[fic] it's vital to pick up a date
Title: it's vital to pick up a date
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: R
Word Count: 3.361
Summary: Arthur and Eames get together nearly as a joke... and then forget they are supposed not to make it get serious.
Arthur was actually taller than Eames… not much, just half an inch, but he was.
So he was never really able to get over the fact that Eames was literally twice his size. Mathematically twice. Probably if it went down to measuring the circumferences of their arms and chests, it would have just been a further confirmation of that fact.
Arthur found it out when he was trying to figure out a system of levers to grant them a third escape route on the second layer of a dream: as you are actually dreaming yourself, your weight and consistency are the same of reality, and the laws of physic tends to work just right… unless they're being fucked up by the dreamer, which is always a pain in the ass and to avoid at any cost.
"How much do you weight?"
"Uhm?"
"Your weight, Mr. Eames."
"Mmmmh… about 250 pounds?"
250 pounds.
In his best days Arthur reached 150, but at the current moment he was struggling not to get under 125 pounds, and just thanks to the fact his lean body was a bundle of nerves and quick muscles, that tended to weight more than just skin and bones.
250 pounds… it was nearly scary.
He clearly remembers that once, when he was particularly frustrated, Eames punched a concrete wall. He left a nice and neat net of cracks where his fist landed. Not much of the 250 pounds of the English man were made of fat.
Arthur was perfectly aware that he would have been able to take down the Forger in seconds, he'd got all the training he needed on that field: once missed his chance to punch him - Eames punches were damn fast but so were his reflexes - he had a nearly infinite list of moves at his disposal, some more orthodox than others. Eames would never stand a chance against him.
But… something about the idea of that mean mass of muscles pinning him against a wall, his whole weight pressing against his chest not allowing him to move, well… it sent shivers down Arthur's spine. Not the bad kind of shivers.
After the Fisher's job, they did go separate ways, all of them.
Arthur was still in contact with Cobb -they weren't used to lose each other's tracks - but there were no jobs in their future, and he was growing bored. He got bored really quickly, that was his curse.
So he went to Vegas, because he knew there was always some little job to do in Vegas. And he wasn't of course expecting to find Eames, coming out with his hands in his pockets from the hotel room that at the moment served as the Dealer's office.
"What are you doing here?"
"No jobs, darling. Checked already."
"For you maybe."
"Go in and see yourself."
Arthur came out slamming the door ten minutes after, and Eames was leaning against the opposite wall.
"What are you doing still here?"
"Couldn't miss your annoyed face, it is truly a lovely sight."
"Asshole." Arthur stirred a smile, and patted the Forger's shoulder "C'mon, I'll let you offer me a drink."
"How kind of you."
"I'm a magnanimous person, Eames."
An hour after they were both sufficiently tipsy, sitting in a Casino's bar, with a personal army of empty glasses covering the whole wet surface of the little round table in front of them.
Eames was relaxing on the tacky sofa, sinking in it, when Arthur stance never stopped being somewhere between vigilant, ready for the run, and slightly seductive at some point… couldn't really help that. Not after the third glass of whiskey.
"You know, sweetheart, getting me drunk to lure me in your bed won't work."
Getting him drunk? It would have been foolish. Arthur was a strong drinker, but Eames could swallow two bottles of vodka all by himself before passing out. He did it once. Arthur could clearly remember he spent the next day puking every ten minutes, he was seriously afraid the British man was going to die there.
"And why would I want to do that?"
"Oh Arthur, it's not like I've never noticed how you can't keep your eyes away from my chest when I do this…" Eames unbuttoned the first three buttons of his horrible orange shirt, one of those Arthur despised with all his heart, and the Point Man's eyes were caught by the glimpse of one of Eames's tattoos, unable to move from there. He bit his lips "or when I do this…" and he rolled up his sleeves. His forearms were the size of Arthur's thighs for heaven's sake! It was really unfair.
"Well, I never stated I had any interest for the ladies."
"I was expecting a classy guy like you to drool after Cobb, not me. Or Fisher. Fisher seemed your kind of guy."
"Too skinny. I like my men built like shire horses."
Eames bursted out in a laugh and Arthur relaxed on his seat, taking a sip from his glass, finding then the Forger's hand lingering on his knee.
