Love Notes on Their Headstones [standalone 3/3]
Title: Love Notes on Their Headstones
Author: my_0wn_madness
Beta: fuzzyniffler (bless her soul)
Rating: NC-17 [violence, torture and, of course, sex]
Characters: Arthur/Eames
Summary: Filled for this prompt over at the inception_kink meme: Eames is a very dangerous man. Sure, he's charming and handsome, seems playful, even. But if you seriously cross him, Eames can and will destroy your life and your sanity. When the men behind Cobol decide that Cobb is too risky to attack, being under Saito's protection, they go after Arthur. Eames is there for the first attempt on Arthur's life, and after watching him take the assassin apart Arthur isn't sure whether to be turned on, pissed off, or afraid. Then Eames goes after Cobol, and Arthur is all three.
Disclaimer: Inception is not mine in any way, shape or form. Sad day.
Word Count: 23,213
Author's Notes: Here, have a piece of my soul! Seriously, wow, this fic was supposed to be about four scenes long. And it turned into this. It's not a surprise to me, really, but still. What's really surprising is how quickly I wrote it all. Anyway, I did my best to stay true to the prompt, though I will admit this story may have gotten away from me in the slightest. I hope you'll enjoy anyway ♥ Oh, and the lovely banner was made my fuzzyniffler . ♥
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Arthur pressed the button, closed his eyes and woke up, finding himself placed in a perfectly constructed replica of where he had fallen asleep: Ridge's bedroom. After they had broken in and Eames had carefully drugged the man's Scotch, they had waited only a few moments before they could drag the unconscious man into his bedroom. Eames had set up the PASIV, during which time Arthur's eyes had darted carefully around the rich, crimson colors of the spacious room, the angles of the shadows on the walls and the overall emptiness that was contained within them. The bed was large, but drowning beneath a plush olive comforter and Ridge looked tiny as Eames had placed him upon it. Aside from that, there were only two chairs-convenient, really-and an elaborate dresser of a dark wood that matched the bed frame.
The idea was, while they were still a level under, Ridge would think it was reality so whatever he faced, including his surroundings, could be as real as possible. It made the entire experience that much more terrifying.
The Point Man had fallen asleep in one of the chairs in reality, right next to Eames, but he woke in the dream perched on the edge of the bed, facing the other two. The Forger had, of course, requested that he make a few adjustments to the arrangement.
One was a briefcase that was sitting right next to Eames' chair.
The other was that Ridge woke in the adjacent armchair, his wrists and ankles bound to it. This was something the man didn't take too kindly to and jolted upon the chair, his green eyes looking much more vivid than they had in any photograph. He looked around frantically, his eyes scanning the flawless copy of his bedroom, and then Arthur and then Eames, who was already up and kneeling upon the floor, briefcase open in front of him.
Arthur's job was done. He had done his part successfully and now he sat and watched what happened within the hour of the dream.
"Good morning," Eames nearly purred as he glanced up at Ridge from over the top of the briefcase. His hands were still working with the contents within said case.
Ridge's gaze, however, was fixed upon Arthur, as if he was finally seeing him.
"You," he hissed bitingly and Arthur's mouth tightened. "Fuck, you did this to me, didn't you? You ruined-"
"You impolite fuck." Eames' voice was now sharp and anything but amused, his eyes narrowed upon Ridge. The blonde's eyes flicked back towards Eames, the green irises adopting a more furious hue atop the underlying fear of what was about to happen to him.
"Matheson?"
Eames stood, his lips pressed into a furious line. He was holding something behind his back as he took a step closer to Ridge. "I said good morning," he growled lethally and his free hand moved swiftly, wrapping around Ridge's left pinky and jerking.
Bone cracked. Ridge screamed, his eyes clenching shut in shock and pain. Arthur didn't wince-he was used to sounds of that nature-but his brow did crease briefly with distaste as his fingers curled in the comforter. When Eames turned and began to pace briefly in front of Ridge, the Point Man momentarily eyed the way the blonde's pinky was bent up towards the ceiling before choosing to focus on something else.
His dark gaze caught the glint of the metal of a gun concealed behind the Forger's back. A gun usually seemed like such an uncreative instrument of torture; there weren't many varieties of uses for one. However, with Eames' deft fingers wrapped around it, Arthur couldn't help but see the gun as a more horrifying device of torture because he knew that the Forger could easily, very easily, pull someone apart from the inside out with one.
It made Arthur shiver with anxiety. He had agreed to let Eames do what he pleased while sedated, but that didn't mean that his fingers weren't trembling within the bed sheets as he watched.
"And don't be too eager to point fingers, Mr. Ridge," Eames finally continued, his voice low and cool. Undeniably hot, Arthur hated to admit to himself. The Forger had ceased his pacing and now stood at the right corner of Ridge's chair, the gun still concealed behind his back. He stared down at the CEO with an almost detached look, his cold eyes examining the fear in Ridge's own. "You can't prove that Arthur has done anything to you or ruined anything of yours."
Eames' open hand struck again, but instead of actually breaking Ridge's right pinky to match its opposite, his fingers just curled around it in a biting promise. Ridge twitched, trying to get away from the touch with no avail. Eames leaned in closer, whispering huskily as his lips curled upwards in that sadistic smirk that Arthur had grown too used to, "Not that you had much to ruin in the first place."
His fingers moved slowly this time, bending Ridge's other pinky at an agonizing rate. The blonde grit his teeth but it wasn't long before his lips dropped and he cried out again, the sound growing louder and shriller until a sickening crack was heard, and then nothing was pouring from Ridge's lips except a silent agony. Arthur resisted the urge to gently massage his own pinkies, as if to promise them that nothing of that sort would happen to them.
"That's right, isn't it, Mr. Ridge?" The Forger straightened and stared down at the other man, his grin fading gradually into a scowl of disgust. "Now that your company is levels beneath bankrupt, you have nothing else left, do you?"
Ridge's weakening eyes narrowed in a subtle defiance but Eames had none of it. He smashed his fist into the blonde's jaw, forcing the man's head to the side. Blood began to drip from Ridge's pale lips.
"Do you?" Eames pressed, his voice strained and low.
"I-I-"
Arthur swallowed hard as the Forger now slammed the handle of the gun against the opposite side of Ridge's jaw. This time the blonde groaned out with pain and his body automatically tried to retaliate, but he was left writhing beneath the bonds.
"Do you?" The words now came out from between Eames' teeth, low, hard and merciless.
Ridge took a long moment to respond this time. His pale, blonde hair hung in strands before his face, his eyes covered with shadows as he stared down at his arm. His lips were parted, rigid breaths escaping them along with drops of blood that dripped from his chin and onto the chair and his pants. "N-No," he finally wheezed out.
Eames' lips slowly curled into a satisfied grin, but Arthur knew he was far from done. "No, you don't. And you want to know why, Mr. Ridge?"
There was no time for the man to respond before Eames swiftly struck again, this time breaking the other man's right index and middle fingers. As Ridge threw his head back and screamed, his body trembling violently against the bonds, the Forger leaned close and whispered into Ridge's ear with a voice so low that Arthur almost missed it: "Because you're weak and pathetic."
Crack and crack. Tears leaked from the corners of Ridge's eyes as Eames destroyed the last two fingers on his right hand, all of the digits protruding in different and abnormal directions. His lower lip was trembling as violently as his body beneath the blood and Arthur had to glance downwards towards his black, polished shoes. He listened to Eames' calm and slow footsteps, probably moving back to the man's other hand, and he let out a shaking breath.
Part of him hoped that the dream was coming to a close. He knew they were probably only halfway through it, at the most; watching Eames had been a thorough distraction for him from mentally counting down the time. Luckily, it wasn't necessary for him to do so; they had slipped headphones into Eames' ears and set a timer on an mp3 player to begin the music when they had five minutes left, dream time.
That was when things would surely get delicate and a bit unpredictable. Even more unpredictable than they already were.
Arthur didn't look up quite yet, even when Eames began to speak again. "You're weak, pathetic and a coward. Why else would you order other men to do your dirty work?"
"What the fuck do you want from me, Matheson?" Ridge finally spoke, his voice low, breathless and broken.
The chuckle that dripped from Eames' lips was dark and slow, a sound that made Arthur's spine arch with a violent shiver. He still didn't look up and wasn't entirely surprised when Eames didn't bother to correct the other man with his name. "Good question," the Forger purred. "What could I possibly want from you? After all…" There was another chuckle, this one more like venom, "I took most of your money."
