Your Evil Soul Pt2
Arthur laid motionless trying to catch his breath. He let Eames put his boxers on, knowing half of the reason he even bothered was to have an excuse to watch his cum drip out of Arthur's hole. Really, all he had to do was ask and Arthur would show him. But he probably knew that already. Either way he stayed there, half naked and sated, for the moment. He heard Eames moving around, too lazy to turn his head to see what he was up to. He must have drifted off because the next thing he knew there was a blunt being held to his lips and the air smelled heavily of smoke. He wrapped his lips around the end of the blunt offered to him and inhaled deeply.
They passed the blunt back a forth a few times, Arthur sitting up so he could lean against Eames’ shoulder and have a better view of him blowing smoke rings. Eames always was a bit of a show off, not that Arthur was complaining. When the blunt started to shrink in size, Arthur demanded shot guns. The one thing he loved most about smoking was catching smoke from Eames’ mouth.
Letting the weed kick in, Arthur pushed Eames onto his back. He crawled on top of him, kissing him feverishly. His hands roamed Eames’ still clothed torso. Eames’ huge paws followed Arthur's spine down, curving around the swell of his arse. He kneading each globe, earning a moan against his mouth. Eames laughed and turned the kiss slow and lazy. He flipped them, pinning Arthur under his weight. They did this for an infinite amount of minutes, the weed and excitement warping time as they rolled around kissing each other. The victim let out a few choked out noises that they ignored.
After they let the other go, too hazed to continue, Arthur laid on his stomach for a few more moments, soaking everything in from the sweet smell of the weed’s smoke filling the air to the sweat cooling on his and Eames’ skin. He listened as their victim cried softly to herself, grinning at the knowledge that by now the bindings had cut into her skin, rubbing it raw as she struggled. He glanced at Eames who was still inhaling deeply, slowly letting the smoke drift from his barely parted lips. Eames took another long drag of the blunt and Arthur pulled himself up enough to be able to lean over him. Eames opened his mouth and Arthur covered it with his own, letting the smoke into his lungs before pulling back and exhaling. Eames smiled up at him lovingly, running an affectionate hand through his hair. Lucy cried in the background, louder now for whatever reason.
Once he’d pulled his clothes back on Arthur walked over to the small table covered in various knives. He ran a hand through his hair, looking intently at the knives before finally choosing one. Lucy screamed against the gag when Arthur approached her with the four inch blade he preferred. He used every single knife he brought when he was feeling more adventurous. But tonight he didn’t feel the need to experiment and be creative. Tonight he just wanted to watch skin tear, feel blood splatter his face, and hear their victim whimper in pain. Tonight he just wanted to get off.
He circled her once, waiting for that moment when something in his stomach would tell him it was time. He paused by one of her thighs, tilting his head curiously at the pale flesh he heard Eames walking towards them.
The first time Arthur had allowed Eames to watch him torture someone he’d been surprised at both his and Eames’ reactions. As Arthur told their victim, a blonde waitress that had annoyed him when they’d stopped for a something to eat, that she was a useless whore. Eames had laughed. Arthur's smile only grew at the sound of the laugh and he made the first cut along her calf, telling her she was a stupid bitch that deserved it. She yelped, tears streaming down her face, and cried out loudly when Arthur dug the knife in deeper, twisting a little just because he could. Eames watched intently as Arthur began circling her again, deciding where to make the next cut. He had just finished making another cut along the girls’ collarbone when Eames stepped closer. His huge hand reached out to touch a cut on her forearm. Without thinking Arthur launched himself over the table, brandishing the knife in Eames’ face. Eames swiftly stepped back, hands up in surrender. “Don’t touch it until I’m finished. You’ll get to have your fun once I’m done.” Arthur hissed. Eames nodded and never touched again without express permission from Arthur.
Arthur finally lifted the knife, eliciting a slew of pathetic noises from behind Lucy's gag. He brought it down against the part of her muscled thigh closest to himself. He dug the blade in and dragged it down to her knee, curling the cut around the front of the knee cap. He watched in awe for a moment as blood seeped from the wound, listening to the blithering, wet sobs coming from his victim. He made a noise akin to a purr and jabbed the point of the blade roughly into the middle of the curve around the knee. He felt Eames’ hungry eyes watching him, waiting to pounce on the bleeding body that was beneath his knife’s attention. Arthur looked up into emerald eyes and sneered “You know no one’s going to save you.” Tears flowed from those green eyes and Arthur sliced into her calve, deeply. She screamed and Arthur laughed.
