Caviar and Cigarettes [part 2/4]
Title: Caviar and Cigarettes
Author: my_0wn_madness
Beta: fuzzyniffler
Overall Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Jailbait!Arthur (Arthur's 16-17 to Eames' 27), toys (vibrator), slight and very brief breath play
Characters: Arthur/Eames
Summary: When the landlord-Eames, a man of British heritage, a sculpted body and approximately 30 years of age-answers the door, Arthur knows his search for an apartment is over.
Word Count: 27,355
Disclaimer: Inception is not mine in any way, shape or form. The title belongs to Queen.
Author's Notes: This is probably the most shameless thing I've ever written and I blame it on fuzzyniffler . She asked me for a jailbait!Arthur fic (yes, I made her edit her own story) and… Well, this monster was born. It's completely finished, but due to its ridiculous length, I'm going to post it in parts. It'll probably be updated every other day. … God, so shameless. But I hope you enjoy :) <3
Part One
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Arthur had planned this out very carefully because, if anything went wrong, it could mean disaster for him. Especially since he was legally bound to this apartment for at least another nine months. So that night, he made a late night "errand", one that gave him an excuse to trot down to Eames' door-of course, dressed in his best fitting outfit-and knock to ask if Eames knew the best take-out place around. Eames answered with a low mumble and with no cigarette between his lips, shockingly enough. Arthur caught a glimpse of the ink peeking out from beneath his shirt sleeve and his heart leapt a bit.
But he found out what mattered: that Eames was alone. And Arthur had learned that, if Eames wasn't going to be alone, he would have already been in someone else's company.
Arthur then took a walk around the block, to waste time and to not arouse any suspicion within Eames. It also gave him time to perfect his plan, to swallow his nerves and map out exactly what he was going to say, exactly what he was going to do. He was more prepared but no less nervous when he finally, quietly, hurried up the stairs to his room.
That brought him to now, naked and kneeling on his floor beside the vent in his bedroom, his skin hot and a slick vibrator buried his ass. He was already breathless, his body trembling with the stretch, but he was trying to make as little noise as possible, that is until-
And he heard it. Eames' bedroom door closing for the night. And oh fuck, he was already hot and bothered and his heart was stomping on his ribcage with anticipation and that was the point, right?
He waited a long moment, just trembling beside the vent and gathering up the nerve to breathe, "Eames."
There was no response. He heard very, very quiet shuffling from below-or maybe that was just his heartbeat in his ears-and he held his breath, listening and praying for a response.
When there wasn't one for what seemed like ten minutes-it was really only one and a half-he tried again, his voice louder but shaking, "Eames."
There was another pause. But this one ended in a quiet, "What d'you want, Arthur?"
Arthur's heart jumped into his throat at the reply, leaving him momentarily speechless. Here it was, he had gotten his attention, and now it was time to set his plan in motion. He tried to inhale deeply, but his breathing was already sputtering with the vibrator inside him. It was off so he reached back and jerked within himself, causing a broken moan to drip from his lips.
"I'm hot," he said huskily. His fingers curled around the end of the toy and, even though he didn't move it again, his breathing quickened further yet. "I'm hot, Eames, and I want you to come up here."
Yet another long, drawn out pause. Eames' voice was low when he finally spoke, rough. "Arthur, you shouldn't-"
"My door's open… U-Unlocked, Eames, I want you to come up here a-and-"
"Arthur-"
"I-I-There's a vibrator inside me, Eames, and you don't have to fuck me, but I… I can't fuck myself very efficiently with it, so…" He trailed off, not sure if he should be pleased or worried that that shut up Eames' protests. He continued with a ruined voice, "Y-You don't have to touch me, you don't have to kiss me, I just-" he jerked the vibrator within himself, forcing a cracked groan to pour from his mouth before he continued with a voice that was much weaker than before, "I just want, more than anything, f-for you to come up here and fuck me senseless with this thing."
That was a lie. What Arthur wanted more than anything was for Eames to fuck him senseless with his cock. But he had to take it slow and take what he could get.
There was no response. The only sound Arthur heard was the blood pulsing in his ears and his head had begun to spin subtly with the dildo inside him.
"Please," he added after a long moment, his eyes dark as they stared down into the vent.
He waited. The silence seemed to stretch on for god knew how long and Arthur wished he could hear if Eames had moved away or moved at all, but he couldn't hear anything over the heartbeat in his ears.
Well, almost anything.
He most certainly heard the front door to his own apartment open and close. He heard the chain lock set back into place. He heard footsteps and he began to pant quietly, his skin burning with anticipation and excitement and he couldn't believe this was actually about to happen.
When he heard his bedroom door open, he tried to glance over his shoulder, but the lights in his room were off and he could only see the familiar, dark silhouette. Eames, of course, knew the exact layout of his apartment, knew right where the vent was and he wasted no time in stepping forward, dropping to his knees behind Arthur.
Arthur wasn't sure what he had expected. But there was abruptly a firm, hot hand between his shoulder blades and it shoved him down into the floor while the other gripped his hip tightly and jerked upwards, leaving his ass exposed and set up in the air. He felt his face flush against the carpet at the filthy position but, god, this was exactly what he hoped for. Eames' hand was so unyielding against his spine, anchoring him to the floor even when the grip left his hip.
Even when he slowly pulled at the vibrator within Arthur. It made his body jump and shudder.
Eames didn't say a word as he pushed the toy back in, pulled it back out, pushed it back in and then faster, and Arthur began to lose his mind. It was embarrassing, really, how dizzy he became with the treatment and how much he trembled against Eames' hold. His fingers clenched tightly against the carpet as sweat gradually broke out across his skin. He bit his lower lip, trapping the hot and husky sounds within his mouth as Eames worked the vibrator in him faster, faster and faster yet and-
"Has anyone fucked you before?"
Arthur nearly came from how rigid, smoky and sinful those words sounded. And, god damn it, it wasn't fair because he briefly, very briefly remembered the lie he had planned earlier, the one that decided to withhold such information from Eames, but then, god damn it, Eames turned the toy on.
"N-No-" came pouring from Arthur's lips. He heard a low sound reverberate from within Eames' throat, but that might have been the hum of the vibrator at its lowest setting, slipping deeper and deeper inside of him before it just stopped. Eames let go.
The hand was still unrelenting against Arthur's back as he panted against the carpet, his brow distorted with desperation and he was trembling, sweating, hot and needy and this wasn't fair.
Then Eames leaned over, his lips close to Arthur's ear, whispered lowly and without previous restraints, "That's quite a big toy for you then," and why did Arthur never stand a chance around this man? Why was he always the one reduced to a whimpering and desperate mess? Only, this time, this mess wasn't just mental.
Arthur didn't respond, couldn't respond, not with the way the toy was humming lowly within him. It made his body tremble more violently and, yes, this was exactly what he had hoped for.
Eames held him down like that for a long moment before he turned the toy up to the next level. The sound that poured from Arthur's lips was ruined and loud as it bled onto the floor and his fingers twitched, one of his hands automatically slipping across the floor and towards his neglected and needy cock.
"Put that hand back or I'm leaving," Eames growled, his voice and lips so close to Arthur's ear but not close enough to touch, to caress, to kiss. And Arthur wasn't sure how Eames saw his hand, but he obliged with a whine, his hand stopping upon the floor and curling into a tense, shaking fist. "I thought you called me here for a reason; you can wank on your own time."
Arthur was briefly reminded of the tone that Eames used with the other man.
It didn't take Arthur long to realize that he would do absolutely anything for that tone.
Eames turned up the vibrator once more and Arthur could no longer think. He only felt Eames reach around him and grip his hand gently, and pull it up as if to examine it. He only felt Eames carefully splay the fingers of his hand, slip his own fingers between them as if getting a feel for them. He only felt Eames set his hand back then and then go about driving the toy in and out once-"Ngh!" - twice-"Ahn-F-fu-uck-!"- before Eames fitted the vibrator just perfectly against Arthur's prostate.
And left it there.
Arthur came hard with a choked and broken moan within a matter of seconds.
His body slouched and seemed to cave towards its center, his hips pulling lazily downwards and the floor spun violently for a long moment. Eames carefully, slowly, turned off the vibrator and pulled it from his ass and withdrew his other hand from his back.
Again, Arthur didn't know what he was expecting. All he knew was that he wasn't expecting Eames to gently turn him to his side just enough to press a thumb to his lips, as if to mark them, and then take them into a chaste kiss.
The silence rung and the darkness sometimes appeared in fuzzy spots around them before Arthur let his eyes flutter closed. He touched the scratchy stubble of Eames' jaw, fingertips shaking, and Eames' skin was just as warm as his lips. He inhaled deeply, now wanting nothing more than to climb into bed with Eames and fall asleep in his hold.
He was so warm.
The kiss ended after a long moment, but abruptly so. Arthur heard Eames sit up quickly, his body shuddering at the chill in Eames' wake.
"Good night." Eames' words were rushed and strained again and Arthur realized then that he wasn't the only one who had been turned on. His heart leapt and his cheeks flushed in the darkness at that idea.
"L-Let me help," he tried, his voice husky and catching in his dry throat.
Eames' answer was immediate. "No. I'll see you tomorrow. Good night, Arthur." He stood then, quickly, and ignored Arthur's quiet "wait". He was gone. Out of Arthur's room, chain lock unlocked, out the door.
When Arthur finally crawled into bed that night, deciding to clean up the mess on the carpet in the morning, he heard Eames' bedroom door shut rather loudly.
He grit his teeth when he heard a breathless moan drift up through his vent and he wished he knew if he was meant to hear it.
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Arthur didn't see Eames tomorrow. He didn't see him for a while, in fact.
Arthur wasn't patient, he never had been, but he knew that he needed to give this time. Before, he wasn't willing to because he didn't know if Eames was thinking about him, thinking about what this could become, thinking about what he wanted. But now, Arthur was sure that Eames was. He knew that he himself was burned in Eames' mind, on his hands and knees, moaning and writhing beneath merciless vibrator stimulation. At least. He didn't know what else Eames was thinking of, but he knew that even that memory would be enough to satisfy him.
So he let a few days float by without making a pressing effort to contact Eames. It became difficult at times, many times, actually, some of them predicted-like when his hand just wasn't enough-and some of them random-such as when he was cooking macaroni and cheese for dinner and wondered what Eames was making.
