Inception - Grace Under Pressure (2/10)

[osaki_nana_707]

Title: Grace Under Pressure (2/10)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Word count: ~4,500
Pairings/Characters: ArthurxEames, Robert
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: mentions of underage, language, mentions of past drug abuse, currently un-betaed
Summary: AU. Sequel to Bite Hard. Arthur reunites with Eames. By the next day, they're living together. Still, with the two of them, there's always the opportunity for things to get complicated.



Part Two

Eames bit down on his bottom lip as he leveled the needle with his vein, back pressed up against the bathroom door just in case, even though he knew Arthur wasn't home. He slipped the needle inside, tilted his head back, and sighed.

It was about six seconds and then he was overcome with euphoria.

"Oh… yes…" he hissed, removing the needle from his skin and pressing his thumb over the tiny bloom of blood at the injection site. Once he was sure the bleeding had stopped, he packed all of his supplies back into the leather nail kit he'd cleaned out for a good hiding place.

It wasn't that he had a problem.

It was just that he was afraid Arthur wouldn't understand that it was just a casual thing, that he only did it on a bad day-not that today was a bad day, but he just sort of felt like it, and that didn't make him an addict. He'd been an addict before, but that wasn't who he was anymore. He didn't need it to survive or anything-

He tried to remember what he'd been thinking about-Oh, yes, Arthur. Arthur just wouldn't understand. Yusuf didn't understand, and he'd known Yusuf way longer than Arthur. He was ridiculously giddy over the fact that Arthur was back in his life, and he had new artwork to prove it. He was painting in color again, and it wasn't looking like absolute shit anymore, and he just didn't want to mess up what the two of them had going with a big misunderstanding.

…not that Arthur had always been the portrait of decency, being that they'd fucked when he was still too young to even drink… but he couldn't take any chances.

He had a place to live. He had inspiration to paint. Most importantly, he had Arthur.

He had Arthur who he loved and who loved him back. He had Arthur, and he could go out in public and be seen with him without issue, and he didn't have to sneak around or lie about their relationship to anyone. They could just be.

Yes, he was giddy with love. It wasn't the drugs… well, it wasn't just the drugs.

Eames stashed his nail kit underneath the sink and slipped out into the main room to get back to painting.

He spent a few hours on it, licking his lips and swallowing around his dry throat, but before long he found his arms growing heavy. It didn't bother him at all, but it made his paint strokes heavy and slow, so he gave it up for the afternoon and curled up on the couch in front of the television.

When Arthur got home, Eames barely registered the sound. He was drifting in a peaceful, drowsy state.

"I see you've been working hard," Arthur said with a smirk.

Eames lifted a hand. "Hey," he said sleepily.

"I do hope you caught my sarcasm."

"I did."

Arthur shrugged out of his coat and hung it up in the closet. "The snow's really coming down. They've already cancelled my classes for tomorrow, so it looks as though we're staying in."

Eames moved into a sitting position, a real feat for his heavy legs, so that Arthur could sit down next to him. "Sounds bloody brill."

Arthur curled up against Eames, head resting against his shoulder. "You're warm," he said contentedly.

Eames carded his fingers through Arthur's hair, slowly. He felt like he was moving in slow motion, and it was much more satisfying a feeling that one would think it would be. "I'm like a pussy cat. I get warm, and I fall asleep."

"Does that mean you're allergic to yourself?"

Eames snorted, pretending that he got what Arthur meant. A few minutes later he actually did remember that he'd told Arthur he was allergic to cats.

Arthur pulled away then, eyes gleaming. "Let's fuck."

Eames laughed a little. "What?"

"Come on," Arthur whined, grabbing Eames by the wrists. "I can't believe you didn't say it first. I just told you that we're snowed in and my classes are cancelled. What more invitation do you need?"

"I'm sorry," Eames responded in mock-aggravation. "I just woke up from a nap. I'm still a little hazy."

Arthur huffed, releasing Eames's hands to cross his own over his chest. "What have you even done today to make you so tired?"

Eames went to point to the painting he'd worked on for a couple of hours only to realize that he hadn't made as much progress on it as he had thought.

"Eames?"

"Eh? What?" he blinked, turning back to Arthur. "Oh, sorry, I was just ah-"

"Staring into space?" Arthur asked with a quirk of a grin. "Jeez, Eames, did you sleep at all last night?"

