I'd Rather Live in Dreams (Part 14/18)
Title: I'd Rather Live in Dreams (Part 14/18)
Characters: Arthur, Eames, OCs
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Word Count: 3800
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: OC character death, brief mention of suicide, dude on dude sex
Ummm... err... hey, dudes! *crickets* Look, more fic! Now with more porn!
~
Eames hovers at the end of the solid mahogany table that has taken over his apartment. He’s had to re-arrange all the other pieces of furniture around it, pairing up chairs and moving the couch out onto the balcony in a fit of creative energy that has now passed. He frowns down at the table’s surface, littered with squares of paper in varying sizes and colors, pushes them this way and that with a nitrile rubber clad finger. An x-acto knife and several mat cutting blades sit near the edge of the table, waiting to be of some use.
He's wearing only what he could find on the floor of his bedroom in the dark. Solid white briefs that he thinks may be Arthur’s and a buttercup yellow linen shirt, buttoned only at the very bottom.
Arthur passed out almost as soon as they had both come. He’s asleep in Eames’s bed right now, the sound of his gentle snoring floating into the main room. The television is on, but Eames has muted it, the better to listen in case he wakes. Arthur hasn’t been sleeping well. He’s been having nightmares. He hasn’t heard from Jeremy in a few days, and is becoming increasingly worried.
Eames hasn’t been sleeping well either. He’s not sure why. He suspects that part of it is his inability to do anything except stand by and watch Arthur stress himself out over what could be nothing but a lost cell phone on Jeremy’s part. The only thing Eames can do for Arthur right now is fuck him until he falls asleep.
His gaze finally settles on a large sheet of decorative paper at the far end of the table, orange and turquoise arabesques with gold highlights. He picks it up to carry it over to his industrial-sized paper cutter. He glances at the television as he does so, and his eye catches on a rather jarring line of text: MASSIVE EARTHQUAKE STRIKES WESTERN CHINA.
He clicks the mute button on the remote in time to hear the blonde talking head on CNN say, “A powerful earthquake struck the Sichuan province of Western China on Monday afternoon. Thousands are missing and, as of right now, sixty-three hundred fatalities have been report-”
He mutes her before she can finish speaking, but continues to stare at the ticker on the bottom of the screen. Reports of cowardice and heroism and crippling aftershocks. He shakes his head and mutters, “Fuck me.” One more thing for Arthur to worry about when he wakes up. Eames suspects Arthur knows at least one person in or from Chongqing. He certainly knows people in Hong Kong and Shanghai.
He grabs his pack of cigarettes off a nearby chair and takes it out to the balcony, forgoing the couch in favor of leaning against the wrought iron railing and peering down at the street below. He inhales and exhales and waits for someone to walk by and distract him from his thoughts.
He can hear his own lips parting as he latches on to the filter for another drag. It’s a Monday night, and the streets are empty and quiet. There aren’t even any cars parked on the street except for a strangely-painted Dodge Neon, silver on top and black on the bottom. Eames’s pulse quickens minutely when he sees that the side of it is emblazoned with a shield and the phrase Proteccion Ciudadana.
It’s a police car. Its lights are off, and there appear to be two people sitting in the front seat.
Eames glances up and down the street, looking for the slightest hint of a disturbance, any reason that the police have to be sitting in a darkened car in an empty street on a quiet night. He sees nothing.
He wouldn’t be surprised if the two people in the car were Bianca’s brother-in-law and his friend. Here to spy on or intimidate him and Arthur. Eames would like nothing more than to grab his Browning, walk out there in his underwear and confront them, but he knows better than to mess with cops. They won’t hesitate to shoot him if they feel threatened.
He really should just leave it. Go crawl into bed, pull Arthur’s arse into his lap and bury his face in his neck. Get some sleep before the sun comes up.
Realistically, that’s not going to happen. He’s not about to allow a couple of coked-out cops threaten the man currently asleep in his bed without letting them know exactly who they’re fucking with.
He puts his cigarette out against the railing and heads back inside. In a box underneath the mahogany table, there are a few items that Eames had to mail to himself because he knew he wouldn’t get them through customs. Mostly utility knives. But at the bottom of the box are a couple of small plastic balls with long fuses sticking out of them. Homemade cherry bombs.
He grabs one and heads back out to the balcony. He gauges the distance between himself and the car, the speed of the wind, looks up and down the street to make sure no one’s coming. He then lights the fuse and tosses the tiny explosive into the street.
It lands, smoking, underneath the back of the car. Eames holds his breath and waits. After a few seconds, it explodes with a loud, sharp cry and pings the car’s bumper. The car comes to life and takes off, its tires squealing and burning.
Eames chuckles and heads back inside, turns off the tv and the light on the table. He gets naked and crawls into bed with Arthur.
He wraps an arm around Arthur's waist and stares out into the darkness of his bedroom and thinks about Jeremy and earthquakes and the Mexico City Police Department. It takes him two hours to fall asleep.
