still finding time to mock the contestants who stalled or blurted out stupid answers.
“Bugger,” Eames swore as Alex announced the Final Jeopardy category-sports history. It was, as far as he knew, Eames’ only weakness, as far as trivial knowledge was concerned. With a huff, Eames grabbed the remote and turned off the television. “Probably come out ahead anyway,” he grumbled, raking a hand through his hair. “Idiots, that lot.”
Robert rolled his eyes. “It amazes me that you can come up with ‘apogee’ and not know how many innings are in baseball.”
“I loathe baseball,” he said, every word dripping with vitriol.
“I don’t even know what to say to that, it’s so un-American.”
Eames laughed. “It’s a good thing I’m not an American, then.”
“You have citizenship,” Robert pointed out, “so, legally speaking-”
“I have citizenship in half a dozen countries, love,” Eames interrupted.
You shouldn’t read too much into it. Besides,” he said, “it’s all about identity. I might live here, but I’m not a bloody American, yeah?” Very resolutely he added, “And neither are you.”
Robert shrugged. “I don’t know,” he mused. “I love baseball, fast-food… capitalism. Apple pie, too.”
Eames was unimpressed. “Apple pie is English, darling.”
“Damn. I hoped you wouldn’t call me on that one.”
“Robert, Robert…” Eames shook his head. “How many times must I tell you?” He tapped his nose smartly. “You can’t con a conman.”
“Oh, please,” Robert laughed. “You’re so oblivious sometimes.”
“Is that right? Enlighten me, then,” Eames challenged, lounging back against the arm of the couch with his arms crossed over his chest.
It took a minute, but then he had it. “Post orgasm, you’d believe anything I said. Anything,” he repeated, punctuating it with a quirk of his eyebrow.
“Oh, come on,” Eames objected. “You could say that about any bloke on the planet-it’s hardly a revelation, yeah? Don’t look so cocky,” he grumbled.
This was getting good. “Admit it. My sexual prowess is a force of nature.”
“Shan’t,” he said, stubbornly shaking his head.
“Then I guess it won’t bother you to go without for a week.”
Eames looked absolutely crestfallen. “You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, but I would,” Robert insisted. “No sex-of any kind,” he said, seeing Eames about to open his mouth, “for seven days. And you can sleep on the couch.”
Between clenched teeth, Eames at last gritted out, “You’re a force of nature. And I bloody would believe anything you told me after shag. Happy?” He huffed a laugh. “I must’ve been mental to think you were sweet. You’re almost as bad as Arthur.”
That wasn’t a name he’d heard before-Eames rarely discussed people he knew or worked with-and it immediately piqued Robert’s interest. “Who’s Arthur?
“He’s my best mate,” Eames said and rubbed the back of his neck. To look at him, you’d think the mere thought of continuing was causing him physical pain. “We work together sometimes, all right? And,” he said, wetting his lips the way he always did when he was uncomfortable, “he, like you, is fond of heckling me.”
“And?” Robert prompted.
“And there’s nothing more to say.”
It was almost a whine, Eames’ eyes trained on some distant point in space. It was dim in the living room, but there was a decided flush riding high on Eames’ cheeks and all at once it was like someone flicked a switch in his brain.
Robert gave him a hard smack. “You bastard-you fucked him!”
“Hey!” Eames cried, grabbing his shoulder. “It wasn’t like it was bloody fucking yesterday or something. It was ages ago,” he said, “long before you and I met, and it was hardly a night I care to relive.”
Robert’s lips spread in a slow smile. “Was he your first?”
Eames gave him a look that would curdle milk. “Piss off.”
“Come on,” Robert wheedled, curling his arms around Eames’ neck. “Please tell me?”
“We are not having this conversation.”
“Please?” Robert begged and straddled Eames’ lap, a strategic maneuver that kept Eames from leaving and served as a more effective means of persuasion than pleading alone. “I promise I won’t laugh at you.”
Robert knew he had Eames when those big hands settled on his hips, gently clutching at him through his blue, flannel lounge-pants. Robert bent his head to kiss the other man’s neck, scratchy with neglected stubble, and heard Eames groan in defeat.
“All right then,” he said and Robert smiled against his skin. “We’d just finished our first job together and were eager to celebrate.” He broke off with a laugh. “God, I can’t believe I’m telling you this…we were both a bit pissed, yeah, but not enough to forget it come morning,” he said, a wry twist to his mouth.
“So, what was it like?”
“Bloody awful,” he said, wetting his lips before continuing. “I couldn’t look him in the eyes for months without remembering what he looked like sucking me off, which, by the way, is the only thing I care to remember. That part was rather brilliant, actually,” Eames admitted, more to himself than to Robert. “Honestly, though, how would you feel after shagging your best mate? Once was plenty.”