“No one even cares that you’re going to die.” He made shallow cuts along the side of her stomach, they were little more then paper cuts and he pulled a small bottle of liquid from his pocket. He’d gotten it when he’d chosen his knife. He poured the liquid on the wounds and rubbed it in, she cried out in pain. It had been Eames’ idea to use vinegar on the smaller cuts. Make the pain burn and linger.
“Stop crying, bitch.” Arthur says before licking the blade, tongue curling around the sharpened edge dangerously. Eames feels his cock twitch in interest at the sight. When he grins down at the woman, teeth pink with her blood she sobs loudly. Arthur responds by forcing the knife into her arm, dragging it down a few inches, making her scream. He laughs, throwing his back, letting the sound fill the warehouse; letting it drown out their victim's heaving breaths.
Arthur liked to talk while he cut into people. Liked degrading people, got off on telling them how worthless and below him they were. It had caught Eames by surprise the first Arthur had actually let his mouth run. Arthur wasn’t talkative during sex, he preferred moans to words in the heat of the moment. Eames could barely shut himself up during sex, but he didn’t like rambling during a kill. It killed the mood, stole something from the sound of shredding flesh and the cries of pain. So it shouldn’t have surprised him when Arthur started calling victims whores, sluts, and annoying bitches, telling them how they were going to die and no one was going to care. The words just kept coming out of his mouth, his maniacal grin growing wider with every tear the degradation pulled from their eyes. But what Eames could have never seen coming was how much it turned him on. Listening to the vulgar words purr out of Arthur’s mouth was almost as intoxicating as watching Arthur lap blood from his knife. Every so often Eames would perk up and say something witty to the victim in response to whatever Arthur had just said. It usually made Arthur giggle, not laugh or chuckle or even chortle, a full blown giggle. And those light, cute noises were the perfect contrast to Arthur’s task to make Eames forget that the red staining his normally pristine clothing was blood or that the knife in his hand was carving its way through flesh and drawing the thick, warm crimson that spilled from the wounds. Eames was entranced with this Arthur, this dangerous giddy creature that only showed itself to him and him alone.
Arthur made the final cut along the pronounced collar bone. Two long, bone deep cuts up eachside. It was his signature. And Eames took that as his cue to push himself off of the wall and slowly walk over to the victim. Arthur may have finished cutting but that didn’t mean he was done admiring his work. Eames didn’t know how he could ever be done admiring it. If he could, Eames would hang each body in their homes, just so he could stare at the perfect way Arthur sliced their flesh.
Arthur slowly straightened up as Eames’ steps drew closer. He deftly grabbed the handle of his own weapon of choice as he passed the assortment of knives. Eames kept the long blade low, too low for her to see it over the table. She was thrashing, crying, whimpering. Maybe she thought it was over, that she’d be let go now that Arthur was done with her. Arthur turned to meet him, an almost childishly happy smile on his face. He held the bloody knife up, offering it to Eames as he often did. Eames felt a corner of his lips turn up before he leant down; he laid his tongue flat against the blade and licked it from top to bottom. Arthur smirked at him, licking the blade lewdly again before closing the small distance between them and crashing their mouths together. The metallic taste of blood mingled in their open mouths as Arthur moaned and ground his hips into Eames’. Eames huffed a laugh against Arthur’s lips, slowly pulling away from him. “Not yet, darling.” With a small pout Arthur walked over to where Eames had watched him and leaned heavily against the wall. Eames could see the straining bulge in his pants but it would have to wait a few more minutes.
