Fic: Appointment
Title: Appointment
Author: kaylynnkie
Disclaimer: Not mine
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Summary: AU in which Arthur is a professional Dom and Eames requires his services on Christmas Eve.
Word Count: 2,914
Warnings/Rating: D/s, objectification, pain play, unintentional edge play
Notes: Written for Anon's prompt over at inceptionkink; “ Their safeword is specificity. Eames can't remember it ”
There was a cafe nestled into an alleyway off 101st Street that used real homemade cream and melted down the chocolate in front of the customer. Arthur loved watching them do it. It was a secret place with a feeling of forbidding that made him feel achingly naughty. He ordered a hot chocolate with caramel topping and grinned like a child as the man behind the counter tipped melted down dark and milk cocoa bits into a cup full of sweetened milk. He spooned on a helping of whipped cream and handed off the cup to his assistant, watching carefully as she placed hot caramel on a piece of wax paper and waited for it to cool. His phone rang just then, so he missed watching her put the cooled lattice on his drink with as much reverence for sugar as an Angel atop the tree.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Arthur. There's a Mr. Jenner here to see you.”
He frowned. There were no more appointments on his calendar. It was Christmas Eve for Christ's sake. “That's impossible.”
“The one with the British accent? He said he needed to see you. I wouldn't have bothered you, but he looks in a bad way.”
Of course he would. Arthur scowled but agreed to head over right away. He turned back towards the counter.
“I'm sorry. This is free. She's still learning.”
The caramel had snapped perfectly in two. The child inside of him grinned at the prospect of having two treats, but he had the courtesy to nod politely instead. He smiled at the girl, who was red faced and looked ashamed. She couldn't have been more than sixteen.
“I'm sorry, Sir.”
“It's alright. That will make the perfect one more perfect.”
*
Arthur ran a private evening service out of the same building as his physiology practice. “Mr. Jenner” was one of his more dedicated clients. In fact, on any other day, he would have been delighted to see the other man, but it was the holiday season. Arthur wanted to go back to his apartment, eat something hot and covered in gravy with stuffing and drink a glass of something dark that burned going down. Preferably, as soon as possibly so that he could face his mother's triathlon, which she called Christmas dinner. He had to fawn over his growing number of nieces and nephews and stammer when asked why he didn't have any children yet.
Then, there was the problem of his father. Mr. Gahlberg hadn't smiled at his son in twelve years. Not since he had told his father that he was studying biology and not political science. Their argument had devolved until Arthur announced he was dropping out of school altogether and enlisted in the army the next morning. He was in the wrong state of mind for a session with his most submissive client, and he was determined to tell that to his client when he finally saw him.
“Mr. Arthur, he's inside. I hope you don't mind, but it was starting to snow.” An older man worked security for him. Not old enough to be feeble but with just a touch of gray at his temples to make you doubt.
“Thank you. You can go home early. I'll be leaving shortly myself.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Leaving you here by yourself isn't-”
“It's fine.” Then, in a softer voice, “It's the holidays. Go home. Kiss your wife at a reasonable hour.”
Reluctantly, it seemed, he nodded slowly. “Alright then. Merry Christmas, Sir.”
“You, too. Good-night.”
It smelled like cigarettes and excess inside. There were two empty and crushed cartons on a small table, the gold of the label reflecting the lamplight.
“You told me that you quite, Eames,” he snapped.
A voice came up from the floor. “I had, but...”
“Yes?”
“I've been on edge recently.”
“Why is that?” He sat down on the sofa and regarded the other man quietly.
Eames was still fully dressed, probably because of the cold. A thick scarf was even wrapped around his neck. His jacket was draped over the very sofa Arthur was sitting on, and his shoes had been left by the door. He had remembered his manners.
“Sir?”
He sipped from his paper cup. “Yes?”
“You seem angry.” Eames' eyes looked impossibly blue, begging for it. He looked hopeful, and it should have been more unnerving that it was. Instead, it made heat pool in Arthur's gut.
“How else should I feel, Eames?” He noted, with satisfaction, that Eames quickly dropped his gaze to the floor. “You should have called me, told me what was going on. We have an arrangement. Suppose I had another client?”
