I'd Rather Live in Dreams (Part 16/18)
Title: I'd Rather Live in Dreams (Part 16/18)
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Word Count: 3450
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: sex, slight gore
Notes: Guys, I am so SO SORRY about the unexpected hiatus. And about the fact that I'm, in general, sometimes slow to update. I wish I could have warned you guys beforehand, but I didn't realize how much real life would get in the way and how slow a writer I can be :(
These past couple months have been crazy. I'm moving to a new state and changing jobs next week. /o\
The good news is that I've already written the next part of this and am well into the final part. Huzzah! Anyone who gets to the end of this with me deserves a goddamn prize. For serious, message me your address, and I'll send you, like, a Harry and David's fruit basket or something...
Arthur and Eames don’t speak during the walk back to their apartments. Their usual banter is replaced by a silence that speaks for them. Anticipation and desire turning the scant space between their bodies electric. They bump shoulders, catch each other’s eyes and break out into small smiles before looking away. Attempting to remain calm and failing when their bodies and their gazes meet again just seconds later.
They walk at twice their usual pace, making it back to the mansion in record time, sweat beginning to form on their brows. Arthur unlocks the front door, and they step in through the persistent cloud of marijuana smoke and up the stairs. Eames catches up with Arthur on the last couple of steps, grabs his hand and interlocks their fingers, pulls him down the hall towards his apartment.
Arthur grins at the broad back in front of him and protests, his tone lacking any sort of conviction, “Eames, I really should clean the PASIV.”
Eames lets go of Arthur’s hand only long enough to grab his key out of his pocket and shove it into the lock. “Fuck the PASIV. I need you right now.”
The instant they’re inside the apartment, Eames throws the door closed and spins around to slip his hands under Arthur’s jacket and grab his hips. Their lips slide together, and Arthur’s hips thrust forward involuntarily.
Eames pulls Arthur’s shirt out of his trousers before even removing his jacket, running his hands along the hot skin in the dip of his lower back. He’s about to push the jacket off of his shoulders when Arthur’s chest begins to hum and vibrate against his own. Arthur’s cell phone.
Eames curses into Arthur’s jaw, “Fuck.”
“Shit,” Arthur sighs against Eames’s temple. “I have to answer that, don’t I?”
Eames lips and teeth continue their path down Arthur’s neck. “In case it’s anything to do with Inez... yes, you ought to.”
Arthur moans when Eames nibbles gently at his collarbone. “You wanna just- ah... just keep doing what you’re doing while I take this call?”
Eames chuckles and presses a lingering kiss to Arthur’s pectoral just above his nipple. He says in a rumbling tone that makes Arthur’s skin vibrate where their bodies are pressed together, “I am a selfish man, Arthur. When I’m with you, I want all of you. That includes your attention.” He pulls the phone from Arthur’s pocket and grabs his hand, wraps Arthur’s slim fingers around the pulsating square of plastic. “Just take the call, love.” He presses a kiss to the tip of Arthur’s chin and nudges their hipbones together as he slides past him. “I’ll be here when you need me.”
Arthur allows a shiver to run through his body before he flips open his phone and clears his throat. “This is Arthur... Hey, Kathryn. Have we made any progress?... What?... So she’s out?”
Across the room, Eames pauses in his attempt to light a cigarette. “She’s out?”
Arthur turns around to face him, nods. “Okay, tell Thierry and Patrick to wait a few days before making a move. If she behaves herself at first then it should throw anyone watching her off the scent. You’ve got Cass working on the papers, right? Okay. Good. Do you need me to contact anyone else? Yeah, I can do that.” Arthur’s posture visibly relaxes a bit, and he slumps into a nearby chair. “Keep me updated, alright? I’m gonna burn my phone tonight, but I’ll get a new number to you within the next twenty-four hours. You should probably burn yours too if you’ve been making a lot of international calls from it. Okay. Take care, Kathryn. Thanks. Bye.”
Arthur snaps his phone shut and stares down at it, rubs his thumb over the plastic window that reads 3:18 p.m. He allows himself to breathe for a couple moments before he says quietly, “Inez’s dad bailed her out.”
Eames is standing in the middle of the room, an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth. “What?”
“Apparently, he knows all about what she does. She called him from jail, and he flew to Edinburgh as soon as he collected enough money to post bail.”
“How much was it set at?”