Eames crawled his way on top of the table. He hovered over the woman’s once perfectly made up face and grinned. Tears streamed from her eyes and he used the hand not clutching the handle of his blade to wipe them away. “Now, now, dearest, everything’s going to be alright. I've sent Arthur away. It’s just you and me now.” She sniffled and looked up at him pleadingly. The sneer he gave her must have looked more reassuring then it actually was because hope, just a tiny hint of it, showed in her eyes. “I’m going to take very good care of you. That’s a good girl.” He said gently, petting her hair as he continued speaking to her as sweetly as he could manage. Occasionally he'd brush a thumb under her eye to catch the tears threatening to fall. When Arthur scoffed and rolled his eyes Eames decided he’d had enough fun for the time being. Where Arthur got off degrading their victims, Eames got off on luring them into a false sense of security. He liked watching that final glimmer of hope leaving their eyes after he’d just put it back.
Eames sat back on his haunches, straddling the woman’s waist with a malevolent grin turning his lips up. It wasn’t until he brandished the three foot long machete that the woman understood her fate. Before she could weep he grabbed her chin harshly, shushed her and slapped her face. “Don’t whine, it’s unbecoming of a lady like yourself.” He snarled sarcastically. Arthur let out a stifled laugh. Eames looked back at him to see him trying to suppress his amusement. He grinned at his blood soaked lover before turning back to his victim.
Raising the long blade was half of the thrill. Watching Lucy's terrified eyes follow the edge of the blade as he poised for the kill did things to Eames he couldn’t explain. When blade finally met flesh he lost all semblance of finesse. He brought the blade up and slashed it into skin again before he could even begin to take another breath. It was quick and brutal, warm blood splashed in his the face and soaked through his shirt. The screams were louder than any of the previous ones. She thrashed and tried to buck him off but barely managed to throw him off balance. Eames kept bringing the blade down until her chest and stomach until they were nothing but deep, long gashes. Blood pooled around him, spilling over the edge of the table onto the floor. But she wasn’t dead just yet, there were still a few beats of her heart left in her chest. As the final few pumps of blood seeped out of her body Eames bent down. He found her collarbone, unchanged from Arthur’s attentions. He dug his tongue into the open flesh, deep enough to feel the hard bone beneath, licking the entire length of the cut. When he straightened up, licking his lips clean, blood dribbling down his chin. Green eyes looked up at him, unseeing and empty.
Arthur let Eames come to him, blood soaked and wild-eyed. He grabbed his shirt and pulled him into a filthy kiss. He lost track of whose hands were whose, he didn’t know whose clothes he was unbuttoning, all that mattered was that he and Eames were naked and pressed up against each other. Eames crowded him into the wall, turned him around and dropped to his knees. Eames’ mouth closed over his hole and he thrust his tongue in without hesitation. Arthur's nails scraped against the hard, cold wall as he tried to keep himself standing. When Eames didn’t relent he sunk to the floor, he heard the low chuckle from behind but didn’t care. “Eames, fuck…now.” He wiggled his hips in a way he knew Eames couldn’t resist, letting his knees slip a little farther apart on the ground.
In the next second Eames was thrusting into him. He didn’t wait longer then it took to groan in appreciation before he roughly fucked into Arthur. Arthur met him thrust for thrust, just as desperate to get off as Eames was. He could feel the blood between Eames and his back, could taste it in his mouth, could smell it between them. A few drops fell from Eames’ hair onto the ground by his head; he leant over to lick them from the dirty floor. A deep noise tore from Eames’ throat at the sight and his pace became erratic, a bloody hand wrapping around Arthur to bring him off at the same time.
Eames collapsed onto Arthur's back, who could barely support himself, which drove them both onto the cold ground. Too content to care, Arthur let Eames carry him onto the mattress. He heard the flick of a lighter and smiled when Eames gave him his Camel Wide to smoke, the Smooth hanging from his own kiss abused lips. They laid silent, Arthur's running lazy circles across Eames’ chest as they smoked.
Arthur was sated, the weed’s effects were slowly beginning to fade, the kill satisfying in a way nothing else could compare to and Eames’ cum dripping slowly out of his hole was a lovely addition to his good mood. Eames was lying with his head on Arthur's stomach, smoking with an ashtray resting on his chest. Arthur had just lit his second cigarette, glad for the brief rush of peppermint with the first inhale, when his phone began ringing. He groaned, reaching around aimlessly before finding his pants. He managed to pull out his phone before it stopped ringing, looking at the number he couldn’t help smiling. He forwent a proper greeting to say “This better be good.”