Now, just because Arthur didn't make the effort to go see and talk to Eames, it didn't mean he didn't keep tabs. After all, he had to make sure that Eames wasn't seeing anyone else, having sex with anyone else because, really, that would never do.
And Eames was usually alone day in and day out, at least when he was around the apartment complex. Arthur saw him leaving one day when he was getting back from school-Eames was been dressed in black slacks and a wonderful button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to just above the elbows. They smiled and Arthur said casually, trying not to shamelessly examine the accentuated curves of Eames' legs and arms, "Where are you off to?"
"Ad meeting," was the passing response. Arthur had no idea what that meant and, again, tried not to watch as Eames sauntered to his car.
But that was about it. He didn't see Eames much more than that. This, arguably, was a good thing because Arthur had a couple of papers to write for midterm.
More than once, he mispelt 'sort' as 'cock'. Somehow. Those two weren't even close but, when it happened the fourth time, Arthur knew that he needed to take action soon.
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"You're imagining Eames in that, aren't you?" Ariadne said as she stepped next to Arthur, who was stationary before a shop window, his eyes transfixed upon a slender mannequin dressed in a black, pin-stripe suit with a black waistcoat underneath. The undershirt was crisp and white behind the black, silk tie.
Arthur didn't respond right away because that was exactly what he was doing. The mannequin was of a slighter form than Eames, but he knew that those broad shoulders, that curve at Eames' lower back and that ass would look irresistible within such an outfit. It was extremely unfortunate that Eames seemed to have a taste for paisley, floral patterns and pastel colors. Like salmon.
"Are you going to buy that for him?" Ariadne pressed after a moment, her eyes amused and upon him.
He sighed. "No." Because he wasn't sure if Eames would like it. And because he himself wasn't made of money-his parents were, and he was sure they wouldn't take too kindly to him buying an expensive suit for the twenty-seven year-old that he'd like to fuck.
Arthur was abruptly dragged away from the window display, Ariadne's grip tight around his arm. "We're here to Christmas shop," she scolded. "You can dream about your boyfriend whenever."
"I wish he was my boyfriend," he grumbled and followed alongside her. "And men in suits are hot."
"The hottest," she agreed, glancing around at the stores on either side of them. "But we have things to do. Speaking of the pedophile-"
"Hey." Arthur smacked her shoulder and she laughed loudly, shoving him back and nearly slamming him sideways into a trash can.
"Speaking of him," she continued when Arthur resumed his place at her side, his narrowed eyes upon her. Though he found it hard not to grin in the slightest. "What are you going to get him from Christmas? I assume that you've already decided to give him something."
A vibrator instantly came to his mind. The thought made his cheeks heat up in the slightest.
His answer was an honest, "No." Arthur had, of course, thought about what he would give Eames for Christmas, but with that thought came many more questions and anxieties. He didn't want to spend too much on Eames, but he didn't want to come off as cheap. And he didn't know a whole lot about Eames aside from his music taste, so he needed to make sure that Eames would like whatever he got him. He needed to also make sure it was appropriate and didn't show off that he was eleven years younger.
"Something classy," he added after a moment.
"So that rules out condoms? Or how about yourself with a bow on your head?"
Arthur didn't tell Ariadne about the vibrator incident. He wasn't sure why, but he felt like Eames wouldn't really want him saying anything. Even to her. Surely, if she found out, she would kill him several times over. But Arthur would be sure to tell her later, probably when he was legal. And could take her hits without the risk of tumbling into a trash can.
"Classy," Arthur said dryly, smirking sideways at her.
"Hey, if you wore a suit like that-" she nodded behind them as if to indicate the suit that Arthur was eyeing, "-he wouldn't be able to resist you."
For some reason, Arthur felt a calling into a watch shop. So instead of responding, he pulled Ariadne inside and bent over the nearest glass case, his dark eyes scanning across the watches. Again, he was met with the problem of level of appropriateness. Some of the watches were appropriate for the elderly and Arthur wanted to make sure that he also didn't draw attention to the fact that Eames was so much older than himself.
"Does he like watches?" Ariadne asked at his side, their heads moving in synchronized motions as they looked across the glass case.
"I'm not sure. But watches are classy, right?"
"If you get the right one."
He nodded in agreement and they moved to the next case. There was one cradled in a black frame that caught his eye. Its band was silver, smooth and smaller, not too gaudy in its links. The clock's face, however, was what drew him in. The numbers were white against a solid black background, their font somehow… different than the other watches. There was something almost quirky in it, something that was elegant in this trait. Something that reminded him of Eames.
Arthur pressed his index finger to the glass right above it. "What about that one?"
Ariadne ducked her head to get a better look at it. She eventually nodded. "Very nice."
Arthur smiled and caught the attention of one of the sales clerks. It turned out the watch was just a bit above what he had planned on spending, but he didn't mind.
As the watch was being wrapped, Ariadne said, "Oh, I forgot to tell you. My family's dragging me to Boston to visit my aunt and uncle for Christmas and New Years. And for a couple days after that."
"So you're leaving me alone for the rest of break?" Arthur sighed as he handed his card over to the clerk. He glanced sideways and she leaned against the counter, exhaling heavily. This wasn't anything new-she and her family often visited her aunt and uncle. Just not over winter break. It was usually over summer.
"Basically," Ariadne admitted. "I'll skype you, though, and we can be alone together."
Arthur took his card and the small bag that contained the watch. As he signed the receipt, he murmured, "You better. Misery loves company." He thanked the clerk quietly and they turned. Ariadne's hand curled gently around his arm as they exited the store.
A few days later, Arthur couldn't stop smiling as Eames told him that he loved the watch. He didn't get anything in return, but he honestly didn't care.
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Due to the fact that macaroni and cheese lost its merit after four boxes a week, the Pizza Rolls in his freezer were frosted over and all of his sandwich meat was gone, Arthur resorted to take-out for New Years Eve. He had planned a Skype date with Ariadne at 12:30-which was apparently the time her parents would release her from their New Year's festivities-so that left him about… four and a half hours to go get food.
He really, really hoped it wouldn't take that long. Probably because the only way he could foresee it taking that long included something like a mugging. Or him getting direly lost on the straight path to the Chinese place down the street.
Arthur pulled himself from his laptop around 8:45 and shut it before padding over to his front door. He stared at his coats for a few minutes, weighing the pros and cons of wearing each one-it was generally looking good that conflicted with how warm it would keep him-and he eventually plucked the one from its hook that hugged his form but was still warm enough for the five minute walk.
He ran into Eames downstairs. It was sort of a shock though it really shouldn't have been considering Eames owned the place. But, nonetheless, Arthur jolted subtly before he praised himself for deciding to wear a jacket that still made him look nice.
Eames was clearly on his way out as well-that much was obvious from the brown jacket that hugged his form and actually looked nice with the turquoise scarf nestled beneath the coat's collar. Arthur ignored the fact that his pants were black.
"Hey," Eames said easily with a subtle smile, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Big plans for the night?"
Arthur gave a light scoff, trying to ignore how pathetic he sounded when he said, "Just take-out for myself. You?"
He also pretended there wasn't too much pity in the frown that Eames flashed him. He instead mentally replaced it with longing, wanting for it to be take-out for two, etc. "Ah, meeting some mates for a few rounds."
Arthur assumed those rounds referred to drinks. He heard Eames' fingers shift in his pocket, which produced the soft clanking of change.
"Are you going to the place I recommended?" Eames continued, the frown still curling his lips downwards. Arthur gave a small smile in an attempt to ease the expression etched into Eames' features.
"Yeah. It was really good," he lied easily, remembering that he had never actually tried it.
Silence settled around their shoulders as Eames just nodded. The clinking noise of the change shifting in Eames' pocket was a soft ring of background noise and Arthur briefly wished that Eames would stay with him on New Years. It was childish wish, of course, because every adult wants to drink on New Years, but it was a wish nonetheless. He wasn't sure of what they would even do-probably watch Queen DVDs, actually. He liked the thought of him and Eames sitting on the floor before the television, eating take-out and watching Freddie Mercury.
"You're not going to visit your parents?" Eames finally asked, his eyebrow tilting in the slightest and it was then that Arthur noticed a small scar cut neatly across his brow.
He laughed quietly again, pretending that Eames' words were genuinely interested and not filled with pity. "Nah, though they did send me a bottle of sparkling juice. And what would I do with them and fifty people just like them?"
Eames smiled at that. "I suppose. Well." He raised a hand to wave lightly. His sleeve fell past his wrist and Arthur felt his insides warm at the sight of the watch on his wrist. "I'll see you around, yeah? Have a good night."
"You too," Arthur returned quietly and watched as Eames left.
Those pants didn't match the brown of Eames' jacket but, damn, did they really show off his thighs. It was about a minute after Eames left that Arthur did as well.
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Even while living in New York, Arthur never understood the merit of the Times Square ball. It was shiny and glittery, but that was about it. Arthur remembered the first time he had watched it and, when he was only seven years old, he had been expecting some excited, abrupt drop of a ball that exploded into colors and spectacles because that was a way to start the new year off right. But, even when he was so young, he was severely disappointed when it just slowly descended to a lower point in the sky. So he didn't watch it at midnight-he hadn't since.
To his pleasure, the internet was rather interesting on New Years, so he welcomed the new year by scrolling through endless pictures of cats with captions, though how a cat and cheeseburgers were related was still beyond him. He poured himself a glass of sparkling juice when he remembered.
Sure enough, Ariadne's Skype call came in at almost 12:32. It took him a moment to answer as, at that moment, he found himself fascinated by pie charts that told the deepest truths of life.
"Happy New Year," Ariadne greeted once he finally picked up her call. She was smiling widely, her brown hair curling over her shoulders more than usual and she was wearing one of those ridiculous New Year crowns made out of cardboard and staples.
He smiled, raised his juice glass as if to toast her and said, "To you too," before taking a sip.
There was nothing too important to say on Arthur's end, so he let Ariadne do most of the talking. He listened interestedly as she talked about her parents' drunken antics, how her uncle is actually impressive at karaoke and how she was allowed a couple glasses of champagne. It reminded him of when his parents would leave the house to him over holidays and he'd invite Ariadne over and they'd sample various liquors from the cabinet. It was probably how he developed a taste for drier wines, though Ariadne had more of a sweeter bias.