"Fucking -" Ridge began but was cut off with a violent scream as Eames broke another finger. The brutal crack seemed so much worse without the visual so Arthur looked up, seeing Eames' body looming close to Ridge's, cruel smirk in place and the gun held loosely at his side in his other hand.
"No, Ridge, what I want from you…" Eames slowly raised the gun, pressed the barrel to the blonde's temple, causing Ridge to tense and let out a shuddering breath, "… is blood."
The silence that stretched between those words and any further movement was agonizingly slow, even for Arthur. He watched as Ridge trembled, his fearful, green eyes sideways and upon the gun being held to his head and that sorry fuck didn't realize that Eames was going to let him go just yet. The forger watched as Ridge shook and began to sweat, his lips exposing his satisfied glee.
"But that's not all," Eames whispered abruptly, causing Ridge to jolt against the bindings. The other man was close to whimpering, especially as the Forger slowly trailed the gun down Ridge's jaw, throat, to his collar. "No, that's not enough for me, you sorry fuck." The fury was threading its way back into Eames' voice, slowly giving his tone a terrifying edge. "I want your sanity. I want everything you have left and I want to laugh as you watch it all fall from your fingers. Now."
Eames abruptly moved and pressed the barrel of the gun to the top of Ridge's right hand. The tendons automatically stiffened beneath the metal, causing Ridge to let out a pained sound as his broken fingers moved. "Now," Eames repeated, his voice quieter now but no less lethal, "that might seem a little excessive, yeah? But see, Ridge, you made one grave mistake. Do you know what that is?"
Ridge swallowed hard, his adam's apple moving rigidly in his throat. Slowly, his insipid, green eyes rose to meet Arthur's.
The Forger grinned again, revealing his teeth through his crooked lips, and clicked the safety from the gun. "Bingo."
The loud shot rang out as Eames shot a bullet into the top of Ridge's hand.
Arthur immediately closed his eyes as the blonde's deafening scream filled the air in the wake of the gunshot, his fingers curling tighter in the sheets. His heart was pounding in his ears, the beat loud and erratic. He licked his dry lips and listened as the piercing sound slowly faded into pathetic whimpers among rigid and shallow breaths, telling himself over and over to stay where he was.
Somehow, this wasn't as bad as Talcott. He needed to keep reminding himself that.
"Your grave mistake," Eames ground out after a long moment of Ridge's breathing, "was deciding it was a good idea to have Arthur murdered."
The Point Man cracked his eyes open briefly, but saw that the rage within Eames' bright eyes had taken over. It was nothing but chaos from that point, nothing but the Forger swiftly cracking Ridge's remaining fingers in half, nothing but a flying fist slamming over and over into Ridge's face. Nothing but blood, nothing but one, long continuous scream that appeared to scratch against the blonde's dry throat, and nothing but sweat and tears. It wasn't long before Ridge's face was unrecognizable and Eames jumped back, his breathing heavy and every part of his body shaking except his hands, which were curled steadily around the gun.
He aimed for Ridge's right shin and didn't hesitate before pulling the trigger. Blood immediately soaked through Ridge's slacks and the man didn't even scream this time-instead, a pathetic moan dripped from his busted and swelled lips.
Eames' face was cold and unbreakable as he moved his arms just enough to aim for Ridge's left shin. He shot again. Lastly, he stepped forward again and slammed the barrel of the gun onto the top of the blonde's left hand and shot once more.
Arthur didn't realize he had been holding his breath until he exhaled heavily and slipped his trembling fingers through his hair. His own body was shaking, but not nearly as much as Ridge's, who was nothing but blood, broken bones and a quivering form. He was gone. Eames had destroyed him, just like he had promised, and the sight left Arthur's mouth dry and his palms damp.
The Forger slowly stepped back. The gun was hanging loosely in his grasp at his side and his footsteps seemed to echo over the sound of Ridge's harsh breathing. "Ridge-"
The whisper of distant music filled the room, causing both Arthur and Eames to stop. Five minutes.
For the first time since they had woken in the dream, Eames turned towards the Point Man. It was amazing how quickly and easily the Forger's expression had morphed into something proud, but not threatening in the least as he approached Arthur. Arthur shifted faintly to distract him from the way his heart sped up as Eames came closer.
"Ridge," Eames repeated a bit lighter this time, "you are going to beg Arthur to kill you."
Arthur's heart constricted in his chest as Eames offered him the gun. "This wasn't part of the plan," the Point Man whispered uneasily.
The Forger only smiled wider, his eyes softening immensely into a look that made Arthur go momentarily boneless. "It was you, darling," he murmured so Ridge had no chance of hearing him, "who told me that, when a man puts a gun to your forehead, you put one right back to his."
Eames gently gripped one of his wrists and pulled his hand from the bed, slipping the warm handle of the gun into his damp palm. He leaned over, his fingers lingering over the gun and, therefore, over Arthur's own. His words seduced Arthur's ear, sending a ribbon down his spine, "Shoot him just before the timer runs out. You'll wake up with the timer itself. Timing is crucial because I don't want you to miss the grand finale."
"Eames-"
"Trust me."
With that, Eames slipped easily out of the room. Arthur's eyes watched the Forger's wake briefly before they slowly shifted back to Ridge's pathetic form. Something surged through him in that moment, a power and a loathing of sorts, because this was the man who had kept him on edge for months. Who had watched him, tried to kill him and, more importantly, thought he could beat him.
The Point Man set his jaw and slowly stood, his fingers curling more confidently around the handle of the gun. He felt his eyes darken as he slowly approached Ridge, the blood still pulsing in his ears but for an entirely different reason now.
He distantly noted that he had two minutes.
Ridge barely moved when he stopped before the man. One of the blonde's eyes was swollen shut while the other was bloodshot and pained, weak and hollow.
Arthur slowly raised the gun and pressed it to the broken skin between the man's eyes. If there was one thing he hated in this world, it was being underestimated.
"Do it," the Point Man whispered, his voice low and frigid to even his own ears. "Beg me to kill you."
One minute.
Ridge didn't respond for a moment. The tendons in his throat tightened as he swallowed and he was stiff beneath the barrel of the gun. When he spoke, his words were barely there like smoke, drifting away and Arthur knew that was all of what was left of him, "K-Kill me... Please…"
The brunette watched the pain in Ridge's green irises as he inwardly counted down the few seconds they had left.
With five seconds left, he couldn't help the very subtle and faint smirk that curled the corners of his lips.
Checkmate.
He pulled the trigger.
And woke with a start in the arm chair, his eyes immediately falling upon Eames leaning over Ridge's body. There was a sharp inhale as the blonde woke and jerked, though a crisp silence immediately fell upon them as Ridge woke to a knife to his throat.
"You with me, darling?" Arthur knew Eames was addressing him and he watched from his place upon the armchair, his body still shaking subtly.
"Yeah," he managed and there was barely a moment before Eames slowly slit Ridge's throat, just like he had promised weeks ago.
The last sound that escaped Ridge's lips was a disgusting, gurgling noise as the blood poured from the man's throat. It seeped from Ridge's skin and onto the bed sheets. Eames arm was positioned at just the right angle so that his jacket sleeve remained absolutely clean.
And it was over. Eames dropped the knife onto Ridge's chest and whispered spitefully, "Go to hell, bastard."
When the Forger turned back to him, Eames' fingers were plucking the bloody rubber gloves from his fingers. Arthur's breath was shaking in time with his thrashing heart as his dark eyes met Eames' own. "It's over," was all he could whisper and Eames smiled weakly, nodding as he balled the gloves.
"It is," he whispered and leaned over to kiss Arthur's forehead gently. His fingers carefully pulled the needle from the Point Man's arm. "It's over. Now let's get out of here."
On their way out, the PASIV in his hand, the aquarium positioned right beside the door caught Arthur's eye. His throat fell a bit dry as he stared at the lonely fish, swimming around in the oversized tank. Part of him wanted to scoop it up, take it with them and save its life, but Eames gently cupped his arm and pulled him towards the door, breathing softly, "I know, darling."
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Arthur was nearly relieved when he finally felt the gentle, but purposeful brush of fingertips against his bare shoulder blades. He nearly closed his straining eyes and nearly let his muscles that were wound so tight unravel against the mattress hotel bed. Nearly.
They had made it back to the hotel about an hour after leaving Ridge's place and, throughout the entire day, had barely said anything to each other, much less touched each other. After all, Arthur hadn't known what to say and he still didn't. Eames hadn't tried to push, thankfully, because it wouldn't have changed the fact that the Point Man had found it nearly impossible to untangle the mess that occupied his mind.