"I do have an hotel room, you know?"
"If your taste in hotels rivals your taste in clothes, it's not a place I would ever want to set a foot in." Arthur pointed out, and covered Eames's hand with his. "But I do have an hotel room myself."
"Perfect, darling."
Arthur realized for real what the hell he was doing when he empirically experimented how it really felt to be pinned against a wall by Eames. He cut the air from his lungs for a second, his hungry mouth attacking the Point Man's, hands cupping his ass and squeezing hard. Arthur really couldn't help a moan. He distinctly heard Eames chuckle, but he wasn't given the chance to protest because the man's tongue slipped inside his mouth and he forgot how to think.
Eames was a great kisser, Arthur had to give him that. He wasn't able to tell for how long they kissed but sure thing was, he was not much drunk anymore when he was finally allowed to breathe freely.
"Fuck…"
"I am confident you do have a bed in this place…"
"I am confident neither of us did buy condoms or anything else required for what you've in mind."
"… be right back."
Arthur couldn't help laughing watching Eames trying to hide at best his erection, grabbing the Point Man's card key and rushing outside the room. Something in his brain suggested him he could run away now and pretend nothing had happened. But he really didn't want to. So, instead of locking the door and sending Eames a message telling him to fuck off and not come back, he took off his clothes, folding them neatly and going for a quick shower.
By the time Eames was back, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, hairs wet and undone, dripping and falling over his cheeks and eyes, just a towel wrapped around his hips and an inviting smile.
"Took you a while."
Eames's dumb smile was someway between irritating and lovely. Arthur rose up.
"Was totally worth it."
"I bet it was."
"You folded your clothes, pet?"
"I do plan on wearing them again."
"You're immune to the charm of clothes scattered around the bed?"
"I definitely am."
"A pity."
Arthur was going to answer him but Eames's lips stopped his voice and turned his words in a moan. Next thing he knew they were on the bed, he had his legs open wide, grinding hard against Eames's clothed crotch, the man's weight pressing him on the mattress without hope to escape. He loved it.
Eames's clothes didn't last much longer on, fulfilling his desire to see some mess around the bed… not like they had the actual chance to take much notice of the surroundings anyway.
Eames proved himself really good at doing other things with his mouth, managing to reduce Arthur to a babbling moaning mess. Then, as he prided himself to be really good at it, the Point Man decided he was more than eager to return him the favor... much to Eames's surprise, especially when he took him down in his throat, letting the man smoothly fuck his mouth.
They had been rolling in bed, kissing and biting and groping and grinding, for so long they've lost track of time, when Eames finally blocked Arthur's wrists above his head and asked, nearly groaning, voice made rough by the arousal.
"What do you want me to do, Arthur?"
"Isn't it clear?"
"Not that much, sweetheart… you're a man full of surprises…"
"Well, despite the fact I'd love one day to find out what faces you can make when I fuck you silly, right now all I want is for you to ride my ass hard, Mr. Eames."
"Such a dirty mouth. Any other request?"
"Mmmmh… you can bite, slap, and curse, but do not dare to scratch me, or I'll end you."
"Don't like scratch marks?"
"Hate them."
"Deal."
They'd fingered each other diffusely before, so Eames didn't lose much time in preparing the slender colleague. He turned him on his knees and elbows roughly, grabbing his hips and enjoying the silent tense scream that crossed Arthur's body when he slid inside him, inch after inch. He stilled, waiting for the Point Man to begin breathing again, and then noticed the constellation of light brown little moles covering the man's back… the Forger spotted a darker, slightly bigger one just above Arthur's shoulder-blade, and picked that place to bite, hard. He wasn't expecting Arthur to shiver in delight, nor to make the ecstatic sound he made.
"Oh darling, is this your soft spot?"
"Shut… shut up and fuck me…"
There was no need for a second request.
Eames's pace was fast and rough, making Arthur's legs melt, and soon he was unable to support himself and just let the weight of the other man crush him on the bed, forcing him in place with every thrust… it wasn't hard to notice how much he loved it, it quite showed, especially a he came way too soon, clenching around Eames's throbbing erection, earning a sharp slap on his buttcheek, that left a bright red mark. Arthur really hoped Eames didn't catch the pleased sigh he's let escape, as the Forger didn't make any comment on it, but... maybe it was just because he was too busy for sass.