He grumbled something, clasping his hands together behind his back.
“What was that?”
“I said that you don't see clients this close to the holidays.”
“And that justified you coming here?” He tutted. “I don't think so. There's something that's bothering you. What is it?”
He reached for Eames' chin and tilted his head up. Eames avoided his eyes.
“I was hoping that-”
“We could scene?” He sighed and gestured for Eames to rest his head on Arthur's knee. “A scene is a mutual experience. You can't demand it.”
“I know that.”
“Then?”
“I'm sorry. I'll go.”
He made to stand.
“No you won't.”
He went back down on his knees.
“Take off your shirt, Mr. Eames.”
He took it off his layers and draped them over the jacket, then knelt again. Arthur sipped, content to objectify the heavily muscled torso before him.
“I want to put my feet up, but I have nowhere to put them. Mr. Eames, what do you think of that predicament?”
“I can help,” he murmured, licking at his lips.
“Please do.” Arthur was careful to keep his smile far away from his lips.
Eames went down on all fours. Arthur teased the line of his spine with his socked foot before crossing them at the top of Eames' tailbone. The poor man flinched slightly. It must have been just painful enough to radiate an ache throughout his body.
“Hmm. I don't think my new footrest goes with the rest of my room.” Arthur gestured to the glass and metal table by the sofa.
He saw Eames swallow when he stood and walked over to his desk. After their first few weeks together, Arthur had started to keep things that he knew Eames would enjoy. The kinds of things that he would have left out of a normal session or charged more for. He found himself doing all kinds of things with Eames that didn't mesh very well with his strict code of professionalism. Like meeting on Christmas Eve. He set down a small jewelry box by Eames' left hand after taking out a pair of clamps. He had left the lid off.
The tent of Eames' trousers was damp now.
“Pinch yourself,” Arthur instructed sharply.
Eames obeyed, hissing softly when he twisted his left nipple and then his right. “Is that alright, Sir?” he asked shakily.
“I hope so.”
The bite of the clamps was sharp, but Eames was so good. He stayed perfectly still, swaying only slightly when they were secured to him.
“That's better. Now, go get my folders off my desk, so that I can read while I put my feet up.”
Arthur finished seventeen cases, clarified his annotations and shorthand. All while pointedly ignoring his own arousal in Eames' subtle shifts and soft pants. He kept one eye on the clock the entire time so as to avoid keeping his footstool for too long.
“Come now. Up on your feet.”
Eames slowly got up. When he turned to face Arthur, he could see that his eyes were rimmed with red and there were wet trails down his cheeks. Arthur petted his chest, and Eames shivered, resting his head against the well of the other man's throat.
“That's it.”
He pulled off the clamps, and Eames sobbed softly against the jut of Arthur's collarbone.
“Good boy,” he cooed. “Come with me.”
It was the first time that he had brought Eames to his cabinet. The old wood was completely at odds with everything else he owned, and it's twin lived in Arthur's personal apartment. He stood behind Eames after opening the heavy door.
“Pick one.”
Eames shivered and eyed the various implements hanging from the bar. He reached for the floor of the cabinet, then aborted the movement.
“May I?”
Arthur chucked, soothed his hands over Eames' sweaty flank and nodded. “Go on.”
Reverently, he lifted up a smooth black whip and handed it over. “This please.”
Arthur weighed it in his hand and took a practice swing. He didn't miss how Eames tensed with anticipation at the resounding thwack it made against the floor.
“I want you naked and over the horse now.”
While Eames rushed to comply, Arthur took out a bottle of inexpensive oil. He had pushed mint down into the glass container to combat the habit it had of picking up odd smells. Now, he unscrewed it and inhaled the earthen scent. Eames was waiting for him in the next room. The muscles of his back and thighs were bunched with anxiety.
A rush of arousal went through him, and he reached down for the first time to palm himself, knowing that Eames couldn't see him. The forbidden touch felt even sweeter.
“Twenty.”