But they had both been lying on the large bed for nearly an hour after they had decided to sleep, a wide gap between them, both of them obviously awake and obviously wound into springs of tension and pent up… well, everything. Pent up emotions, words, thoughts, lust.
Arthur's skin fluttered subtly beneath the warmth of Eames' fingers and he waited a long moment before allowing his body to rock towards the touch. He felt the stress in his muscles bleed into those firm fingertips and his frame deflated as he exhaled slowly, quietly.
He swore the bed beneath him began to pulse, but it was barely a moment before he realized that it was his own heartbeat, very aware of Eames shifting closer yet towards him.
"How's your shoulder?" Eames finally whispered, his voice hoarse with fatigue.
Arthur couldn't tell if it was postponing small talk or a genuine curiosity, but he breathed nonetheless, "A lot better… It doesn't hurt very much at all anymore."
Another thick and suffocating silence. Arthur's fingers clenched briefly in the hotel bed sheets and he let out a quiet, trembling breath, feeling so much more uneasy in this stillness. He was almost afraid to move, even though his heart obviously wasn't.
Finally, "What is it?" The Forger's voice was so soft that Arthur nearly missed it over the demand of the beat in his ears. He swallowed tightly, nearly choking as Eames' touch pressed harder to his skin, now massaging the muscles between Arthur's shoulders.
Arthur still didn't know what to say. He wanted to know how many other people Eames had tortured, he wanted to know what other sorts of horrible deeds the Forger has done. He wanted to know if Eames had ever done anything so drastic on someone's own behalf. He wanted to know if he broke the fingers and slit the throats of everyone who ever crossed him.
But the Point Man could only breathe one thing, a word that came out like smoke. "Why?"
The hand against his bare skin fell still, but they didn't withdraw. Eames' palm was hot against his back in the silence-maybe it wasn't a silence at all because he swore that the Forger could probably hear the stomping in his chest.
"I assume you don't want to know why I think something is pestering you…" The words seemed to be a stream of consciousness. Maybe Eames was just clarifying what Arthur meant, but the Point Man felt that he didn't need to shake his head in order for Eames to know that he was correct. He wanted to know why Eames went through so much trouble. Why he bothered to stay up into the hours of the morning every day just so he could bring down a company. Why he bothered to put Ridge under and torture him only to slit his throat. Why he did it all with such a glee that made Arthur's spine tingle, why he didn't just suggest the run and stay hidden.
It would have been so much easier, so why?
Eames' hand slid sensually up his skin and gripped his shoulder firmly, slowly coaxing him to turn. He obliged, his heart bounding up to his throat as he turned onto his other side and watched the faint silhouette of the man beside him.
The Forger's breath touched his lips when he spoke. "Because I can't stand the thought of anyone else fucking with you, darling."
Those fingers seduced the skin in the dip of his collarbone, causing his entire frame to tingle with a shiver. He was hot and licked his lower lip, his own hand slipping up between them to touch the firm muscles of Eames' neck.
"Because no one else deserves to touch this pretty body of yours, much less destroy it," Eames continued, and those words made it rather difficult for Arthur to breathe.
The other man's body shifted, the covers rustling with the movements and, when they settled, Eames' form was so fucking close to Arthur's own. "Because," Eames whispered one last time, the word rough and low as the Forger's fingers carefully framed the sharp line of Arthur's jaw, "I want back into your life, Arthur."
Arguably, that last one had nothing to do with what Arthur had asked, but fuck if it mattered. Eames' fingers tensed against the Point Man's jaw line at that moment and their lips were together, hard and prying and wet. Arthur's hands slid into Eames' hair, pressing his fingertips hard against the Forger's scalp as he moaned and kissed away everything he could take from the other man. Their legs tangled beneath the sheets and Arthur now felt impossibly hot, hotter than he used to when Eames would kiss him like this.
The Forger's broad hand slid back to his healing shoulder, cradling him close-though carefully- before he was turned again, this time onto his back, and the weight of Eames' body slid atop him. His spine automatically arched towards the other man's bare chest, the friction of Eames' skin against his own still making him breathless and he wanted more, more, an impossible amount more. Eames' teeth scraped against his lower lip and he wanted everything, everything of the other man.
With those hands sliding against his skin, down his sides, Arthur knew that Eames wanted the same.
"Arthur," Eames whispered brokenly into his mouth, his fingers still claiming every inch of his torso that they could touch, "Christ, Arthur, let me fuck you again… Please…"
He wanted everything.
A low moan dripped from his lips as his dizzy mind was briefly caught in the feeling of Eames' tongue sliding against his own. His own fingertips dragged themselves down to the protruding muscles lining Eames' shoulder blades and he exhaled huskily, letting the other man take the breath greedily.
Absolutely everything.
"Eames, ahn-!" He couldn't breathe as the Forger's hips rocked desperately against his own, the other man's heat so apparent through the thin layers of their underwear. His own hips immediately jumped from the bed and his legs bent on either side of Eames' body, the friction between them addicting and hot. His lips were wet against the Forger's once he finally found it in himself to breathe.
More than everything.
Arthur had to tear his lips away and turn his head to the side as he panted, grinding his hips up against Eames' in a desperate pace. They were already hard in their underwear, the heat of their cocks making Arthur's senses dizzy and delirious. The Forger's lips went to work along his jaw and then to his ear, causing sparks to jolt his insides whenever those teeth scraped and bit his skin. He was hot, too fucking hot, and his arms tightened around Eames' body so their skin rubbed together with each movement of their hips. The friction was like a match against its box, igniting a wet and merciless heat between them and Eames felt so right. Just like he used to; nothing could or ever would compare to this.
If any rational thought was present in his mind, it might have scolded him for ever thinking that he could quit this. For thinking that he ever wanted to quit this.
"Arthur." Eames' voice was now dripping against his ear with a low and husky tone, causing Arthur's body to twitch with a breathless sound. "Arthur, I want to fuck you like I used to."
How Eames' words were so well put together despite the shattered glass of his voice was impressive.
"Arthur," the Forger repeated, as if he couldn't get enough of saying the Point Man's name or feeling the way it made the smaller body writhe beneath him, "Arthur, please let me…"
"Fuck," Arthur finally choked out, torn between continuing to grind his erection up against Eames' and forcing the motion to stop because he couldn't fucking think. It took some effort, but he chose the latter and shoved Eames away by the shoulders, his breathing hot and nearly painful, each inhale scraping mercilessly against his dry throat. "Fuck, do it," he managed to breathe, his voice ruined.
And Eames was gone, along with the covers, causing the Point Man to shudder violently and instinctively curl up against the cold. He heard hurried footsteps and rustling as he watched the shadows of the dark room spin around him and it was a second thought that made him shakily reach over and pluck the switch on the bedside lamp.
He squinted briefly against the sudden light and shifted, pushing his trembling body further up on the pillow. There was a weight on the bed again and Eames was climbing back on, the shadows falling heavily over his damp skin and across his dark eyes that were fixed upon Arthur. The Forger's lips were wet and full, redder than usual and beautiful and so fucking alluring when Eames' tongue swiped against them subtly. Eames was crawling closer, his movements shaky but somehow confident, knowing exactly what they wanted.
When Eames settled beside Arthur again, he set a condom and a bottle of lube aside and Arthur couldn't help but cock an eyebrow.
"Aren't you prepared," the Point Man whispered huskily because he wasn't at all surprised. And he loved the way those lips curled upwards into a grin similar to the complacent one he had seen earlier that day.
"Intuition," was Eames' breathless response as he leaned close again, his fingertips slipping up Arthur's thigh. Arthur shudders violently and spread his legs a bit, closing his eyes as Eames kissed him again, this time slower and deeper. He moaned and curled his fingers in the bed sheets as the Forger's hot hand began to palm his cock through his underwear.
When Arthur was left breathless, Eames teased the waistband of his underwear and whispered against his swollen lips, "We should get this off…"
"Yours too," the Point Man somehow managed to whisper and Eames pulled back, shifting to pull his underwear off. Arthur followed suit and a different sort of heat settled within him as he saw the gentle, real smile painting Eames' full lips.
That warmth, however, melted into the hot lust pulsing through his veins as Eames picked up the bottle of lube.
Arthur let himself settle back against the pillows as Eames shifted back in between his legs. He tried to breathe slowly, tried to calm the pressure of his heartbeat and lust pulsing against his skull with no avail. His legs shakily spread once Eames' fingers were lathered and ready and, god it had been so long since the Forger reached down and ran those wet fingertips against his entrance, making his insides spark. It had been so long since Eames looked at him like that, gray-green eyes smoldering and hungry, eyeing him with an intensity that left him sinking further back into the bed, his legs spreading wider.