He sat up a bit, angling himself and the Point Man's hips so to not brush too roughly against Arthur's now over sensitive prostate, and began thrusting again, fast but not too deep, coming with a groan not much later.
He collapsed just next to Arthur, tentatively covering the man's back with one of his arms. Arthur wanted to complain and send him to take a damn shower at least, but he didn't have the strength to. Didn't really care about it, either.
When he woke up in the morning he slowly realized that the room smelled awfully of sex, that the bedclothes were a mess and that Eames had left.
"Thanks for the sex, darrling. You know my number if you are bored again!"
Asshole.
Arthur didn't call him, he was too proud to admit he craved for it, and at some point he was too busy to really think about it: he didn't get a real job, but he found out about a society in NY that was researching on more effective ways to militarize subconscious and he needed to know more about it. He had managed to infiltrate using his military credentials within the research team - with an awfully low clearance level but at least he had a starting point.
He's been in NY for weeks, and one morning he was trying to put together the informations gathered by scribbling on his moleskine on a cafe's outside tables, when a familiar voice greeted him.
"Hello sweetheart."
There was no need to lift his head from the notebook.
"What are you doing in New York?"
"Enjoying my well deserved vacation."
He didn't wait for Arthur to invite him to sit, he just grabbed a chair and peeked over to take a look at the man's notes.
"Worked a job?"
Asked Arthur, closing the moleskine, leaving Eames grunting in disappointment.
"Yep. Now I just wish to keep myself steady on a place where every passerby does not try to tear me to pieces for a while."
"Do you have a place to stay already?"
Eames stared at Arthur, wide eyed. Did he hear right? Was he serious?
"Are you inviting me over?"
Arthur just smirked, and played with his coffee a bit before explaining like it was not much of a big deal.
"You are quite of a decent cook and I have no time for it, and I'm getting afraid if I lose a couple of pounds more my body will collapse. Oh, and I'd love to have someone to keep the place tidy. And…" he just glanced at Eames's crotch. Nothing more to add.
Eames scratched his head and shrugged.
"So I cook for you, clean for you, fuck you, and in exchange I can enjoy your company and the commodities of your surely really nice flat?"
"That's the general idea, yeah."
"Seems like a good deal."
"Knew you didn't have enough self respect to turn down such an offer."
"It's not about self respect, sweetheart, I'm really concerned about the eventuality of you getting thin enough to actually turn into a ghost."
"Liar, you're just really concerned about the dazzling turn your sex life is going to take, Mr. Eames."
"Your being able-bodied is actually an important part of my future sex life."
"Point taken. So, deal?"
"Deal."
It was less awkward than Arthur thought it would have been. He asked Eames out of whim, without a real reason, without even thinking he would have said yes, but… there he was.
Going around his flat in his horrible shirts and tracksuit pants. Eating jam with his fingers from the jar while Arthur was revising the morning newspaper. Experimenting with teas like a mad scientist while Arthur cursed against his computer being damn slow again. Wrapping his arms around Arthur as they watched some old action movie on the TV because they were both really too tired to do anything else. Filling corners of the flat with his art magazines and the programs of theaters and guides from museums he went to visit, piled up in such a random absence of organization that would have normally made Arthur crazy... but instead, he perfectly tolerated him. Even things he knew he would hate from anyone else.
He also opened up in bed, because he doesn't need to say things out loud with Eames.
Eames got he liked to be a bit manhandled, that he loved to be bitten and spanked, but he also got when he was not in the mood for it. He knew when to be awfully caring, he knew the signals when Arthur felt like topping, and he knew when he needed some extra roughness.
And slowly, Arthur began to get Eames too: he got he liked to be complimented, he got where to touch to make him melt, he got when there was need for a little more kissing and a little less snark… he wasn't hard to read.
And he was surprised to noticed it actually make him happy when he was able to make the other man happy.
He made him feel good to see Eames satisfied smile after a good fuck, or after Arthur brought him a book on some neoclassical painter Eames was really into at the moment, or when Arthur actually took some effort in mixing a tea blend that made any sense, or when he cared to inform him about some antique market he discovered while coming back from the research lab.
After four months, Arthur really felt that instead of a sort of housemaid he's got himself an husband. And evidently Eames felt the same.