The thing that Arthur loved about Ariadne was how he could actually listen to her talk for so long and not realize time was passing. And he never felt like he was obliged to say anything while, of course, he could if he wanted to. Having a conversation with Ariadne was a fine balance and she never was offended if he just smiled and nodded as she spoke because she knew that he was actually listening.
Arthur was in the middle of nodding as she went on to explain that she wouldn't be back until the day before school started when there was a knock at his door. It was 1:00, much to his surprise because, again, with time lapsing unnoticed, and he cocked an eyebrow, glancing up at his door.
"Did someone just knock?" Ariadne asked, cocking her eyebrow and tilting her head. "Expecting someone?"
"No," Arthur responded distractedly. He wasn't. Especially since Eames was out with his friends. And he normally would have ignored it, but the knock came again and his interest peeked. "Hang on," he told Ariadne quietly and slipped out of his chair and crossed his apartment.
He opened the door and found Eames, smiling very subtly. Again, he was caught by surprise but, this time, he believed it was with good reason.
"I thought you were out?" Arthur said upon seeing that Eames had no intention of saying the first word.
Eames' smile only widened, though it turned into more of a smirk. "They kicked me out because I was winning too much."
Honestly, Arthur had no idea what that meant but he stepped aside, opening his door further as he mumbled, "You can come in if you want." There was a slight hesitation in Eames' step but he did so, toeing off his shoes near the door.
As Arthur shut the door, he heard Ariadne say obnoxiously, "Is it Eames? If so I'm hanging up because I know I don't stand a chance."
Arthur missed Eames' wry smirk as he rushed over to his laptop and gave an apologetic good bye, closing it before Ariadne could say anymore. "My apologies-was I interrupting something?" Eames said lightly just as Arthur did this and when he glanced up, he saw those lips curled upwards in the slightest.
"Ah, no, my best friend is just out of town with her parents, so she called me for New Year's," Arthur explained quickly and slipped his fingers into his pockets before moving to his kitchen, hoping to change the subject. "Do you want anything to drink? All I have is that grape juice, but-"
"That sounds lovely." There was something in that response that made Arthur's knees weak as he went to pour another glass. Eames followed him, leaning against the counter beside the stove and murmuring a thanks as Arthur slipped the glass into his hand.
Arthur replaced the bottle back into the fridge and tried not to watch as Eames took a sip. He shifted on his feet, caught between his previous concern of what they were to do now and the way his heart felt light with the knowledge that Eames had actually come to his apartment under his own free will. He didn't dare to think his plan was working, not when Eames was so close, lest he do something to embarrass himself.
Though, when Arthur thought about it, there wasn't much left he could do to embarrass himself.
"What brings you here?" he finally murmured, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. Eames held the glass close to his lips, his piercing eyes watching Arthur from over the top of it.
"Well, as I said, they kicked me out of the game for being too brilliant for their own good-"
"The game?"
Eames seemed to hesitate. "Poker. I played a few rounds tonight."
Realization swept through Arthur as he nodded. Things made sense then, from the coins in Eames' pocket to Eames' comments that he hadn't been able to understand. "Ah. I see." He imagined Eames hunched over a round table, his shoulders folded forward as he held a hand of cards, a cigarette perched between his lips and, really, it seemed to fit. He smiled faintly. "A good New Year's Eve, then if you won."
Eames chuckled quietly and nodded, taking another sip. "I suppose so. And then…" He trailed off, the smile gone entirely from his lips as he stared down into the juice. Arthur couldn't be sure if he was thinking or hesitating, but it made him shift a bit more on his feet before he finally leaned against the counter as well, watching Eames carefully. "Oh-" Eames finally looked up, remembering something, and slipped a hand into his jacket pocket. There wasn't the sound of coins with the motion, though, when Eames' hand reappeared, it was curled gently around something. A small, black box.
"For you," he continued quietly, offering the box to Arthur. "Happy belated Christmas."
Arthur's insides were so warm he was sure they begun to melt as he took the box, staring at it with a sort of awe for a moment. When he finally plucked the lid off, his tapered fingers were shaking and unsteady and he hoped Eames didn't notice. Only briefly, though, because it wasn't long before his attention was fully caught by what was inside.
It was a lighter, one of those flip open ones made of metal. He carefully slid the lid beneath the box so that he could pick up the lighter, its finish smooth beneath his fingers. It was plain, very nice and simple. There was a small, curling design engraved around its bottom and it reminded Arthur of what he had seen of Eames' tattoo.
"Since we smoke so often," Eames explained after a long moment, his voice quiet. He watched as Arthur easily flicked the lighter open and clicked it, igniting a small flame.
Arthur's dark irises were fixed on the fire as he murmured, "I love it. Thank you." He finally extinguished the flame and glanced up at Eames, a spot hovering in his vision in the aftermath of the fire.
Eames' smile was small but genuine. "Good, I'm glad." He finished off the last of his glass and set it down on the counter behind him. "I wanted to give that to you. And-" the hesitation was back in his voice, though his gaze was fixed upon Arthur's, "-I don't think anyone should be alone on New Year's Eve. Or New Year's Day, for that matter."
An expectant silence followed. Arthur wanted those words to be an invitation for him to step forward, press his body to Eames', to kiss him fully, hotly, on his lips, his jaw, his neck, scarf, jacket and shirt off, down his collar, chest, tattoos, anywhere. Everywhere. But he didn't and Eames didn't do anything either-he just stared, his eyes shadowed beneath his long lashes, his lips pressed into a line. Arthur's thumb automatically ignited the lighter again, his fingers itching beneath Eames' gaze.
Eames finally took his weight of the counter though his expression remained unchanged. "Shall we see what's on?" he offered quietly, his voice a bit huskier than it was before. He didn't wait for Arthur to respond before he moved to step past Arthur, their gazes hooked until he was past. Arthur shivered subtly as Eames' arm brushed against his own and pocketed the lighter before setting the box down and following.
On the way to Arthur's couch, Eames slipped off the scarf and shed his jacket, hooking each over the corner of the couch. Much to Arthur's pleasure, Eames was wearing a crisp, white shirt beneath and it looked lovely across his broad shoulders and complimented his black, faded jeans. They both sat, a gap about a foot wide between them and Arthur handed the remote to Eames because, quite frankly, he didn't care what they watched.
The lighter weighed heavy in his pocket and that, along with Eames' presence at all, was enough to keep him content. Well, it made him happy, but, of course, the tension laced between their bodies made him a bit greedy for more.
Eames settled on The Twilight Zone. "This okay?"
Arthur glanced sideways at him and nodded. "Yeah."
It was about ten minutes before the gap between them slowly lessened. Arthur shifted his legs, brought their thighs closer together. Eames couldn't quite sit up straight, so his shoulders sloped inwards and towards Arthur. Arthur had to admit that he wasn't paying much attention to whatever mind fuck was going on before him, he couldn't really with how insistent his body's pull towards Eames was. His heart began to pound in his chest as he thought about doing something about it because Eames had gotten them this far, Eames had come to his apartment, and now maybe it was his turn to push it a bit further.
After thoughts of sliding into Eames' lap, of reaching over to curl a hand around Eames' thigh and of pressing their legs together, Arthur just turned his head, rested his cheek against the back of the couch and whispered to Eames, "Happy New Year."
Eames' eyes fell from the television screen and to Arthur's. He tilted his head in the slightest, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed before murmuring gently, "Happy New Year."
Arthur didn't let another expectant silence form between them before he reached up, curled his fingers loosely around Eames' jaw and gently pulled him forward, into a soft kiss. He shuddered at the warmth of Eames' lips and the way they closed around his own, the fullness that came with them not just in their shape but also the way they kissed. Arthur's eyes stayed open, watching what he could of Eames as he trailed his fingertips along the prickly texture of Eames' skin.
They kissed like that for a long moment. Eames' fingers were soon sliding through Arthur's dark hair to rest at the base of his neck, their touch lingering and distracting against his skin. And then their teeth clinked together and Eames' mouth was hot around his tongue, sucking it in and making him groan. Eames' hand closed more fully around the collar of his shirt.
When Arthur's fingers shifted, he could feel Eames' pulse pounding beneath them.
Arthur was about to shift, to lay down and pull Eames on top of him, but before he could do so, the kiss was over. They were both left breathless, lips swollen and wet and Arthur could barely hear the television with his heart pounding so furiously in his chest. Eames was watching him, eyes dark and clearly wanting but strained. He leaned back, away from Arthur and set them a foot apart again.
"I'm sorry," he breathed and looked back to the television. Arthur couldn't look away from the redness of his cheeks. "I'm sorry, I can't, not yet."
The last two words were rushed, breathless, but they sent Arthur's heart spinning.
Eames stayed over that night, but he slept on the couch. Arthur offered him a place in his bed, but Eames declined.
It took Arthur awhile to get to sleep that night.
|.|.|
When he woke the next morning, Eames was gone. The couch was empty, the lonely blankets mussed and draped across its surface. Eames scarf and coat were gone as well.
He didn't hear from Eames the rest of break. And not for at least a week or so after school started again. Not even through the vents.
|.|.|
One Saturday, Arthur woke up to a muffled, familiar rhythm. He tried to be irritated, tried to grit his teeth and growl because it was Saturday, god damn it, and he wanted to sleep in, but the attempt was in vain when he realized two things.
The first thing he realized was something that made him smile very, very subtly: He was hearing Queen's 'Don't Stop Me Now'.
The second thing he realized was something that made him smile helplessly: It was coming from beneath him.
He laid there and just listened, finally cracking his eyes open on the first chorus. As he blinked lazily at the wall, he couldn't help but wonder why Eames was blasting Queen so loudly in the morning-wait it was still morning, right? Yep, 10:09 AM.
If this was some sort of brilliant idea to woo Arthur and win his heart, god damn it, it worked and Arthur would not be able to keep his clothes on the next time he saw Eames.
But perhaps it was just Eames' alarm? Though Arthur had never heard Queen go off in the morning, so maybe he alarm was turned up to be louder than usual? As an attempt to woo Arthur and win his heart? Please?