Eames stammered. “I d-d-don't know if-”
“Did you have something to say?” Arthur snapped, punctuating the statement with a harsh slap to the flesh of Eames' ass.
The other man fell silent. After a beat, he shook his head. Arthur secured him to the horse with manacles and tested to make sure that Eames couldn't hurt himself by thrashing. Before starting, he pressed his palm against Eames' chest and felt the powerful beat of the larger man's heart. He teased a little, running his fingers lightly over the hardened shaft of Eames' cock. Then, he picked up his whip again.
The first blow made Arthur bicep ache. Eames groaned.
He lost himself in the rhythm of the motions. He tracked the flesh from beneath the taunt stretch across Eames' buttocks to his broad shoulders. The welts were raised and red, angry looking. Arthur couldn't resist kissing them and pressed his cheek against the warm flesh when Eames gasped. He pulled away slowly and laid down a crisscrossing pattern over each one of his thighs. It was a rhythm. He listened to the steady thrum of the flesh and leather, trusting in the other man's submission.
“Arthur!”
He struck again harder.
“If you have something you want to tell me, you better say the right goddamn thing.” His words were cold and flat.
When he said nothing more, Arthur felt a pleasant heat pool in his belly and surge through him. They were ready for this. Time past but it had no bearing on what happened there between the two of them.
A pitiful mewl broke the trance. Never before had Eames cried out like that. Arthur knew if he looked behind him, he would see the line that he had crossed. One that had been set in trust and respect since they had first begun to play. He pulled away from Eames' trembling form. His brow furrowed, and he turned the other man's face towards his.
“Eames? Eames, what is it?”
He held the other man in his arms. He undid the manacles and caught Eames before he fell. There was a soft blanket on the floor he guided them both to lie down on. A painful possibility crossed his mind, and he had to ask.
“What's your safeword?”
Eames looked away. His face was red and wet, nose dripping. Arthur wiped at his face with a hand towel.
“I'm sorry,” his voice hitched. “I couldn't...I couldn't remember.”
Arthur felt drained all of a sudden.
“Do you know it-”
“I tried!” He grasped at Arthur urgently. “I...You didn't understand,” he finished lamely.
Firmly now he asked, “Do you know it now?”
“Specificity. We agreed on it.”
Eames' was crying again. He couldn't speak anymore, and Arthur gathered him closer.
“I'm so sorry.”
*
Arthur cleaned him up and waited for Eames to rouse. It was well into the night when he finally opened his eyes.
“How do you feel right now?”
Eames rubbed at his eyes. “Better. I think. Yeah. I'll just.” He jerked his thumb and made to get up, then blushed profusely when he realized he was still naked. “My clothes.”
“You shouldn't be alone. I have your clothes on the heater. I'll go get them after I put more cream on your welts. It will feel better then.”
The silence between them was uncomfortable. Arthur's hands were as sure as ever, and he still made his familiar humming sounds as he soothed the angry flesh with something that smelled a lot like Pine-Sol and felt wonderful. Eames was tense.
“For what it's worth, I am sorry. I should have known better.”
He chuckled. The muscles of his back bunched with his laughter.
“Arthur, don't do that to yourself.”
He rolled over and reached up. “I came to you, pet.”
“Because you trust me.” Arthur frowned. I don't deserve that. Not now.
Eames' smile was foreign to him. “May I have my clothes back, Sir?”
“You don't have to ask my permission for anything right now.” He sighed. “I've lost the right to demand it anymore from you.”
“That's not true!” Eames took the pile of clothing back and yanked his clothes on violently. “Arthur, this is just top guilt. You told me-”
“That isn't true.”
If Arthur had been yelling, it would have been easier to ignore him. He would have brushed the other man's objections aside. But, it was the softness of his tone, the acceptance already implicit in how he spoke, that gave Eames pause.
“This isn't guilt, Eames. I wasn't paying attention. I could have hurt you.” He was staring at the floor. “I could have killed you, and you would have let me do it. That's dangerous. It's dangerous for you, and it's dangerous for me.”
Eames tensed. “What are you saying exactly?”
“I'm saying that whatever it is we're doing needs to come to a conclusion.”