"Do you think the day I moved in should be the date? Or the first time we fucked?"
"What?"
They were having breakfast together. Arthur just got up of another clearance level and was starting to get his hands on seriously interesting stuff, so he was in a generally awfully good mood... which was probably the reason why Eames brought that up.
"We've been living and sleeping together for months. I feel like I do have the right to call you my boyfriend, so when should our anniversary be?"
Arthur was sure he was supposed to react badly to such a statement. He was sure he had to do something dramatic like kick Eames out, protest, say they were absolutely not in any way together and that he was just his oversized sentient sex toy. But he knew it wasn't true. He'd grown too accustomed to Eames to lie to himself.
"I don't know… I don't think we do really have a date to celebrate yet."
"Why not, darling?"
"You can't call me your boyfriend if you never said that you love me, right?"
Eames stopped to think. He seemed terribly serious, and Arthur feared he said something stupid, but then… then he got up, moved the newspaper from Arthur's hand and grabbed his face, kissing him fiercely.
Arthur wasn't much of a morning sex person, but he couldn't say no to such a kiss.
He let Eames drag him up, and land him on the table. They just kissed for an eternity, they always did: they just got lost in it.
Arthur's phone was ringing, but he didn't care to reach for it, his fingers tangled in Eames's hair... he was probably late at work, but it didn't seem so important right now.
"Care to take off your clothes darling?"
"No need to take them off…"
Arthur was always really insistent on the fact clothes had to be off before they went on with the sex: he hated to have cum stains on his suits, he hated to risk to ruin them, and he hated for them to smell of sex… his suits were sacred. So Eames purred in delight against his lips, biting them lightly, as he pushed down Arthur's pants and boxers just enough, placing one of his arms under his ass to lift him and carry him towards the bedroom.
He knew Arthur loved it, he knew by the way he got tense for a second and then just relaxed against him, linking his legs around his waist to support himself. And if he was in the mood to be carried around, he was in the mood for else too, so Eames smacked the man's ass with his free hand, once but hard, savoring his moan. He hit him few more time, leaving red burning marks behind, feeling Arthur getting hard quickly, his dick rubbing against Eames's abs.
"Good boy… want me to take care of you?"
Arthur chuckled, Eames loves that kind of talk too much.
But he didn't mind the man calling him a "good boy"… it was quite of a turn on.
"I'm late for work."
"Screw work."
"I will have you phone my boss and invent an excuse."
"I'll say I had to punish you because you were being a brat and that kept you really busy."
"I wasn't being a brat."
"You were… you implied I never did it, but I did say I love you at least once."
"Bullshit said during sex doesn't count."
"Brat."
Eames pushed Arthur into the bed, smacking his ass a few more times before reaching for the lube, pouring a generous amount between his cheeks, teasing his entrance with a finger to slick him up. Arthur was rocking back towards his finger to get it deeper inside, and Eames hit his ass again, just to prove his point.
Then he made Arthur turn, facing him, capturing his lips again as he pushed down his own pants just enough to get his erection free. Arthur's nails dug in his back when he pushed inside him, all at once, the man's legs lifted to his chest.
He went fast and rough, like he knew Arthur wanted it, like he wanted it: because there was nothing more beautiful in his eyes than the Point Man's range of delighted, wanton and pained expressions when he was being fucked hard… he was a work of art.
He was sensible enough to use some tissues while wrapping Arthur's erection in his hand, jerking him off vigorously, dragging him to the edge. He came too when Arthur did, the body of the Point Man clenching around him, as they fell back on the bed tangled together. He realized he was biting hard into Arthur's shoulder just when their tense muscles began to relax, and he placed some faint kisses on the mark, moving then to kiss his neck, his chin, and then his lips.
"Does right now counts as bullshit said during sex, darling?"
"No, it doesn't."
Eames slid out of him, and let himself rest against the smaller man's body, feeling their heartbeats drumming together. He breathed in the scent of their sweat kissed Arthur's lips again. And again. And once more.
"Then let's make today our proper anniversary… Arthur, my lovely condescending prick, I love you."
Arthur eyes were nothing but a line as rubbed his nose against Eames's, his dimples showing clearly in his cheerful smile, his arms wrapped around the man's neck. That big huge idiot.