Well, whatever the reason, it was a wonderful start to the day. Arthur told himself that today was going to be a great day and he waited until Freddie Mercury shouted 'explode' before slipping easily out of bed and going to start his coffee.
|.|.|
The day turned out to be mostly uneventful until 5:30 in the evening rolled around and Arthur decided that he'd given Eames enough time and that he really just wanted to be around him again. So he checked the cash in his wallet before pulling a jacket close to his body and leaving his apartment, the building, strolling down the street and to the takeout place that Eames had listed as the best.
That was how he ended up outside Eames' door, holding four large bags of takeout. He knocked with his foot.
It only took Eames about ten seconds to answer, but those ten seconds were enough for Arthur to doubt every single thing about this idea. What if Eames had already eaten? What if he had gone out? What if he had sneaked someone into his apartment without Arthur's knowing? What if Eames was a vegetarian? A vegan? What if he wasn't in the mood for takeout? What if he was making a wonderful dinner already? What if Eames thought this was stupid and ridiculous and juvenile? What if Eames really never did want to see him again because, after all, he was only sixteen?
Arthur's hands began to tremble around the bags of takeout. He swallowed the knot in his throat and hoped more than anything that this wasn't a terrible move on his part. He was relieved when Eames answered the door and tried to smile upon seeing the older man's confused expression.
"I brought takeout," he said softly, his voice shaking irritatingly in time with his heartbeat.
"I see that," was the response and Eames' eyes were still scanning the bags with shock before he reached out and took a couple of them.
The gesture reduced Arthur's stress more than it probably should have. He followed Eames into the apartment, closing the door with his foot behind them. "I didn't know what you like, I just knew that you said you really liked this place, so… You're not a vegetarian, are you?"
Eames scoffed at that and set a few of the bags down on the kitchen table. "Please," he said easily and Arthur smiled faintly, setting his bags down by Eames'.
It turned out that Eames was a huge fan of Lo Mein and chicken. And fried rice, which was good for Arthur because he was a fan of the pearl rice. Arthur ended up eating nearly all of the beef and broccoli while Eames took care of everything else.
Eames also ate with a fork, which Arthur couldn't help but find hopelessly endearing. For some reason.
"I never was able to figure out chop sticks," Eames said lightly, holding the orange chicken carton close and eating from it. They ended up on the carpet in front of Eames' television, an old eighties movie playing in the background. During silences-and there were many-they both pretended to watch but Arthur couldn't even tell you the main character's name.
He smiled faintly and effortlessly picked up some of the rice between his sticks. "It's difficult, at first. But you get used to it." He took the bite.
Arthur ended up eating every last grain of rice from that carton if, for no other reason, but a distraction. He was fully aware that he was at fault for this awkward situation, but he couldn't just sit in the silences. He needed to pluck the rice from the bottom, every side and the top of the carton and it ended up being a long enough distraction because Eames, with his empty cartons on the floor beside him, one of them knocked over with the weight of the silver fork inside, finally said, "So I know why you're here. You're a persistent little bugger, aren't you?"
Whether or not that was a compliment, Arthur wasn't sure but he finally dropped his chop sticks in the carton and set it down. He managed to glance sideways at Eames, who was watching him in return, his face humorless. That only seemed to make Arthur's nerves panic further.
"I just don't see a reason to stop," Arthur mumbled after a moment and that earned a dry smile accompanied with a scoff.
"No reason? You being underage and eleven years younger isn't a good enough reason for you?"
Arthur shrugged. "No."
"The fact remains: You're mad."
"I can't say I see the problem, Eames, if both of us want it-"
Eames' voice was louder now, more desperate and Arthur thought he was only trying to convince himself. Again. "The problem is, Arthur, that I could get thrown away for years."
"So you don't deny wanting me?"
Another pause, only this time neither of them bothered to look at the television. Eames' eyes were bright, brilliant and Arthur couldn't look away even if he wanted to. But that seemed to be the everlasting story with Eames, didn't it? Arthur couldn't look away, no matter how much he told himself to, no matter how much he rationalized with himself. He just couldn't do it.
And that was why he was here now.
"Of course not," Eames finally murmured after a moment, his voice now barely there. Even more like smoke than usual. He smiled then, but it was hollow and exhausted, just like the small, dry laugh that escaped it. "Of course not, why do you think I actually listened to your bloody voice through the vent, why do you think I actually came upstairs? Of course I want you and you know it, Arthur-"
"I won't tell," Arthur tried, his own voice small. It hadn't meant to be so small, but it was. As if Eames' words bore a heavy weight. "I won't tell, and I'm seventeen in a month… Then it's only a year, and no one will know. No one has to know."
Another silence between them, though Arthur's heart was loud in his ears. He finally said it, said everything he thought, said everything except-
"I want you," he whispered lastly because that was the most important part.
He saw the resolve break in Eames' clear irises. Then he saw Eames shifting, crawling over the empty cartons and into Arthur's lap, his weight heavy and full and solid, just like the grasp he took Arthur's face in. Just like his lips felt when they pressed against Arthur's own.
Arthur placed his hands on Eames' collar and couldn't keep them still as he tilted his head, moaning lowly into the demanding kiss. His fingers were trembling subtly as they ran over the cloth of Eames' shirt, across his chest, down his sides, around, up his spine and Arthur really just wanted those muscles holding him down, pressing securely against him, sliding against his own skin. He wanted it so much and he curled his fingers tightly in the back of Eames' shirt, as if to make sure he couldn't pull away.
But Eames didn't even try. He just licked into Arthur's mouth, his tongue hot and it made Arthur shudder. His head fell out of balance with the heat and desperation between them. Especially as Eames' hands slipped down his throat, to his shoulders and pinned him solidly to the side of the couch that he was leaning against, especially as Eames rocked his hips down into Arthur's and caused a husky moan to drip from his lips.
"Eames-" he gasped because Eames' hips were relentless after that, grinding repeatedly and harshly against his own and the friction made his skin tingle, heat up, dampen. Eames only cursed breathlessly in return, his nails digging through Arthur's shirt and into his shoulders.
Their tongues slid together and Arthur's body sunk towards the couch beneath Eames'. The low chuckle that dripped into Arthur's lips was dark and husky and he held tighter to the back of Eames' shirt.
"You know," Eames breathed huskily, his words hot and breathless against Arthur's mouth, "it was so hard not to take advantage of you… That one night in your room…"
Arthur growled quietly and bit down on Eames' lip, his fingers finally unhooking from the other man's shirt and sliding downwards. He wondered briefly what it would have felt like if, that night, Eames had kept that firm hand on his back, held him down and pulled the vibrator out of him only to thrust in and just the thought made him breathless. When he looked up at Eames, his eyes were dark and he saw Eames' full, swollen lips curled into a crooked smirk.
Sweat began to bead across his collar as Eames continued to rut his hips against his own. They were both panting and Arthur slipped his fingers beneath Eames' shirt to touch his hot skin. "You were so h-hot, Arthur." And the way he said Arthur's name almost made Arthur come on the spot. He groaned huskily and reached up with one hand to curl his fingers tightly in Eames' hair. The growl he earned in response was heavy and dark but he pulled Eames' head down to mouth along the crisp stubble of his jaw.
"Arthur," Eames purred again and it made Arthur shudder heavily against the hold on his shoulders. He dug his nails into the prominent muscles of Eames' stomach and held his hair tighter, kissing to Eames' ear. He breathed out huskily and loved the way Eames shuddered and shook.
"Eames," he breathed unevenly in return and he the pressure was building in his stomach, but he needed- "M-More… I want more-"
"No," Eames said quickly, breathlessly and almost as if the words pained him. "Not this time, not yet."
Again. Arthur whined lowly and bit down on Eames' earlobe before he did his best to arch his hips up and grind them against Eames'. The friction was maddening, almost satisfying but so very teasing because he knew this heat was just a hint of what Eames could give him. He peered down between them from beneath his lashes and saw the way Eames' hips were moving, snapping, the motions quick and skillful and he could only imagine-
He came in his pants, the floor seeming to slip out from beneath him momentarily as his lips parted and a choked, breathless sound escaped him. He held tightly to Eames, burying his head in Eames' shoulder the best he could and Eames was still grinding down upon him. He was oversensitive and it nearly hurt, it made him groan weakly again as he grit his teeth but then Eames stopped and the most godly sound dripped from his lips. It was low, breathy and hitched as his body twitched.
Eames slowly released Arthur's shoulders before slipping off of Arthur's lap and sinking against the side of the couch beside him. It was a miracle that he managed not to sit on any of the takeout cartons but Arthur didn't question it. He instead hesitated, watching Eames carefully for any sign of approval for him to curl into his warmth.
There was nothing. Eames just breathed huskily, heavily and Arthur's stomach dropped almost nauseatingly as he realized that was the first time he had ever directly made Eames come.
During this silence, they looked back to the horrible movie still playing on the screen. Arthur's head was still dizzy and he ran a shaking hand through his hair before shifting uncomfortably in his dirty pants.
"Do you have school tomorrow?" Eames asked after a long moment, his voice scratchy against his throat.
Arthur cocked an eyebrow and looked sideways at him again. He nearly forgot what he was going to say upon realizing just how beautifully disheveled Eames looked, with his swollen lips, flushed cheeks, matted and out of place hair. But then he mumbled, "It's Saturday." Because the answer was obvious.
"Right. Well…" There was clear hesitation as Eames ran a hand through his hair and then mumbled, "You can stay over, if you'd like. I have extra pajamas, even though they're probably a bit big on you…"
A sort of heat flooded through Arthur's skin and he smiled faintly, murmuring. "I'd love to."
Eames gave a tired though gentle smile in return and Arthur resisted the urge to reach out and touch it.
Arthur then picked up the cartons and gingerly went to throw them away in the kitchen as Eames went to grab them each a pair of sweatpants.
"I know you're wondering," Eames said as he returned, offering Arthur a pair of black sweatpants, "I don't know what to call us. I don't know if I want to call us anything yet, you know?"
Arthur nodded and subconsciously brought the pair of pants to his nose, inhaling deeply. Eames gave a cocked eyebrow and a dry smile at that.
"You smell good," Arthur explained weakly before agreeing quietly, "and that's fine with me." Because he didn't really care if he and Eames had an official label on what they were. All he knew was that he wanted Eames. And as long as he had Eames, that was just fine with him.