~
Carmen and Eames are sitting on the sidelines of a soccer field from Andrea’s childhood. Red dirt spotted with clumps of invasive grass. Goal posts without nets. Bisan built it. Just for fun. She and Bianca are currently facing off against Arthur and Andrea. Kicking up dust and laughing as they chase after a slightly-deflated soccer ball.
The only one missing from their little group is Rosa. She’s been suffering from tactile and auditory hallucinations, a possible side effect of using Ambrose’s compound. Arthur has gone under with her a few times using slightly tweaked versions of it, but it’s not helping.
Vargas himself has urged her to stop. He’s not about to put one of his best employees out of commission entirely. Three girls that can forge is enough to draw customers and make him a lot of money.
As of now, Bianca’s the only one that has pulled off a complete forge. Andrea and Carmen have managed small shifts such as changing their hair and eye color, but they can’t manage to hold anything for long.
“What if I tried forging a celebrity?” Carmen asks Eames. They’re seated in the dirt next to the field. Carmen is looking at Eames, and Eames is watching Arthur as he attempts to execute a backwards pass to Andrea and fails miserably.
Eames smiles and shakes his head before turning to Carmen. “A celebrity,” he wonders aloud. “I suppose it’s worth trying. It wouldn’t really be a complete forge, since you don’t know anything about that person. You’d simply be wearing their skin.”
“Yeah...” Carmen twirls her hair on her index finger and looks skyward in thought. “But maybe I could use it as a jumping off point, you know? Maybe start with the outer layer and work in. Like when I used to play dress-up as a kid. I’d make up characters based on my outfits.”
Eames considers this as he chews on his thumbnail. “When you’re getting ready to go on stage or meet privately with a client, what do you start with? When you're creating a persona of sorts. Do you start with your outfit and makeup and let the rest come together?”
Carmen’s face brightens. “Yeah. Yeah, definitely.”
Eames nods. “Then I think it’s worth a shot.”
They both turn their faces back to the pitch just in time to see Arthur attempt to pass the ball to himself through Bisan’s legs. She traps it instead and takes off towards the opposite goal which is now wide open. “Fuck!” Arthur screams, his competitive nature beginning to surface.
Eames cups his hands around his mouth and yells, “Oi! Beckham! Go back to modeling!”
Arthur hunches over, hands on his knees, breathing heavily. His hair falls forward over his face in sweaty curls. He looks up at Eames and pants, “Go fuck yourself.”
“Just don’t quit your day job, love.”
Arthur’s mouth twists in a wicked smile. “That’s funny. I said the exact same thing to your mom last night.”
Carmen’s throws her head back and lets out a deep, throaty laugh. Eames chuckles, and Arthur takes off down the field toward Bisan, smiling the whole way.
Carmen looks back and forth between them for a moment before saying, “What’s going on between you guys? Are you, like... you know, together?”
Eames sighs dramatically. “Are we really that obvious?”
“Well... no. It’s not that you guys are obvious. It’s just that... it’s obvious.”
“Mmm. And what do you think it is exactly?”
“.... I dunno.”
Eames looks down the field at Arthur. “Neither do I.”
~
Arthur and Eames rent a car so that they can drive out to Teotihuacan on one of their days off.
They get into a heated argument regarding who’s going to drive there as soon as they step out of the rental car office.
“You know that I hate sitting the in the passenger’s seat.” Arthur reminds Eames in his most authoritative tone.
“I know that, darling, but if you sit in the passenger’s seat, you can read to us from that guide book of yours.”
“Don’t talk to me in that condescending tone, Eames. I know you don’t think the guide book is necessary, but Mexico City isn’t exactly the safest place to ‘just wing it’.’”
In the end, Arthur succumbs to logic. He sits in the passenger’s seat and reads Eames the history of Teotihuacan according to the Michelin Green Guide. “‘The earliest structures at Teotihuacan date to about 200 BCE. Its largest pyramid, The Pyramid of the Sun, was completed around 100 BCE.’”
Arthur stops abruptly in the middle of his lecture when they’re just a couple minutes away from the site and he catches site of the pyramid complex from the road. “Holy shit.” He taps Eames on the shoulder and points at the stepped structures. “Eames, look!”
Eames admires the pyramids briefly and then looks at Arthur. The guide book lays forgotten in his lap, and he’s leaning forward in his seat, his nose almost pressing against the window. He’s practically rocking in his seat with childlike excitement.
The corners of Eames’s mouth quirk up in a smile. "It's lovely," he says.
~
Arthur sits on the stone plateau at the top of The Pyramid of the Moon and looks down at what remains of the ancient city. Endless sun and stone on all sides of him. Low, blue hills in the distance. A silent wind ruffling his hair.
The guide book hangs limply in his hand, his thumb stuck into the middle of it, keeping his place. He thinks of the words he’s just read. Drought and famine. Increased warfare. Internal unrest.