Actually he had, but instead he said, "My stomach was a little upset last night."

That hadn't been a lie. The heroin often gave him stomach problems, and the night before had not been an exception. Still, he'd slept in that morning and made up for it.

"Oh," Arthur said.

Eames didn't know if it was a good thing to be happy that he believed it. It hadn't been a lie, not really.

"Well," Arthur said, dropping to his knees. "I guess I could give this a shot, right?"

Eames didn't know what he meant until Arthur was fumbling with Eames's belt. "You're going to attempt to blow me?"

Arthur blushed, frowning. "What? I've watched you do it to me before."

"-but you've never done it to anyone."

"I'm not going to bite your dick off, if that's what you're thinking," Arthur grumbled. "Come on, I should, shouldn't I? I mean… we're together now. I can't just be the one who takes everything. We're equals in this, right?"

Eames could tell that Arthur was embarrassed, and he wondered if Arthur knew how stupidly cute he was when trying to hide it. He smiled, stroking Arthur's cheekbone, and laughed a little. "Perhaps you can be top next time."

If anything, Arthur turned redder. "Maybe…"

"Maybe," Eames agreed and leaned back as Arthur tilted his head downward toward Eames's prick. Arthur stroked him with his hands until he was hard, which took a little longer than usual, but neither seemed to notice or care. Arthur's fingers were shaking a little from nerves, and Eames just reached out and petted his hair to calm him.

"Arthur," he said, "it's all right if you don't want to do it. I won't be angry."

"It's not that I don't want to-I just… I've never done it before, and… I don't want to… do it wrong."

"You'll know if you're doing it right," Eames assured. "I'm sure you'll do just lovely. You've got a perfect mouth after all."

Arthur swallowed the knot in his throat and nodded.

"Just remember to breathe through your nose and don't panic."

Arthur exhaled through his nose as if to test it, knelt down, and tentatively took the head of Eames's prick into his mouth.

Eames grunted in the back of his throat, tensing a little. "That's it, love," he whispered.

Arthur lowered himself a little more, working his tongue the way he thought Eames did it to him, making little mewling noises around him. He bobbed his head and pulled back, eyes looking up at Eames for approval, clearly a little disturbed by how loud the noises seemed to be when he was the one doing them.

Eames sighed, head lolling back on the couch. Arthur wasn't doing so badly for his first try, Eames thought, even though he was clumsy and unsure. His fingers were bruising on Eames's inner thighs, holding on for dear life as he tried not to panic over the fact that he couldn't breathe around him.

"That's it, pet," Eames coaxed, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to keep some semblance of control over his body. He wanted desperately to buck into Arthur's heat but refrained as much as he could for the sake of the boy's throat.

No, no, Arthur wasn't a boy anymore. Arthur was a man. He was a young man, but a man nonetheless.

Arthur released Eames's thigh and palmed himself through his pants, groaning, and his voice vibrated all the way through Eames, causing him to make a similar sound.

Arthur was a damned fast learner, Eames thought frantically, gripping to the couch cushions. He'd be prouder if he wasn't so distracted by arousal and the heaviness of his limbs and the dry mouth and the hot, hot, hot flush to his skin that made him feel like he was about to catch on fire.

"Oh, Arthur, Arthur," he purred, unable to say anything else while Arthur swirled his tongue around the head before diving back in, more confident than before. "Fuck, Arthur-Jesus."

Eames's hips jumped against Eames's will, and Arthur gagged as he took in too much too fast. He pulled off, coughing and gasping for air.

"S-sorry," he stammered, voice rough, and Eames couldn't even tell him to stop apologizing when he had such a delectably swollen mouth and ruddy cheeks and eyes black with arousal.

Arthur held down Eames's hips and went back down, and Eames moaned, "Oh, you're a trooper, love."

From that point, Eames couldn't hold out much longer, and after Arthur took him down a couple more times, Eames was tugging at Arthur's hair as a warning since his mouth was so dry he could no longer speak. His heart beat didn't know what to do with the heroin trying to slow it down and Arthur trying to speed it up, and it made him dizzy.

Arthur didn't take the hint and made a surprised noise when Eames spilled into his mouth with a shuddering yell.