Part three
Author: my_0wn_madness
Beta: fuzzyniffler
Overall Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Jailbait!Arthur (Arthur's 16-17 to Eames' 27), toys (vibrator), slight and very brief breath play
Characters: Arthur/Eames
Summary: When the landlord-Eames, a man of British heritage, a sculpted body and approximately 30 years of age-answers the door, Arthur knows his search for an apartment is over.
Word Count: 27,355
Disclaimer: Inception is not mine in any way, shape or form. The title belongs to Queen.
Author's Notes: This is probably the most shameless thing I've ever written and I blame it on fuzzyniffler . She asked me for a jailbait!Arthur fic (yes, I made her edit her own story) and… Well, this monster was born. It's completely finished, but due to its ridiculous length, I'm going to post it in parts. It'll probably be updated every other day. … God, so shameless. But I hope you enjoy :) <3
Part One
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Arthur had planned this out very carefully because, if anything went wrong, it could mean disaster for him. Especially since he was legally bound to this apartment for at least another nine months. So that night, he made a late night "errand", one that gave him an excuse to trot down to Eames' door-of course, dressed in his best fitting outfit-and knock to ask if Eames knew the best take-out place around. Eames answered with a low mumble and with no cigarette between his lips, shockingly enough. Arthur caught a glimpse of the ink peeking out from beneath his shirt sleeve and his heart leapt a bit.
But he found out what mattered: that Eames was alone. And Arthur had learned that, if Eames wasn't going to be alone, he would have already been in someone else's company.
Arthur then took a walk around the block, to waste time and to not arouse any suspicion within Eames. It also gave him time to perfect his plan, to swallow his nerves and map out exactly what he was going to say, exactly what he was going to do. He was more prepared but no less nervous when he finally, quietly, hurried up the stairs to his room.
That brought him to now, naked and kneeling on his floor beside the vent in his bedroom, his skin hot and a slick vibrator buried his ass. He was already breathless, his body trembling with the stretch, but he was trying to make as little noise as possible, that is until-
And he heard it. Eames' bedroom door closing for the night. And oh fuck, he was already hot and bothered and his heart was stomping on his ribcage with anticipation and that was the point, right?
He waited a long moment, just trembling beside the vent and gathering up the nerve to breathe, "Eames."
There was no response. He heard very, very quiet shuffling from below-or maybe that was just his heartbeat in his ears-and he held his breath, listening and praying for a response.
When there wasn't one for what seemed like ten minutes-it was really only one and a half-he tried again, his voice louder but shaking, "Eames."
There was another pause. But this one ended in a quiet, "What d'you want, Arthur?"
Arthur's heart jumped into his throat at the reply, leaving him momentarily speechless. Here it was, he had gotten his attention, and now it was time to set his plan in motion. He tried to inhale deeply, but his breathing was already sputtering with the vibrator inside him. It was off so he reached back and jerked within himself, causing a broken moan to drip from his lips.
"I'm hot," he said huskily. His fingers curled around the end of the toy and, even though he didn't move it again, his breathing quickened further yet. "I'm hot, Eames, and I want you to come up here."
Yet another long, drawn out pause. Eames' voice was low when he finally spoke, rough. "Arthur, you shouldn't-"
"My door's open… U-Unlocked, Eames, I want you to come up here a-and-"
"Arthur-"
"I-I-There's a vibrator inside me, Eames, and you don't have to fuck me, but I… I can't fuck myself very efficiently with it, so…" He trailed off, not sure if he should be pleased or worried that that shut up Eames' protests. He continued with a ruined voice, "Y-You don't have to touch me, you don't have to kiss me, I just-" he jerked the vibrator within himself, forcing a cracked groan to pour from his mouth before he continued with a voice that was much weaker than before, "I just want, more than anything, f-for you to come up here and fuck me senseless with this thing."
That was a lie. What Arthur wanted more than anything was for Eames to fuck him senseless with his cock. But he had to take it slow and take what he could get.
There was no response. The only sound Arthur heard was the blood pulsing in his ears and his head had begun to spin subtly with the dildo inside him.
"Please," he added after a long moment, his eyes dark as they stared down into the vent.
He waited. The silence seemed to stretch on for god knew how long and Arthur wished he could hear if Eames had moved away or moved at all, but he couldn't hear anything over the heartbeat in his ears.
Well, almost anything.
He most certainly heard the front door to his own apartment open and close. He heard the chain lock set back into place. He heard footsteps and he began to pant quietly, his skin burning with anticipation and excitement and he couldn't believe this was actually about to happen.
When he heard his bedroom door open, he tried to glance over his shoulder, but the lights in his room were off and he could only see the familiar, dark silhouette. Eames, of course, knew the exact layout of his apartment, knew right where the vent was and he wasted no time in stepping forward, dropping to his knees behind Arthur.
Arthur wasn't sure what he had expected. But there was abruptly a firm, hot hand between his shoulder blades and it shoved him down into the floor while the other gripped his hip tightly and jerked upwards, leaving his ass exposed and set up in the air. He felt his face flush against the carpet at the filthy position but, god, this was exactly what he hoped for. Eames' hand was so unyielding against his spine, anchoring him to the floor even when the grip left his hip.
Even when he slowly pulled at the vibrator within Arthur. It made his body jump and shudder.
Eames didn't say a word as he pushed the toy back in, pulled it back out, pushed it back in and then faster, and Arthur began to lose his mind. It was embarrassing, really, how dizzy he became with the treatment and how much he trembled against Eames' hold. His fingers clenched tightly against the carpet as sweat gradually broke out across his skin. He bit his lower lip, trapping the hot and husky sounds within his mouth as Eames worked the vibrator in him faster, faster and faster yet and-
"Has anyone fucked you before?"
Arthur nearly came from how rigid, smoky and sinful those words sounded. And, god damn it, it wasn't fair because he briefly, very briefly remembered the lie he had planned earlier, the one that decided to withhold such information from Eames, but then, god damn it, Eames turned the toy on.
"N-No-" came pouring from Arthur's lips. He heard a low sound reverberate from within Eames' throat, but that might have been the hum of the vibrator at its lowest setting, slipping deeper and deeper inside of him before it just stopped. Eames let go.
The hand was still unrelenting against Arthur's back as he panted against the carpet, his brow distorted with desperation and he was trembling, sweating, hot and needy and this wasn't fair.
Then Eames leaned over, his lips close to Arthur's ear, whispered lowly and without previous restraints, "That's quite a big toy for you then," and why did Arthur never stand a chance around this man? Why was he always the one reduced to a whimpering and desperate mess? Only, this time, this mess wasn't just mental.
Arthur didn't respond, couldn't respond, not with the way the toy was humming lowly within him. It made his body tremble more violently and, yes, this was exactly what he had hoped for.
Eames held him down like that for a long moment before he turned the toy up to the next level. The sound that poured from Arthur's lips was ruined and loud as it bled onto the floor and his fingers twitched, one of his hands automatically slipping across the floor and towards his neglected and needy cock.
"Put that hand back or I'm leaving," Eames growled, his voice and lips so close to Arthur's ear but not close enough to touch, to caress, to kiss. And Arthur wasn't sure how Eames saw his hand, but he obliged with a whine, his hand stopping upon the floor and curling into a tense, shaking fist. "I thought you called me here for a reason; you can wank on your own time."
Arthur was briefly reminded of the tone that Eames used with the other man.
It didn't take Arthur long to realize that he would do absolutely anything for that tone.
Eames turned up the vibrator once more and Arthur could no longer think. He only felt Eames reach around him and grip his hand gently, and pull it up as if to examine it. He only felt Eames carefully splay the fingers of his hand, slip his own fingers between them as if getting a feel for them. He only felt Eames set his hand back then and then go about driving the toy in and out once-"Ngh!" - twice-"Ahn-F-fu-uck-!"- before Eames fitted the vibrator just perfectly against Arthur's prostate.
And left it there.
Arthur came hard with a choked and broken moan within a matter of seconds.
His body slouched and seemed to cave towards its center, his hips pulling lazily downwards and the floor spun violently for a long moment. Eames carefully, slowly, turned off the vibrator and pulled it from his ass and withdrew his other hand from his back.
Again, Arthur didn't know what he was expecting. All he knew was that he wasn't expecting Eames to gently turn him to his side just enough to press a thumb to his lips, as if to mark them, and then take them into a chaste kiss.
The silence rung and the darkness sometimes appeared in fuzzy spots around them before Arthur let his eyes flutter closed. He touched the scratchy stubble of Eames' jaw, fingertips shaking, and Eames' skin was just as warm as his lips. He inhaled deeply, now wanting nothing more than to climb into bed with Eames and fall asleep in his hold.
He was so warm.
The kiss ended after a long moment, but abruptly so. Arthur heard Eames sit up quickly, his body shuddering at the chill in Eames' wake.
"Good night." Eames' words were rushed and strained again and Arthur realized then that he wasn't the only one who had been turned on. His heart leapt and his cheeks flushed in the darkness at that idea.
"L-Let me help," he tried, his voice husky and catching in his dry throat.
Eames' answer was immediate. "No. I'll see you tomorrow. Good night, Arthur." He stood then, quickly, and ignored Arthur's quiet "wait". He was gone. Out of Arthur's room, chain lock unlocked, out the door.
When Arthur finally crawled into bed that night, deciding to clean up the mess on the carpet in the morning, he heard Eames' bedroom door shut rather loudly.
He grit his teeth when he heard a breathless moan drift up through his vent and he wished he knew if he was meant to hear it.
|.|.|
Arthur didn't see Eames tomorrow. He didn't see him for a while, in fact.
Arthur wasn't patient, he never had been, but he knew that he needed to give this time. Before, he wasn't willing to because he didn't know if Eames was thinking about him, thinking about what this could become, thinking about what he wanted. But now, Arthur was sure that Eames was. He knew that he himself was burned in Eames' mind, on his hands and knees, moaning and writhing beneath merciless vibrator stimulation. At least. He didn't know what else Eames was thinking of, but he knew that even that memory would be enough to satisfy him.
So he let a few days float by without making a pressing effort to contact Eames. It became difficult at times, many times, actually, some of them predicted-like when his hand just wasn't enough-and some of them random-such as when he was cooking macaroni and cheese for dinner and wondered what Eames was making.