He watches Eames as he makes his way slowly up the stone steps towards him, pausing every level to look around.
Arthur wishes he could ask Eames what goes on inside his head sometimes without using those four useless words: What are you thinking?
Several times over the past week, he’s looked up to find Eames staring at him, a look of concern creasing his features. Arthur’s not sure if Eames is worried about him or if Eames is bothered by what’s going on inside his own mind.
Arthur knows that he hasn’t been sleeping well. He’s been sneaking out of bed at odd hours, pacing his apartment and moving furniture around. Forging documents with the television on and muted. Arthur wonders if perhaps he’s the one keeping Eames up at night. He knows that he snores and fidgets a bit. Maybe he should go back to his own bed when he wants to sleep. Leave Eames in peace.
Arthur jumps when he thinks he hears his ringtone. He grabs his phone out of jacket pocket and frowns at it when he sees that it is not, in fact, ringing. He could have sworn-
“Is that Jeremy?”
Arthur looks up to see Eames staring at him, his expression stern.
“Tell him that he needs to check his messages more often and that he’s a twat for making you worry.”
Arthur lets out a breath and puts his phone away. “No... No it wasn’t him.”
“You still haven’t heard from him?” That same concerned expression.
“No, I haven’t.” Arthur stands and smiles in an attempt to assuage Eames’s worry. He holds up the guidebook. “Would you like me to read to you about the collapse of civilization? Warfare and famine and all that good stuff?”
Eames grins and gestures to the surrounding landscape. “Take it away, my dear.”
~
Eames is fucking Arthur gently with his fingers, letting the minute contractions of the other man’s inner flesh guide his thrusts. Arthur squirms and fusses under his ministrations, seemingly unable to get his concentration in sync with his arousal. He’s only half hard and is obviously frustrated with himself.
Eames tries for a different angle. He hoists Arthur’s legs up so that they’re parallel with his stomach, leans over and presses soothing, open mouthed kisses to the soft skin of his thighs, the tip of his cock. He curls his fingers and begins to rub Arthur’s prostate fast and hard.
Sweat drips slowly off of his brow and lands in small splashes on the taught skin of Arthur’s stomach. “Talk to me, Arthur. Tell me what you want,” he whispers on a heaving breath.
Arthur growls and kicks at Eames’s shoulders with his feet. Eames looks up, startled. He pulls his fingers out and sits back on his heels dejectedly.
Arthur groans and mutters, “Fuck, Eames... I’m sorry.” He shifts so that he’s upright on his knees and walks forward on them. He presses his chest against Eames’s and wraps his fingers around the back of the other man’s neck, runs his lips slowly over his stubbled jaw, determined to make this happen.
Eames moans and snakes his head down to capture Arthur’s mouth with his own, sliding their lips together and flicking his tongue into Arthur’s mouth.
He runs his palm down Arthur’s ribs and sneaks it around his lower back to grab his opposite hip and tug him closer. He grasps one of Arthur’s hands from where it’s gliding through his hair and brings it down his body to the base of his spine, tilts his hips back and guides one of Arthur’s fingers into the cleft of his arse.
Arthur pulls off of his mouth with a gasp. He leans back slightly to see Eames watching him with a shuttered gaze. Eames swallows audibly and murmurs, “Do you want to try fucking me?”
Arthur’s dick jumps, and they both feel it, their hips pressed together. Eames laughs softly, and Arthur leans forward to press his nose to Eames’s and whisper, his voice deep and commanding, “Fuck yeah, I do.”
He brings his hand up and presses two long fingers to Eames’s lips. “Get them wet for me,” he says and groans in appreciation when Eames smiles and sucks them into his mouth. His fat lips glide back and forth on Arthur’s fingers, coating them in spit.
Arthur’s hips twitch involuntarily at the sight, and he lets the movement guide him. He presses closer to Eames and lets their cocks slide together, ruts against him while resting his temple on Eames’s shoulder and watching his fingers disappear into his mouth.
“Alright,” he chokes out after a couple minutes, “Need to fuck you now.”
Eames chuckles as Arthur removes his fingers from his mouth and then groans when those fingers, slick with his own spit, press against his arsehole. His head lolls back, and Arthur presses gentle kisses to the exposed tendons in his neck as he gently pushes the tip of one finger into Eames’s tight heat.
Eames gasps, “Ah! Fuck.”
Arthur kisses his temple and murmurs, “Need you to relax for me, baby.”
Eames nods and hisses out a breath through his teeth, lets his head fall forward against Arthur’s.
Arthur reaches back and between his own legs to gather some of the lube left behind from earlier. He brings his hand back and slicks up his fingers even further. He leaves his hand there, the heel of it resting on Eames’s lower back, and uses his fingers to spread Eames’s arse cheeks open as he slowly slides the rest of his finger in.
