nolan incepted my ass
Yeah, that's not really a surprise to anyone on my flist. Sorry, guys!
Title: Plus One
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 7,706
Summary: Arthur had his head tilted back, slouching enough to put this anonymous stranger a few inches above him, and a glass of something dark hanging from his fingertips. He was speaking, saying something to this man that wasn’t ‘get your hand off of me’ because the man’s hand inched higher and Eames… Well. To put it nicely, he lost his shit.
Notes: Written for this prompt, which asked for Arthur grinding up on some guys in a club and Eames being jealous and making his claim. I might've went a little overboard.
"What's this, now?"
Eames felt he barely had time to hang his coat up in his room before he heard the door down the hall slam. Well, it had actually shut pretty quietly but Eames ears were trained to pick up the slightest disturbance. When he stuck his head out the door he was treated to a rather unexpected sight; Arthur heading down the hallway dressed in leather pants, an untucked shirt and hair (and there was no other word for it, really) disheveled.
He couldn't be blamed for stopping him in the hallway, for running his hand down the soft cotton of Arthur's sleeve, not with Arthur looking the way he was. Eames held back from swallowing when he felt the coiled tension in Arthur's wiry arm, the soft hair on his forearm where Arthur's shirt was rolled up. Instead he grinned and tugged one of the loose ends of Arthur's shirt playfully.
"I'm heading out for a bit." Arthur sidestepped him neatly and headed for the elevator. Eames slipped into the space between Arthur and the gold shine of the elevator doors and made Arthur reach around him to push the button.
"Headed where?" he asked, intrigued. "A party, love? Mind if I tag along?"
"Yes, actually," Arthur said. "It's by invitation only."
"And I don't get to be your plus one?" Eames clutched at his heart dramatically. "Are you trying to break my heart, here?"
"Impossible." Arthur grinned at him. "First you need to have one."
"Ouch."
The elevator chimed and the doors opened. Eames stepped to the side and let Arthur pass. He pinched Arthur's ass and grinned, cheeky, when Arthur swatted his hand. Then he leaned against the doors to prevent them from closing, a hand on either side.
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do, pet."
Arthur rolled his eyes as he tried, and failed, to hold back a grin. "And I'm sure that leaves many options open for a suitably debauched evening." Arthur pushed a button and then laid a hand flat on Eames's chest. Eames let Arthur push him back gently. "Have a lovely night, Mr. Eames."
"You too, Arthur."
The doors closed and Eames reached into his sleeve. He pulled out the small square card he lifted out of Arthur's back pocket. It was black, heavy, made of metal and had two lines engraved on one side.
8/9/10
725 10th Ave
Eames raised an eyebrow and flipped it over. There was nothing but an ornate A engraved right in the center. He didn’t hesitate, just reached forward and pressed the button.
Eames ran his thumb over and over the letter. He looked down at his ensemble; black button down, black trousers, red paisley print tie. He loosened his tie and pulled it over his head, stuffing it into his back pocket. Then he unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt and, after glancing at his reflection in the gold mirrored doors, mussed his hair up a bit.
If Arthur, he of the Zegna and Armani filled closet, was heading out in leather pants and untucked (and those two fluttering shirttails had acted like a siren to Eames's hands, which were just itching to slide up that flat stomach) then he didn’t think anyone would balk at his appearance.
He leaned against the wall and waited for the elevator to come back up.
*
When Eames exited the front doors of the hotel the crisp smell of the city hit his nostrils and he inhaled deeply. He was hoping it could calm his racing heart. When that failed he shook his head at himself and walked to the curb to hail a taxi.
“Going somewhere?”
Eames didn’t jump, would deny it to his dying day, but he would admit to twitching just a little bit. He whirled around to see Arthur leaning casually against the building next to the doors, arms and legs crossed, with a cigarette dangling from his lips. His mouth went dry.
He stood there, dumbly, unable to speak. Arthur pushed off the wall and sauntered (sauntered! Was he trying to break something in Eames’s brain? If he was then he was succeeding, the little shit) toward him. He stopped next to Eames at the curb and raised a hand. A cab immediately pulled up next to them and Arthur stepped back to run his eyes up and down Eames’s body.
Then he turned around and opened the door. “Are you coming?” he called over his shoulder. Eames wasted no time in sliding in next to him and shutting the door behind them.
The driver looked at them in the rearview mirror and Arthur looked pointedly at Eames. “Well? You have my invitation. You know the address.”
Eames pulled the little square out of his pocket with two fingers and offered it to Arthur. “Seven twenty-five, tenth avenue.” Arthur pulled the ‘invite’ out of his hand without touching Eames at all. He looked down at it for a while as the cab rolled through the streets. Then he set his jaw and tucked it into his breast pocket, where it hung heavily against a nipple and made Arthur grit his teeth.
“You couldn’t leave it alone, could you?” Arthur shook his head, then he looked out the window at the passing city. “You never know when to quit. You can come in with me, but then I better not see you for the remainder of the night.”
“Now that’s just impolite.”