Now, just because Arthur didn't make the effort to go see and talk to Eames, it didn't mean he didn't keep tabs. After all, he had to make sure that Eames wasn't seeing anyone else, having sex with anyone else because, really, that would never do.
And Eames was usually alone day in and day out, at least when he was around the apartment complex. Arthur saw him leaving one day when he was getting back from school-Eames was been dressed in black slacks and a wonderful button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to just above the elbows. They smiled and Arthur said casually, trying not to shamelessly examine the accentuated curves of Eames' legs and arms, "Where are you off to?"
"Ad meeting," was the passing response. Arthur had no idea what that meant and, again, tried not to watch as Eames sauntered to his car.
But that was about it. He didn't see Eames much more than that. This, arguably, was a good thing because Arthur had a couple of papers to write for midterm.
More than once, he mispelt 'sort' as 'cock'. Somehow. Those two weren't even close but, when it happened the fourth time, Arthur knew that he needed to take action soon.
|.|.|
"You're imagining Eames in that, aren't you?" Ariadne said as she stepped next to Arthur, who was stationary before a shop window, his eyes transfixed upon a slender mannequin dressed in a black, pin-stripe suit with a black waistcoat underneath. The undershirt was crisp and white behind the black, silk tie.
Arthur didn't respond right away because that was exactly what he was doing. The mannequin was of a slighter form than Eames, but he knew that those broad shoulders, that curve at Eames' lower back and that ass would look irresistible within such an outfit. It was extremely unfortunate that Eames seemed to have a taste for paisley, floral patterns and pastel colors. Like salmon.
"Are you going to buy that for him?" Ariadne pressed after a moment, her eyes amused and upon him.
He sighed. "No." Because he wasn't sure if Eames would like it. And because he himself wasn't made of money-his parents were, and he was sure they wouldn't take too kindly to him buying an expensive suit for the twenty-seven year-old that he'd like to fuck.
Arthur was abruptly dragged away from the window display, Ariadne's grip tight around his arm. "We're here to Christmas shop," she scolded. "You can dream about your boyfriend whenever."
"I wish he was my boyfriend," he grumbled and followed alongside her. "And men in suits are hot."
"The hottest," she agreed, glancing around at the stores on either side of them. "But we have things to do. Speaking of the pedophile-"
"Hey." Arthur smacked her shoulder and she laughed loudly, shoving him back and nearly slamming him sideways into a trash can.
"Speaking of him," she continued when Arthur resumed his place at her side, his narrowed eyes upon her. Though he found it hard not to grin in the slightest. "What are you going to get him from Christmas? I assume that you've already decided to give him something."
A vibrator instantly came to his mind. The thought made his cheeks heat up in the slightest.
His answer was an honest, "No." Arthur had, of course, thought about what he would give Eames for Christmas, but with that thought came many more questions and anxieties. He didn't want to spend too much on Eames, but he didn't want to come off as cheap. And he didn't know a whole lot about Eames aside from his music taste, so he needed to make sure that Eames would like whatever he got him. He needed to also make sure it was appropriate and didn't show off that he was eleven years younger.
"Something classy," he added after a moment.
"So that rules out condoms? Or how about yourself with a bow on your head?"
Arthur didn't tell Ariadne about the vibrator incident. He wasn't sure why, but he felt like Eames wouldn't really want him saying anything. Even to her. Surely, if she found out, she would kill him several times over. But Arthur would be sure to tell her later, probably when he was legal. And could take her hits without the risk of tumbling into a trash can.
"Classy," Arthur said dryly, smirking sideways at her.
"Hey, if you wore a suit like that-" she nodded behind them as if to indicate the suit that Arthur was eyeing, "-he wouldn't be able to resist you."
For some reason, Arthur felt a calling into a watch shop. So instead of responding, he pulled Ariadne inside and bent over the nearest glass case, his dark eyes scanning across the watches. Again, he was met with the problem of level of appropriateness. Some of the watches were appropriate for the elderly and Arthur wanted to make sure that he also didn't draw attention to the fact that Eames was so much older than himself.
"Does he like watches?" Ariadne asked at his side, their heads moving in synchronized motions as they looked across the glass case.
"I'm not sure. But watches are classy, right?"
"If you get the right one."
He nodded in agreement and they moved to the next case. There was one cradled in a black frame that caught his eye. Its band was silver, smooth and smaller, not too gaudy in its links. The clock's face, however, was what drew him in. The numbers were white against a solid black background, their font somehow… different than the other watches. There was something almost quirky in it, something that was elegant in this trait. Something that reminded him of Eames.
Arthur pressed his index finger to the glass right above it. "What about that one?"
Ariadne ducked her head to get a better look at it. She eventually nodded. "Very nice."
Arthur smiled and caught the attention of one of the sales clerks. It turned out the watch was just a bit above what he had planned on spending, but he didn't mind.
As the watch was being wrapped, Ariadne said, "Oh, I forgot to tell you. My family's dragging me to Boston to visit my aunt and uncle for Christmas and New Years. And for a couple days after that."
"So you're leaving me alone for the rest of break?" Arthur sighed as he handed his card over to the clerk. He glanced sideways and she leaned against the counter, exhaling heavily. This wasn't anything new-she and her family often visited her aunt and uncle. Just not over winter break. It was usually over summer.
"Basically," Ariadne admitted. "I'll skype you, though, and we can be alone together."
Arthur took his card and the small bag that contained the watch. As he signed the receipt, he murmured, "You better. Misery loves company." He thanked the clerk quietly and they turned. Ariadne's hand curled gently around his arm as they exited the store.
A few days later, Arthur couldn't stop smiling as Eames told him that he loved the watch. He didn't get anything in return, but he honestly didn't care.
|.|.|
Due to the fact that macaroni and cheese lost its merit after four boxes a week, the Pizza Rolls in his freezer were frosted over and all of his sandwich meat was gone, Arthur resorted to take-out for New Years Eve. He had planned a Skype date with Ariadne at 12:30-which was apparently the time her parents would release her from their New Year's festivities-so that left him about… four and a half hours to go get food.
He really, really hoped it wouldn't take that long. Probably because the only way he could foresee it taking that long included something like a mugging. Or him getting direly lost on the straight path to the Chinese place down the street.
Arthur pulled himself from his laptop around 8:45 and shut it before padding over to his front door. He stared at his coats for a few minutes, weighing the pros and cons of wearing each one-it was generally looking good that conflicted with how warm it would keep him-and he eventually plucked the one from its hook that hugged his form but was still warm enough for the five minute walk.
He ran into Eames downstairs. It was sort of a shock though it really shouldn't have been considering Eames owned the place. But, nonetheless, Arthur jolted subtly before he praised himself for deciding to wear a jacket that still made him look nice.
Eames was clearly on his way out as well-that much was obvious from the brown jacket that hugged his form and actually looked nice with the turquoise scarf nestled beneath the coat's collar. Arthur ignored the fact that his pants were black.
"Hey," Eames said easily with a subtle smile, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Big plans for the night?"
Arthur gave a light scoff, trying to ignore how pathetic he sounded when he said, "Just take-out for myself. You?"
He also pretended there wasn't too much pity in the frown that Eames flashed him. He instead mentally replaced it with longing, wanting for it to be take-out for two, etc. "Ah, meeting some mates for a few rounds."
Arthur assumed those rounds referred to drinks. He heard Eames' fingers shift in his pocket, which produced the soft clanking of change.
"Are you going to the place I recommended?" Eames continued, the frown still curling his lips downwards. Arthur gave a small smile in an attempt to ease the expression etched into Eames' features.
"Yeah. It was really good," he lied easily, remembering that he had never actually tried it.
Silence settled around their shoulders as Eames just nodded. The clinking noise of the change shifting in Eames' pocket was a soft ring of background noise and Arthur briefly wished that Eames would stay with him on New Years. It was childish wish, of course, because every adult wants to drink on New Years, but it was a wish nonetheless. He wasn't sure of what they would even do-probably watch Queen DVDs, actually. He liked the thought of him and Eames sitting on the floor before the television, eating take-out and watching Freddie Mercury.
"You're not going to visit your parents?" Eames finally asked, his eyebrow tilting in the slightest and it was then that Arthur noticed a small scar cut neatly across his brow.
He laughed quietly again, pretending that Eames' words were genuinely interested and not filled with pity. "Nah, though they did send me a bottle of sparkling juice. And what would I do with them and fifty people just like them?"
Eames smiled at that. "I suppose. Well." He raised a hand to wave lightly. His sleeve fell past his wrist and Arthur felt his insides warm at the sight of the watch on his wrist. "I'll see you around, yeah? Have a good night."
"You too," Arthur returned quietly and watched as Eames left.
Those pants didn't match the brown of Eames' jacket but, damn, did they really show off his thighs. It was about a minute after Eames left that Arthur did as well.
|.|.|
Even while living in New York, Arthur never understood the merit of the Times Square ball. It was shiny and glittery, but that was about it. Arthur remembered the first time he had watched it and, when he was only seven years old, he had been expecting some excited, abrupt drop of a ball that exploded into colors and spectacles because that was a way to start the new year off right. But, even when he was so young, he was severely disappointed when it just slowly descended to a lower point in the sky. So he didn't watch it at midnight-he hadn't since.
To his pleasure, the internet was rather interesting on New Years, so he welcomed the new year by scrolling through endless pictures of cats with captions, though how a cat and cheeseburgers were related was still beyond him. He poured himself a glass of sparkling juice when he remembered.
Sure enough, Ariadne's Skype call came in at almost 12:32. It took him a moment to answer as, at that moment, he found himself fascinated by pie charts that told the deepest truths of life.
"Happy New Year," Ariadne greeted once he finally picked up her call. She was smiling widely, her brown hair curling over her shoulders more than usual and she was wearing one of those ridiculous New Year crowns made out of cardboard and staples.
He smiled, raised his juice glass as if to toast her and said, "To you too," before taking a sip.
There was nothing too important to say on Arthur's end, so he let Ariadne do most of the talking. He listened interestedly as she talked about her parents' drunken antics, how her uncle is actually impressive at karaoke and how she was allowed a couple glasses of champagne. It reminded him of when his parents would leave the house to him over holidays and he'd invite Ariadne over and they'd sample various liquors from the cabinet. It was probably how he developed a taste for drier wines, though Ariadne had more of a sweeter bias.