Eames wraps his arms around Arthur’s torso and squeezes, seemingly trying to transfer some of the tension. It works, and once Arthur is two fingers in, Eames begins to rock his hips, desperate to feel Arthur glide through his inner skin.
Arthur pulls his face away from Eames’s neck in order to admire him. He never knew that Eames could move like this. His hips thrusting and snapping in an instinctual rhythm as he fucks himself on Arthur’s fingers.
Arthur feels his cock pulse, and the words jump out of his mouth, “Need you. Eames, Need to be inside you.”
Eames brings his head up and grins lazily. “You are inside of me.”
Arthur smiles and bites Eames’s bottom lip, and Eames shutters as Arthur pulls his fingers out. Arthur reaches over to the nightstand to grab a condom, and he’s about to rip it open when Eames’s hands appear and take it from him.
Eames smiles at him, presses gentle kisses to Arthur’s lips and his chin as he rolls the condom down onto Arthur’s cock, his movements relaxed and graceful. It’s then that Arthur realizes that his own hands are shaking violently.
He looks up to see Eames watching him, his eyes sharp and knowing. He takes Arthur’s hands with his own and says, “Can I ride you?”
Arthur laughs weakly. “Yeah... yeah, I’d like that.”
Eames pushes him gently on to the bed and crouches over his hips, takes Arthur’s cock in his hand and begins to lower himself down on it, groaning and shuddering.
Arthur clenches his teeth and digs his heels into the mattress. He feels it when his cock pushes all the way into the gripping heat of Eames’s arse, and he gasps, “J-Jesus. Eames.”
He looks up to watch Eames as he adjusts to Arthur’s full length. The way his eyes squeeze shut and his mouth falls open. The slight quivering of his lips and shoulders. The way his thighs jerk around Arthur’s hipbones.
Slowly, Eames begins to undulate his hips, letting Arthur’s cock slide out and back into him impossibly deeper.
Arthur reaches up to stroke the tops of his thighs, to fondle the swell of his arse as it rocks back and forth on his pelvis. He slides his hands up Eames’s chest to pinch and rub his thumbs over the tawny peaked flesh of his nipples. “Fucking gorgeous. So fucking beautiful, Eames.”
He bucks his hips, and a loud “Ah!” escapes Eames’ throat, and he thrusts up again in an attempt push more noises past Eames’s lips.
And then Eames's head snaps forward, and his eyes lock with Arthur’s. He gasps for air and his mouth trembles as if he’s about to let something out.
Arthur finds himself uttering those four useless words. “What are you thinking?”
Eames lets out a shuttering breath and smiles brightly, still rocking back and forth in Arthur’s lap. “I’m not thinking. It’s lovely.”
Arthur’s heart stutters in his chest. His fingers dig into the flesh of Eames’s arse, and he shifts his hips and thrusts harder, attempting to ping Eames’s prostate.
He hits it on his third thrust, and Eames cries out and falls forward, pushing Arthur’s hands up and over his head. “There,” he pants. “Fuck. There, Arthur, don’t stop.”
Arthur growls and fucks up into Eames furiously with every ounce of strength he has. He’s about to twist his hand out of Eames’s grasp so that he can grab his cock when, to his surprise, Eames tightens around him and wails as he comes hard all over Arthur’s stomach.
The wet heat on his belly sends Arthur over the edge, and he whimpers and presses his forehead to Eames’s as he comes inside of him.
After a few minutes of heavy breathing, Eames peels himself off of Arthur and starts to step off the bed, presumably to get something with which to clean them up. Arthur grabs him by the wrist and pulls him back roughly.
Eames rolls onto his back, and Arthur drapes himself across his chest. “The sheets will work just fine, Eames.”
Eames chuckles and strokes Arthur’s back.
He’s beginning to nod off when he hears and feels Arthur murmur against his chest, “Eames?”
“Mmm. Yes, love?”
“Don’t make me worry about you.”
Eames opens his eyes and stares up at the ceiling. “What do you mean?”
Arthur lets out a long breath. “When this job is over. When we’re not... when we’re not together. Please don't disappear on me.”
Eames jaw clenches, and his arms tighten around Arthur instinctively. He whispers into the top of his skull, “I won't.”
~
Eames wakes in the middle of the night to find himself alone. He sits up in bed to see light leaking in through the closed bedroom door from the main room of his apartment. He can hear Arthur’s voice on the other side of it. Muffled but unmistakably angry.
He jumps out of bed, opens the door and walks into the main room to see Arthur stark naked and screaming into his mobile, “The next time I hear from you, you’d better have a plan for how to get her the fuck out of there!” He snaps his phone shut and stalks over to the mahogany table where his moleskin is lying open on top of Eames’s scraps of paper.
“Arthur?”
Arthur whirls around to look at Eames, his expression shifting from livid to apologetic.
“Love, what’s going on?”
Arthur shifts his weight from one foot to the other, looking suddenly lost. His voice is small when he says, “Jeremy’s dead. He killed himself.”