Eames knew just how to handle him. He knew just how to move his finger, fingers, in and out of Arthur. Just how to twist them, just how to spread them, just how to crook him to make Arthur's spine arch attractively towards the ceiling and his head hang back. It did hurt, but it was never long before the pain and the pleasure became indistinguishable in his spinning mind and left him breathless. Eames knew just how to make his body tense then relax, knew just how to overwhelm him before he was left pliable with his fingers and toes curling, his brow dampening and his lower lip quivering.
Never once did Arthur look away from Eames' eyes. Never once did Eames look away from Arthur's.
The Forger didn't need to ask when the Point Man was ready; he knew. He withdrew his fingers and reached up with his cleaner hand, his fingertips shaking as he touched Arthur's cheek. It was clear that there were words brewing beneath those lips, hesitating to show themselves and they never worked up the courage to do so.
As Eames finally glanced away and grabbed the condom, Arthur didn't press. A courtesy returned from earlier.
Arthur grew impatient as Eames slipped the condom on and lathered himself. His fingers twitched and itched to touch the skin he watched, to feel the way Eames' muscles shifted with each movement, to feel the Forger's heat. It wasn't too soon when Eames finally let out a hot breath, pulled Arthur's knees over his shoulders, gripped the Point Man's hips and focused in on him again.
He was tight and felt every bit of Eames that slowly pushed into him. His lips parted in a silent cry as he closed his eyes and felt the surge of heat that injected itself into his veins, starting at his toes and climbing up his body until sweat finally broke his skin. He listened to the low sound that slipped from Eames' lips and he couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't move, it had been far too fucking long and it hurt but god, don't stop.
The Forger was so deep when his body finally paused. Arthur inhaled violently, his body trembling beneath Eames' and he opened his eyes, staring blearily up at the other man, who was watching him, just as he used to. And Eames looked honest to fuck breathtaking, with the way his lower lip curled to release his shallow breathing and the way his pupils were blown to nearly the size of his iris. His hair was messed, bangs pressing to his forehead and Arthur shakily reached forward, traced Eames' lower lip.
He felt the way Eames whispered his name.
Then his fingers were jolting back to anchor themselves in the bed sheets as Eames began to move inside him. It always started slow at first, a gentle rocking that only proved to drive Arthur insane and greedy for more. From there, each movement only increased in pace and magnitude until Eames was fucking him hard, securing Arthur's lithe body to the mattress beneath them. And it was never like Eames to disappoint.
Arthur's fingers raked back through his own hair and clamped down on his skull as he panted through his red lips, his eyes struggling to watch Eames rock into him. The muscles in the Forger's body strained, especially in his shoulders when the man's hands curled tightly around Arthur's thighs, especially when Eames leaned slightly forward, causing Arthur's long legs to ache with a stretch. Eames' visage slowly fell apart, his white skin further reddening and his brow further smoothing, but never once did he break Arthur's gaze.
The Point Man's eyes finally clenched shut as Eames hit his prostate, causing the inside of his eyelids to flash with spots and a ruined sound fell from his lips. His body was set to fire like paper, sweat rolling along the planes and divots of his pale and quivering skin, and it was- "E-Eames-"
"I'm here, darling." The response was immediate but breathless, about as destroyed as Arthur felt, especially as Eames leaned further forward, fucking him harder, hitting his prostate over and over and bending him in half. "Right here." But Arthur barely heard that with the race in his ears of his heartbeat against the slap of Eames' hips against his own.
So much more than everything.
There was a pause in the harsh rhythm as Eames' shifted. The Point Man released a cracked sort of whine at the stop but pried his eyes open to watch as Eames gripped his calves. The Forger turned his head to kiss the inside of Arthur's leg briefly before he slowly slipped Arthur's legs from his shoulders and carefully bent them to wrap them around his waist.
This time, when Eames' hips snapped back into their pace, the full weight of the Forger's body fell against Arthur's, a feeling that made the Point Man twitch and shudder with gratitude. He coiled his arms firmly around Eames' shoulder and groaned as he felt the other man's wet skin slip against his own in time with the pace of their thrusts. Their lips kindled in a bruising, sloppy kiss, their mouths exchanging rigid, choked breaths and smoky sounds.
Once Arthur's legs wrapped around Eames' waist, his heels pressing to the Forger's lower back to coax him harder, further, the Point Man knew he wouldn't last much longer. And once Eames reached between them, wrapped his fingers around Arthur's leaking cock, Arthur's body jumped and he groaned, most certainly knowing then that he was close.
Arthur writhed beneath Eames' mouth, his touch, his skin, his ministrations, his thrusts, and scraped his nails down the Forger's back. He felt the other man groan lowly and arch, whispering huskily, "A-Arthur, soon…" The Point Man moaned a sort of incomprehensible response, licking the sweat from both his and Eames' lips.
It wasn't much longer before Arthur came hard into Eames' hand, his breath catching hard in his throat as his eyes clenched shut and his body twitched before arching violently into Eames, his mind slipping away from his body for that brief, euphoric moment. He didn't hear the low groan that poured from Eames' lips as he came just a bit after, but he felt the way the man shook violently above him, felt the muscles of Eames' back tense and ripple.
They both trembled once their dizzy minds fell back into their bodies, but Arthur didn't loosen his arms around Eames' shoulders and Eames didn't make any attempt to pull away. Arthur's breathing was harsh and shallow against Eames' skin as his lips mindlessly kissed along the muscles in the Forger's shoulder; Eames' breathing was the same as his lips dragged against the Point Man's ear.
Arthur wasn't entirely sure why he was able to say it now, or why he even felt compelled to at that moment, but he whispered tiredly, "Thank you. For everything."
He felt Eames' lips smile widely against his skin. "I don't deserve that," the Forger whispered before he shakily and gently pulled himself from Arthur's arms, pulling out of the Point Man. Arthur shuddered violently and grit his teeth at the feeling and laid his arm across his exhausted eyes as Eames shakily stumbled from the bed to discard the condom. Arthur was grateful when Eames immediately returned to his side and he knew he would hate himself for it in the morning, but he decided to pay no mind to the come slick on his stomach. He didn't really have much mind to spare at that moment, anyway.
Eames settled at beside Arthur, his stomach pressing into the Point Man's side, and gently pulled the arm from Arthur's face. His eyes were gentle but bright and wide with that habitual calculation and examination. Arthur smiled faintly and reached up to touch the corner of Eames' lips, which didn't smile back.
"I want back in your life, Arthur," the Forger whispered again, his voice lower than before.
A soft breath passed from Arthur's lips as he kept their gaze locked in place. He hoped it wasn't the endorphins in the wake of his orgasm or the spare adrenaline from everything he had done today, but he knew, at that moment, he didn't want Eames to leave his side. He remembered why he had put a halt to their relationship before: the job. But… His unsteady mind couldn't comprehend it just yet, though it was arguably doubtful that it ever would, but something about the past few weeks had put an entirely different spin on what he thought before.
Perhaps it was seeing the degree of just how far Eames was willing to go for him. Perhaps it was the way they had worked so well together just now, and he couldn't quite convince himself that sex could change that. Perhaps it was the way he had looked at Eames over these last few weeks, with new eyes and he still, in the end, wanted the Forger.
Everything of the Forger.
When Arthur didn't respond for a long moment, Eames carefully combed his fingers through the Point Man's hair and leaned forward to place a chaste kiss to Arthur's lips.
"You don't have to answer now," the Forger whispered almost hesitantly, "but… Consider it."
Arthur merely nodded, though he wasn't entirely sure he needed to consider anything.
"Also," Eames continued even more tentatively than before, his eyes now fixed upon his finger stroking Arthur's temple, "I know we said we'll return to your place tomorrow, however… If you do decide to let me back into your life, I have two tickets for Paris, away from any Cobol headquarters so we can maybe lay low for awhile… You know, just in case there's a backlash."
Those words left Arthur breathless all over again. His tired heart was back to bounding in his chest and wracking his body as he stared at Eames with a sort of shock. When the Forger met his gaze, all Eames could do was smile shakily, gently, and shrug before he breathed, "Again, consider it."
It wasn't too long before Eames reached over Arthur and flipped off the lamp again. They shifted subtly before settling for the night with Arthur curled tightly with his back pressed to Eames' chest, his body safe in Eames' hold. He listened as the Forger's breathing deepened and deepened until the man was unmistakably asleep before he closed his own eyes, his mind made up.