The thing that Arthur loved about Ariadne was how he could actually listen to her talk for so long and not realize time was passing. And he never felt like he was obliged to say anything while, of course, he could if he wanted to. Having a conversation with Ariadne was a fine balance and she never was offended if he just smiled and nodded as she spoke because she knew that he was actually listening.
Arthur was in the middle of nodding as she went on to explain that she wouldn't be back until the day before school started when there was a knock at his door. It was 1:00, much to his surprise because, again, with time lapsing unnoticed, and he cocked an eyebrow, glancing up at his door.
"Did someone just knock?" Ariadne asked, cocking her eyebrow and tilting her head. "Expecting someone?"
"No," Arthur responded distractedly. He wasn't. Especially since Eames was out with his friends. And he normally would have ignored it, but the knock came again and his interest peeked. "Hang on," he told Ariadne quietly and slipped out of his chair and crossed his apartment.
He opened the door and found Eames, smiling very subtly. Again, he was caught by surprise but, this time, he believed it was with good reason.
"I thought you were out?" Arthur said upon seeing that Eames had no intention of saying the first word.
Eames' smile only widened, though it turned into more of a smirk. "They kicked me out because I was winning too much."
Honestly, Arthur had no idea what that meant but he stepped aside, opening his door further as he mumbled, "You can come in if you want." There was a slight hesitation in Eames' step but he did so, toeing off his shoes near the door.
As Arthur shut the door, he heard Ariadne say obnoxiously, "Is it Eames? If so I'm hanging up because I know I don't stand a chance."
Arthur missed Eames' wry smirk as he rushed over to his laptop and gave an apologetic good bye, closing it before Ariadne could say anymore. "My apologies-was I interrupting something?" Eames said lightly just as Arthur did this and when he glanced up, he saw those lips curled upwards in the slightest.
"Ah, no, my best friend is just out of town with her parents, so she called me for New Year's," Arthur explained quickly and slipped his fingers into his pockets before moving to his kitchen, hoping to change the subject. "Do you want anything to drink? All I have is that grape juice, but-"
"That sounds lovely." There was something in that response that made Arthur's knees weak as he went to pour another glass. Eames followed him, leaning against the counter beside the stove and murmuring a thanks as Arthur slipped the glass into his hand.
Arthur replaced the bottle back into the fridge and tried not to watch as Eames took a sip. He shifted on his feet, caught between his previous concern of what they were to do now and the way his heart felt light with the knowledge that Eames had actually come to his apartment under his own free will. He didn't dare to think his plan was working, not when Eames was so close, lest he do something to embarrass himself.
Though, when Arthur thought about it, there wasn't much left he could do to embarrass himself.
"What brings you here?" he finally murmured, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. Eames held the glass close to his lips, his piercing eyes watching Arthur from over the top of it.
"Well, as I said, they kicked me out of the game for being too brilliant for their own good-"
"The game?"
Eames seemed to hesitate. "Poker. I played a few rounds tonight."
Realization swept through Arthur as he nodded. Things made sense then, from the coins in Eames' pocket to Eames' comments that he hadn't been able to understand. "Ah. I see." He imagined Eames hunched over a round table, his shoulders folded forward as he held a hand of cards, a cigarette perched between his lips and, really, it seemed to fit. He smiled faintly. "A good New Year's Eve, then if you won."
Eames chuckled quietly and nodded, taking another sip. "I suppose so. And then…" He trailed off, the smile gone entirely from his lips as he stared down into the juice. Arthur couldn't be sure if he was thinking or hesitating, but it made him shift a bit more on his feet before he finally leaned against the counter as well, watching Eames carefully. "Oh-" Eames finally looked up, remembering something, and slipped a hand into his jacket pocket. There wasn't the sound of coins with the motion, though, when Eames' hand reappeared, it was curled gently around something. A small, black box.
"For you," he continued quietly, offering the box to Arthur. "Happy belated Christmas."
Arthur's insides were so warm he was sure they begun to melt as he took the box, staring at it with a sort of awe for a moment. When he finally plucked the lid off, his tapered fingers were shaking and unsteady and he hoped Eames didn't notice. Only briefly, though, because it wasn't long before his attention was fully caught by what was inside.
It was a lighter, one of those flip open ones made of metal. He carefully slid the lid beneath the box so that he could pick up the lighter, its finish smooth beneath his fingers. It was plain, very nice and simple. There was a small, curling design engraved around its bottom and it reminded Arthur of what he had seen of Eames' tattoo.
"Since we smoke so often," Eames explained after a long moment, his voice quiet. He watched as Arthur easily flicked the lighter open and clicked it, igniting a small flame.
Arthur's dark irises were fixed on the fire as he murmured, "I love it. Thank you." He finally extinguished the flame and glanced up at Eames, a spot hovering in his vision in the aftermath of the fire.
Eames' smile was small but genuine. "Good, I'm glad." He finished off the last of his glass and set it down on the counter behind him. "I wanted to give that to you. And-" the hesitation was back in his voice, though his gaze was fixed upon Arthur's, "-I don't think anyone should be alone on New Year's Eve. Or New Year's Day, for that matter."
An expectant silence followed. Arthur wanted those words to be an invitation for him to step forward, press his body to Eames', to kiss him fully, hotly, on his lips, his jaw, his neck, scarf, jacket and shirt off, down his collar, chest, tattoos, anywhere. Everywhere. But he didn't and Eames didn't do anything either-he just stared, his eyes shadowed beneath his long lashes, his lips pressed into a line. Arthur's thumb automatically ignited the lighter again, his fingers itching beneath Eames' gaze.
Eames finally took his weight of the counter though his expression remained unchanged. "Shall we see what's on?" he offered quietly, his voice a bit huskier than it was before. He didn't wait for Arthur to respond before he moved to step past Arthur, their gazes hooked until he was past. Arthur shivered subtly as Eames' arm brushed against his own and pocketed the lighter before setting the box down and following.
On the way to Arthur's couch, Eames slipped off the scarf and shed his jacket, hooking each over the corner of the couch. Much to Arthur's pleasure, Eames was wearing a crisp, white shirt beneath and it looked lovely across his broad shoulders and complimented his black, faded jeans. They both sat, a gap about a foot wide between them and Arthur handed the remote to Eames because, quite frankly, he didn't care what they watched.
The lighter weighed heavy in his pocket and that, along with Eames' presence at all, was enough to keep him content. Well, it made him happy, but, of course, the tension laced between their bodies made him a bit greedy for more.
Eames settled on The Twilight Zone. "This okay?"
Arthur glanced sideways at him and nodded. "Yeah."
It was about ten minutes before the gap between them slowly lessened. Arthur shifted his legs, brought their thighs closer together. Eames couldn't quite sit up straight, so his shoulders sloped inwards and towards Arthur. Arthur had to admit that he wasn't paying much attention to whatever mind fuck was going on before him, he couldn't really with how insistent his body's pull towards Eames was. His heart began to pound in his chest as he thought about doing something about it because Eames had gotten them this far, Eames had come to his apartment, and now maybe it was his turn to push it a bit further.
After thoughts of sliding into Eames' lap, of reaching over to curl a hand around Eames' thigh and of pressing their legs together, Arthur just turned his head, rested his cheek against the back of the couch and whispered to Eames, "Happy New Year."
Eames' eyes fell from the television screen and to Arthur's. He tilted his head in the slightest, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed before murmuring gently, "Happy New Year."
Arthur didn't let another expectant silence form between them before he reached up, curled his fingers loosely around Eames' jaw and gently pulled him forward, into a soft kiss. He shuddered at the warmth of Eames' lips and the way they closed around his own, the fullness that came with them not just in their shape but also the way they kissed. Arthur's eyes stayed open, watching what he could of Eames as he trailed his fingertips along the prickly texture of Eames' skin.
They kissed like that for a long moment. Eames' fingers were soon sliding through Arthur's dark hair to rest at the base of his neck, their touch lingering and distracting against his skin. And then their teeth clinked together and Eames' mouth was hot around his tongue, sucking it in and making him groan. Eames' hand closed more fully around the collar of his shirt.
When Arthur's fingers shifted, he could feel Eames' pulse pounding beneath them.
Arthur was about to shift, to lay down and pull Eames on top of him, but before he could do so, the kiss was over. They were both left breathless, lips swollen and wet and Arthur could barely hear the television with his heart pounding so furiously in his chest. Eames was watching him, eyes dark and clearly wanting but strained. He leaned back, away from Arthur and set them a foot apart again.
"I'm sorry," he breathed and looked back to the television. Arthur couldn't look away from the redness of his cheeks. "I'm sorry, I can't, not yet."
The last two words were rushed, breathless, but they sent Arthur's heart spinning.
Eames stayed over that night, but he slept on the couch. Arthur offered him a place in his bed, but Eames declined.
It took Arthur awhile to get to sleep that night.
|.|.|
When he woke the next morning, Eames was gone. The couch was empty, the lonely blankets mussed and draped across its surface. Eames scarf and coat were gone as well.
He didn't hear from Eames the rest of break. And not for at least a week or so after school started again. Not even through the vents.
|.|.|
One Saturday, Arthur woke up to a muffled, familiar rhythm. He tried to be irritated, tried to grit his teeth and growl because it was Saturday, god damn it, and he wanted to sleep in, but the attempt was in vain when he realized two things.
The first thing he realized was something that made him smile very, very subtly: He was hearing Queen's 'Don't Stop Me Now'.
The second thing he realized was something that made him smile helplessly: It was coming from beneath him.
He laid there and just listened, finally cracking his eyes open on the first chorus. As he blinked lazily at the wall, he couldn't help but wonder why Eames was blasting Queen so loudly in the morning-wait it was still morning, right? Yep, 10:09 AM.
If this was some sort of brilliant idea to woo Arthur and win his heart, god damn it, it worked and Arthur would not be able to keep his clothes on the next time he saw Eames.
But perhaps it was just Eames' alarm? Though Arthur had never heard Queen go off in the morning, so maybe he alarm was turned up to be louder than usual? As an attempt to woo Arthur and win his heart? Please?