NEXT PART
Characters: Arthur, Eames, OCs
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Word Count: 3800
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: OC character death, brief mention of suicide, dude on dude sex
Ummm... err... hey, dudes! *crickets* Look, more fic! Now with more porn!
~
Eames hovers at the end of the solid mahogany table that has taken over his apartment. He’s had to re-arrange all the other pieces of furniture around it, pairing up chairs and moving the couch out onto the balcony in a fit of creative energy that has now passed. He frowns down at the table’s surface, littered with squares of paper in varying sizes and colors, pushes them this way and that with a nitrile rubber clad finger. An x-acto knife and several mat cutting blades sit near the edge of the table, waiting to be of some use.
He's wearing only what he could find on the floor of his bedroom in the dark. Solid white briefs that he thinks may be Arthur’s and a buttercup yellow linen shirt, buttoned only at the very bottom.
Arthur passed out almost as soon as they had both come. He’s asleep in Eames’s bed right now, the sound of his gentle snoring floating into the main room. The television is on, but Eames has muted it, the better to listen in case he wakes. Arthur hasn’t been sleeping well. He’s been having nightmares. He hasn’t heard from Jeremy in a few days, and is becoming increasingly worried.
Eames hasn’t been sleeping well either. He’s not sure why. He suspects that part of it is his inability to do anything except stand by and watch Arthur stress himself out over what could be nothing but a lost cell phone on Jeremy’s part. The only thing Eames can do for Arthur right now is fuck him until he falls asleep.
His gaze finally settles on a large sheet of decorative paper at the far end of the table, orange and turquoise arabesques with gold highlights. He picks it up to carry it over to his industrial-sized paper cutter. He glances at the television as he does so, and his eye catches on a rather jarring line of text: MASSIVE EARTHQUAKE STRIKES WESTERN CHINA.
He clicks the mute button on the remote in time to hear the blonde talking head on CNN say, “A powerful earthquake struck the Sichuan province of Western China on Monday afternoon. Thousands are missing and, as of right now, sixty-three hundred fatalities have been report-”
He mutes her before she can finish speaking, but continues to stare at the ticker on the bottom of the screen. Reports of cowardice and heroism and crippling aftershocks. He shakes his head and mutters, “Fuck me.” One more thing for Arthur to worry about when he wakes up. Eames suspects Arthur knows at least one person in or from Chongqing. He certainly knows people in Hong Kong and Shanghai.
He grabs his pack of cigarettes off a nearby chair and takes it out to the balcony, forgoing the couch in favor of leaning against the wrought iron railing and peering down at the street below. He inhales and exhales and waits for someone to walk by and distract him from his thoughts.
He can hear his own lips parting as he latches on to the filter for another drag. It’s a Monday night, and the streets are empty and quiet. There aren’t even any cars parked on the street except for a strangely-painted Dodge Neon, silver on top and black on the bottom. Eames’s pulse quickens minutely when he sees that the side of it is emblazoned with a shield and the phrase Proteccion Ciudadana.
It’s a police car. Its lights are off, and there appear to be two people sitting in the front seat.
Eames glances up and down the street, looking for the slightest hint of a disturbance, any reason that the police have to be sitting in a darkened car in an empty street on a quiet night. He sees nothing.
He wouldn’t be surprised if the two people in the car were Bianca’s brother-in-law and his friend. Here to spy on or intimidate him and Arthur. Eames would like nothing more than to grab his Browning, walk out there in his underwear and confront them, but he knows better than to mess with cops. They won’t hesitate to shoot him if they feel threatened.
He really should just leave it. Go crawl into bed, pull Arthur’s arse into his lap and bury his face in his neck. Get some sleep before the sun comes up.
Realistically, that’s not going to happen. He’s not about to allow a couple of coked-out cops threaten the man currently asleep in his bed without letting them know exactly who they’re fucking with.
He puts his cigarette out against the railing and heads back inside. In a box underneath the mahogany table, there are a few items that Eames had to mail to himself because he knew he wouldn’t get them through customs. Mostly utility knives. But at the bottom of the box are a couple of small plastic balls with long fuses sticking out of them. Homemade cherry bombs.
He grabs one and heads back out to the balcony. He gauges the distance between himself and the car, the speed of the wind, looks up and down the street to make sure no one’s coming. He then lights the fuse and tosses the tiny explosive into the street.
It lands, smoking, underneath the back of the car. Eames holds his breath and waits. After a few seconds, it explodes with a loud, sharp cry and pings the car’s bumper. The car comes to life and takes off, its tires squealing and burning.
Eames chuckles and heads back inside, turns off the tv and the light on the table. He gets naked and crawls into bed with Arthur.
He wraps an arm around Arthur's waist and stares out into the darkness of his bedroom and thinks about Jeremy and earthquakes and the Mexico City Police Department. It takes him two hours to fall asleep.