"I love you too."
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: R
Word Count: 3.361
Summary: Arthur and Eames get together nearly as a joke... and then forget they are supposed not to make it get serious.
Arthur was actually taller than Eames… not much, just half an inch, but he was.
So he was never really able to get over the fact that Eames was literally twice his size. Mathematically twice. Probably if it went down to measuring the circumferences of their arms and chests, it would have just been a further confirmation of that fact.
Arthur found it out when he was trying to figure out a system of levers to grant them a third escape route on the second layer of a dream: as you are actually dreaming yourself, your weight and consistency are the same of reality, and the laws of physic tends to work just right… unless they're being fucked up by the dreamer, which is always a pain in the ass and to avoid at any cost.
"How much do you weight?"
"Uhm?"
"Your weight, Mr. Eames."
"Mmmmh… about 250 pounds?"
250 pounds.
In his best days Arthur reached 150, but at the current moment he was struggling not to get under 125 pounds, and just thanks to the fact his lean body was a bundle of nerves and quick muscles, that tended to weight more than just skin and bones.
250 pounds… it was nearly scary.
He clearly remembers that once, when he was particularly frustrated, Eames punched a concrete wall. He left a nice and neat net of cracks where his fist landed. Not much of the 250 pounds of the English man were made of fat.
Arthur was perfectly aware that he would have been able to take down the Forger in seconds, he'd got all the training he needed on that field: once missed his chance to punch him - Eames punches were damn fast but so were his reflexes - he had a nearly infinite list of moves at his disposal, some more orthodox than others. Eames would never stand a chance against him.
But… something about the idea of that mean mass of muscles pinning him against a wall, his whole weight pressing against his chest not allowing him to move, well… it sent shivers down Arthur's spine. Not the bad kind of shivers.
After the Fisher's job, they did go separate ways, all of them.
Arthur was still in contact with Cobb -they weren't used to lose each other's tracks - but there were no jobs in their future, and he was growing bored. He got bored really quickly, that was his curse.
So he went to Vegas, because he knew there was always some little job to do in Vegas. And he wasn't of course expecting to find Eames, coming out with his hands in his pockets from the hotel room that at the moment served as the Dealer's office.
"What are you doing here?"
"No jobs, darling. Checked already."
"For you maybe."
"Go in and see yourself."
Arthur came out slamming the door ten minutes after, and Eames was leaning against the opposite wall.
"What are you doing still here?"
"Couldn't miss your annoyed face, it is truly a lovely sight."
"Asshole." Arthur stirred a smile, and patted the Forger's shoulder "C'mon, I'll let you offer me a drink."
"How kind of you."
"I'm a magnanimous person, Eames."
An hour after they were both sufficiently tipsy, sitting in a Casino's bar, with a personal army of empty glasses covering the whole wet surface of the little round table in front of them.
Eames was relaxing on the tacky sofa, sinking in it, when Arthur stance never stopped being somewhere between vigilant, ready for the run, and slightly seductive at some point… couldn't really help that. Not after the third glass of whiskey.
"You know, sweetheart, getting me drunk to lure me in your bed won't work."
Getting him drunk? It would have been foolish. Arthur was a strong drinker, but Eames could swallow two bottles of vodka all by himself before passing out. He did it once. Arthur could clearly remember he spent the next day puking every ten minutes, he was seriously afraid the British man was going to die there.
"And why would I want to do that?"
"Oh Arthur, it's not like I've never noticed how you can't keep your eyes away from my chest when I do this…" Eames unbuttoned the first three buttons of his horrible orange shirt, one of those Arthur despised with all his heart, and the Point Man's eyes were caught by the glimpse of one of Eames's tattoos, unable to move from there. He bit his lips "or when I do this…" and he rolled up his sleeves. His forearms were the size of Arthur's thighs for heaven's sake! It was really unfair.
"Well, I never stated I had any interest for the ladies."
"I was expecting a classy guy like you to drool after Cobb, not me. Or Fisher. Fisher seemed your kind of guy."
"Too skinny. I like my men built like shire horses."
Eames bursted out in a laugh and Arthur relaxed on his seat, taking a sip from his glass, finding then the Forger's hand lingering on his knee.
"I do have an hotel room, you know?"