“I don’t know, but it can’t have been cheap. According to Kathryn, he’s a big time ad exec in Madrid. He took all of his money that was tied up in his house, his stocks... used it to get her out.”
Eames bites on the filter of his cigarette, crinkles his brow. “He won’t get any of his money back if she flees the country.”
“I don’t think he cares.”
“You don’t?”
Arthur looks up at Eames from beneath his eyebrows. He smirks and speaks softly, imparting a secret. “He’s going on the run with her.”
Eames ducks his chin into his chest and frowns, absorbing what Arthur’s just told him. He turns and walks slowly out to the balcony. Arthur regards his back for a moment before getting up to follow him.
It’s clear and warm and bright outside. The sky blue above a thin, grey layer of pollution that never lifts. A strong wind sends a wave of loose refuse bouncing down the sidewalk below them and throws Arthur’s dark curls across his face.
Arthur leans forward on the railing next to Eames, presses their bodies together from elbow to ankle and waits for him to speak first.
Eames lights a cigarette and hands it to Arthur, pulls another out of his pack from himself. “So we’re off the hook then.”
“Yep. I have to make a few more calls, but other than that...”
Eames nods and hums, massages his brow with his thumb and forefinger. He watches the trash blow down the street and wonders aloud, “Would your mum ever do something like that? Give up the rest of her life for you?”
Arthur scoffs around his cigarette filter. “I seriously doubt that my mom would be able to do something as complicated as liquefy all her assets.” There’s a hint of fondness in his voice when he says, “She doesn’t even understand how Overdraft Protection works.”
“Does she know what you do for a living?”
“Not really. I think she’s under the impression that I’m developing some sort of technology for the U.S. military. That’s what I told her when I started working in the program.” Arthur shrugs. “I never really went into further detail. I don’t think she really cares about what I do. She’s much more interested in talking about who got kicked off Dancing with the Stars.”
Eames chuckles, stubs his cigarette out on the railing and tosses it over his shoulder to land in a pile by the door. “I think your mum and mine would get on like a house on fire. Every phone conversation with my mum consists of her reading the entirety of The Times’ World News section and asking me if there’s ‘anything they’re not telling us’.”
“She thinks you’re still a spy?”
Eames shrugs. “Beats her thinking I’m a criminal.”
Several responses to this materialize in Arthur’s mind, but he’s not happy with any of them, so he keeps his mouth shut. He stares at his cigarette while it burns down to the filter and goes out. He tosses the butt over his shoulder to join Eames’s. “Would your mom ever do something like that for you? Put herself in danger so she could bail you out?”
Eames sighs heavily. “I hope not. Can’t be sure, though. I don’t give her too many details about what I do or where I am at any given time for just that reason.”
“You think she worries about you?”
“I didn’t used to think so. She never used to take anything seriously. But she’s become a bit sentimental in her old age.”
“Mine too. I’ve stopped calling her if I’m even remotely upset about anything. The conversation always ends with her saying ‘You can always come home if you want to’.” Arthur’s eye catches on Eames’s hand where it dangles off the railing beside his own. He catches it and rubs his thumb along the center of Eames’s palm, regarding it with the same passive familiarity that he would a part of his own body. “Pretty soon I won’t even be able to visit her anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Because underground dreamsharing is about to become dominated by extraction. In order to keep working, everyone’s gonna have to start doing it. Soon we’ll all be criminals.”
Eames turns to face him. He plucks a strand of Arthur’s hair out of the wind and tucks it behind his ear, his fingers grazing the soft skin of its shell. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Arthur.”
“I know. But I can’t imagine doing anything else.” Arthur turns his head, and Eames’s fingers glide along his cheek as he does so, finally coming to rest just above his lips.
Eames tilts his head and leans forward, kisses him softly. A soft, wet click as their mouths pull apart, and Eames murmurs, “Promise me you’ll never bail me out if I ever get arrested.”
“Only if you can promise me you’ll never get arrested.”
“Arthur, I’m serious.”
Arthur pulls back just enough to look into Eames’s eyes. “So am I.”
Eames regards him silently, and Arthur stares right back. Caught up in each other’s gazes and their own thoughts, the wind carries their argument away.
Arthur leans forward to tuck the tip of his nose into Eames’s cheek and murmur, “I don’t wanna fight right now. I want you to take me to bed and fuck me until I can’t think anymore. And then I want to sleep for twelve hours with you lying next to me. Can we do that?”
Eames tilts his head to slide his lips against Arthur’s and whisper. “Yes. Yes, we can do that.”