Robert rubbed his hands over Eames’ chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath his threadbare t-shirt, and kissed away that self-deprecating smile, murmuring against the other man’s mouth. “Do you want to go to bed?”
“You’re not distracting me that easily,” Eames said and pulled back. “Tell us about your first time.” When Robert pulled a face, Eames refused to yield. “It’s only fair, love. Now quit your whinging.”
Eames kept one hand on the small of his back as Robert settled more comfortably. “So, my uncle and I-”
“Robert, darling, you know I adore you, but I don’t think we know each other quite well enough for that sort of thing.”
Robert rolled his eyes. “Do you want to hear this or not?”
“I’m all ears, love.”
Good enough.
“We were meeting my father in New York. He was there on some kind of business, and I was just along for the trip because I’d never been. They were both too busy for me, and I ended up in the East Village at some dingy little bar. I’d just turned twenty-one,” he explained, “and I guess I was feeling a little maudlin? I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Do you start all your relationships with a little liquid courage?”
Robert was unfazed. “I’m not the one who fucked my best friend. And if you interrupt me again,” he warned, “you really can sleep on the couch tonight. Are we clear?”
Eames raised his hands in mock surrender. “Crystal.”
“You’re incorrigible, you know that?”
“It’s been well-established at this point, yes. But please, continue. We were in the East Village,” he supplied helpfully, “and you were getting pissed.”
“I was not ‘pissed,’ okay? I’d had a couple of drinks, and a guy came up to me and asked if he could buy me another, so I said yes and I had a couple more drinks. When I left with him? Then I was pissed. We went to his apartment and I remember being incredibly disappointed. He didn’t kiss me, there was no foreplay, and it lasted all of two minutes before he fell on top of me and started snoring,” he finished.
The last part came out in one big rush and Robert wasn’t that surprised when Eames’ brow furrowed as he mentally replayed what Robert had said in order to make sense of it.
At last, his reaction came short and sweet: “What a wanker!”
“My thoughts exactly. You know, minus the lexical differences,” Robert said. “It was pretty bad, but the good thing is that each passing day takes me further and further away from that moment, so I’m grateful for that, you know.” He was inclined to babble when embarrassed, and now was no exception. “Feel free to step in at any time and say something so I’ll shut up.”
Eames’ expression was one of awe. “Darling, I had no idea you were such a saint. This calls for proper worship,” he announced.
Robert barely had time to fully realize his confusion, let alone protest, before Eames rolled them over, effectively reversing their positions and sinking to his knees in front of the couch as if he intended to do just that.
The image was only slightly spoiled when Eames complained about his knees. “Give us a pillow, would you?”
Robert tossed him a cushion. “There you go, old man.”
Eames pinched his thigh. “Hush, you, or you can suck it yourself.”
He swallowed a laugh as Eames tore at his sleep pants and tugged his hips closer to the edge of the couch. Eames bowed his head to kiss the sharp rise of Robert’s hip, whispering-sacraments or nonsense, Robert didn’t know-against his skin. Fingers stroked along the inside of his thighs and they simply melted apart with a little shiver, fine hairs standing momentarily on end despite the warm temperature of the room and of Eames’ hands.
“Eames,” he said the man’s name and it came out a whine. “Eames, can we speed this up a little?”
He tsked. “Patience is a virtue, darling.”
Robert groaned and sagged back against the couch. Maybe he had no right to be so impatient-the not unpleasant ache in his thighs reminded him that they had last made love only that morning-but despite its apparent lack of attention, his arousal was already painfully evident and he pressed his hips up against Eames’ hands to demonstrate.
Warm breath ghosted over his skin as Eames laughed. “You’d think I’d been depriving you for a month, the way you carry on. How you lived without me all these years is beyond me.”
“You know,” he panted, “if you’re not so eager to worship me after all, I can always go ta-”
The remainder of that sentence was lost in a grateful moan as Eames finally took pity on Robert and let him slide past his lips, cradling him there for a moment before proceeding in earnest, his mouth so wet Robert could feel saliva trickling down his shaft in obscene, little rivulets. This could not be real. Not on a Wednesday. Clearly, he had fallen asleep while watching TV and was now caught up in the most delicious dream while Eames flipped through channels and ransacked the kitchen.
Tremblingly, he let his hand rest on the back of Eames’ neck, petting the soft skin there. Wednesday or not, he certainly felt real, and Robert let out another strangled moan as Eames’ tongue flicked wickedly against the underside of his erection, a quick counterpoint to the almost unbearable, methodical slowness of his hands and his lips. It was difficult not to be insistent, not to tighten his grip on the back of Eames’ neck and push him down, but Robert managed to keep that modicum of control-even when Eames hummed appreciatively around him, sending delicious vibrations down his shaft that seemed to shoot all the way up his spine and ring in his ears.