"If your taste in hotels rivals your taste in clothes, it's not a place I would ever want to set a foot in." Arthur pointed out, and covered Eames's hand with his. "But I do have an hotel room myself."
"Perfect, darling."
Arthur realized for real what the hell he was doing when he empirically experimented how it really felt to be pinned against a wall by Eames. He cut the air from his lungs for a second, his hungry mouth attacking the Point Man's, hands cupping his ass and squeezing hard. Arthur really couldn't help a moan. He distinctly heard Eames chuckle, but he wasn't given the chance to protest because the man's tongue slipped inside his mouth and he forgot how to think.
Eames was a great kisser, Arthur had to give him that. He wasn't able to tell for how long they kissed but sure thing was, he was not much drunk anymore when he was finally allowed to breathe freely.
"Fuck…"
"I am confident you do have a bed in this place…"
"I am confident neither of us did buy condoms or anything else required for what you've in mind."
"… be right back."
Arthur couldn't help laughing watching Eames trying to hide at best his erection, grabbing the Point Man's card key and rushing outside the room. Something in his brain suggested him he could run away now and pretend nothing had happened. But he really didn't want to. So, instead of locking the door and sending Eames a message telling him to fuck off and not come back, he took off his clothes, folding them neatly and going for a quick shower.
By the time Eames was back, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, hairs wet and undone, dripping and falling over his cheeks and eyes, just a towel wrapped around his hips and an inviting smile.
"Took you a while."
Eames's dumb smile was someway between irritating and lovely. Arthur rose up.
"Was totally worth it."
"I bet it was."
"You folded your clothes, pet?"
"I do plan on wearing them again."
"You're immune to the charm of clothes scattered around the bed?"
"I definitely am."
"A pity."
Arthur was going to answer him but Eames's lips stopped his voice and turned his words in a moan. Next thing he knew they were on the bed, he had his legs open wide, grinding hard against Eames's clothed crotch, the man's weight pressing him on the mattress without hope to escape. He loved it.
Eames's clothes didn't last much longer on, fulfilling his desire to see some mess around the bed… not like they had the actual chance to take much notice of the surroundings anyway.
Eames proved himself really good at doing other things with his mouth, managing to reduce Arthur to a babbling moaning mess. Then, as he prided himself to be really good at it, the Point Man decided he was more than eager to return him the favor... much to Eames's surprise, especially when he took him down in his throat, letting the man smoothly fuck his mouth.
They had been rolling in bed, kissing and biting and groping and grinding, for so long they've lost track of time, when Eames finally blocked Arthur's wrists above his head and asked, nearly groaning, voice made rough by the arousal.
"What do you want me to do, Arthur?"
"Isn't it clear?"
"Not that much, sweetheart… you're a man full of surprises…"
"Well, despite the fact I'd love one day to find out what faces you can make when I fuck you silly, right now all I want is for you to ride my ass hard, Mr. Eames."
"Such a dirty mouth. Any other request?"
"Mmmmh… you can bite, slap, and curse, but do not dare to scratch me, or I'll end you."
"Don't like scratch marks?"
"Hate them."
"Deal."
They'd fingered each other diffusely before, so Eames didn't lose much time in preparing the slender colleague. He turned him on his knees and elbows roughly, grabbing his hips and enjoying the silent tense scream that crossed Arthur's body when he slid inside him, inch after inch. He stilled, waiting for the Point Man to begin breathing again, and then noticed the constellation of light brown little moles covering the man's back… the Forger spotted a darker, slightly bigger one just above Arthur's shoulder-blade, and picked that place to bite, hard. He wasn't expecting Arthur to shiver in delight, nor to make the ecstatic sound he made.
"Oh darling, is this your soft spot?"
"Shut… shut up and fuck me…"
There was no need for a second request.
Eames's pace was fast and rough, making Arthur's legs melt, and soon he was unable to support himself and just let the weight of the other man crush him on the bed, forcing him in place with every thrust… it wasn't hard to notice how much he loved it, it quite showed, especially a he came way too soon, clenching around Eames's throbbing erection, earning a sharp slap on his buttcheek, that left a bright red mark. Arthur really hoped Eames didn't catch the pleased sigh he's let escape, as the Forger didn't make any comment on it, but... maybe it was just because he was too busy for sass.