~
Arthur groans and grips the metal bars in front of him tighter. He doesn’t dare let go of the headboard, the muscles in his hands and arms the only part of his body that he currently has any control over. Every other part of him quivers and screams for some sort of completion. He’s already come twice, and Eames is trying desperately to wring another orgasm out of him.
He’s pressed against Arthur’s back, chest heaving and breath being pushed out of him in wet gasps with every hard thrust into Arthur’s body. His arm is strapped across Arthur’s chest, one hand pressed to Arthur’s rib cage and the other holding his hips still as he fucks into him. He pants into Arthur’s ear, “Can you come for me again?” He gasps and shudders, “Want to feel you come on my cock. Want to feel you tighten around me.”
Arthur head falls down between his shoulder blades, bobbing with every rough smack of Eames’s thighs against his ass. “Eames,” he murmurs, “I -ah! I need...”
Eames groans. “Fuck yes, Arthur. Talk to me. Tell me what you need.”
Arthur runs his tongue along his lips and rasps, “Water.”
Eames grinds to a halt. Almost. He chokes on a breath and falls forward against Arthur’s back, his hips still jerking in needy little thrusts as he gasps, “Pardon?”
“Water,” Arthur gasps. “I need water, Eames. I’m gonna- gonna fucking pass out.”
“All right. All right. Just- Fuck, just gimme a second.”
“No, it’s okay. Just stay here. I’ll get it.” He pulls forward, winces as Eames’s cock slides out of him.
Eames falls back on his heals, shuddering.
Arthur nearly falls over when he steps off the bed, his knees liquefied. He hobbles to the bathroom as fast as he possibly can, knocking his shoulder into the door frame on his way there. He grabs the glass next to the sink and chugs three glasses in quick succession, his arms trembling as they hold his torso over the porcelain basin.
He fills the glass again and stumbles back into the bedroom where Eames is still kneeling on the bed in the same position, looking down mournfully at his erection. He turns his head, and watches Arthur tip back his fourth glass, water spilling out of the sides of his mouth and running down his jaw and neck to mix with the sweat and come on his chest.
He brings the glass away from his mouth, panting and sees Eames staring up at him, lips parted and eyes wide with raw need. He watches the droplets as they snake down Arthur’s chest and mutters weakly, “Can I have some?”
It takes Arthur a moment to realize that he’s talking about the water. He smiles and walks back to the bathroom, comes back with a full glass for Eames.
Eames takes it down in three gulps, sighs heavily, “Fuck me, that was good.” He lets the glass fall from his hand and pushes it underneath the mattress with the sole of his foot. He steps off the bed and prowls towards Arthur, wiping the wet from him mouth with the side of his hand, shoulders shifting like a big cat about to pounce.
Arthur snickers at Eames’s attempt to be subtly seductive with a massive erection bobbing between his legs, his gait slightly bow-legged.
Eames glowers at him and grabs his hips, walks him backward until his shoulder blades hit the wall. “Don’t laugh at me. I just made you come twice, you ungrateful twat.” He nibbles at the skin below Arthur’s jaw and begins to grind his cock, slick with lube and cum from his previous orgasm against Arthur’s belly.
“You are an ideal specimen of manhood, Mr. Eames. Now back up for a second.”
“Arthur-”
“Don’t whine. I’m gonna take care of you, alright?”
He pushes Eames back gently and turns to face the wall, places one palm flat against it and reaches his free hand back to grasp Eames’s cock and guide it inside of his body. “You can touch me all you want, just don’t move your hips.” Once the curly hairs at the base of Eames’s cock begin to tickle the stretched skin of his hole, he cants his hips and pulls them forward before pushing back again.
Eames groans, and Arthur can tell by the sound of it that he’s looking down, admiring the sight of his dick sliding in and out of Arthur’s entrance. His hands tremble as he parts Arthur’s cheeks with both hands to get a better view. “Fuck yes, Arthur. Fuck yourself on my cock.”
Arthur presses his palms against the wall and undulates his hips, quickening his rhythm. Sweat falls from Eames’s brow and lands in warm, wet splashes on his back. Eames leans forward to lick the puddles from Arthur’s skin. His fingers skitter up Arthur’s his rib cage, across his nipples, down his belly.
Eames’s hips begin to move against his ass in small, helpless thrusts, and Arthur knows he’s close. He grabs Eames’s hand and sucks the first two fingers into his mouth, pumps his hips back hard into Eames’s groin and clenches around him.