Arthur pulled away in a panic and almost banged his head on the coffee table as he leaned back. There was a stream of come at the corner of his mouth, and his eyes were watering, but he'd apparently swallowed it because he was gasping for air, chest heaving.

Eames pulled himself off the couch and kissed Arthur's swollen mouth, licking away the come and palming Arthur's neglected prick. Arthur arched into his touch, arms wrapped around Eames's shoulders, and he couldn't seem to talk either, gaping soundlessly as he came after only a few good strokes.

Both of them just held still for a moment, breathing each other's air, and then Arthur seemed to find his voice. "A little warning… next time… would be nice…"

"I was pulling your hair for a reason," Eames replied back, dropping his forehead to Arthur's shoulder, and his voice was so haggard he barely recognized it.

"Do that more often…" Arthur said. "I like it… and word warnings… please… Ugh… I didn't know that shit… tasted so bad…"

Eames laughed, muffled against Arthur's sweater. "It's an acquired taste, I guess."

Arthur chuckled a little, unfolding himself from Eames and getting to his feet, hoisting Eames up with him. "I need a shower," he said. "Come with me?"

"Of course."

After they fucked in the shower, they moved to the bed to fuck, and after that they were both completely spent. Arthur was snoring loudly next to Eames, sprawled out in a less than graceful position, drool sliding out from the corner of his mouth pressed to the pillow and Eames sketched a picture of him that way just for his own personal amusement.

His wakefulness drifted back into drowsiness as he was finishing the drawing, and he sunk down into the mattress, tossing the sketchbook on the floor. He was just drifting off when a loud ring from the next room shook both of them awake.

"My phone-" Arthur said blearily, reaching blindly around the bedside table even though it clearly wasn't there. "My… fuck it, they'll call back later," he mumbled and curled up against Eames's body to capture some of his warmth.

Eames kissed the top of his head and stared at the wall until he fell asleep.

It was early morning when Arthur awoke, rubbing sleep from his eyes with his fist. Eames was still sleeping beside him, and Arthur felt somehow uncomfortable by the way his breathing was so slow and quiet. He wondered if maybe that was how Eames always slept, decided that it must have been.

Arthur crawled out from under the covers and shivered as soon as the air hit him. It was too cold, Arthur thought, grabbing one of Eames's shirts off the pile in the floor and pulling it over his shoulders. It smelled like him.

After Arthur adjusted the thermostat, he went and found his clothes in the bathroom floor, digging out his cell phone from the pocket. He had a missed call from Robert.

Arthur dialed him and waited. On the fourth ring, he picked up. "H'lo?" he asked blearily.

"You called me?" Arthur asked, padding into the kitchen to make coffee.

"Yeah, yesterday," Robert replied irritably. "Jeez, Arthur, we got the day off and you're still up at seven?"

"I went to bed kind of early last night," Arthur replied, starting the coffee maker and grabbing two mugs out of the cupboard. "Sorry. I didn't realize it was so early. Should I call back later?"

"Nah, nah, forget it," Robert said, and Arthur imagined he was propping himself up on his elbow and scratching his head. "I'm up now. You know I can't go back to sleep after I'm up."

"No, I didn't know that."

Robert paused, sniffed, and said, "Sorry. Forgot who I was talking to for a second. Yeah, I'm like one of those people. Anyway, I figured since we had the day off, maybe we could meet up at the Starbucks and prepare that group project. If we get a head start on it, I think we could finish it early and then have more time to study for finals so we can dick around all Christmas break."

"Ah…" Arthur said, pouring a cup of coffee and spotting Eames leaving the bedroom out of the corner of his eye. "…um… yeah, I guess I can do that. Do you think it'll be open with all the snow? Can you get there without any issue?"

"The streets are slick, but if you drive slowly, you'll be fine. Starbucks is open, man, seriously. They wouldn't be dumb enough to close down when everyone wants warm drinks, right?"

"I don't know," Arthur said, holding the phone up with his shoulder as he carried both coffee cups to the kitchen table and set them down. "Well, I mean, let's wait until a little later. I'll call you around ten, eleven, something like that."

"Whatever," Robert sighed, and Arthur was sure he'd laid back down to go back to sleep. Once I'm up, I'm up-my ass, Arthur thought, smirking. "Sure. Yeah. Talk to you then, I guess."