“Is that any way to greet a friend, Arthur?” the familiar and amused British voice said.
“It’s a perfectly reasonable way to greet you.” He said exhaling.
“Oh I see, am I interrupting a victory cigarette?” he asked good naturedly.
Arthur laughed “The word victory implies both parties had a chance of living, Charles. This is just a post coitus cigarette. You should try them.”
Charles chuckled before saying “I’ll leave the smoking to Erik.”
“Was there a point to this call?” Arthur asked, flicking his ashes in the tray on Eames’ chest.
“Yes, actually. Erik. Stop. I’m” Charles was interrupted for a moment, Arthur heard nothing but indistinct words and the sound of a playful, early morning struggle. “Sorry about that.”
“Charles, it’s getting cold without you.” Erik whined in the background.
“It’s in the middle of July, it’s not cold- I told you, stop it.” Charles went quiet again in order to tell Erik off before speaking again “Erik and I were thinking of taking a nice long vacation to the Caribbean. Turns out my family owns a small island out there.”
“Are you inviting us to come along?” Arthur said with great intrigue.
“Yes, although it would be a very legal vacation.”
“That’s not a problem. We can always run over to our house in Germany for a little illegal fun.” Arthur said, this caught Eames’ interest. He raised his head, quirking an interested but questioning brow. “Charles and Erik want to take us to the Caribbean for…How long?”
“Two weeks.”
“Two weeks. I thought we should return the favor. Our cabin in Germany is equipped with a lovely basement.”
“That sounds wonderful, Arthur. Erik would you like to go with Arthur and Eames to Germany for a hunt after the Caribbean?”
“I would like for you to come back to bed.” Erik sounded like he might be pouting.
“I am in bed.”
“Under the covers. Naked.” Erik voice slowly grew closer.
“I am naked. Oh never mind. I look forward to it. We can talk details another time, then.” Charles said and Arthur could hear his smile.
“Sounds good. See you soon then.”
“Good -Erik!” after a short amount of grunts and scuffling the line went dead.
“Eames, we should probably go home and pack.” Arthur said, lying back down. Lucy’s body was still spilling blood over the table and he watched the blood drip to the floor from the mattress. Neither he nor Eames moved for a long time.
~Fin
A/N: Thank you to Cinthya who helped me with this and for listening to me drunkenly ramble to her about trampolines and time differences :)
They passed the blunt back a forth a few times, Arthur sitting up so he could lean against Eames’ shoulder and have a better view of him blowing smoke rings. Eames always was a bit of a show off, not that Arthur was complaining. When the blunt started to shrink in size, Arthur demanded shot guns. The one thing he loved most about smoking was catching smoke from Eames’ mouth.
Letting the weed kick in, Arthur pushed Eames onto his back. He crawled on top of him, kissing him feverishly. His hands roamed Eames’ still clothed torso. Eames’ huge paws followed Arthur's spine down, curving around the swell of his arse. He kneading each globe, earning a moan against his mouth. Eames laughed and turned the kiss slow and lazy. He flipped them, pinning Arthur under his weight. They did this for an infinite amount of minutes, the weed and excitement warping time as they rolled around kissing each other. The victim let out a few choked out noises that they ignored.
After they let the other go, too hazed to continue, Arthur laid on his stomach for a few more moments, soaking everything in from the sweet smell of the weed’s smoke filling the air to the sweat cooling on his and Eames’ skin. He listened as their victim cried softly to herself, grinning at the knowledge that by now the bindings had cut into her skin, rubbing it raw as she struggled. He glanced at Eames who was still inhaling deeply, slowly letting the smoke drift from his barely parted lips. Eames took another long drag of the blunt and Arthur pulled himself up enough to be able to lean over him. Eames opened his mouth and Arthur covered it with his own, letting the smoke into his lungs before pulling back and exhaling. Eames smiled up at him lovingly, running an affectionate hand through his hair. Lucy cried in the background, louder now for whatever reason.