“Arthur,” Eames groans, “Fuck- Don’t stop. Fuck, I’m gonna come.”
Arthur swirls his tongue around the tips of Eames’s fingers and moans, “Eames,” and Eames surges forward with a gasp and pins Arthur to the wall as he spills inside of him, his eyes shut tight against Arthur’s shoulder and his thighs trembling.
Arthur turns his head and presses soft kisses to Eames’s cheek and his temple, his lips coming away wet with the perspiration that drips down Eames’s face. “What that good?”
“It’s always good with you,” Eames pants into his shoulder. “Bloody mindblowing... Can you come again?”
“No,” Arthur laughs. “Don’t think I even have the energy to take a shower.”
Eames hums tiredly and mumbles, “You’ll smell like me.” He peels himself off of Arthur’s back, stumbling and grabbing Arthur’s hips for support as he pulls out.
Arthur turns around to see him holding the used condom and looking lost, turning in a circle in search of a trash can. Arthur walks forward and relieves him of his duty. He takes the condom carefully and pats Eames on the bum. “Get in the bed. I’ll take care of it.”
Arthur disposes of the condom in the bathroom, takes a piss and wipes the come off his stomach before crawling into bed beside Eames.
He stretches himself out along Eames’ back, slides a hand across his belly, his slight paunch and the trail of coarse brown hair that runs from his bellybutton to his cock. He kisses the freckles and the scars on Eames’s shoulders, happy to map the other man’s body until the arousal and the adrenaline wear off.
Eames’s breathing evens out and deepens. Arthur is sure that he’s fallen asleep until he hears him mumble into the pillow. “No one will ever know.”
“No one will ever know what?”
“That we had this. These past weeks. They’ll just... disappear.”
Arthur presses closer to him, speaks into the short hairs on the back of his neck, “We’ll know.”
Eames shifts back into Arthur’s arms and sighs heavily.
~
Eames is lying on a dirty cot in a cool basement. The several dozen bare bulbs that hang from the ceiling call to mind the smoking patios outside the posh clubs that he used to embarrass himself in during his teenage years.
A sharp, hot spike of pain in his right thigh yanks his thoughts from his mind, and he looks up to see his mother hunched over his leg, digging a knife into his flesh. She’s wearing a short, polyester dress that Eames has only ever seen her wear in pictures, and it’s covered in blood that he knows to be his own.
He opens his mouth to speak, and nothing comes out.
“Hold still, darling. I’ve almost got it,” his mum chides him as he tries to squirm out of her grasp. She grunts, and a small, metal bauble surges out of his flesh and falls to the floor with a soft ping. His mum chuckles and wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. “There we are. All better.” She bends over to press a kiss to the wound, and as she does so, blood comes pouring out of it and covers her lips.
“Oh hell,” she sighs and turns to look at him, licking the blood from her lips and smiling. “Your father had the right idea, you know. He always let other people do his dirty work for him.”
His vision begins to darken at its edges as blood pours down his thigh, soaking the mattress and dripping onto the concrete floor. “Why do you do this to yourself, darling? What’s the point of it? Tommy? Answer me. Thomas?” And then her eyes darken, and she says in a deep voice, “Eames? Eames you’re dreaming wake up.”
A warm hand lands softly on his shoulder. Eames surges forward to knock it away and finds himself awake. The covers wrapped tight around his middle like bandages. Arthur perched on the edge of the bed in front of him, his hands in his lap and his head tilted sideways. He reaches out a hand to stroke Eames’s calf soothingly. “Nightmare?” he asks softly.
Eames nods and looks around the room to get his bearings. The Diego Rivera print on the wall. The armoire in the corner painted with blue and orange flowers. The yellow light that spills into the room from the streetlamps.
And Arthur. His dark eyes focused on Eames as if there’s nothing else in the world more worthy of their attention. His hair a rat’s nest atop his head and a bruise on the inside of his thigh that matches the set of Eames’s mouth when he sucked it into his skin earlier.
Eames clears his throat, “What time is it?”
“About 8:30.”
“P.M.?”
“Yeah.”
“Why are you awake?”
“We have a visitor.”
Eames glances around the room. “Where? Who?”
“In the living room. Bianca.”
“What’s she doing here?”
“Not sure. But she wants to talk to both of us.” Arthur leans forward and presses a kiss to his forhead. “C’mon. Get dressed.”