“The bloody hell are you babbling about?”
But Arthur was determined. “I will wire you the security deposit, along with a refund for the past month's sessions. I understand if you need to hire a lawyer, and I'll be more than happy to agree to a settlement-”
“Are you asking me to sue you?”
“I'm just stating-”
The sub space was well and truly gone by then. “What the fuck is wrong with you Americans? You cannot solve problems in bed by going into a courtroom!”
“I took advantage of you, and you should feel comfortable seeking legal counsel.”
Eames closed his eyes for a long time. Arthur sneaked looks up at him, remembering how much bigger the other man was. He had an idea of how this would all look to an outsider.
“Love, you're acting like you raped me.” When Arthur didn't answer, Eames made a gurgling sound. “You can't be serious! Things go wrong with sex all the time. I came here to you, and you saw me.”
“I was angry.”
“Sorry?”
“I was angry before I got here. I should have told you no.”
“And what, pray tell, were you angry about?”
“Christmas. My family. It doesn't matter.”
This was more than Arthur had said in the entirety of their relationship. It was more intimate than being naked and getting whipped had been.
“You're coming home with me.”
Arthur's mouth curled into a small smile. “Now, you're telling me what to do.”
“It's Christmas, Arthur. I'm going to pour you some wine, and feed you something. Quite, possibly Chinese since I'm probably rubbish in the kitchen at the moment.”
He helped Arthur into a coat and handed him his wallet.
“Legally-”
“I'm not going to sue you!”
“You can tell me all about your issues. They likely involve your father by the look on your face.”
“Why did you come here?” Arthur asked, pausing as he switched off the last light by the door.
Eames shrugged. “I was lonely. Isn't this day for spending with the people you love?”
Arthur's breath caught. He wanted to say something, pull Eames close. But, Eames was looking for his car keys, and Arthur had to lock up. It was normal when he looped his arms around Arthur in the dry coldness of the evening. Even if he had never seen Eames outside of this building before. The slam of the passenger door was sharp, but the radio and Eames' hand on his over the heater in the center console was enough to hush its harshness for now.
Author: kaylynnkie
Disclaimer: Not mine
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Summary: AU in which Arthur is a professional Dom and Eames requires his services on Christmas Eve.
Word Count: 2,914
Warnings/Rating: D/s, objectification, pain play, unintentional edge play
Notes: Written for Anon's prompt over at inceptionkink; “ Their safeword is specificity. Eames can't remember it ”
There was a cafe nestled into an alleyway off 101st Street that used real homemade cream and melted down the chocolate in front of the customer. Arthur loved watching them do it. It was a secret place with a feeling of forbidding that made him feel achingly naughty. He ordered a hot chocolate with caramel topping and grinned like a child as the man behind the counter tipped melted down dark and milk cocoa bits into a cup full of sweetened milk. He spooned on a helping of whipped cream and handed off the cup to his assistant, watching carefully as she placed hot caramel on a piece of wax paper and waited for it to cool. His phone rang just then, so he missed watching her put the cooled lattice on his drink with as much reverence for sugar as an Angel atop the tree.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Arthur. There's a Mr. Jenner here to see you.”
He frowned. There were no more appointments on his calendar. It was Christmas Eve for Christ's sake. “That's impossible.”
“The one with the British accent? He said he needed to see you. I wouldn't have bothered you, but he looks in a bad way.”
Of course he would. Arthur scowled but agreed to head over right away. He turned back towards the counter.
“I'm sorry. This is free. She's still learning.”
The caramel had snapped perfectly in two. The child inside of him grinned at the prospect of having two treats, but he had the courtesy to nod politely instead. He smiled at the girl, who was red faced and looked ashamed. She couldn't have been more than sixteen.
“I'm sorry, Sir.”
“It's alright. That will make the perfect one more perfect.”
*
Arthur ran a private evening service out of the same building as his physiology practice. “Mr. Jenner” was one of his more dedicated clients. In fact, on any other day, he would have been delighted to see the other man, but it was the holiday season. Arthur wanted to go back to his apartment, eat something hot and covered in gravy with stuffing and drink a glass of something dark that burned going down. Preferably, as soon as possibly so that he could face his mother's triathlon, which she called Christmas dinner. He had to fawn over his growing number of nieces and nephews and stammer when asked why he didn't have any children yet.