He sat up a bit, angling himself and the Point Man's hips so to not brush too roughly against Arthur's now over sensitive prostate, and began thrusting again, fast but not too deep, coming with a groan not much later.
He collapsed just next to Arthur, tentatively covering the man's back with one of his arms. Arthur wanted to complain and send him to take a damn shower at least, but he didn't have the strength to. Didn't really care about it, either.
When he woke up in the morning he slowly realized that the room smelled awfully of sex, that the bedclothes were a mess and that Eames had left.
"Thanks for the sex, darrling. You know my number if you are bored again!"
Asshole.
Arthur didn't call him, he was too proud to admit he craved for it, and at some point he was too busy to really think about it: he didn't get a real job, but he found out about a society in NY that was researching on more effective ways to militarize subconscious and he needed to know more about it. He had managed to infiltrate using his military credentials within the research team - with an awfully low clearance level but at least he had a starting point.
He's been in NY for weeks, and one morning he was trying to put together the informations gathered by scribbling on his moleskine on a cafe's outside tables, when a familiar voice greeted him.
"Hello sweetheart."
There was no need to lift his head from the notebook.
"What are you doing in New York?"
"Enjoying my well deserved vacation."
He didn't wait for Arthur to invite him to sit, he just grabbed a chair and peeked over to take a look at the man's notes.
"Worked a job?"
Asked Arthur, closing the moleskine, leaving Eames grunting in disappointment.
"Yep. Now I just wish to keep myself steady on a place where every passerby does not try to tear me to pieces for a while."
"Do you have a place to stay already?"
Eames stared at Arthur, wide eyed. Did he hear right? Was he serious?
"Are you inviting me over?"
Arthur just smirked, and played with his coffee a bit before explaining like it was not much of a big deal.
"You are quite of a decent cook and I have no time for it, and I'm getting afraid if I lose a couple of pounds more my body will collapse. Oh, and I'd love to have someone to keep the place tidy. And…" he just glanced at Eames's crotch. Nothing more to add.
Eames scratched his head and shrugged.
"So I cook for you, clean for you, fuck you, and in exchange I can enjoy your company and the commodities of your surely really nice flat?"
"That's the general idea, yeah."
"Seems like a good deal."
"Knew you didn't have enough self respect to turn down such an offer."
"It's not about self respect, sweetheart, I'm really concerned about the eventuality of you getting thin enough to actually turn into a ghost."
"Liar, you're just really concerned about the dazzling turn your sex life is going to take, Mr. Eames."
"Your being able-bodied is actually an important part of my future sex life."
"Point taken. So, deal?"
"Deal."
It was less awkward than Arthur thought it would have been. He asked Eames out of whim, without a real reason, without even thinking he would have said yes, but… there he was.
Going around his flat in his horrible shirts and tracksuit pants. Eating jam with his fingers from the jar while Arthur was revising the morning newspaper. Experimenting with teas like a mad scientist while Arthur cursed against his computer being damn slow again. Wrapping his arms around Arthur as they watched some old action movie on the TV because they were both really too tired to do anything else. Filling corners of the flat with his art magazines and the programs of theaters and guides from museums he went to visit, piled up in such a random absence of organization that would have normally made Arthur crazy... but instead, he perfectly tolerated him. Even things he knew he would hate from anyone else.
He also opened up in bed, because he doesn't need to say things out loud with Eames.
Eames got he liked to be a bit manhandled, that he loved to be bitten and spanked, but he also got when he was not in the mood for it. He knew when to be awfully caring, he knew the signals when Arthur felt like topping, and he knew when he needed some extra roughness.
And slowly, Arthur began to get Eames too: he got he liked to be complimented, he got where to touch to make him melt, he got when there was need for a little more kissing and a little less snark… he wasn't hard to read.
And he was surprised to noticed it actually make him happy when he was able to make the other man happy.
He made him feel good to see Eames satisfied smile after a good fuck, or after Arthur brought him a book on some neoclassical painter Eames was really into at the moment, or when Arthur actually took some effort in mixing a tea blend that made any sense, or when he cared to inform him about some antique market he discovered while coming back from the research lab.
After four months, Arthur really felt that instead of a sort of housemaid he's got himself an husband. And evidently Eames felt the same.