NEXT PART
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Word Count: 3450
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: sex, slight gore
Notes: Guys, I am so SO SORRY about the unexpected hiatus. And about the fact that I'm, in general, sometimes slow to update. I wish I could have warned you guys beforehand, but I didn't realize how much real life would get in the way and how slow a writer I can be :(
These past couple months have been crazy. I'm moving to a new state and changing jobs next week. /o\
The good news is that I've already written the next part of this and am well into the final part. Huzzah! Anyone who gets to the end of this with me deserves a goddamn prize. For serious, message me your address, and I'll send you, like, a Harry and David's fruit basket or something...
Arthur and Eames don’t speak during the walk back to their apartments. Their usual banter is replaced by a silence that speaks for them. Anticipation and desire turning the scant space between their bodies electric. They bump shoulders, catch each other’s eyes and break out into small smiles before looking away. Attempting to remain calm and failing when their bodies and their gazes meet again just seconds later.
They walk at twice their usual pace, making it back to the mansion in record time, sweat beginning to form on their brows. Arthur unlocks the front door, and they step in through the persistent cloud of marijuana smoke and up the stairs. Eames catches up with Arthur on the last couple of steps, grabs his hand and interlocks their fingers, pulls him down the hall towards his apartment.
Arthur grins at the broad back in front of him and protests, his tone lacking any sort of conviction, “Eames, I really should clean the PASIV.”
Eames lets go of Arthur’s hand only long enough to grab his key out of his pocket and shove it into the lock. “Fuck the PASIV. I need you right now.”
The instant they’re inside the apartment, Eames throws the door closed and spins around to slip his hands under Arthur’s jacket and grab his hips. Their lips slide together, and Arthur’s hips thrust forward involuntarily.
Eames pulls Arthur’s shirt out of his trousers before even removing his jacket, running his hands along the hot skin in the dip of his lower back. He’s about to push the jacket off of his shoulders when Arthur’s chest begins to hum and vibrate against his own. Arthur’s cell phone.
Eames curses into Arthur’s jaw, “Fuck.”
“Shit,” Arthur sighs against Eames’s temple. “I have to answer that, don’t I?”
Eames lips and teeth continue their path down Arthur’s neck. “In case it’s anything to do with Inez... yes, you ought to.”
Arthur moans when Eames nibbles gently at his collarbone. “You wanna just- ah... just keep doing what you’re doing while I take this call?”
Eames chuckles and presses a lingering kiss to Arthur’s pectoral just above his nipple. He says in a rumbling tone that makes Arthur’s skin vibrate where their bodies are pressed together, “I am a selfish man, Arthur. When I’m with you, I want all of you. That includes your attention.” He pulls the phone from Arthur’s pocket and grabs his hand, wraps Arthur’s slim fingers around the pulsating square of plastic. “Just take the call, love.” He presses a kiss to the tip of Arthur’s chin and nudges their hipbones together as he slides past him. “I’ll be here when you need me.”
Arthur allows a shiver to run through his body before he flips open his phone and clears his throat. “This is Arthur... Hey, Kathryn. Have we made any progress?... What?... So she’s out?”
Across the room, Eames pauses in his attempt to light a cigarette. “She’s out?”
Arthur turns around to face him, nods. “Okay, tell Thierry and Patrick to wait a few days before making a move. If she behaves herself at first then it should throw anyone watching her off the scent. You’ve got Cass working on the papers, right? Okay. Good. Do you need me to contact anyone else? Yeah, I can do that.” Arthur’s posture visibly relaxes a bit, and he slumps into a nearby chair. “Keep me updated, alright? I’m gonna burn my phone tonight, but I’ll get a new number to you within the next twenty-four hours. You should probably burn yours too if you’ve been making a lot of international calls from it. Okay. Take care, Kathryn. Thanks. Bye.”
Arthur snaps his phone shut and stares down at it, rubs his thumb over the plastic window that reads 3:18 p.m. He allows himself to breathe for a couple moments before he says quietly, “Inez’s dad bailed her out.”
Eames is standing in the middle of the room, an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth. “What?”
“Apparently, he knows all about what she does. She called him from jail, and he flew to Edinburgh as soon as he collected enough money to post bail.”
“How much was it set at?”
“I don’t know, but it can’t have been cheap. According to Kathryn, he’s a big time ad exec in Madrid. He took all of his money that was tied up in his house, his stocks... used it to get her out.”