Then, there was the problem of his father. Mr. Gahlberg hadn't smiled at his son in twelve years. Not since he had told his father that he was studying biology and not political science. Their argument had devolved until Arthur announced he was dropping out of school altogether and enlisted in the army the next morning. He was in the wrong state of mind for a session with his most submissive client, and he was determined to tell that to his client when he finally saw him.
“Mr. Arthur, he's inside. I hope you don't mind, but it was starting to snow.” An older man worked security for him. Not old enough to be feeble but with just a touch of gray at his temples to make you doubt.
“Thank you. You can go home early. I'll be leaving shortly myself.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Leaving you here by yourself isn't-”
“It's fine.” Then, in a softer voice, “It's the holidays. Go home. Kiss your wife at a reasonable hour.”
Reluctantly, it seemed, he nodded slowly. “Alright then. Merry Christmas, Sir.”
“You, too. Good-night.”
It smelled like cigarettes and excess inside. There were two empty and crushed cartons on a small table, the gold of the label reflecting the lamplight.
“You told me that you quite, Eames,” he snapped.
A voice came up from the floor. “I had, but...”
“Yes?”
“I've been on edge recently.”
“Why is that?” He sat down on the sofa and regarded the other man quietly.
Eames was still fully dressed, probably because of the cold. A thick scarf was even wrapped around his neck. His jacket was draped over the very sofa Arthur was sitting on, and his shoes had been left by the door. He had remembered his manners.
“Sir?”
He sipped from his paper cup. “Yes?”
“You seem angry.” Eames' eyes looked impossibly blue, begging for it. He looked hopeful, and it should have been more unnerving that it was. Instead, it made heat pool in Arthur's gut.
“How else should I feel, Eames?” He noted, with satisfaction, that Eames quickly dropped his gaze to the floor. “You should have called me, told me what was going on. We have an arrangement. Suppose I had another client?”
He grumbled something, clasping his hands together behind his back.
“What was that?”
“I said that you don't see clients this close to the holidays.”
“And that justified you coming here?” He tutted. “I don't think so. There's something that's bothering you. What is it?”
He reached for Eames' chin and tilted his head up. Eames avoided his eyes.
“I was hoping that-”
“We could scene?” He sighed and gestured for Eames to rest his head on Arthur's knee. “A scene is a mutual experience. You can't demand it.”
“I know that.”
“Then?”
“I'm sorry. I'll go.”
He made to stand.
“No you won't.”
He went back down on his knees.
“Take off your shirt, Mr. Eames.”
He took it off his layers and draped them over the jacket, then knelt again. Arthur sipped, content to objectify the heavily muscled torso before him.
“I want to put my feet up, but I have nowhere to put them. Mr. Eames, what do you think of that predicament?”
“I can help,” he murmured, licking at his lips.
“Please do.” Arthur was careful to keep his smile far away from his lips.
Eames went down on all fours. Arthur teased the line of his spine with his socked foot before crossing them at the top of Eames' tailbone. The poor man flinched slightly. It must have been just painful enough to radiate an ache throughout his body.
“Hmm. I don't think my new footrest goes with the rest of my room.” Arthur gestured to the glass and metal table by the sofa.
He saw Eames swallow when he stood and walked over to his desk. After their first few weeks together, Arthur had started to keep things that he knew Eames would enjoy. The kinds of things that he would have left out of a normal session or charged more for. He found himself doing all kinds of things with Eames that didn't mesh very well with his strict code of professionalism. Like meeting on Christmas Eve. He set down a small jewelry box by Eames' left hand after taking out a pair of clamps. He had left the lid off.
The tent of Eames' trousers was damp now.
“Pinch yourself,” Arthur instructed sharply.
Eames obeyed, hissing softly when he twisted his left nipple and then his right. “Is that alright, Sir?” he asked shakily.
“I hope so.”