Author: my_0wn_madness
Beta: fuzzyniffler (bless her soul)
Rating: NC-17 [violence, torture and, of course, sex]
Characters: Arthur/Eames
Summary: Filled for this prompt over at the inception_kink meme: Eames is a very dangerous man. Sure, he's charming and handsome, seems playful, even. But if you seriously cross him, Eames can and will destroy your life and your sanity. When the men behind Cobol decide that Cobb is too risky to attack, being under Saito's protection, they go after Arthur. Eames is there for the first attempt on Arthur's life, and after watching him take the assassin apart Arthur isn't sure whether to be turned on, pissed off, or afraid. Then Eames goes after Cobol, and Arthur is all three.
Disclaimer: Inception is not mine in any way, shape or form. Sad day.
Word Count: 23,213
Author's Notes: Here, have a piece of my soul! Seriously, wow, this fic was supposed to be about four scenes long. And it turned into this. It's not a surprise to me, really, but still. What's really surprising is how quickly I wrote it all. Anyway, I did my best to stay true to the prompt, though I will admit this story may have gotten away from me in the slightest. I hope you'll enjoy anyway ♥ Oh, and the lovely banner was made my fuzzyniffler . ♥
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Arthur pressed the button, closed his eyes and woke up, finding himself placed in a perfectly constructed replica of where he had fallen asleep: Ridge's bedroom. After they had broken in and Eames had carefully drugged the man's Scotch, they had waited only a few moments before they could drag the unconscious man into his bedroom. Eames had set up the PASIV, during which time Arthur's eyes had darted carefully around the rich, crimson colors of the spacious room, the angles of the shadows on the walls and the overall emptiness that was contained within them. The bed was large, but drowning beneath a plush olive comforter and Ridge looked tiny as Eames had placed him upon it. Aside from that, there were only two chairs-convenient, really-and an elaborate dresser of a dark wood that matched the bed frame.
The idea was, while they were still a level under, Ridge would think it was reality so whatever he faced, including his surroundings, could be as real as possible. It made the entire experience that much more terrifying.
The Point Man had fallen asleep in one of the chairs in reality, right next to Eames, but he woke in the dream perched on the edge of the bed, facing the other two. The Forger had, of course, requested that he make a few adjustments to the arrangement.
One was a briefcase that was sitting right next to Eames' chair.
The other was that Ridge woke in the adjacent armchair, his wrists and ankles bound to it. This was something the man didn't take too kindly to and jolted upon the chair, his green eyes looking much more vivid than they had in any photograph. He looked around frantically, his eyes scanning the flawless copy of his bedroom, and then Arthur and then Eames, who was already up and kneeling upon the floor, briefcase open in front of him.
Arthur's job was done. He had done his part successfully and now he sat and watched what happened within the hour of the dream.
"Good morning," Eames nearly purred as he glanced up at Ridge from over the top of the briefcase. His hands were still working with the contents within said case.
Ridge's gaze, however, was fixed upon Arthur, as if he was finally seeing him.
"You," he hissed bitingly and Arthur's mouth tightened. "Fuck, you did this to me, didn't you? You ruined-"
"You impolite fuck." Eames' voice was now sharp and anything but amused, his eyes narrowed upon Ridge. The blonde's eyes flicked back towards Eames, the green irises adopting a more furious hue atop the underlying fear of what was about to happen to him.
"Matheson?"
Eames stood, his lips pressed into a furious line. He was holding something behind his back as he took a step closer to Ridge. "I said good morning," he growled lethally and his free hand moved swiftly, wrapping around Ridge's left pinky and jerking.
Bone cracked. Ridge screamed, his eyes clenching shut in shock and pain. Arthur didn't wince-he was used to sounds of that nature-but his brow did crease briefly with distaste as his fingers curled in the comforter. When Eames turned and began to pace briefly in front of Ridge, the Point Man momentarily eyed the way the blonde's pinky was bent up towards the ceiling before choosing to focus on something else.
His dark gaze caught the glint of the metal of a gun concealed behind the Forger's back. A gun usually seemed like such an uncreative instrument of torture; there weren't many varieties of uses for one. However, with Eames' deft fingers wrapped around it, Arthur couldn't help but see the gun as a more horrifying device of torture because he knew that the Forger could easily, very easily, pull someone apart from the inside out with one.
It made Arthur shiver with anxiety. He had agreed to let Eames do what he pleased while sedated, but that didn't mean that his fingers weren't trembling within the bed sheets as he watched.
"And don't be too eager to point fingers, Mr. Ridge," Eames finally continued, his voice low and cool. Undeniably hot, Arthur hated to admit to himself. The Forger had ceased his pacing and now stood at the right corner of Ridge's chair, the gun still concealed behind his back. He stared down at the CEO with an almost detached look, his cold eyes examining the fear in Ridge's own. "You can't prove that Arthur has done anything to you or ruined anything of yours."
Eames' open hand struck again, but instead of actually breaking Ridge's right pinky to match its opposite, his fingers just curled around it in a biting promise. Ridge twitched, trying to get away from the touch with no avail. Eames leaned in closer, whispering huskily as his lips curled upwards in that sadistic smirk that Arthur had grown too used to, "Not that you had much to ruin in the first place."
His fingers moved slowly this time, bending Ridge's other pinky at an agonizing rate. The blonde grit his teeth but it wasn't long before his lips dropped and he cried out again, the sound growing louder and shriller until a sickening crack was heard, and then nothing was pouring from Ridge's lips except a silent agony. Arthur resisted the urge to gently massage his own pinkies, as if to promise them that nothing of that sort would happen to them.
"That's right, isn't it, Mr. Ridge?" The Forger straightened and stared down at the other man, his grin fading gradually into a scowl of disgust. "Now that your company is levels beneath bankrupt, you have nothing else left, do you?"
Ridge's weakening eyes narrowed in a subtle defiance but Eames had none of it. He smashed his fist into the blonde's jaw, forcing the man's head to the side. Blood began to drip from Ridge's pale lips.
"Do you?" Eames pressed, his voice strained and low.
"I-I-"
Arthur swallowed hard as the Forger now slammed the handle of the gun against the opposite side of Ridge's jaw. This time the blonde groaned out with pain and his body automatically tried to retaliate, but he was left writhing beneath the bonds.
"Do you?" The words now came out from between Eames' teeth, low, hard and merciless.
Ridge took a long moment to respond this time. His pale, blonde hair hung in strands before his face, his eyes covered with shadows as he stared down at his arm. His lips were parted, rigid breaths escaping them along with drops of blood that dripped from his chin and onto the chair and his pants. "N-No," he finally wheezed out.
Eames' lips slowly curled into a satisfied grin, but Arthur knew he was far from done. "No, you don't. And you want to know why, Mr. Ridge?"
There was no time for the man to respond before Eames swiftly struck again, this time breaking the other man's right index and middle fingers. As Ridge threw his head back and screamed, his body trembling violently against the bonds, the Forger leaned close and whispered into Ridge's ear with a voice so low that Arthur almost missed it: "Because you're weak and pathetic."
Crack and crack. Tears leaked from the corners of Ridge's eyes as Eames destroyed the last two fingers on his right hand, all of the digits protruding in different and abnormal directions. His lower lip was trembling as violently as his body beneath the blood and Arthur had to glance downwards towards his black, polished shoes. He listened to Eames' calm and slow footsteps, probably moving back to the man's other hand, and he let out a shaking breath.
Part of him hoped that the dream was coming to a close. He knew they were probably only halfway through it, at the most; watching Eames had been a thorough distraction for him from mentally counting down the time. Luckily, it wasn't necessary for him to do so; they had slipped headphones into Eames' ears and set a timer on an mp3 player to begin the music when they had five minutes left, dream time.
That was when things would surely get delicate and a bit unpredictable. Even more unpredictable than they already were.
Arthur didn't look up quite yet, even when Eames began to speak again. "You're weak, pathetic and a coward. Why else would you order other men to do your dirty work?"
"What the fuck do you want from me, Matheson?" Ridge finally spoke, his voice low, breathless and broken.
The chuckle that dripped from Eames' lips was dark and slow, a sound that made Arthur's spine arch with a violent shiver. He still didn't look up and wasn't entirely surprised when Eames didn't bother to correct the other man with his name. "Good question," the Forger purred. "What could I possibly want from you? After all…" There was another chuckle, this one more like venom, "I took most of your money."