Eames bites on the filter of his cigarette, crinkles his brow. “He won’t get any of his money back if she flees the country.”
“I don’t think he cares.”
“You don’t?”
Arthur looks up at Eames from beneath his eyebrows. He smirks and speaks softly, imparting a secret. “He’s going on the run with her.”
Eames ducks his chin into his chest and frowns, absorbing what Arthur’s just told him. He turns and walks slowly out to the balcony. Arthur regards his back for a moment before getting up to follow him.
It’s clear and warm and bright outside. The sky blue above a thin, grey layer of pollution that never lifts. A strong wind sends a wave of loose refuse bouncing down the sidewalk below them and throws Arthur’s dark curls across his face.
Arthur leans forward on the railing next to Eames, presses their bodies together from elbow to ankle and waits for him to speak first.
Eames lights a cigarette and hands it to Arthur, pulls another out of his pack from himself. “So we’re off the hook then.”
“Yep. I have to make a few more calls, but other than that...”
Eames nods and hums, massages his brow with his thumb and forefinger. He watches the trash blow down the street and wonders aloud, “Would your mum ever do something like that? Give up the rest of her life for you?”
Arthur scoffs around his cigarette filter. “I seriously doubt that my mom would be able to do something as complicated as liquefy all her assets.” There’s a hint of fondness in his voice when he says, “She doesn’t even understand how Overdraft Protection works.”
“Does she know what you do for a living?”
“Not really. I think she’s under the impression that I’m developing some sort of technology for the U.S. military. That’s what I told her when I started working in the program.” Arthur shrugs. “I never really went into further detail. I don’t think she really cares about what I do. She’s much more interested in talking about who got kicked off Dancing with the Stars.”
Eames chuckles, stubs his cigarette out on the railing and tosses it over his shoulder to land in a pile by the door. “I think your mum and mine would get on like a house on fire. Every phone conversation with my mum consists of her reading the entirety of The Times’ World News section and asking me if there’s ‘anything they’re not telling us’.”
“She thinks you’re still a spy?”
Eames shrugs. “Beats her thinking I’m a criminal.”
Several responses to this materialize in Arthur’s mind, but he’s not happy with any of them, so he keeps his mouth shut. He stares at his cigarette while it burns down to the filter and goes out. He tosses the butt over his shoulder to join Eames’s. “Would your mom ever do something like that for you? Put herself in danger so she could bail you out?”
Eames sighs heavily. “I hope not. Can’t be sure, though. I don’t give her too many details about what I do or where I am at any given time for just that reason.”
“You think she worries about you?”
“I didn’t used to think so. She never used to take anything seriously. But she’s become a bit sentimental in her old age.”
“Mine too. I’ve stopped calling her if I’m even remotely upset about anything. The conversation always ends with her saying ‘You can always come home if you want to’.” Arthur’s eye catches on Eames’s hand where it dangles off the railing beside his own. He catches it and rubs his thumb along the center of Eames’s palm, regarding it with the same passive familiarity that he would a part of his own body. “Pretty soon I won’t even be able to visit her anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Because underground dreamsharing is about to become dominated by extraction. In order to keep working, everyone’s gonna have to start doing it. Soon we’ll all be criminals.”
Eames turns to face him. He plucks a strand of Arthur’s hair out of the wind and tucks it behind his ear, his fingers grazing the soft skin of its shell. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Arthur.”
“I know. But I can’t imagine doing anything else.” Arthur turns his head, and Eames’s fingers glide along his cheek as he does so, finally coming to rest just above his lips.
Eames tilts his head and leans forward, kisses him softly. A soft, wet click as their mouths pull apart, and Eames murmurs, “Promise me you’ll never bail me out if I ever get arrested.”
“Only if you can promise me you’ll never get arrested.”
“Arthur, I’m serious.”
Arthur pulls back just enough to look into Eames’s eyes. “So am I.”
Eames regards him silently, and Arthur stares right back. Caught up in each other’s gazes and their own thoughts, the wind carries their argument away.
Arthur leans forward to tuck the tip of his nose into Eames’s cheek and murmur, “I don’t wanna fight right now. I want you to take me to bed and fuck me until I can’t think anymore. And then I want to sleep for twelve hours with you lying next to me. Can we do that?”
Eames tilts his head to slide his lips against Arthur’s and whisper. “Yes. Yes, we can do that.”