Once he’d pulled his clothes back on Arthur walked over to the small table covered in various knives. He ran a hand through his hair, looking intently at the knives before finally choosing one. Lucy screamed against the gag when Arthur approached her with the four inch blade he preferred. He used every single knife he brought when he was feeling more adventurous. But tonight he didn’t feel the need to experiment and be creative. Tonight he just wanted to watch skin tear, feel blood splatter his face, and hear their victim whimper in pain. Tonight he just wanted to get off.
He circled her once, waiting for that moment when something in his stomach would tell him it was time. He paused by one of her thighs, tilting his head curiously at the pale flesh he heard Eames walking towards them.
The first time Arthur had allowed Eames to watch him torture someone he’d been surprised at both his and Eames’ reactions. As Arthur told their victim, a blonde waitress that had annoyed him when they’d stopped for a something to eat, that she was a useless whore. Eames had laughed. Arthur's smile only grew at the sound of the laugh and he made the first cut along her calf, telling her she was a stupid bitch that deserved it. She yelped, tears streaming down her face, and cried out loudly when Arthur dug the knife in deeper, twisting a little just because he could. Eames watched intently as Arthur began circling her again, deciding where to make the next cut. He had just finished making another cut along the girls’ collarbone when Eames stepped closer. His huge hand reached out to touch a cut on her forearm. Without thinking Arthur launched himself over the table, brandishing the knife in Eames’ face. Eames swiftly stepped back, hands up in surrender. “Don’t touch it until I’m finished. You’ll get to have your fun once I’m done.” Arthur hissed. Eames nodded and never touched again without express permission from Arthur.
Arthur finally lifted the knife, eliciting a slew of pathetic noises from behind Lucy's gag. He brought it down against the part of her muscled thigh closest to himself. He dug the blade in and dragged it down to her knee, curling the cut around the front of the knee cap. He watched in awe for a moment as blood seeped from the wound, listening to the blithering, wet sobs coming from his victim. He made a noise akin to a purr and jabbed the point of the blade roughly into the middle of the curve around the knee. He felt Eames’ hungry eyes watching him, waiting to pounce on the bleeding body that was beneath his knife’s attention. Arthur looked up into emerald eyes and sneered “You know no one’s going to save you.” Tears flowed from those green eyes and Arthur sliced into her calve, deeply. She screamed and Arthur laughed.
“No one even cares that you’re going to die.” He made shallow cuts along the side of her stomach, they were little more then paper cuts and he pulled a small bottle of liquid from his pocket. He’d gotten it when he’d chosen his knife. He poured the liquid on the wounds and rubbed it in, she cried out in pain. It had been Eames’ idea to use vinegar on the smaller cuts. Make the pain burn and linger.
“Stop crying, bitch.” Arthur says before licking the blade, tongue curling around the sharpened edge dangerously. Eames feels his cock twitch in interest at the sight. When he grins down at the woman, teeth pink with her blood she sobs loudly. Arthur responds by forcing the knife into her arm, dragging it down a few inches, making her scream. He laughs, throwing his back, letting the sound fill the warehouse; letting it drown out their victim's heaving breaths.
Arthur liked to talk while he cut into people. Liked degrading people, got off on telling them how worthless and below him they were. It had caught Eames by surprise the first Arthur had actually let his mouth run. Arthur wasn’t talkative during sex, he preferred moans to words in the heat of the moment. Eames could barely shut himself up during sex, but he didn’t like rambling during a kill. It killed the mood, stole something from the sound of shredding flesh and the cries of pain. So it shouldn’t have surprised him when Arthur started calling victims whores, sluts, and annoying bitches, telling them how they were going to die and no one was going to care. The words just kept coming out of his mouth, his maniacal grin growing wider with every tear the degradation pulled from their eyes. But what Eames could have never seen coming was how much it turned him on. Listening to the vulgar words purr out of Arthur’s mouth was almost as intoxicating as watching Arthur lap blood from his knife. Every so often Eames would perk up and say something witty to the victim in response to whatever Arthur had just said. It usually made Arthur giggle, not laugh or chuckle or even chortle, a full blown giggle. And those light, cute noises were the perfect contrast to Arthur’s task to make Eames forget that the red staining his normally pristine clothing was blood or that the knife in his hand was carving its way through flesh and drawing the thick, warm crimson that spilled from the wounds. Eames was entranced with this Arthur, this dangerous giddy creature that only showed itself to him and him alone.