"Fucking -" Ridge began but was cut off with a violent scream as Eames broke another finger. The brutal crack seemed so much worse without the visual so Arthur looked up, seeing Eames' body looming close to Ridge's, cruel smirk in place and the gun held loosely at his side in his other hand.
"No, Ridge, what I want from you…" Eames slowly raised the gun, pressed the barrel to the blonde's temple, causing Ridge to tense and let out a shuddering breath, "… is blood."
The silence that stretched between those words and any further movement was agonizingly slow, even for Arthur. He watched as Ridge trembled, his fearful, green eyes sideways and upon the gun being held to his head and that sorry fuck didn't realize that Eames was going to let him go just yet. The forger watched as Ridge shook and began to sweat, his lips exposing his satisfied glee.
"But that's not all," Eames whispered abruptly, causing Ridge to jolt against the bindings. The other man was close to whimpering, especially as the Forger slowly trailed the gun down Ridge's jaw, throat, to his collar. "No, that's not enough for me, you sorry fuck." The fury was threading its way back into Eames' voice, slowly giving his tone a terrifying edge. "I want your sanity. I want everything you have left and I want to laugh as you watch it all fall from your fingers. Now."
Eames abruptly moved and pressed the barrel of the gun to the top of Ridge's right hand. The tendons automatically stiffened beneath the metal, causing Ridge to let out a pained sound as his broken fingers moved. "Now," Eames repeated, his voice quieter now but no less lethal, "that might seem a little excessive, yeah? But see, Ridge, you made one grave mistake. Do you know what that is?"
Ridge swallowed hard, his adam's apple moving rigidly in his throat. Slowly, his insipid, green eyes rose to meet Arthur's.
The Forger grinned again, revealing his teeth through his crooked lips, and clicked the safety from the gun. "Bingo."
The loud shot rang out as Eames shot a bullet into the top of Ridge's hand.
Arthur immediately closed his eyes as the blonde's deafening scream filled the air in the wake of the gunshot, his fingers curling tighter in the sheets. His heart was pounding in his ears, the beat loud and erratic. He licked his dry lips and listened as the piercing sound slowly faded into pathetic whimpers among rigid and shallow breaths, telling himself over and over to stay where he was.
Somehow, this wasn't as bad as Talcott. He needed to keep reminding himself that.
"Your grave mistake," Eames ground out after a long moment of Ridge's breathing, "was deciding it was a good idea to have Arthur murdered."
The Point Man cracked his eyes open briefly, but saw that the rage within Eames' bright eyes had taken over. It was nothing but chaos from that point, nothing but the Forger swiftly cracking Ridge's remaining fingers in half, nothing but a flying fist slamming over and over into Ridge's face. Nothing but blood, nothing but one, long continuous scream that appeared to scratch against the blonde's dry throat, and nothing but sweat and tears. It wasn't long before Ridge's face was unrecognizable and Eames jumped back, his breathing heavy and every part of his body shaking except his hands, which were curled steadily around the gun.
He aimed for Ridge's right shin and didn't hesitate before pulling the trigger. Blood immediately soaked through Ridge's slacks and the man didn't even scream this time-instead, a pathetic moan dripped from his busted and swelled lips.
Eames' face was cold and unbreakable as he moved his arms just enough to aim for Ridge's left shin. He shot again. Lastly, he stepped forward again and slammed the barrel of the gun onto the top of the blonde's left hand and shot once more.
Arthur didn't realize he had been holding his breath until he exhaled heavily and slipped his trembling fingers through his hair. His own body was shaking, but not nearly as much as Ridge's, who was nothing but blood, broken bones and a quivering form. He was gone. Eames had destroyed him, just like he had promised, and the sight left Arthur's mouth dry and his palms damp.
The Forger slowly stepped back. The gun was hanging loosely in his grasp at his side and his footsteps seemed to echo over the sound of Ridge's harsh breathing. "Ridge-"
The whisper of distant music filled the room, causing both Arthur and Eames to stop. Five minutes.
For the first time since they had woken in the dream, Eames turned towards the Point Man. It was amazing how quickly and easily the Forger's expression had morphed into something proud, but not threatening in the least as he approached Arthur. Arthur shifted faintly to distract him from the way his heart sped up as Eames came closer.
"Ridge," Eames repeated a bit lighter this time, "you are going to beg Arthur to kill you."
Arthur's heart constricted in his chest as Eames offered him the gun. "This wasn't part of the plan," the Point Man whispered uneasily.
The Forger only smiled wider, his eyes softening immensely into a look that made Arthur go momentarily boneless. "It was you, darling," he murmured so Ridge had no chance of hearing him, "who told me that, when a man puts a gun to your forehead, you put one right back to his."
Eames gently gripped one of his wrists and pulled his hand from the bed, slipping the warm handle of the gun into his damp palm. He leaned over, his fingers lingering over the gun and, therefore, over Arthur's own. His words seduced Arthur's ear, sending a ribbon down his spine, "Shoot him just before the timer runs out. You'll wake up with the timer itself. Timing is crucial because I don't want you to miss the grand finale."
"Eames-"
"Trust me."
With that, Eames slipped easily out of the room. Arthur's eyes watched the Forger's wake briefly before they slowly shifted back to Ridge's pathetic form. Something surged through him in that moment, a power and a loathing of sorts, because this was the man who had kept him on edge for months. Who had watched him, tried to kill him and, more importantly, thought he could beat him.
The Point Man set his jaw and slowly stood, his fingers curling more confidently around the handle of the gun. He felt his eyes darken as he slowly approached Ridge, the blood still pulsing in his ears but for an entirely different reason now.
He distantly noted that he had two minutes.
Ridge barely moved when he stopped before the man. One of the blonde's eyes was swollen shut while the other was bloodshot and pained, weak and hollow.
Arthur slowly raised the gun and pressed it to the broken skin between the man's eyes. If there was one thing he hated in this world, it was being underestimated.
"Do it," the Point Man whispered, his voice low and frigid to even his own ears. "Beg me to kill you."
One minute.
Ridge didn't respond for a moment. The tendons in his throat tightened as he swallowed and he was stiff beneath the barrel of the gun. When he spoke, his words were barely there like smoke, drifting away and Arthur knew that was all of what was left of him, "K-Kill me... Please…"
The brunette watched the pain in Ridge's green irises as he inwardly counted down the few seconds they had left.
With five seconds left, he couldn't help the very subtle and faint smirk that curled the corners of his lips.
Checkmate.
He pulled the trigger.
And woke with a start in the arm chair, his eyes immediately falling upon Eames leaning over Ridge's body. There was a sharp inhale as the blonde woke and jerked, though a crisp silence immediately fell upon them as Ridge woke to a knife to his throat.
"You with me, darling?" Arthur knew Eames was addressing him and he watched from his place upon the armchair, his body still shaking subtly.
"Yeah," he managed and there was barely a moment before Eames slowly slit Ridge's throat, just like he had promised weeks ago.
The last sound that escaped Ridge's lips was a disgusting, gurgling noise as the blood poured from the man's throat. It seeped from Ridge's skin and onto the bed sheets. Eames arm was positioned at just the right angle so that his jacket sleeve remained absolutely clean.
And it was over. Eames dropped the knife onto Ridge's chest and whispered spitefully, "Go to hell, bastard."
When the Forger turned back to him, Eames' fingers were plucking the bloody rubber gloves from his fingers. Arthur's breath was shaking in time with his thrashing heart as his dark eyes met Eames' own. "It's over," was all he could whisper and Eames smiled weakly, nodding as he balled the gloves.
"It is," he whispered and leaned over to kiss Arthur's forehead gently. His fingers carefully pulled the needle from the Point Man's arm. "It's over. Now let's get out of here."
On their way out, the PASIV in his hand, the aquarium positioned right beside the door caught Arthur's eye. His throat fell a bit dry as he stared at the lonely fish, swimming around in the oversized tank. Part of him wanted to scoop it up, take it with them and save its life, but Eames gently cupped his arm and pulled him towards the door, breathing softly, "I know, darling."
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Arthur was nearly relieved when he finally felt the gentle, but purposeful brush of fingertips against his bare shoulder blades. He nearly closed his straining eyes and nearly let his muscles that were wound so tight unravel against the mattress hotel bed. Nearly.
They had made it back to the hotel about an hour after leaving Ridge's place and, throughout the entire day, had barely said anything to each other, much less touched each other. After all, Arthur hadn't known what to say and he still didn't. Eames hadn't tried to push, thankfully, because it wouldn't have changed the fact that the Point Man had found it nearly impossible to untangle the mess that occupied his mind.