"Do you think the day I moved in should be the date? Or the first time we fucked?"
"What?"
They were having breakfast together. Arthur just got up of another clearance level and was starting to get his hands on seriously interesting stuff, so he was in a generally awfully good mood... which was probably the reason why Eames brought that up.
"We've been living and sleeping together for months. I feel like I do have the right to call you my boyfriend, so when should our anniversary be?"
Arthur was sure he was supposed to react badly to such a statement. He was sure he had to do something dramatic like kick Eames out, protest, say they were absolutely not in any way together and that he was just his oversized sentient sex toy. But he knew it wasn't true. He'd grown too accustomed to Eames to lie to himself.
"I don't know… I don't think we do really have a date to celebrate yet."
"Why not, darling?"
"You can't call me your boyfriend if you never said that you love me, right?"
Eames stopped to think. He seemed terribly serious, and Arthur feared he said something stupid, but then… then he got up, moved the newspaper from Arthur's hand and grabbed his face, kissing him fiercely.
Arthur wasn't much of a morning sex person, but he couldn't say no to such a kiss.
He let Eames drag him up, and land him on the table. They just kissed for an eternity, they always did: they just got lost in it.
Arthur's phone was ringing, but he didn't care to reach for it, his fingers tangled in Eames's hair... he was probably late at work, but it didn't seem so important right now.
"Care to take off your clothes darling?"
"No need to take them off…"
Arthur was always really insistent on the fact clothes had to be off before they went on with the sex: he hated to have cum stains on his suits, he hated to risk to ruin them, and he hated for them to smell of sex… his suits were sacred. So Eames purred in delight against his lips, biting them lightly, as he pushed down Arthur's pants and boxers just enough, placing one of his arms under his ass to lift him and carry him towards the bedroom.
He knew Arthur loved it, he knew by the way he got tense for a second and then just relaxed against him, linking his legs around his waist to support himself. And if he was in the mood to be carried around, he was in the mood for else too, so Eames smacked the man's ass with his free hand, once but hard, savoring his moan. He hit him few more time, leaving red burning marks behind, feeling Arthur getting hard quickly, his dick rubbing against Eames's abs.
"Good boy… want me to take care of you?"
Arthur chuckled, Eames loves that kind of talk too much.
But he didn't mind the man calling him a "good boy"… it was quite of a turn on.
"I'm late for work."
"Screw work."
"I will have you phone my boss and invent an excuse."
"I'll say I had to punish you because you were being a brat and that kept you really busy."
"I wasn't being a brat."
"You were… you implied I never did it, but I did say I love you at least once."
"Bullshit said during sex doesn't count."
"Brat."
Eames pushed Arthur into the bed, smacking his ass a few more times before reaching for the lube, pouring a generous amount between his cheeks, teasing his entrance with a finger to slick him up. Arthur was rocking back towards his finger to get it deeper inside, and Eames hit his ass again, just to prove his point.
Then he made Arthur turn, facing him, capturing his lips again as he pushed down his own pants just enough to get his erection free. Arthur's nails dug in his back when he pushed inside him, all at once, the man's legs lifted to his chest.
He went fast and rough, like he knew Arthur wanted it, like he wanted it: because there was nothing more beautiful in his eyes than the Point Man's range of delighted, wanton and pained expressions when he was being fucked hard… he was a work of art.
He was sensible enough to use some tissues while wrapping Arthur's erection in his hand, jerking him off vigorously, dragging him to the edge. He came too when Arthur did, the body of the Point Man clenching around him, as they fell back on the bed tangled together. He realized he was biting hard into Arthur's shoulder just when their tense muscles began to relax, and he placed some faint kisses on the mark, moving then to kiss his neck, his chin, and then his lips.
"Does right now counts as bullshit said during sex, darling?"
"No, it doesn't."
Eames slid out of him, and let himself rest against the smaller man's body, feeling their heartbeats drumming together. He breathed in the scent of their sweat kissed Arthur's lips again. And again. And once more.
"Then let's make today our proper anniversary… Arthur, my lovely condescending prick, I love you."
Arthur eyes were nothing but a line as rubbed his nose against Eames's, his dimples showing clearly in his cheerful smile, his arms wrapped around the man's neck. That big huge idiot.
"I love you too."