The bite of the clamps was sharp, but Eames was so good. He stayed perfectly still, swaying only slightly when they were secured to him.
“That's better. Now, go get my folders off my desk, so that I can read while I put my feet up.”
Arthur finished seventeen cases, clarified his annotations and shorthand. All while pointedly ignoring his own arousal in Eames' subtle shifts and soft pants. He kept one eye on the clock the entire time so as to avoid keeping his footstool for too long.
“Come now. Up on your feet.”
Eames slowly got up. When he turned to face Arthur, he could see that his eyes were rimmed with red and there were wet trails down his cheeks. Arthur petted his chest, and Eames shivered, resting his head against the well of the other man's throat.
“That's it.”
He pulled off the clamps, and Eames sobbed softly against the jut of Arthur's collarbone.
“Good boy,” he cooed. “Come with me.”
It was the first time that he had brought Eames to his cabinet. The old wood was completely at odds with everything else he owned, and it's twin lived in Arthur's personal apartment. He stood behind Eames after opening the heavy door.
“Pick one.”
Eames shivered and eyed the various implements hanging from the bar. He reached for the floor of the cabinet, then aborted the movement.
“May I?”
Arthur chucked, soothed his hands over Eames' sweaty flank and nodded. “Go on.”
Reverently, he lifted up a smooth black whip and handed it over. “This please.”
Arthur weighed it in his hand and took a practice swing. He didn't miss how Eames tensed with anticipation at the resounding thwack it made against the floor.
“I want you naked and over the horse now.”
While Eames rushed to comply, Arthur took out a bottle of inexpensive oil. He had pushed mint down into the glass container to combat the habit it had of picking up odd smells. Now, he unscrewed it and inhaled the earthen scent. Eames was waiting for him in the next room. The muscles of his back and thighs were bunched with anxiety.
A rush of arousal went through him, and he reached down for the first time to palm himself, knowing that Eames couldn't see him. The forbidden touch felt even sweeter.
“Twenty.”
Eames stammered. “I d-d-don't know if-”
“Did you have something to say?” Arthur snapped, punctuating the statement with a harsh slap to the flesh of Eames' ass.
The other man fell silent. After a beat, he shook his head. Arthur secured him to the horse with manacles and tested to make sure that Eames couldn't hurt himself by thrashing. Before starting, he pressed his palm against Eames' chest and felt the powerful beat of the larger man's heart. He teased a little, running his fingers lightly over the hardened shaft of Eames' cock. Then, he picked up his whip again.
The first blow made Arthur bicep ache. Eames groaned.
He lost himself in the rhythm of the motions. He tracked the flesh from beneath the taunt stretch across Eames' buttocks to his broad shoulders. The welts were raised and red, angry looking. Arthur couldn't resist kissing them and pressed his cheek against the warm flesh when Eames gasped. He pulled away slowly and laid down a crisscrossing pattern over each one of his thighs. It was a rhythm. He listened to the steady thrum of the flesh and leather, trusting in the other man's submission.
“Arthur!”
He struck again harder.
“If you have something you want to tell me, you better say the right goddamn thing.” His words were cold and flat.
When he said nothing more, Arthur felt a pleasant heat pool in his belly and surge through him. They were ready for this. Time past but it had no bearing on what happened there between the two of them.
A pitiful mewl broke the trance. Never before had Eames cried out like that. Arthur knew if he looked behind him, he would see the line that he had crossed. One that had been set in trust and respect since they had first begun to play. He pulled away from Eames' trembling form. His brow furrowed, and he turned the other man's face towards his.
“Eames? Eames, what is it?”
He held the other man in his arms. He undid the manacles and caught Eames before he fell. There was a soft blanket on the floor he guided them both to lie down on. A painful possibility crossed his mind, and he had to ask.
“What's your safeword?”
Eames looked away. His face was red and wet, nose dripping. Arthur wiped at his face with a hand towel.
“I'm sorry,” his voice hitched. “I couldn't...I couldn't remember.”
Arthur felt drained all of a sudden.
“Do you know it-”
“I tried!” He grasped at Arthur urgently. “I...You didn't understand,” he finished lamely.