But they had both been lying on the large bed for nearly an hour after they had decided to sleep, a wide gap between them, both of them obviously awake and obviously wound into springs of tension and pent up… well, everything. Pent up emotions, words, thoughts, lust.
Arthur's skin fluttered subtly beneath the warmth of Eames' fingers and he waited a long moment before allowing his body to rock towards the touch. He felt the stress in his muscles bleed into those firm fingertips and his frame deflated as he exhaled slowly, quietly.
He swore the bed beneath him began to pulse, but it was barely a moment before he realized that it was his own heartbeat, very aware of Eames shifting closer yet towards him.
"How's your shoulder?" Eames finally whispered, his voice hoarse with fatigue.
Arthur couldn't tell if it was postponing small talk or a genuine curiosity, but he breathed nonetheless, "A lot better… It doesn't hurt very much at all anymore."
Another thick and suffocating silence. Arthur's fingers clenched briefly in the hotel bed sheets and he let out a quiet, trembling breath, feeling so much more uneasy in this stillness. He was almost afraid to move, even though his heart obviously wasn't.
Finally, "What is it?" The Forger's voice was so soft that Arthur nearly missed it over the demand of the beat in his ears. He swallowed tightly, nearly choking as Eames' touch pressed harder to his skin, now massaging the muscles between Arthur's shoulders.
Arthur still didn't know what to say. He wanted to know how many other people Eames had tortured, he wanted to know what other sorts of horrible deeds the Forger has done. He wanted to know if Eames had ever done anything so drastic on someone's own behalf. He wanted to know if he broke the fingers and slit the throats of everyone who ever crossed him.
But the Point Man could only breathe one thing, a word that came out like smoke. "Why?"
The hand against his bare skin fell still, but they didn't withdraw. Eames' palm was hot against his back in the silence-maybe it wasn't a silence at all because he swore that the Forger could probably hear the stomping in his chest.
"I assume you don't want to know why I think something is pestering you…" The words seemed to be a stream of consciousness. Maybe Eames was just clarifying what Arthur meant, but the Point Man felt that he didn't need to shake his head in order for Eames to know that he was correct. He wanted to know why Eames went through so much trouble. Why he bothered to stay up into the hours of the morning every day just so he could bring down a company. Why he bothered to put Ridge under and torture him only to slit his throat. Why he did it all with such a glee that made Arthur's spine tingle, why he didn't just suggest the run and stay hidden.
It would have been so much easier, so why?
Eames' hand slid sensually up his skin and gripped his shoulder firmly, slowly coaxing him to turn. He obliged, his heart bounding up to his throat as he turned onto his other side and watched the faint silhouette of the man beside him.
The Forger's breath touched his lips when he spoke. "Because I can't stand the thought of anyone else fucking with you, darling."
Those fingers seduced the skin in the dip of his collarbone, causing his entire frame to tingle with a shiver. He was hot and licked his lower lip, his own hand slipping up between them to touch the firm muscles of Eames' neck.
"Because no one else deserves to touch this pretty body of yours, much less destroy it," Eames continued, and those words made it rather difficult for Arthur to breathe.
The other man's body shifted, the covers rustling with the movements and, when they settled, Eames' form was so fucking close to Arthur's own. "Because," Eames whispered one last time, the word rough and low as the Forger's fingers carefully framed the sharp line of Arthur's jaw, "I want back into your life, Arthur."
Arguably, that last one had nothing to do with what Arthur had asked, but fuck if it mattered. Eames' fingers tensed against the Point Man's jaw line at that moment and their lips were together, hard and prying and wet. Arthur's hands slid into Eames' hair, pressing his fingertips hard against the Forger's scalp as he moaned and kissed away everything he could take from the other man. Their legs tangled beneath the sheets and Arthur now felt impossibly hot, hotter than he used to when Eames would kiss him like this.
The Forger's broad hand slid back to his healing shoulder, cradling him close-though carefully- before he was turned again, this time onto his back, and the weight of Eames' body slid atop him. His spine automatically arched towards the other man's bare chest, the friction of Eames' skin against his own still making him breathless and he wanted more, more, an impossible amount more. Eames' teeth scraped against his lower lip and he wanted everything, everything of the other man.
With those hands sliding against his skin, down his sides, Arthur knew that Eames wanted the same.
"Arthur," Eames whispered brokenly into his mouth, his fingers still claiming every inch of his torso that they could touch, "Christ, Arthur, let me fuck you again… Please…"
He wanted everything.
A low moan dripped from his lips as his dizzy mind was briefly caught in the feeling of Eames' tongue sliding against his own. His own fingertips dragged themselves down to the protruding muscles lining Eames' shoulder blades and he exhaled huskily, letting the other man take the breath greedily.
Absolutely everything.
"Eames, ahn-!" He couldn't breathe as the Forger's hips rocked desperately against his own, the other man's heat so apparent through the thin layers of their underwear. His own hips immediately jumped from the bed and his legs bent on either side of Eames' body, the friction between them addicting and hot. His lips were wet against the Forger's once he finally found it in himself to breathe.
More than everything.
Arthur had to tear his lips away and turn his head to the side as he panted, grinding his hips up against Eames' in a desperate pace. They were already hard in their underwear, the heat of their cocks making Arthur's senses dizzy and delirious. The Forger's lips went to work along his jaw and then to his ear, causing sparks to jolt his insides whenever those teeth scraped and bit his skin. He was hot, too fucking hot, and his arms tightened around Eames' body so their skin rubbed together with each movement of their hips. The friction was like a match against its box, igniting a wet and merciless heat between them and Eames felt so right. Just like he used to; nothing could or ever would compare to this.
If any rational thought was present in his mind, it might have scolded him for ever thinking that he could quit this. For thinking that he ever wanted to quit this.
"Arthur." Eames' voice was now dripping against his ear with a low and husky tone, causing Arthur's body to twitch with a breathless sound. "Arthur, I want to fuck you like I used to."
How Eames' words were so well put together despite the shattered glass of his voice was impressive.
"Arthur," the Forger repeated, as if he couldn't get enough of saying the Point Man's name or feeling the way it made the smaller body writhe beneath him, "Arthur, please let me…"
"Fuck," Arthur finally choked out, torn between continuing to grind his erection up against Eames' and forcing the motion to stop because he couldn't fucking think. It took some effort, but he chose the latter and shoved Eames away by the shoulders, his breathing hot and nearly painful, each inhale scraping mercilessly against his dry throat. "Fuck, do it," he managed to breathe, his voice ruined.
And Eames was gone, along with the covers, causing the Point Man to shudder violently and instinctively curl up against the cold. He heard hurried footsteps and rustling as he watched the shadows of the dark room spin around him and it was a second thought that made him shakily reach over and pluck the switch on the bedside lamp.
He squinted briefly against the sudden light and shifted, pushing his trembling body further up on the pillow. There was a weight on the bed again and Eames was climbing back on, the shadows falling heavily over his damp skin and across his dark eyes that were fixed upon Arthur. The Forger's lips were wet and full, redder than usual and beautiful and so fucking alluring when Eames' tongue swiped against them subtly. Eames was crawling closer, his movements shaky but somehow confident, knowing exactly what they wanted.
When Eames settled beside Arthur again, he set a condom and a bottle of lube aside and Arthur couldn't help but cock an eyebrow.
"Aren't you prepared," the Point Man whispered huskily because he wasn't at all surprised. And he loved the way those lips curled upwards into a grin similar to the complacent one he had seen earlier that day.
"Intuition," was Eames' breathless response as he leaned close again, his fingertips slipping up Arthur's thigh. Arthur shudders violently and spread his legs a bit, closing his eyes as Eames kissed him again, this time slower and deeper. He moaned and curled his fingers in the bed sheets as the Forger's hot hand began to palm his cock through his underwear.
When Arthur was left breathless, Eames teased the waistband of his underwear and whispered against his swollen lips, "We should get this off…"
"Yours too," the Point Man somehow managed to whisper and Eames pulled back, shifting to pull his underwear off. Arthur followed suit and a different sort of heat settled within him as he saw the gentle, real smile painting Eames' full lips.
That warmth, however, melted into the hot lust pulsing through his veins as Eames picked up the bottle of lube.
Arthur let himself settle back against the pillows as Eames shifted back in between his legs. He tried to breathe slowly, tried to calm the pressure of his heartbeat and lust pulsing against his skull with no avail. His legs shakily spread once Eames' fingers were lathered and ready and, god it had been so long since the Forger reached down and ran those wet fingertips against his entrance, making his insides spark. It had been so long since Eames looked at him like that, gray-green eyes smoldering and hungry, eyeing him with an intensity that left him sinking further back into the bed, his legs spreading wider.