Somewhere in the deep recesses of his subconscious it occurred to him to warn Eames that he was close, but at present his conscious self was far too focused on the way Eames’ tongue laved the sensitive head of his penis, his hands hot and rough as they gripped possessively at his ass. Robert could feel Eames breathing hard through his nose as he finally swallowed him completely, cheeks hollowed with effort.
That was all it took for that final thread of control to snap, and then climax hit him like a freight train and he groaned, low and loud, his hips snapping up of their own accord. Eames’ mouth stayed on him, lips massaging him all the way through it until he was too sensitive to handle even the lightest caress. He stayed there for a moment, resting his forehead on Robert’s thigh as he caught his breath, at last getting to his feet with an audible crack of his knees.
He groaned a little. “Christ, I am getting old, aren’t I?”
- - - - -
“We should get a puppy,” Eames announced over dinner one evening.
“A puppy?”
“Yeah,” he said, with that charming crooked grin. “Something smart, like a golden retriever or a lab. Come on,” he said, “it’ll be good for us. He’ll keep you company when I’m away, yeah?”
“Eames, we are not getting a dog.”
“If you don’t like dogs, you can just say so.”
“I like dogs. That has nothing to do with it.”
Eames was practically pouting. “Why not, then?”
“Because,” Robert said, fumbling for the right words, “because you’ll love him for a couple of weeks and then when you have to leave for a job, I’ll be stuck with a dog that misses you as much as I do. Then,” he said, gesturing rather sharply with his fork, “we’ll both have to vie for your attention when you’re here, and I’ll never get you to myself. Besides, do you have any idea how much a pet deposit is in this city?”
“Have it your way then,” he sulked, stabbing at his green beans-otherwise untouched, as usual, because getting Eames to eat vegetables was as difficult as getting a four year old to do it-with more force than was strictly necessary.
Robert rolled his eyes. “You are such an infant.”
He went over to rinse his plate in the sink. Something hit him squarely between the shoulder-blades and he whipped around. At his feet lay a bread roll that Robert knew had been on Eames’ plate only moments before.
Eames was the picture of innocence. “What?”
At that, something inside him just snapped. “You’re an asshole.”
They bickered and exchanged banter all the time, but tonight Robert meant it, and they both knew it. The air felt charged, and Eames’ eyes were no longer lit up with amusement. Another night he might have laughed and thrown something back, but tonight it wasn’t cute, it wasn’t funny. It only pissed him off.
“Love-”
Robert cut him off. “I can’t deal with this tonight. I’m going to bed.”
- - - - -
He was still awake when Eames came in a while later, closing the door gently and clearly taking pains not to disturb Robert as he undressed and climbed into bed, lying a little ways off from him.
Eames was strangely quiet. Robert thought he might be trying to guess whether or not he was asleep and decided to spare him the uncertainty.
“Did you clean up?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
Silence was never louder than it was in moments like this, when it made the few inches between them feel like miles and miles. Robert hated it when they fought, enough that he was usually the one to issue the cease-fire, if only because the thought of continuing to be angry at each other was unbearable. It wasn’t like him to brood anyway.
Eames cleared his throat quietly. “I’m sorry, you know. For what I did.” He hesitated. “Are you still angry with me?”
“Not really.”
He turned onto his other side and Eames’ hand settled on his back, pulling him close and simply holding him there. Robert splayed his fingers over the man’s chest, curling them in the soft, sandy hair there.
“This is about more than just tonight, isn’t it?
Robert didn’t answer immediately. He bit at the inside of his cheek and Eames waited patiently for him to go over it in his head before he said anything.
“Sometimes I feel like you don’t take this seriously, and it makes it hard for me to say the things I want to say.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know if I want to tell you anymore.”
One of hands came up to brush his hair back from his forehead and tuck it behind his ears where it had fallen in his eyes. He stroked Robert’s cheek with the pad of his thumb.
“Because you don’t feel that way anymore?”
“Because I don’t know if you deserve to hear it. Because you always know exactly how I’m feeling, and I almost never know how you feel. It isn’t fair,” he mumbled and turned his face into Eames’ chest. “You make me feel so stupid sometimes.”
“You’re not stupid, love,” Eames murmured. His hand was back on Robert’s back, describing soothing circles on his skin. “And I doubt very much that what you may or may not still want to say to me is stupid, either. I really am sorry, darling.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “I know.”