~
Carmen and Eames are sitting on the sidelines of a soccer field from Andrea’s childhood. Red dirt spotted with clumps of invasive grass. Goal posts without nets. Bisan built it. Just for fun. She and Bianca are currently facing off against Arthur and Andrea. Kicking up dust and laughing as they chase after a slightly-deflated soccer ball.
The only one missing from their little group is Rosa. She’s been suffering from tactile and auditory hallucinations, a possible side effect of using Ambrose’s compound. Arthur has gone under with her a few times using slightly tweaked versions of it, but it’s not helping.
Vargas himself has urged her to stop. He’s not about to put one of his best employees out of commission entirely. Three girls that can forge is enough to draw customers and make him a lot of money.
As of now, Bianca’s the only one that has pulled off a complete forge. Andrea and Carmen have managed small shifts such as changing their hair and eye color, but they can’t manage to hold anything for long.
“What if I tried forging a celebrity?” Carmen asks Eames. They’re seated in the dirt next to the field. Carmen is looking at Eames, and Eames is watching Arthur as he attempts to execute a backwards pass to Andrea and fails miserably.
Eames smiles and shakes his head before turning to Carmen. “A celebrity,” he wonders aloud. “I suppose it’s worth trying. It wouldn’t really be a complete forge, since you don’t know anything about that person. You’d simply be wearing their skin.”
“Yeah...” Carmen twirls her hair on her index finger and looks skyward in thought. “But maybe I could use it as a jumping off point, you know? Maybe start with the outer layer and work in. Like when I used to play dress-up as a kid. I’d make up characters based on my outfits.”
Eames considers this as he chews on his thumbnail. “When you’re getting ready to go on stage or meet privately with a client, what do you start with? When you're creating a persona of sorts. Do you start with your outfit and makeup and let the rest come together?”
Carmen’s face brightens. “Yeah. Yeah, definitely.”
Eames nods. “Then I think it’s worth a shot.”
They both turn their faces back to the pitch just in time to see Arthur attempt to pass the ball to himself through Bisan’s legs. She traps it instead and takes off towards the opposite goal which is now wide open. “Fuck!” Arthur screams, his competitive nature beginning to surface.
Eames cups his hands around his mouth and yells, “Oi! Beckham! Go back to modeling!”
Arthur hunches over, hands on his knees, breathing heavily. His hair falls forward over his face in sweaty curls. He looks up at Eames and pants, “Go fuck yourself.”
“Just don’t quit your day job, love.”
Arthur’s mouth twists in a wicked smile. “That’s funny. I said the exact same thing to your mom last night.”
Carmen’s throws her head back and lets out a deep, throaty laugh. Eames chuckles, and Arthur takes off down the field toward Bisan, smiling the whole way.
Carmen looks back and forth between them for a moment before saying, “What’s going on between you guys? Are you, like... you know, together?”
Eames sighs dramatically. “Are we really that obvious?”
“Well... no. It’s not that you guys are obvious. It’s just that... it’s obvious.”
“Mmm. And what do you think it is exactly?”
“.... I dunno.”
Eames looks down the field at Arthur. “Neither do I.”
~
Arthur and Eames rent a car so that they can drive out to Teotihuacan on one of their days off.
They get into a heated argument regarding who’s going to drive there as soon as they step out of the rental car office.
“You know that I hate sitting the in the passenger’s seat.” Arthur reminds Eames in his most authoritative tone.
“I know that, darling, but if you sit in the passenger’s seat, you can read to us from that guide book of yours.”
“Don’t talk to me in that condescending tone, Eames. I know you don’t think the guide book is necessary, but Mexico City isn’t exactly the safest place to ‘just wing it’.’”
In the end, Arthur succumbs to logic. He sits in the passenger’s seat and reads Eames the history of Teotihuacan according to the Michelin Green Guide. “‘The earliest structures at Teotihuacan date to about 200 BCE. Its largest pyramid, The Pyramid of the Sun, was completed around 100 BCE.’”
Arthur stops abruptly in the middle of his lecture when they’re just a couple minutes away from the site and he catches site of the pyramid complex from the road. “Holy shit.” He taps Eames on the shoulder and points at the stepped structures. “Eames, look!”
Eames admires the pyramids briefly and then looks at Arthur. The guide book lays forgotten in his lap, and he’s leaning forward in his seat, his nose almost pressing against the window. He’s practically rocking in his seat with childlike excitement.
The corners of Eames’s mouth quirk up in a smile. "It's lovely," he says.
~
Arthur sits on the stone plateau at the top of The Pyramid of the Moon and looks down at what remains of the ancient city. Endless sun and stone on all sides of him. Low, blue hills in the distance. A silent wind ruffling his hair.
The guide book hangs limply in his hand, his thumb stuck into the middle of it, keeping his place. He thinks of the words he’s just read. Drought and famine. Increased warfare. Internal unrest.