Arthur made the final cut along the pronounced collar bone. Two long, bone deep cuts up eachside. It was his signature. And Eames took that as his cue to push himself off of the wall and slowly walk over to the victim. Arthur may have finished cutting but that didn’t mean he was done admiring his work. Eames didn’t know how he could ever be done admiring it. If he could, Eames would hang each body in their homes, just so he could stare at the perfect way Arthur sliced their flesh.
Arthur slowly straightened up as Eames’ steps drew closer. He deftly grabbed the handle of his own weapon of choice as he passed the assortment of knives. Eames kept the long blade low, too low for her to see it over the table. She was thrashing, crying, whimpering. Maybe she thought it was over, that she’d be let go now that Arthur was done with her. Arthur turned to meet him, an almost childishly happy smile on his face. He held the bloody knife up, offering it to Eames as he often did. Eames felt a corner of his lips turn up before he leant down; he laid his tongue flat against the blade and licked it from top to bottom. Arthur smirked at him, licking the blade lewdly again before closing the small distance between them and crashing their mouths together. The metallic taste of blood mingled in their open mouths as Arthur moaned and ground his hips into Eames’. Eames huffed a laugh against Arthur’s lips, slowly pulling away from him. “Not yet, darling.” With a small pout Arthur walked over to where Eames had watched him and leaned heavily against the wall. Eames could see the straining bulge in his pants but it would have to wait a few more minutes.
Eames crawled his way on top of the table. He hovered over the woman’s once perfectly made up face and grinned. Tears streamed from her eyes and he used the hand not clutching the handle of his blade to wipe them away. “Now, now, dearest, everything’s going to be alright. I've sent Arthur away. It’s just you and me now.” She sniffled and looked up at him pleadingly. The sneer he gave her must have looked more reassuring then it actually was because hope, just a tiny hint of it, showed in her eyes. “I’m going to take very good care of you. That’s a good girl.” He said gently, petting her hair as he continued speaking to her as sweetly as he could manage. Occasionally he'd brush a thumb under her eye to catch the tears threatening to fall. When Arthur scoffed and rolled his eyes Eames decided he’d had enough fun for the time being. Where Arthur got off degrading their victims, Eames got off on luring them into a false sense of security. He liked watching that final glimmer of hope leaving their eyes after he’d just put it back.
Eames sat back on his haunches, straddling the woman’s waist with a malevolent grin turning his lips up. It wasn’t until he brandished the three foot long machete that the woman understood her fate. Before she could weep he grabbed her chin harshly, shushed her and slapped her face. “Don’t whine, it’s unbecoming of a lady like yourself.” He snarled sarcastically. Arthur let out a stifled laugh. Eames looked back at him to see him trying to suppress his amusement. He grinned at his blood soaked lover before turning back to his victim.
Raising the long blade was half of the thrill. Watching Lucy's terrified eyes follow the edge of the blade as he poised for the kill did things to Eames he couldn’t explain. When blade finally met flesh he lost all semblance of finesse. He brought the blade up and slashed it into skin again before he could even begin to take another breath. It was quick and brutal, warm blood splashed in his the face and soaked through his shirt. The screams were louder than any of the previous ones. She thrashed and tried to buck him off but barely managed to throw him off balance. Eames kept bringing the blade down until her chest and stomach until they were nothing but deep, long gashes. Blood pooled around him, spilling over the edge of the table onto the floor. But she wasn’t dead just yet, there were still a few beats of her heart left in her chest. As the final few pumps of blood seeped out of her body Eames bent down. He found her collarbone, unchanged from Arthur’s attentions. He dug his tongue into the open flesh, deep enough to feel the hard bone beneath, licking the entire length of the cut. When he straightened up, licking his lips clean, blood dribbling down his chin. Green eyes looked up at him, unseeing and empty.