Eames regarded him silently for a minute. “Do you also know that I love you?”
“Do you now.”
“Oh, madly,” Eames assured him, gently pressing him back on the bed. Robert felt his lips curl into a smile.
“Madly?”
Tenderly, Eames kissed his jaw, trailing a path down his neck and over his chest as he settled between Robert’s thighs, leaning over him and finally bringing their lips together in a kiss that was as much a confirmation as the words that followed:
“It’s the only way I know how.”
Part 3
Previous Parts
Part 1
Word Count: 4,510 (of ~19,000 total)
Pairing: Eames/Fischer
Rating: a softer NC-17
Disclaimer: Neither Fischer nor Eames belong to me. :(
Author's Note: This is dedicated to the lovely forgerness, who requested some Eames/Fischer from me a while back and is only now having her prayers answered. ;)
Secondly, this is meant to follow the events of Inception, so I’m hesitant to call it an AU, but at the same time, it’s only in my mind that Robert would ever work in a record store, listen to the Smiths, and own a Royal typewriter. I’ve taken the notion that the inception would change everything about him to extremes. Consider yourself warned!
Part II
Robert stared listlessly at the ceiling as he lay in bed, trying to figure out what the hell went wrong. The chemistry had been great, the sex phenomenal, and Robert hadn’t even known it was possible for one man to evoke so many smiles from him. He had been sure they would work out, but it was three weeks later and here he was, languishing in the same clothes he’d been wearing for days and hoping to contract lung cancer with the cigarettes he kept for when he was writing.
He’d gone in for work a week ago and Lexi had sent him packing with an ultimatum to either get his shit together or lose his job.
At the present, he wasn’t feeling particular.
Nicotine, he decided, was not working quickly enough. It was time to break out the big guns and drink himself to death, or possibly into a coma. Whichever came first-he wasn’t particular about that, either.
He was rummaging around in the cupboards for something suitable when the phone rang. He’d thrown it over next to the neglected Royal, and he debated not answering, but after forty-five seconds of listening to the clanging ringtone, he gave in.
“What do you want?” he snapped.
“Did you know it was me, or is that just how you’ve been answering?”
It was Eames and for several seconds Robert said nothing, just held his breath and stared at the dishes piled up in the sink and on the counters, wondering if it wouldn’t be easier to set fire to the place and walk out. He exhaled slowly.
“You’ve every right to be cross with me Robert. I’ve been a right prick, I know that, and I’m not asking you to forgive me, just give me a chance to explain.”
Robert picked at a spot of dried mustard on one of his plates. “Your voice sounds far away.”
“I’m at the airport. Reception’s not exactly brilliant,” he said. “Look, the plane’ll be boarding soon. I should be in late tonight. Can I come see you?”
The words caught in his throat and he couldn’t speak. Confusion, anger, and a hundred other emotions kept his lips sealed.
“Please, Robert. I don’t want things to end like this.”
He wanted to say, ‘What about what I want?’ but he didn’t. He tried not to betray the way Eames’ voice made his eyes sting and his chest feel tight, restricting his reply to a single syllable: “Fine.”
“I’ll make it up to you, love. I promise.”
With that, he was gone.
- - - - -
It was two in the morning when Eames knocked on his door, looking haggard in the dim light of the hallway. His clothes had that distinct rumpled look from the airplane, but Robert was unsympathetic and put up his arm when Eames went to side-step him. Though the other man clearly had a weight advantage and could easily have pushed him aside, he didn’t.
“So you’re not going to let me in, then.”
“Not until you explain.”
“You really want to have this out in the hallway?”
Robert stood his ground and Eames threw up his hands.
“Brilliant,” he said. “Hallway it is, then.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and wet his lips like he was nervous. It looked a lot like stalling from where Robert was standing.
“You can start by telling me where you’ve been.”
He wet his lips again. “Out of the country,” he said. “London.”
“What were you doing in London?”
“You might’ve noticed that I’m not from here.” When Robert didn’t crack a smile, he sighed and rocked back on his heels. “You’re not making this easy, love.”
Robert crossed his arms over his chest. “All you have to do is tell me the truth.”
“The truth,” he repeated.
“I’m assuming you’ve encountered the concept before, if only in passing.”
Eames barked a laugh. “The truth, then. The truth is that I was there on business. I wanted to ring you before I left, but the call just came so suddenly and when I got there it was all such a bloody cock-up, I couldn’t think of anything else.”
Something didn’t add up. “You told me you were an actor.”
“That’s right,” Eames said.
“So, what kind of acting job is so urgent it gets you called away to London for three weeks with no prior notice?”