He watches Eames as he makes his way slowly up the stone steps towards him, pausing every level to look around.
Arthur wishes he could ask Eames what goes on inside his head sometimes without using those four useless words: What are you thinking?
Several times over the past week, he’s looked up to find Eames staring at him, a look of concern creasing his features. Arthur’s not sure if Eames is worried about him or if Eames is bothered by what’s going on inside his own mind.
Arthur knows that he hasn’t been sleeping well. He’s been sneaking out of bed at odd hours, pacing his apartment and moving furniture around. Forging documents with the television on and muted. Arthur wonders if perhaps he’s the one keeping Eames up at night. He knows that he snores and fidgets a bit. Maybe he should go back to his own bed when he wants to sleep. Leave Eames in peace.
Arthur jumps when he thinks he hears his ringtone. He grabs his phone out of jacket pocket and frowns at it when he sees that it is not, in fact, ringing. He could have sworn-
“Is that Jeremy?”
Arthur looks up to see Eames staring at him, his expression stern.
“Tell him that he needs to check his messages more often and that he’s a twat for making you worry.”
Arthur lets out a breath and puts his phone away. “No... No it wasn’t him.”
“You still haven’t heard from him?” That same concerned expression.
“No, I haven’t.” Arthur stands and smiles in an attempt to assuage Eames’s worry. He holds up the guidebook. “Would you like me to read to you about the collapse of civilization? Warfare and famine and all that good stuff?”
Eames grins and gestures to the surrounding landscape. “Take it away, my dear.”
~
Eames is fucking Arthur gently with his fingers, letting the minute contractions of the other man’s inner flesh guide his thrusts. Arthur squirms and fusses under his ministrations, seemingly unable to get his concentration in sync with his arousal. He’s only half hard and is obviously frustrated with himself.
Eames tries for a different angle. He hoists Arthur’s legs up so that they’re parallel with his stomach, leans over and presses soothing, open mouthed kisses to the soft skin of his thighs, the tip of his cock. He curls his fingers and begins to rub Arthur’s prostate fast and hard.
Sweat drips slowly off of his brow and lands in small splashes on the taught skin of Arthur’s stomach. “Talk to me, Arthur. Tell me what you want,” he whispers on a heaving breath.
Arthur growls and kicks at Eames’s shoulders with his feet. Eames looks up, startled. He pulls his fingers out and sits back on his heels dejectedly.
Arthur groans and mutters, “Fuck, Eames... I’m sorry.” He shifts so that he’s upright on his knees and walks forward on them. He presses his chest against Eames’s and wraps his fingers around the back of the other man’s neck, runs his lips slowly over his stubbled jaw, determined to make this happen.
Eames moans and snakes his head down to capture Arthur’s mouth with his own, sliding their lips together and flicking his tongue into Arthur’s mouth.
He runs his palm down Arthur’s ribs and sneaks it around his lower back to grab his opposite hip and tug him closer. He grasps one of Arthur’s hands from where it’s gliding through his hair and brings it down his body to the base of his spine, tilts his hips back and guides one of Arthur’s fingers into the cleft of his arse.
Arthur pulls off of his mouth with a gasp. He leans back slightly to see Eames watching him with a shuttered gaze. Eames swallows audibly and murmurs, “Do you want to try fucking me?”
Arthur’s dick jumps, and they both feel it, their hips pressed together. Eames laughs softly, and Arthur leans forward to press his nose to Eames’s and whisper, his voice deep and commanding, “Fuck yeah, I do.”
He brings his hand up and presses two long fingers to Eames’s lips. “Get them wet for me,” he says and groans in appreciation when Eames smiles and sucks them into his mouth. His fat lips glide back and forth on Arthur’s fingers, coating them in spit.
Arthur’s hips twitch involuntarily at the sight, and he lets the movement guide him. He presses closer to Eames and lets their cocks slide together, ruts against him while resting his temple on Eames’s shoulder and watching his fingers disappear into his mouth.
“Alright,” he chokes out after a couple minutes, “Need to fuck you now.”
Eames chuckles as Arthur removes his fingers from his mouth and then groans when those fingers, slick with his own spit, press against his arsehole. His head lolls back, and Arthur presses gentle kisses to the exposed tendons in his neck as he gently pushes the tip of one finger into Eames’s tight heat.
Eames gasps, “Ah! Fuck.”
Arthur kisses his temple and murmurs, “Need you to relax for me, baby.”
Eames nods and hisses out a breath through his teeth, lets his head fall forward against Arthur’s.
Arthur reaches back and between his own legs to gather some of the lube left behind from earlier. He brings his hand back and slicks up his fingers even further. He leaves his hand there, the heel of it resting on Eames’s lower back, and uses his fingers to spread Eames’s arse cheeks open as he slowly slides the rest of his finger in.