~
Arthur groans and grips the metal bars in front of him tighter. He doesn’t dare let go of the headboard, the muscles in his hands and arms the only part of his body that he currently has any control over. Every other part of him quivers and screams for some sort of completion. He’s already come twice, and Eames is trying desperately to wring another orgasm out of him.
He’s pressed against Arthur’s back, chest heaving and breath being pushed out of him in wet gasps with every hard thrust into Arthur’s body. His arm is strapped across Arthur’s chest, one hand pressed to Arthur’s rib cage and the other holding his hips still as he fucks into him. He pants into Arthur’s ear, “Can you come for me again?” He gasps and shudders, “Want to feel you come on my cock. Want to feel you tighten around me.”
Arthur head falls down between his shoulder blades, bobbing with every rough smack of Eames’s thighs against his ass. “Eames,” he murmurs, “I -ah! I need...”
Eames groans. “Fuck yes, Arthur. Talk to me. Tell me what you need.”
Arthur runs his tongue along his lips and rasps, “Water.”
Eames grinds to a halt. Almost. He chokes on a breath and falls forward against Arthur’s back, his hips still jerking in needy little thrusts as he gasps, “Pardon?”
“Water,” Arthur gasps. “I need water, Eames. I’m gonna- gonna fucking pass out.”
“All right. All right. Just- Fuck, just gimme a second.”
“No, it’s okay. Just stay here. I’ll get it.” He pulls forward, winces as Eames’s cock slides out of him.
Eames falls back on his heals, shuddering.
Arthur nearly falls over when he steps off the bed, his knees liquefied. He hobbles to the bathroom as fast as he possibly can, knocking his shoulder into the door frame on his way there. He grabs the glass next to the sink and chugs three glasses in quick succession, his arms trembling as they hold his torso over the porcelain basin.
He fills the glass again and stumbles back into the bedroom where Eames is still kneeling on the bed in the same position, looking down mournfully at his erection. He turns his head, and watches Arthur tip back his fourth glass, water spilling out of the sides of his mouth and running down his jaw and neck to mix with the sweat and come on his chest.
He brings the glass away from his mouth, panting and sees Eames staring up at him, lips parted and eyes wide with raw need. He watches the droplets as they snake down Arthur’s chest and mutters weakly, “Can I have some?”
It takes Arthur a moment to realize that he’s talking about the water. He smiles and walks back to the bathroom, comes back with a full glass for Eames.
Eames takes it down in three gulps, sighs heavily, “Fuck me, that was good.” He lets the glass fall from his hand and pushes it underneath the mattress with the sole of his foot. He steps off the bed and prowls towards Arthur, wiping the wet from him mouth with the side of his hand, shoulders shifting like a big cat about to pounce.
Arthur snickers at Eames’s attempt to be subtly seductive with a massive erection bobbing between his legs, his gait slightly bow-legged.
Eames glowers at him and grabs his hips, walks him backward until his shoulder blades hit the wall. “Don’t laugh at me. I just made you come twice, you ungrateful twat.” He nibbles at the skin below Arthur’s jaw and begins to grind his cock, slick with lube and cum from his previous orgasm against Arthur’s belly.
“You are an ideal specimen of manhood, Mr. Eames. Now back up for a second.”
“Arthur-”
“Don’t whine. I’m gonna take care of you, alright?”
He pushes Eames back gently and turns to face the wall, places one palm flat against it and reaches his free hand back to grasp Eames’s cock and guide it inside of his body. “You can touch me all you want, just don’t move your hips.” Once the curly hairs at the base of Eames’s cock begin to tickle the stretched skin of his hole, he cants his hips and pulls them forward before pushing back again.
Eames groans, and Arthur can tell by the sound of it that he’s looking down, admiring the sight of his dick sliding in and out of Arthur’s entrance. His hands tremble as he parts Arthur’s cheeks with both hands to get a better view. “Fuck yes, Arthur. Fuck yourself on my cock.”
Arthur presses his palms against the wall and undulates his hips, quickening his rhythm. Sweat falls from Eames’s brow and lands in warm, wet splashes on his back. Eames leans forward to lick the puddles from Arthur’s skin. His fingers skitter up Arthur’s his rib cage, across his nipples, down his belly.
Eames’s hips begin to move against his ass in small, helpless thrusts, and Arthur knows he’s close. He grabs Eames’s hand and sucks the first two fingers into his mouth, pumps his hips back hard into Eames’s groin and clenches around him.