He was silent for so long that Robert decided to forget about trying to patch things up and crawl back into bed. Eames caught the door with his foot as Robert was closing it.
“Wait,” he said, and that one syllable sounded more raw, more pathetic, than anything he had said previously and, against his better judgment, Robert stopped.
“I’m not an actor. At least,” he said, “not the way I let you think. I’ve never been in… in a bloody play, or an advert on the telly, but what I said about being in London on business? That was true. I swear it.”
Robert took a few moments to absorb this. “You’re not an actor, except you are. I don’t know what that means, Eames.”
“Just let me in and I’ll tell you.”
“Tell me and I’ll let you in,” he retorted. It was childish, but he couldn’t help himself. “How bad could it be? I mean, what the hell are you,” he laughed, “a traveling conman?”
Eames cleared his throat awkwardly and stared down at his shoes.
“You’re kidding.”
“Just let me in, yeah? This is bloody embarrassing.”
Robert seized him by the front of his shirt and jerked him roughly inside, kicking the door shut behind them. It was only through extreme effort that he managed not to shout. “You’re a goddamn conman?”
Eames spread his hands helplessly. “What was I supposed to say?”
Robert narrowed his eyes. “Are you conning me?”
“What?” Eames cried. “Of course I’m fucking not!”
“And I’m supposed to believe that?”
Eames looked at him like he was crazy. “Why in the bloody fuck would I be conning you? You work in a bloody record store. And why,” he said, gesturing wildly, “would I be in London if you were the mark? Honestly, love. That makes no bloody sense.”
Robert had to concede. “Good point. Who are your marks?”
“Rich, old bastards who have it coming? I dunno. Does it matter?”
“You tell me, Robin Hood.”
Eames snorted. “I think I’ll leave that to Cary Elwes, thanks. So,” he said, a smile playing on his lips, “does this mean I’m forgiven, then?”
He considered it. “I’ll think about it. But only if you stop looking at me like that.”
Eames’ voice was perfectly innocent. “Like what, love?”
“Like a stray puppy someone just kicked. Seriously,” he said, “it’s starting to freak me out a little.”
“Okay, okay,” he grumbled and closed the few steps between them, wrapping his arms around Robert and kissing him softly on the mouth. Eames nuzzled his neck and Robert let himself relax into the embrace. Everything would be okay. Even if Eames-
“Did you just lick me?”
“Woof, woof.”
He laughed and tried to wriggle free as Eames whined and licked him again. “You’re a sick bastard, you know that?”
“Oh, but you love it.”
- - - - -
They settled into a more comfortable rhythm after a somewhat rocky start, though Eames remained more or less incommunicado on the subject of his work after his initial confession, citing his safety among other things. Robert didn’t know how much of it was real and how much was Eames playing at James Bond, but it really didn’t matter, he’d come to find. Whether it was more for Eames’ benefit or his, Robert didn’t know, but Eames didn’t bring his work home with him, even on the nights he flew out late and came back later. His comings and goings, irregular as they were, became just another part of their routine, easily lost among all the rest.
They spent more time together than Robert was used to from his past relationships, talking and going out, making love and spending long mornings in bed asking each other ridiculous questions as they tried to figure it all out. He would wake up some mornings to find Eames sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee or standing at the bathroom sink, naked and scrubbing his teeth with Robert’s toothbrush despite having been told a thousand times to use his own. Eames sang Italian opera, in what was actually a very decent tenor, when he showered and once, the super knocked on his door looking very disgruntled and told Robert to tell Pavarotti to keep it down.
He had yet to see where it was that Eames spent his days when they weren’t together, few as they were, but that wasn’t unusual in itself, really. The suspenders-braces, to his English conman-Eames had forgotten after their first night together turned out to be quite the harbinger of things to come. It started with a few extra changes of clothing, par for the course, and the odd pack of French cigarettes. Then there were new books on his shelf and boxes of tea in his cupboards, a cast iron frying pan on top of his stove, and a hundred other things as Eames moved himself into the apartment piece by piece.
On nights when one, or both, of them was too tired-or, as was more often the case for Robert, too broke-to bother going out, they would curl up together on the loveseat and watch Jeopardy. As it turned out, Eames was something of a trivia whiz, answering easily and quickly and still finding time to mock the contestants who stalled or blurted out stupid answers.
“Bugger,” Eames swore as Alex announced the Final Jeopardy category-sports history. It was, as far as he knew, Eames’ only weakness, as far as trivial knowledge was concerned. With a huff, Eames grabbed the remote and turned off the television. “Probably come out ahead anyway,” he grumbled, raking a hand through his hair. “Idiots, that lot.”
Robert rolled his eyes. “It amazes me that you can come up with ‘apogee’ and not know how many innings are in baseball.”