Eames knew just how to handle him. He knew just how to move his finger, fingers, in and out of Arthur. Just how to twist them, just how to spread them, just how to crook him to make Arthur's spine arch attractively towards the ceiling and his head hang back. It did hurt, but it was never long before the pain and the pleasure became indistinguishable in his spinning mind and left him breathless. Eames knew just how to make his body tense then relax, knew just how to overwhelm him before he was left pliable with his fingers and toes curling, his brow dampening and his lower lip quivering.
Never once did Arthur look away from Eames' eyes. Never once did Eames look away from Arthur's.
The Forger didn't need to ask when the Point Man was ready; he knew. He withdrew his fingers and reached up with his cleaner hand, his fingertips shaking as he touched Arthur's cheek. It was clear that there were words brewing beneath those lips, hesitating to show themselves and they never worked up the courage to do so.
As Eames finally glanced away and grabbed the condom, Arthur didn't press. A courtesy returned from earlier.
Arthur grew impatient as Eames slipped the condom on and lathered himself. His fingers twitched and itched to touch the skin he watched, to feel the way Eames' muscles shifted with each movement, to feel the Forger's heat. It wasn't too soon when Eames finally let out a hot breath, pulled Arthur's knees over his shoulders, gripped the Point Man's hips and focused in on him again.
He was tight and felt every bit of Eames that slowly pushed into him. His lips parted in a silent cry as he closed his eyes and felt the surge of heat that injected itself into his veins, starting at his toes and climbing up his body until sweat finally broke his skin. He listened to the low sound that slipped from Eames' lips and he couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't move, it had been far too fucking long and it hurt but god, don't stop.
The Forger was so deep when his body finally paused. Arthur inhaled violently, his body trembling beneath Eames' and he opened his eyes, staring blearily up at the other man, who was watching him, just as he used to. And Eames looked honest to fuck breathtaking, with the way his lower lip curled to release his shallow breathing and the way his pupils were blown to nearly the size of his iris. His hair was messed, bangs pressing to his forehead and Arthur shakily reached forward, traced Eames' lower lip.
He felt the way Eames whispered his name.
Then his fingers were jolting back to anchor themselves in the bed sheets as Eames began to move inside him. It always started slow at first, a gentle rocking that only proved to drive Arthur insane and greedy for more. From there, each movement only increased in pace and magnitude until Eames was fucking him hard, securing Arthur's lithe body to the mattress beneath them. And it was never like Eames to disappoint.
Arthur's fingers raked back through his own hair and clamped down on his skull as he panted through his red lips, his eyes struggling to watch Eames rock into him. The muscles in the Forger's body strained, especially in his shoulders when the man's hands curled tightly around Arthur's thighs, especially when Eames leaned slightly forward, causing Arthur's long legs to ache with a stretch. Eames' visage slowly fell apart, his white skin further reddening and his brow further smoothing, but never once did he break Arthur's gaze.
The Point Man's eyes finally clenched shut as Eames hit his prostate, causing the inside of his eyelids to flash with spots and a ruined sound fell from his lips. His body was set to fire like paper, sweat rolling along the planes and divots of his pale and quivering skin, and it was- "E-Eames-"
"I'm here, darling." The response was immediate but breathless, about as destroyed as Arthur felt, especially as Eames leaned further forward, fucking him harder, hitting his prostate over and over and bending him in half. "Right here." But Arthur barely heard that with the race in his ears of his heartbeat against the slap of Eames' hips against his own.
So much more than everything.
There was a pause in the harsh rhythm as Eames' shifted. The Point Man released a cracked sort of whine at the stop but pried his eyes open to watch as Eames gripped his calves. The Forger turned his head to kiss the inside of Arthur's leg briefly before he slowly slipped Arthur's legs from his shoulders and carefully bent them to wrap them around his waist.
This time, when Eames' hips snapped back into their pace, the full weight of the Forger's body fell against Arthur's, a feeling that made the Point Man twitch and shudder with gratitude. He coiled his arms firmly around Eames' shoulder and groaned as he felt the other man's wet skin slip against his own in time with the pace of their thrusts. Their lips kindled in a bruising, sloppy kiss, their mouths exchanging rigid, choked breaths and smoky sounds.
Once Arthur's legs wrapped around Eames' waist, his heels pressing to the Forger's lower back to coax him harder, further, the Point Man knew he wouldn't last much longer. And once Eames reached between them, wrapped his fingers around Arthur's leaking cock, Arthur's body jumped and he groaned, most certainly knowing then that he was close.
Arthur writhed beneath Eames' mouth, his touch, his skin, his ministrations, his thrusts, and scraped his nails down the Forger's back. He felt the other man groan lowly and arch, whispering huskily, "A-Arthur, soon…" The Point Man moaned a sort of incomprehensible response, licking the sweat from both his and Eames' lips.
It wasn't much longer before Arthur came hard into Eames' hand, his breath catching hard in his throat as his eyes clenched shut and his body twitched before arching violently into Eames, his mind slipping away from his body for that brief, euphoric moment. He didn't hear the low groan that poured from Eames' lips as he came just a bit after, but he felt the way the man shook violently above him, felt the muscles of Eames' back tense and ripple.
They both trembled once their dizzy minds fell back into their bodies, but Arthur didn't loosen his arms around Eames' shoulders and Eames didn't make any attempt to pull away. Arthur's breathing was harsh and shallow against Eames' skin as his lips mindlessly kissed along the muscles in the Forger's shoulder; Eames' breathing was the same as his lips dragged against the Point Man's ear.
Arthur wasn't entirely sure why he was able to say it now, or why he even felt compelled to at that moment, but he whispered tiredly, "Thank you. For everything."
He felt Eames' lips smile widely against his skin. "I don't deserve that," the Forger whispered before he shakily and gently pulled himself from Arthur's arms, pulling out of the Point Man. Arthur shuddered violently and grit his teeth at the feeling and laid his arm across his exhausted eyes as Eames shakily stumbled from the bed to discard the condom. Arthur was grateful when Eames immediately returned to his side and he knew he would hate himself for it in the morning, but he decided to pay no mind to the come slick on his stomach. He didn't really have much mind to spare at that moment, anyway.
Eames settled at beside Arthur, his stomach pressing into the Point Man's side, and gently pulled the arm from Arthur's face. His eyes were gentle but bright and wide with that habitual calculation and examination. Arthur smiled faintly and reached up to touch the corner of Eames' lips, which didn't smile back.
"I want back in your life, Arthur," the Forger whispered again, his voice lower than before.
A soft breath passed from Arthur's lips as he kept their gaze locked in place. He hoped it wasn't the endorphins in the wake of his orgasm or the spare adrenaline from everything he had done today, but he knew, at that moment, he didn't want Eames to leave his side. He remembered why he had put a halt to their relationship before: the job. But… His unsteady mind couldn't comprehend it just yet, though it was arguably doubtful that it ever would, but something about the past few weeks had put an entirely different spin on what he thought before.
Perhaps it was seeing the degree of just how far Eames was willing to go for him. Perhaps it was the way they had worked so well together just now, and he couldn't quite convince himself that sex could change that. Perhaps it was the way he had looked at Eames over these last few weeks, with new eyes and he still, in the end, wanted the Forger.
Everything of the Forger.
When Arthur didn't respond for a long moment, Eames carefully combed his fingers through the Point Man's hair and leaned forward to place a chaste kiss to Arthur's lips.
"You don't have to answer now," the Forger whispered almost hesitantly, "but… Consider it."
Arthur merely nodded, though he wasn't entirely sure he needed to consider anything.
"Also," Eames continued even more tentatively than before, his eyes now fixed upon his finger stroking Arthur's temple, "I know we said we'll return to your place tomorrow, however… If you do decide to let me back into your life, I have two tickets for Paris, away from any Cobol headquarters so we can maybe lay low for awhile… You know, just in case there's a backlash."
Those words left Arthur breathless all over again. His tired heart was back to bounding in his chest and wracking his body as he stared at Eames with a sort of shock. When the Forger met his gaze, all Eames could do was smile shakily, gently, and shrug before he breathed, "Again, consider it."
It wasn't too long before Eames reached over Arthur and flipped off the lamp again. They shifted subtly before settling for the night with Arthur curled tightly with his back pressed to Eames' chest, his body safe in Eames' hold. He listened as the Forger's breathing deepened and deepened until the man was unmistakably asleep before he closed his own eyes, his mind made up.