“Arthur,” Eames groans, “Fuck- Don’t stop. Fuck, I’m gonna come.”
Arthur swirls his tongue around the tips of Eames’s fingers and moans, “Eames,” and Eames surges forward with a gasp and pins Arthur to the wall as he spills inside of him, his eyes shut tight against Arthur’s shoulder and his thighs trembling.
Arthur turns his head and presses soft kisses to Eames’s cheek and his temple, his lips coming away wet with the perspiration that drips down Eames’s face. “What that good?”
“It’s always good with you,” Eames pants into his shoulder. “Bloody mindblowing... Can you come again?”
“No,” Arthur laughs. “Don’t think I even have the energy to take a shower.”
Eames hums tiredly and mumbles, “You’ll smell like me.” He peels himself off of Arthur’s back, stumbling and grabbing Arthur’s hips for support as he pulls out.
Arthur turns around to see him holding the used condom and looking lost, turning in a circle in search of a trash can. Arthur walks forward and relieves him of his duty. He takes the condom carefully and pats Eames on the bum. “Get in the bed. I’ll take care of it.”
Arthur disposes of the condom in the bathroom, takes a piss and wipes the come off his stomach before crawling into bed beside Eames.
He stretches himself out along Eames’ back, slides a hand across his belly, his slight paunch and the trail of coarse brown hair that runs from his bellybutton to his cock. He kisses the freckles and the scars on Eames’s shoulders, happy to map the other man’s body until the arousal and the adrenaline wear off.
Eames’s breathing evens out and deepens. Arthur is sure that he’s fallen asleep until he hears him mumble into the pillow. “No one will ever know.”
“No one will ever know what?”
“That we had this. These past weeks. They’ll just... disappear.”
Arthur presses closer to him, speaks into the short hairs on the back of his neck, “We’ll know.”
Eames shifts back into Arthur’s arms and sighs heavily.
~
Eames is lying on a dirty cot in a cool basement. The several dozen bare bulbs that hang from the ceiling call to mind the smoking patios outside the posh clubs that he used to embarrass himself in during his teenage years.
A sharp, hot spike of pain in his right thigh yanks his thoughts from his mind, and he looks up to see his mother hunched over his leg, digging a knife into his flesh. She’s wearing a short, polyester dress that Eames has only ever seen her wear in pictures, and it’s covered in blood that he knows to be his own.
He opens his mouth to speak, and nothing comes out.
“Hold still, darling. I’ve almost got it,” his mum chides him as he tries to squirm out of her grasp. She grunts, and a small, metal bauble surges out of his flesh and falls to the floor with a soft ping. His mum chuckles and wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. “There we are. All better.” She bends over to press a kiss to the wound, and as she does so, blood comes pouring out of it and covers her lips.
“Oh hell,” she sighs and turns to look at him, licking the blood from her lips and smiling. “Your father had the right idea, you know. He always let other people do his dirty work for him.”
His vision begins to darken at its edges as blood pours down his thigh, soaking the mattress and dripping onto the concrete floor. “Why do you do this to yourself, darling? What’s the point of it? Tommy? Answer me. Thomas?” And then her eyes darken, and she says in a deep voice, “Eames? Eames you’re dreaming wake up.”
A warm hand lands softly on his shoulder. Eames surges forward to knock it away and finds himself awake. The covers wrapped tight around his middle like bandages. Arthur perched on the edge of the bed in front of him, his hands in his lap and his head tilted sideways. He reaches out a hand to stroke Eames’s calf soothingly. “Nightmare?” he asks softly.
Eames nods and looks around the room to get his bearings. The Diego Rivera print on the wall. The armoire in the corner painted with blue and orange flowers. The yellow light that spills into the room from the streetlamps.
And Arthur. His dark eyes focused on Eames as if there’s nothing else in the world more worthy of their attention. His hair a rat’s nest atop his head and a bruise on the inside of his thigh that matches the set of Eames’s mouth when he sucked it into his skin earlier.
Eames clears his throat, “What time is it?”
“About 8:30.”
“P.M.?”
“Yeah.”
“Why are you awake?”
“We have a visitor.”
Eames glances around the room. “Where? Who?”
“In the living room. Bianca.”
“What’s she doing here?”
“Not sure. But she wants to talk to both of us.” Arthur leans forward and presses a kiss to his forhead. “C’mon. Get dressed.”
NEXT PART