“I loathe baseball,” he said, every word dripping with vitriol.
“I don’t even know what to say to that, it’s so un-American.”
Eames laughed. “It’s a good thing I’m not an American, then.”
“You have citizenship,” Robert pointed out, “so, legally speaking-”
“I have citizenship in half a dozen countries, love,” Eames interrupted.
You shouldn’t read too much into it. Besides,” he said, “it’s all about identity. I might live here, but I’m not a bloody American, yeah?” Very resolutely he added, “And neither are you.”
Robert shrugged. “I don’t know,” he mused. “I love baseball, fast-food… capitalism. Apple pie, too.”
Eames was unimpressed. “Apple pie is English, darling.”
“Damn. I hoped you wouldn’t call me on that one.”
“Robert, Robert…” Eames shook his head. “How many times must I tell you?” He tapped his nose smartly. “You can’t con a conman.”
“Oh, please,” Robert laughed. “You’re so oblivious sometimes.”
“Is that right? Enlighten me, then,” Eames challenged, lounging back against the arm of the couch with his arms crossed over his chest.
It took a minute, but then he had it. “Post orgasm, you’d believe anything I said. Anything,” he repeated, punctuating it with a quirk of his eyebrow.
“Oh, come on,” Eames objected. “You could say that about any bloke on the planet-it’s hardly a revelation, yeah? Don’t look so cocky,” he grumbled.
This was getting good. “Admit it. My sexual prowess is a force of nature.”
“Shan’t,” he said, stubbornly shaking his head.
“Then I guess it won’t bother you to go without for a week.”
Eames looked absolutely crestfallen. “You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, but I would,” Robert insisted. “No sex-of any kind,” he said, seeing Eames about to open his mouth, “for seven days. And you can sleep on the couch.”
Between clenched teeth, Eames at last gritted out, “You’re a force of nature. And I bloody would believe anything you told me after shag. Happy?” He huffed a laugh. “I must’ve been mental to think you were sweet. You’re almost as bad as Arthur.”
That wasn’t a name he’d heard before-Eames rarely discussed people he knew or worked with-and it immediately piqued Robert’s interest. “Who’s Arthur?
“He’s my best mate,” Eames said and rubbed the back of his neck. To look at him, you’d think the mere thought of continuing was causing him physical pain. “We work together sometimes, all right? And,” he said, wetting his lips the way he always did when he was uncomfortable, “he, like you, is fond of heckling me.”
“And?” Robert prompted.
“And there’s nothing more to say.”
It was almost a whine, Eames’ eyes trained on some distant point in space. It was dim in the living room, but there was a decided flush riding high on Eames’ cheeks and all at once it was like someone flicked a switch in his brain.
Robert gave him a hard smack. “You bastard-you fucked him!”
“Hey!” Eames cried, grabbing his shoulder. “It wasn’t like it was bloody fucking yesterday or something. It was ages ago,” he said, “long before you and I met, and it was hardly a night I care to relive.”
Robert’s lips spread in a slow smile. “Was he your first?”
Eames gave him a look that would curdle milk. “Piss off.”
“Come on,” Robert wheedled, curling his arms around Eames’ neck. “Please tell me?”
“We are not having this conversation.”
“Please?” Robert begged and straddled Eames’ lap, a strategic maneuver that kept Eames from leaving and served as a more effective means of persuasion than pleading alone. “I promise I won’t laugh at you.”
Robert knew he had Eames when those big hands settled on his hips, gently clutching at him through his blue, flannel lounge-pants. Robert bent his head to kiss the other man’s neck, scratchy with neglected stubble, and heard Eames groan in defeat.
“All right then,” he said and Robert smiled against his skin. “We’d just finished our first job together and were eager to celebrate.” He broke off with a laugh. “God, I can’t believe I’m telling you this…we were both a bit pissed, yeah, but not enough to forget it come morning,” he said, a wry twist to his mouth.
“So, what was it like?”
“Bloody awful,” he said, wetting his lips before continuing. “I couldn’t look him in the eyes for months without remembering what he looked like sucking me off, which, by the way, is the only thing I care to remember. That part was rather brilliant, actually,” Eames admitted, more to himself than to Robert. “Honestly, though, how would you feel after shagging your best mate? Once was plenty.”
Robert rubbed his hands over Eames’ chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath his threadbare t-shirt, and kissed away that self-deprecating smile, murmuring against the other man’s mouth. “Do you want to go to bed?”
“You’re not distracting me that easily,” Eames said and pulled back. “Tell us about your first time.” When Robert pulled a face, Eames refused to yield. “It’s only fair, love. Now quit your whinging.”