Eames wraps his arms around Arthur’s torso and squeezes, seemingly trying to transfer some of the tension. It works, and once Arthur is two fingers in, Eames begins to rock his hips, desperate to feel Arthur glide through his inner skin.
Arthur pulls his face away from Eames’s neck in order to admire him. He never knew that Eames could move like this. His hips thrusting and snapping in an instinctual rhythm as he fucks himself on Arthur’s fingers.
Arthur feels his cock pulse, and the words jump out of his mouth, “Need you. Eames, Need to be inside you.”
Eames brings his head up and grins lazily. “You are inside of me.”
Arthur smiles and bites Eames’s bottom lip, and Eames shutters as Arthur pulls his fingers out. Arthur reaches over to the nightstand to grab a condom, and he’s about to rip it open when Eames’s hands appear and take it from him.
Eames smiles at him, presses gentle kisses to Arthur’s lips and his chin as he rolls the condom down onto Arthur’s cock, his movements relaxed and graceful. It’s then that Arthur realizes that his own hands are shaking violently.
He looks up to see Eames watching him, his eyes sharp and knowing. He takes Arthur’s hands with his own and says, “Can I ride you?”
Arthur laughs weakly. “Yeah... yeah, I’d like that.”
Eames pushes him gently on to the bed and crouches over his hips, takes Arthur’s cock in his hand and begins to lower himself down on it, groaning and shuddering.
Arthur clenches his teeth and digs his heels into the mattress. He feels it when his cock pushes all the way into the gripping heat of Eames’s arse, and he gasps, “J-Jesus. Eames.”
He looks up to watch Eames as he adjusts to Arthur’s full length. The way his eyes squeeze shut and his mouth falls open. The slight quivering of his lips and shoulders. The way his thighs jerk around Arthur’s hipbones.
Slowly, Eames begins to undulate his hips, letting Arthur’s cock slide out and back into him impossibly deeper.
Arthur reaches up to stroke the tops of his thighs, to fondle the swell of his arse as it rocks back and forth on his pelvis. He slides his hands up Eames’s chest to pinch and rub his thumbs over the tawny peaked flesh of his nipples. “Fucking gorgeous. So fucking beautiful, Eames.”
He bucks his hips, and a loud “Ah!” escapes Eames’ throat, and he thrusts up again in an attempt push more noises past Eames’s lips.
And then Eames's head snaps forward, and his eyes lock with Arthur’s. He gasps for air and his mouth trembles as if he’s about to let something out.
Arthur finds himself uttering those four useless words. “What are you thinking?”
Eames lets out a shuttering breath and smiles brightly, still rocking back and forth in Arthur’s lap. “I’m not thinking. It’s lovely.”
Arthur’s heart stutters in his chest. His fingers dig into the flesh of Eames’s arse, and he shifts his hips and thrusts harder, attempting to ping Eames’s prostate.
He hits it on his third thrust, and Eames cries out and falls forward, pushing Arthur’s hands up and over his head. “There,” he pants. “Fuck. There, Arthur, don’t stop.”
Arthur growls and fucks up into Eames furiously with every ounce of strength he has. He’s about to twist his hand out of Eames’s grasp so that he can grab his cock when, to his surprise, Eames tightens around him and wails as he comes hard all over Arthur’s stomach.
The wet heat on his belly sends Arthur over the edge, and he whimpers and presses his forehead to Eames’s as he comes inside of him.
After a few minutes of heavy breathing, Eames peels himself off of Arthur and starts to step off the bed, presumably to get something with which to clean them up. Arthur grabs him by the wrist and pulls him back roughly.
Eames rolls onto his back, and Arthur drapes himself across his chest. “The sheets will work just fine, Eames.”
Eames chuckles and strokes Arthur’s back.
He’s beginning to nod off when he hears and feels Arthur murmur against his chest, “Eames?”
“Mmm. Yes, love?”
“Don’t make me worry about you.”
Eames opens his eyes and stares up at the ceiling. “What do you mean?”
Arthur lets out a long breath. “When this job is over. When we’re not... when we’re not together. Please don't disappear on me.”
Eames jaw clenches, and his arms tighten around Arthur instinctively. He whispers into the top of his skull, “I won't.”
~
Eames wakes in the middle of the night to find himself alone. He sits up in bed to see light leaking in through the closed bedroom door from the main room of his apartment. He can hear Arthur’s voice on the other side of it. Muffled but unmistakably angry.
He jumps out of bed, opens the door and walks into the main room to see Arthur stark naked and screaming into his mobile, “The next time I hear from you, you’d better have a plan for how to get her the fuck out of there!” He snaps his phone shut and stalks over to the mahogany table where his moleskin is lying open on top of Eames’s scraps of paper.
“Arthur?”
Arthur whirls around to look at Eames, his expression shifting from livid to apologetic.
“Love, what’s going on?”
Arthur shifts his weight from one foot to the other, looking suddenly lost. His voice is small when he says, “Jeremy’s dead. He killed himself.”
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