Arthur let Eames come to him, blood soaked and wild-eyed. He grabbed his shirt and pulled him into a filthy kiss. He lost track of whose hands were whose, he didn’t know whose clothes he was unbuttoning, all that mattered was that he and Eames were naked and pressed up against each other. Eames crowded him into the wall, turned him around and dropped to his knees. Eames’ mouth closed over his hole and he thrust his tongue in without hesitation. Arthur's nails scraped against the hard, cold wall as he tried to keep himself standing. When Eames didn’t relent he sunk to the floor, he heard the low chuckle from behind but didn’t care. “Eames, fuck…now.” He wiggled his hips in a way he knew Eames couldn’t resist, letting his knees slip a little farther apart on the ground.
In the next second Eames was thrusting into him. He didn’t wait longer then it took to groan in appreciation before he roughly fucked into Arthur. Arthur met him thrust for thrust, just as desperate to get off as Eames was. He could feel the blood between Eames and his back, could taste it in his mouth, could smell it between them. A few drops fell from Eames’ hair onto the ground by his head; he leant over to lick them from the dirty floor. A deep noise tore from Eames’ throat at the sight and his pace became erratic, a bloody hand wrapping around Arthur to bring him off at the same time.
Eames collapsed onto Arthur's back, who could barely support himself, which drove them both onto the cold ground. Too content to care, Arthur let Eames carry him onto the mattress. He heard the flick of a lighter and smiled when Eames gave him his Camel Wide to smoke, the Smooth hanging from his own kiss abused lips. They laid silent, Arthur's running lazy circles across Eames’ chest as they smoked.
Arthur was sated, the weed’s effects were slowly beginning to fade, the kill satisfying in a way nothing else could compare to and Eames’ cum dripping slowly out of his hole was a lovely addition to his good mood. Eames was lying with his head on Arthur's stomach, smoking with an ashtray resting on his chest. Arthur had just lit his second cigarette, glad for the brief rush of peppermint with the first inhale, when his phone began ringing. He groaned, reaching around aimlessly before finding his pants. He managed to pull out his phone before it stopped ringing, looking at the number he couldn’t help smiling. He forwent a proper greeting to say “This better be good.”
“Is that any way to greet a friend, Arthur?” the familiar and amused British voice said.
“It’s a perfectly reasonable way to greet you.” He said exhaling.
“Oh I see, am I interrupting a victory cigarette?” he asked good naturedly.
Arthur laughed “The word victory implies both parties had a chance of living, Charles. This is just a post coitus cigarette. You should try them.”
Charles chuckled before saying “I’ll leave the smoking to Erik.”
“Was there a point to this call?” Arthur asked, flicking his ashes in the tray on Eames’ chest.
“Yes, actually. Erik. Stop. I’m” Charles was interrupted for a moment, Arthur heard nothing but indistinct words and the sound of a playful, early morning struggle. “Sorry about that.”
“Charles, it’s getting cold without you.” Erik whined in the background.
“It’s in the middle of July, it’s not cold- I told you, stop it.” Charles went quiet again in order to tell Erik off before speaking again “Erik and I were thinking of taking a nice long vacation to the Caribbean. Turns out my family owns a small island out there.”
“Are you inviting us to come along?” Arthur said with great intrigue.
“Yes, although it would be a very legal vacation.”
“That’s not a problem. We can always run over to our house in Germany for a little illegal fun.” Arthur said, this caught Eames’ interest. He raised his head, quirking an interested but questioning brow. “Charles and Erik want to take us to the Caribbean for…How long?”
“Two weeks.”
“Two weeks. I thought we should return the favor. Our cabin in Germany is equipped with a lovely basement.”
“That sounds wonderful, Arthur. Erik would you like to go with Arthur and Eames to Germany for a hunt after the Caribbean?”
“I would like for you to come back to bed.” Erik sounded like he might be pouting.
“I am in bed.”
“Under the covers. Naked.” Erik voice slowly grew closer.
“I am naked. Oh never mind. I look forward to it. We can talk details another time, then.” Charles said and Arthur could hear his smile.
“Sounds good. See you soon then.”
“Good -Erik!” after a short amount of grunts and scuffling the line went dead.
“Eames, we should probably go home and pack.” Arthur said, lying back down. Lucy’s body was still spilling blood over the table and he watched the blood drip to the floor from the mattress. Neither he nor Eames moved for a long time.
~Fin
A/N: Thank you to Cinthya who helped me with this and for listening to me drunkenly ramble to her about trampolines and time differences :)