Eames kept one hand on the small of his back as Robert settled more comfortably. “So, my uncle and I-”
“Robert, darling, you know I adore you, but I don’t think we know each other quite well enough for that sort of thing.”
Robert rolled his eyes. “Do you want to hear this or not?”
“I’m all ears, love.”
Good enough.
“We were meeting my father in New York. He was there on some kind of business, and I was just along for the trip because I’d never been. They were both too busy for me, and I ended up in the East Village at some dingy little bar. I’d just turned twenty-one,” he explained, “and I guess I was feeling a little maudlin? I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Do you start all your relationships with a little liquid courage?”
Robert was unfazed. “I’m not the one who fucked my best friend. And if you interrupt me again,” he warned, “you really can sleep on the couch tonight. Are we clear?”
Eames raised his hands in mock surrender. “Crystal.”
“You’re incorrigible, you know that?”
“It’s been well-established at this point, yes. But please, continue. We were in the East Village,” he supplied helpfully, “and you were getting pissed.”
“I was not ‘pissed,’ okay? I’d had a couple of drinks, and a guy came up to me and asked if he could buy me another, so I said yes and I had a couple more drinks. When I left with him? Then I was pissed. We went to his apartment and I remember being incredibly disappointed. He didn’t kiss me, there was no foreplay, and it lasted all of two minutes before he fell on top of me and started snoring,” he finished.
The last part came out in one big rush and Robert wasn’t that surprised when Eames’ brow furrowed as he mentally replayed what Robert had said in order to make sense of it.
At last, his reaction came short and sweet: “What a wanker!”
“My thoughts exactly. You know, minus the lexical differences,” Robert said. “It was pretty bad, but the good thing is that each passing day takes me further and further away from that moment, so I’m grateful for that, you know.” He was inclined to babble when embarrassed, and now was no exception. “Feel free to step in at any time and say something so I’ll shut up.”
Eames’ expression was one of awe. “Darling, I had no idea you were such a saint. This calls for proper worship,” he announced.
Robert barely had time to fully realize his confusion, let alone protest, before Eames rolled them over, effectively reversing their positions and sinking to his knees in front of the couch as if he intended to do just that.
The image was only slightly spoiled when Eames complained about his knees. “Give us a pillow, would you?”
Robert tossed him a cushion. “There you go, old man.”
Eames pinched his thigh. “Hush, you, or you can suck it yourself.”
He swallowed a laugh as Eames tore at his sleep pants and tugged his hips closer to the edge of the couch. Eames bowed his head to kiss the sharp rise of Robert’s hip, whispering-sacraments or nonsense, Robert didn’t know-against his skin. Fingers stroked along the inside of his thighs and they simply melted apart with a little shiver, fine hairs standing momentarily on end despite the warm temperature of the room and of Eames’ hands.
“Eames,” he said the man’s name and it came out a whine. “Eames, can we speed this up a little?”
He tsked. “Patience is a virtue, darling.”
Robert groaned and sagged back against the couch. Maybe he had no right to be so impatient-the not unpleasant ache in his thighs reminded him that they had last made love only that morning-but despite its apparent lack of attention, his arousal was already painfully evident and he pressed his hips up against Eames’ hands to demonstrate.
Warm breath ghosted over his skin as Eames laughed. “You’d think I’d been depriving you for a month, the way you carry on. How you lived without me all these years is beyond me.”
“You know,” he panted, “if you’re not so eager to worship me after all, I can always go ta-”
The remainder of that sentence was lost in a grateful moan as Eames finally took pity on Robert and let him slide past his lips, cradling him there for a moment before proceeding in earnest, his mouth so wet Robert could feel saliva trickling down his shaft in obscene, little rivulets. This could not be real. Not on a Wednesday. Clearly, he had fallen asleep while watching TV and was now caught up in the most delicious dream while Eames flipped through channels and ransacked the kitchen.
Tremblingly, he let his hand rest on the back of Eames’ neck, petting the soft skin there. Wednesday or not, he certainly felt real, and Robert let out another strangled moan as Eames’ tongue flicked wickedly against the underside of his erection, a quick counterpoint to the almost unbearable, methodical slowness of his hands and his lips. It was difficult not to be insistent, not to tighten his grip on the back of Eames’ neck and push him down, but Robert managed to keep that modicum of control-even when Eames hummed appreciatively around him, sending delicious vibrations down his shaft that seemed to shoot all the way up his spine and ring in his ears.
Somewhere in the deep recesses of his subconscious it occurred to him to warn Eames that he was close, but at present his conscious self was far too focused on the way Eames’ tongue laved the sensitive head of his penis, his hands hot and rough as they gripped possessively at his ass. Robert could feel Eames breathing hard through his nose as he finally swallowed him completely, cheeks hollowed with effort.