Well, whatever the reason, it was a wonderful start to the day. Arthur told himself that today was going to be a great day and he waited until Freddie Mercury shouted 'explode' before slipping easily out of bed and going to start his coffee.
|.|.|
The day turned out to be mostly uneventful until 5:30 in the evening rolled around and Arthur decided that he'd given Eames enough time and that he really just wanted to be around him again. So he checked the cash in his wallet before pulling a jacket close to his body and leaving his apartment, the building, strolling down the street and to the takeout place that Eames had listed as the best.
That was how he ended up outside Eames' door, holding four large bags of takeout. He knocked with his foot.
It only took Eames about ten seconds to answer, but those ten seconds were enough for Arthur to doubt every single thing about this idea. What if Eames had already eaten? What if he had gone out? What if he had sneaked someone into his apartment without Arthur's knowing? What if Eames was a vegetarian? A vegan? What if he wasn't in the mood for takeout? What if he was making a wonderful dinner already? What if Eames thought this was stupid and ridiculous and juvenile? What if Eames really never did want to see him again because, after all, he was only sixteen?
Arthur's hands began to tremble around the bags of takeout. He swallowed the knot in his throat and hoped more than anything that this wasn't a terrible move on his part. He was relieved when Eames answered the door and tried to smile upon seeing the older man's confused expression.
"I brought takeout," he said softly, his voice shaking irritatingly in time with his heartbeat.
"I see that," was the response and Eames' eyes were still scanning the bags with shock before he reached out and took a couple of them.
The gesture reduced Arthur's stress more than it probably should have. He followed Eames into the apartment, closing the door with his foot behind them. "I didn't know what you like, I just knew that you said you really liked this place, so… You're not a vegetarian, are you?"
Eames scoffed at that and set a few of the bags down on the kitchen table. "Please," he said easily and Arthur smiled faintly, setting his bags down by Eames'.
It turned out that Eames was a huge fan of Lo Mein and chicken. And fried rice, which was good for Arthur because he was a fan of the pearl rice. Arthur ended up eating nearly all of the beef and broccoli while Eames took care of everything else.
Eames also ate with a fork, which Arthur couldn't help but find hopelessly endearing. For some reason.
"I never was able to figure out chop sticks," Eames said lightly, holding the orange chicken carton close and eating from it. They ended up on the carpet in front of Eames' television, an old eighties movie playing in the background. During silences-and there were many-they both pretended to watch but Arthur couldn't even tell you the main character's name.
He smiled faintly and effortlessly picked up some of the rice between his sticks. "It's difficult, at first. But you get used to it." He took the bite.
Arthur ended up eating every last grain of rice from that carton if, for no other reason, but a distraction. He was fully aware that he was at fault for this awkward situation, but he couldn't just sit in the silences. He needed to pluck the rice from the bottom, every side and the top of the carton and it ended up being a long enough distraction because Eames, with his empty cartons on the floor beside him, one of them knocked over with the weight of the silver fork inside, finally said, "So I know why you're here. You're a persistent little bugger, aren't you?"
Whether or not that was a compliment, Arthur wasn't sure but he finally dropped his chop sticks in the carton and set it down. He managed to glance sideways at Eames, who was watching him in return, his face humorless. That only seemed to make Arthur's nerves panic further.
"I just don't see a reason to stop," Arthur mumbled after a moment and that earned a dry smile accompanied with a scoff.
"No reason? You being underage and eleven years younger isn't a good enough reason for you?"
Arthur shrugged. "No."
"The fact remains: You're mad."
"I can't say I see the problem, Eames, if both of us want it-"
Eames' voice was louder now, more desperate and Arthur thought he was only trying to convince himself. Again. "The problem is, Arthur, that I could get thrown away for years."
"So you don't deny wanting me?"
Another pause, only this time neither of them bothered to look at the television. Eames' eyes were bright, brilliant and Arthur couldn't look away even if he wanted to. But that seemed to be the everlasting story with Eames, didn't it? Arthur couldn't look away, no matter how much he told himself to, no matter how much he rationalized with himself. He just couldn't do it.
And that was why he was here now.
"Of course not," Eames finally murmured after a moment, his voice now barely there. Even more like smoke than usual. He smiled then, but it was hollow and exhausted, just like the small, dry laugh that escaped it. "Of course not, why do you think I actually listened to your bloody voice through the vent, why do you think I actually came upstairs? Of course I want you and you know it, Arthur-"
"I won't tell," Arthur tried, his own voice small. It hadn't meant to be so small, but it was. As if Eames' words bore a heavy weight. "I won't tell, and I'm seventeen in a month… Then it's only a year, and no one will know. No one has to know."
Another silence between them, though Arthur's heart was loud in his ears. He finally said it, said everything he thought, said everything except-
"I want you," he whispered lastly because that was the most important part.
He saw the resolve break in Eames' clear irises. Then he saw Eames shifting, crawling over the empty cartons and into Arthur's lap, his weight heavy and full and solid, just like the grasp he took Arthur's face in. Just like his lips felt when they pressed against Arthur's own.
Arthur placed his hands on Eames' collar and couldn't keep them still as he tilted his head, moaning lowly into the demanding kiss. His fingers were trembling subtly as they ran over the cloth of Eames' shirt, across his chest, down his sides, around, up his spine and Arthur really just wanted those muscles holding him down, pressing securely against him, sliding against his own skin. He wanted it so much and he curled his fingers tightly in the back of Eames' shirt, as if to make sure he couldn't pull away.
But Eames didn't even try. He just licked into Arthur's mouth, his tongue hot and it made Arthur shudder. His head fell out of balance with the heat and desperation between them. Especially as Eames' hands slipped down his throat, to his shoulders and pinned him solidly to the side of the couch that he was leaning against, especially as Eames rocked his hips down into Arthur's and caused a husky moan to drip from his lips.
"Eames-" he gasped because Eames' hips were relentless after that, grinding repeatedly and harshly against his own and the friction made his skin tingle, heat up, dampen. Eames only cursed breathlessly in return, his nails digging through Arthur's shirt and into his shoulders.
Their tongues slid together and Arthur's body sunk towards the couch beneath Eames'. The low chuckle that dripped into Arthur's lips was dark and husky and he held tighter to the back of Eames' shirt.
"You know," Eames breathed huskily, his words hot and breathless against Arthur's mouth, "it was so hard not to take advantage of you… That one night in your room…"
Arthur growled quietly and bit down on Eames' lip, his fingers finally unhooking from the other man's shirt and sliding downwards. He wondered briefly what it would have felt like if, that night, Eames had kept that firm hand on his back, held him down and pulled the vibrator out of him only to thrust in and just the thought made him breathless. When he looked up at Eames, his eyes were dark and he saw Eames' full, swollen lips curled into a crooked smirk.
Sweat began to bead across his collar as Eames continued to rut his hips against his own. They were both panting and Arthur slipped his fingers beneath Eames' shirt to touch his hot skin. "You were so h-hot, Arthur." And the way he said Arthur's name almost made Arthur come on the spot. He groaned huskily and reached up with one hand to curl his fingers tightly in Eames' hair. The growl he earned in response was heavy and dark but he pulled Eames' head down to mouth along the crisp stubble of his jaw.
"Arthur," Eames purred again and it made Arthur shudder heavily against the hold on his shoulders. He dug his nails into the prominent muscles of Eames' stomach and held his hair tighter, kissing to Eames' ear. He breathed out huskily and loved the way Eames shuddered and shook.
"Eames," he breathed unevenly in return and he the pressure was building in his stomach, but he needed- "M-More… I want more-"
"No," Eames said quickly, breathlessly and almost as if the words pained him. "Not this time, not yet."
Again. Arthur whined lowly and bit down on Eames' earlobe before he did his best to arch his hips up and grind them against Eames'. The friction was maddening, almost satisfying but so very teasing because he knew this heat was just a hint of what Eames could give him. He peered down between them from beneath his lashes and saw the way Eames' hips were moving, snapping, the motions quick and skillful and he could only imagine-
He came in his pants, the floor seeming to slip out from beneath him momentarily as his lips parted and a choked, breathless sound escaped him. He held tightly to Eames, burying his head in Eames' shoulder the best he could and Eames was still grinding down upon him. He was oversensitive and it nearly hurt, it made him groan weakly again as he grit his teeth but then Eames stopped and the most godly sound dripped from his lips. It was low, breathy and hitched as his body twitched.
Eames slowly released Arthur's shoulders before slipping off of Arthur's lap and sinking against the side of the couch beside him. It was a miracle that he managed not to sit on any of the takeout cartons but Arthur didn't question it. He instead hesitated, watching Eames carefully for any sign of approval for him to curl into his warmth.
There was nothing. Eames just breathed huskily, heavily and Arthur's stomach dropped almost nauseatingly as he realized that was the first time he had ever directly made Eames come.
During this silence, they looked back to the horrible movie still playing on the screen. Arthur's head was still dizzy and he ran a shaking hand through his hair before shifting uncomfortably in his dirty pants.
"Do you have school tomorrow?" Eames asked after a long moment, his voice scratchy against his throat.
Arthur cocked an eyebrow and looked sideways at him again. He nearly forgot what he was going to say upon realizing just how beautifully disheveled Eames looked, with his swollen lips, flushed cheeks, matted and out of place hair. But then he mumbled, "It's Saturday." Because the answer was obvious.
"Right. Well…" There was clear hesitation as Eames ran a hand through his hair and then mumbled, "You can stay over, if you'd like. I have extra pajamas, even though they're probably a bit big on you…"
A sort of heat flooded through Arthur's skin and he smiled faintly, murmuring. "I'd love to."
Eames gave a tired though gentle smile in return and Arthur resisted the urge to reach out and touch it.
Arthur then picked up the cartons and gingerly went to throw them away in the kitchen as Eames went to grab them each a pair of sweatpants.
"I know you're wondering," Eames said as he returned, offering Arthur a pair of black sweatpants, "I don't know what to call us. I don't know if I want to call us anything yet, you know?"
Arthur nodded and subconsciously brought the pair of pants to his nose, inhaling deeply. Eames gave a cocked eyebrow and a dry smile at that.
"You smell good," Arthur explained weakly before agreeing quietly, "and that's fine with me." Because he didn't really care if he and Eames had an official label on what they were. All he knew was that he wanted Eames. And as long as he had Eames, that was just fine with him.
Part three