"Bye."

Robert hung up.

"Who was that?" Eames asked, hunched over his coffee, still looking mostly asleep. "Nice shirt, by the way."

Arthur smiled, lifting the cup to his lips. "It was Robert. He and I are working on a project for class, and he wanted to meet up and work on it today since we have some free time."

"Sounds like fun," Eames said, sipping at the cup and grimacing for a moment. He wandered over to the counter and grabbed the sugar, dumping a few teaspoons into his glass and stirring.

"Sorry," Arthur said sheepishly. "I didn't know how you liked your coffee…"

"It's all right. You'll learn," Eames replied, smiling after his second sip. "So, you're going to do this project with your friend, hm? Where are you meeting?"

"Starbucks," Arthur shrugged.

"Oh, lovely," Eames replied, gaze brightening a little, and Arthur didn't realize how much Eames's sleepy gaze had been bothering him until it was gone. "I'll come with you. I want to hang some of my paintings up there, see if I can sell them. Is that all right?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" Arthur asked.

"You said you wanted to keep your personal life personal. Odds are I'll be meeting your friend, right? You don't mind that?"

Arthur looked down into his cup, smiling softly. "I don't mind… You and me, we're together now. I don't have to hide you, so why should I?"

Eames leaned over the table, wrapping his fingers around the back of Arthur's neck, and kissed him. Arthur sighed pleasurably when Eames pulled away. "I always enjoy a little sugar with my coffee," Eames teased.

"God, you're so fucking cheesy," Arthur laughed and pulled him back in for another kiss. "I've got a little bit of time before I have to call Robert back."

"I'll meet you back in the bedroom then," Eames replied, hopping to his feet. "Oh, and… wear the shirt."

Arthur grunted, laughing.

The Starbucks was open, but there weren't many people there. Arthur preferred having more space anyway.

Robert was waiting outside, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his pea-coat.

"Jesus, that's him?" Eames asked quietly as Arthur pulled in the parking lot. "He looks like a fucking GQ model."

"I know," Arthur laughed. "He said the same thing about me when I wore a suit to his birthday party. He's a rich asshole like me, so it was a black tie affair kind of thing."

"I'd like to see you in a suit," Eames said, shutting the door after getting out and then opening the back door to grab his paintings out of the backseat, "but preferably out of one."

Arthur snickered, shutting his own door and waving to Robert.

Robert quirked an eyebrow at Eames as the two of them approached, Eames carrying a painting in each hand.

"Hey," Arthur greeted, and Eames could tell that he was just a little nervous.

"Who's your friend?" Robert asked, appraising Eames unsurely.

Eames leaned one of the paintings against the wall of the building and held out his hand to shake. "I'm Eames," he said.

Robert shook the hand hesitantly. "Nice to meet you…"

"Ah, Robert? This um…" Arthur said awkwardly, crossing his arms over his chest to keep warm in the sudden gust of snowy wind that blew by. "This is my boyfriend."

"Oh," Robert said, both eyebrows raising on his forehead. "You didn't tell me you had a boyfriend, Arthur."

"We hadn't really defined our relationship until recently," Eames supplied, opening the door to the tinkle of a little bell. "Let's go inside, right? It's bloody cold."

Arthur grabbed Eames's other painting and followed him in, and Robert tailed behind. Eames couldn't help but think that Robert was the definition of priss with the way that he walked-shoulders back, nose held high in the air, taking long strides with his legs. He did strike Eames as a little bitchy, but Arthur was right about one thing… he was absolutely beautiful.

…not Eames's type, but beautiful.

Arthur and Robert ordered drinks and found a place in the corner to talk, while Eames sought out the manager of the place.

"Can I help you?" the manager asked. She was a tiny girl with dyed purple hair and a nose ring and didn't seem to want to be there. Something about her reminded him of Ariadne though, and he wondered where she'd gone off to after the restaurant shut down.

"Ah, hello there," Eames said with a smile, amping up the English charm. "I was wondering if you would mind hanging some of my paintings up in your establishment. I'm trying to sell them, see, and I'll give this place a cut of the profit if they sell.