That was all it took for that final thread of control to snap, and then climax hit him like a freight train and he groaned, low and loud, his hips snapping up of their own accord. Eames’ mouth stayed on him, lips massaging him all the way through it until he was too sensitive to handle even the lightest caress. He stayed there for a moment, resting his forehead on Robert’s thigh as he caught his breath, at last getting to his feet with an audible crack of his knees.
He groaned a little. “Christ, I am getting old, aren’t I?”
- - - - -
“We should get a puppy,” Eames announced over dinner one evening.
“A puppy?”
“Yeah,” he said, with that charming crooked grin. “Something smart, like a golden retriever or a lab. Come on,” he said, “it’ll be good for us. He’ll keep you company when I’m away, yeah?”
“Eames, we are not getting a dog.”
“If you don’t like dogs, you can just say so.”
“I like dogs. That has nothing to do with it.”
Eames was practically pouting. “Why not, then?”
“Because,” Robert said, fumbling for the right words, “because you’ll love him for a couple of weeks and then when you have to leave for a job, I’ll be stuck with a dog that misses you as much as I do. Then,” he said, gesturing rather sharply with his fork, “we’ll both have to vie for your attention when you’re here, and I’ll never get you to myself. Besides, do you have any idea how much a pet deposit is in this city?”
“Have it your way then,” he sulked, stabbing at his green beans-otherwise untouched, as usual, because getting Eames to eat vegetables was as difficult as getting a four year old to do it-with more force than was strictly necessary.
Robert rolled his eyes. “You are such an infant.”
He went over to rinse his plate in the sink. Something hit him squarely between the shoulder-blades and he whipped around. At his feet lay a bread roll that Robert knew had been on Eames’ plate only moments before.
Eames was the picture of innocence. “What?”
At that, something inside him just snapped. “You’re an asshole.”
They bickered and exchanged banter all the time, but tonight Robert meant it, and they both knew it. The air felt charged, and Eames’ eyes were no longer lit up with amusement. Another night he might have laughed and thrown something back, but tonight it wasn’t cute, it wasn’t funny. It only pissed him off.
“Love-”
Robert cut him off. “I can’t deal with this tonight. I’m going to bed.”
- - - - -
He was still awake when Eames came in a while later, closing the door gently and clearly taking pains not to disturb Robert as he undressed and climbed into bed, lying a little ways off from him.
Eames was strangely quiet. Robert thought he might be trying to guess whether or not he was asleep and decided to spare him the uncertainty.
“Did you clean up?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
Silence was never louder than it was in moments like this, when it made the few inches between them feel like miles and miles. Robert hated it when they fought, enough that he was usually the one to issue the cease-fire, if only because the thought of continuing to be angry at each other was unbearable. It wasn’t like him to brood anyway.
Eames cleared his throat quietly. “I’m sorry, you know. For what I did.” He hesitated. “Are you still angry with me?”
“Not really.”
He turned onto his other side and Eames’ hand settled on his back, pulling him close and simply holding him there. Robert splayed his fingers over the man’s chest, curling them in the soft, sandy hair there.
“This is about more than just tonight, isn’t it?
Robert didn’t answer immediately. He bit at the inside of his cheek and Eames waited patiently for him to go over it in his head before he said anything.
“Sometimes I feel like you don’t take this seriously, and it makes it hard for me to say the things I want to say.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know if I want to tell you anymore.”
One of hands came up to brush his hair back from his forehead and tuck it behind his ears where it had fallen in his eyes. He stroked Robert’s cheek with the pad of his thumb.
“Because you don’t feel that way anymore?”
“Because I don’t know if you deserve to hear it. Because you always know exactly how I’m feeling, and I almost never know how you feel. It isn’t fair,” he mumbled and turned his face into Eames’ chest. “You make me feel so stupid sometimes.”
“You’re not stupid, love,” Eames murmured. His hand was back on Robert’s back, describing soothing circles on his skin. “And I doubt very much that what you may or may not still want to say to me is stupid, either. I really am sorry, darling.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “I know.”
Eames regarded him silently for a minute. “Do you also know that I love you?”
“Do you now.”
“Oh, madly,” Eames assured him, gently pressing him back on the bed. Robert felt his lips curl into a smile.
“Madly?”
Tenderly, Eames kissed his jaw, trailing a path down his neck and over his chest as he settled between Robert’s thighs, leaning over him and finally bringing their lips together in a kiss that was as much a confirmation as the words that followed:
“It’s the only way I know how.”
Part 3
Previous Parts
Part 1