Firmly now he asked, “Do you know it now?”
“Specificity. We agreed on it.”
Eames' was crying again. He couldn't speak anymore, and Arthur gathered him closer.
“I'm so sorry.”
*
Arthur cleaned him up and waited for Eames to rouse. It was well into the night when he finally opened his eyes.
“How do you feel right now?”
Eames rubbed at his eyes. “Better. I think. Yeah. I'll just.” He jerked his thumb and made to get up, then blushed profusely when he realized he was still naked. “My clothes.”
“You shouldn't be alone. I have your clothes on the heater. I'll go get them after I put more cream on your welts. It will feel better then.”
The silence between them was uncomfortable. Arthur's hands were as sure as ever, and he still made his familiar humming sounds as he soothed the angry flesh with something that smelled a lot like Pine-Sol and felt wonderful. Eames was tense.
“For what it's worth, I am sorry. I should have known better.”
He chuckled. The muscles of his back bunched with his laughter.
“Arthur, don't do that to yourself.”
He rolled over and reached up. “I came to you, pet.”
“Because you trust me.” Arthur frowned. I don't deserve that. Not now.
Eames' smile was foreign to him. “May I have my clothes back, Sir?”
“You don't have to ask my permission for anything right now.” He sighed. “I've lost the right to demand it anymore from you.”
“That's not true!” Eames took the pile of clothing back and yanked his clothes on violently. “Arthur, this is just top guilt. You told me-”
“That isn't true.”
If Arthur had been yelling, it would have been easier to ignore him. He would have brushed the other man's objections aside. But, it was the softness of his tone, the acceptance already implicit in how he spoke, that gave Eames pause.
“This isn't guilt, Eames. I wasn't paying attention. I could have hurt you.” He was staring at the floor. “I could have killed you, and you would have let me do it. That's dangerous. It's dangerous for you, and it's dangerous for me.”
Eames tensed. “What are you saying exactly?”
“I'm saying that whatever it is we're doing needs to come to a conclusion.”
“The bloody hell are you babbling about?”
But Arthur was determined. “I will wire you the security deposit, along with a refund for the past month's sessions. I understand if you need to hire a lawyer, and I'll be more than happy to agree to a settlement-”
“Are you asking me to sue you?”
“I'm just stating-”
The sub space was well and truly gone by then. “What the fuck is wrong with you Americans? You cannot solve problems in bed by going into a courtroom!”
“I took advantage of you, and you should feel comfortable seeking legal counsel.”
Eames closed his eyes for a long time. Arthur sneaked looks up at him, remembering how much bigger the other man was. He had an idea of how this would all look to an outsider.
“Love, you're acting like you raped me.” When Arthur didn't answer, Eames made a gurgling sound. “You can't be serious! Things go wrong with sex all the time. I came here to you, and you saw me.”
“I was angry.”
“Sorry?”
“I was angry before I got here. I should have told you no.”
“And what, pray tell, were you angry about?”
“Christmas. My family. It doesn't matter.”
This was more than Arthur had said in the entirety of their relationship. It was more intimate than being naked and getting whipped had been.
“You're coming home with me.”
Arthur's mouth curled into a small smile. “Now, you're telling me what to do.”
“It's Christmas, Arthur. I'm going to pour you some wine, and feed you something. Quite, possibly Chinese since I'm probably rubbish in the kitchen at the moment.”
He helped Arthur into a coat and handed him his wallet.
“Legally-”
“I'm not going to sue you!”
“You can tell me all about your issues. They likely involve your father by the look on your face.”
“Why did you come here?” Arthur asked, pausing as he switched off the last light by the door.
Eames shrugged. “I was lonely. Isn't this day for spending with the people you love?”
Arthur's breath caught. He wanted to say something, pull Eames close. But, Eames was looking for his car keys, and Arthur had to lock up. It was normal when he looped his arms around Arthur in the dry coldness of the evening. Even if he had never seen Eames outside of this building before. The slam of the passenger door was sharp, but the radio and Eames' hand on his over the heater in the center console was enough to hush its harshness for now.