The girl grabbed one of the paintings and held it up, squinting at it. "Whoa, dude… this is cool," she said with a grin. "It's very post-apocalyptic meltdown. I dig it."

Eames had painted that one on a particularly bad day, heroin thrumming through his veins nearly non-stop. It had turned out to be a destroyed city with a body in the middle, undistinguishable in identity in the rubble but clearly there, ghost white hand sprawled out as if reaching for something.

"I can't hang this thing up here, man. It's so cool, but I'm worried it might scare some of those over-religious types that come in here sometimes. I'll buy it though. It's awesome. It'd look really wicked in my apartment."

"Really?" Eames asked excitedly. "That's ace! I'll sell it to you for two hundred."

She pursed her lips, thinking, and then said, "Could I convince you to give it to me for one-seventy-five?"

Eames paused, calculating. "Sure, what the hell," Eames shrugged. "It's yours."

"Epic win," she said, grinning ear to ear. "If you come back by tomorrow, I'll have the cash, all right? I'd go get it right now, but I'm kind of on the clock. Is that cool?"

"Sure," Eames said. "I'll keep the painting in my car for safe keeping of course-"

"No, dude, I totally get it."

After a little bit of conversation, the painting he'd done of sunflowers was hung up between the two bathroom doors. He didn't particularly like the picture and had done it on an extremely hot day, but Arthur had liked it so he decided it must have been worth something.

Meanwhile, in the corner, Arthur discovered that Robert was no longer interested in their project at all.

"So, he's the guy, huh? The one you've been sleeping with?" he asked, as soon as they sat down.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and?"

Robert leaned out to eye Eames from across the room before pulling back to their squashed space. "He's kind of old, isn't he?"

"He's not that old," Arthur huffed. "He's only twenty-seven."

Robert grinned his slasher smile again after a moment. "Oh, my God. That's so scandalous. You said you were together in high school, but he's way too old to have gone to school with you. Were you jailbait?"

Arthur tried to look offended, but he was pretty sure he only came across as shocked and embarrassed because he was burning bright red. Robert cackled, covering his mouth with his hand. "Jesus Christ, you were, weren't you! Out of all the gay guys I know, you were the one I least expected to-"

"Would you keep it down?" Arthur hissed, and Robert lowered his laughter to a snicker. "It's complicated, okay?"

"You must be really serious about him if you guys are still together even now."

"Well," Arthur said, wrapping his hands around his cup of coffee to occupy himself a little, "we haven't really been together the whole time. You know that… We just reunited by chance, and we realized that our feelings were still there, so… we're together. That's about it."

"Have you told your mom yet?"

"Well, no… She didn't know about him before, and I don't want her getting any ideas about what I was up to back then… I mean, yeah, I intend to introduce them eventually, but… well…"

"You having second thoughts?" Robert asked, and the look on his face was unreadable.

"Wh-No! Why would I-Why would you think that?" Arthur stammered, and he didn't know why he was uncomfortable.

Robert shrugged. "I don't know. I had second thoughts about him the moment you introduced him."

"You haven't even known him long enough to have first thoughts about him."

"Something doesn't sit right with me about him. Something in his look…"

"What, you don't think he's attractive so I shouldn't date him? That seems kind of dumb."

"That's not what I meant," Robert replied, and now he was completely serious. "It's not that he's unattractive. That's not it at all. No, he's got really great bone structure and all that jazz, but he…" he hesitated, searching for the right words, "he doesn't look well. Something about him looks unwell to me."

Arthur glanced over at Eames who seemed to be working his charms on the mousy manager. He didn't look unwell, Arthur thought with a huff. Sure, he was a little thinner than he had been in the past, and he was a little paler, and his eyes were a little sunken and unfocused…

Well, maybe he did…

"It's winter," Arthur replied, unreasonably angry. "Most people look kinda sick and stuff during the winter. We can't all look like models, you know."

Robert shrugged, sipping at his coffee. "Whatever, Arthur. I was just saying. What do I know?"

"Can we just focus on our project please?" Arthur asked. He sounded more exasperated and pleading than annoyed. "If you want to badmouth my boyfriend, you can do it with your other friends."

"So, you must love him something pretty fierce," Robert said, looking out the window rather than at Arthur.

"I do."

"Just don't come running to me when he fucks you over."

Robert really could be a bitch sometimes.