“You hijacked my night, Eames. I’ll be as rude as I like.” Arthur turns his head to glare at him before looking back out the window. “I’m serious. I don’t want you sniffing around after me once we get inside.”
“Always so full of yourself,” Eames said snidely. “I think I can manage not being in your presence for one more night. Forgive me if I thought we could have a nice night out together. We had a lovely time in San Sebastián!”
“I woke up midday, on a beach, in a pair of flip flops and a straw hat.” Arthur’s voice went up and made the cabbie smirk at the road. “I had sunburn in places there should never, ever be sunburn. Ever.”
“And that’s the last time I let you try absinthe.”
“Is it really a wonder that your name leaves a foul taste in my mouth?”
“Oh, Darling--” Eames began, twisting his body to face Arthur, but the cab suddenly stopped and sent him flying into the glass partition.
“That’s thirteen eighty-nine.” The cabbie turned around to grin at them, toothpick in his mouth. Then he took in their attire, Arthur’s endless legs encased in soft leather and Eames hair, and his grin turned into a smirk.
Arthur just opened the door and let himself out. Eames cursed quietly as he fumbled to get his wallet out, tossed the driver a twenty. “Keep it,” he said as he hurried out the door. The man just snorted and drove off.
Eames followed Arthur through a nondescript oak door and into a dark hallway where they walked and walked and suddenly a flight of stairs appeared in a hole in the floor. Eames raised an eyebrow as Arthur swiftly jogged down them, one hand on the wall to guide himself, but he resiliently followed him down.
After several twists and turns Arthur’s hand fell on Eames’s arm in the darkness and stopped him in his tracks. “Okay, look. Don’t mention my name.” He turned away, then turned back to face him again quickly. “Or yours, for that matter.” He let go of Eames’s arm, then poked him in the chest. “And don’t talk to Lloyd.”
Eames could practically see Arthur’s hands land on his hips and the tilt of his head in the darkness; it was so easy to read Arthur sometimes. “Actually, it’s probably best if you don’t talk at all. At least not for the first few minutes.”
“Am I going to be frisked for weapons?” Eames asked, amused. “Should I ditch the knife strapped to my ankle?”
And still, there’s a movie playing in his head that’s got Arthur blinking at him. “Right. Don’t talk.”
Then Arthur opened a door and walked through it. When Eames followed him into it he wasn’t sure what exactly he was expecting, but it wasn’t this.
It looked like a waiting room at a small dentistry, or an Insurance building. Several empty uncomfortable looking chairs were scattered about, there was a table with magazines and a small potted plant, there was even muzak. The only things out of place were the two men sitting in the aforementioned uncomfortable chairs wearing tight clothing and the man sitting on the other side of the sliding glass window.
Who was wearing an electric blue shirt with the sleeves ripped off at the seams. He had heavy black eyeliner on and his hair was styled in a loose Mohawk. When he looked up at Arthur his face broke out into a smile and he lifted his hand to wave him over.
The first thing Eames thought when he saw him was what the fuck? and immediately after he caught sight of the fingerless black leather gloves and the only thing he could focus on was where the fuck am I?
“Why, Easy A,” the man (who looked more like a boy, really, with those cheekbones) said to Arthur, grinning hugely. “You came back. I’m ecstatic.”
“Lloyd.” Arthur nodded at him and plucked the metal square out of his pocket. He slid it through the small opening at the bottom of the window and Eames swore he saw his mouth twitch when Lloyd covered his hand with his own and slid the invite away. “It’s been a long time.” Arthur nodded back at Eames, who was standing with his hands in his pockets. “He’s with me.”
“I see,” Lloyd said, turning his predatory grin on Eames. Then he slid his eyes back to Arthur, looking up through his lashes at him. “And will you two be needing…?”
“No,” Arthur said quickly, pulling his hand back and sliding it down his chest as though caressing a phantom tie. “God, no. He’s my,” and here Arthur paused just long enough to make an unpleasant face, “plus one.”
“Ahh.” Lloyd eyed Eames for a long minute in a way that made him want to squirm. Then his mouth curled at the corners and he wrote a few things down haphazard on a clip board and nodded with his head. “Go right on in. And have a wonderful time.”
“No doubt I will, love.” Eames winked at Lloyd, who smirked back at him, and ignored Arthur’s long suffering sigh as he followed him through the door on the far wall. As he closed it behind him he noticed one of the other men in the room glaring at their backs and winked at him as well before he turned around.
And was greeted with a low level thump and dim red lighting down a short hallway.
Arthur turned around just as they reached the end of it and put a hand to Eames’s chest to stop him.
“Look, I don’t know if this is your thing and I honestly don’t care. You were the one who followed me. If it bothers you, you know where the door is; you can leave at any time. I’d prefer it, in fact.” And there Arthur shifted, as though he was suddenly uncomfortable. It was strange to see Arthur unsure, the point man usually so certain of his facts suddenly… uncertain. It made Eames grin a little as he looked down at Arthur’s hand in the low lighting, then back up at his once again stern face.
“I’m pretty sure I get what this is all about,” Eames murmured, taking a step closer to Arthur. Arthur yanked his hand away but didn’t move back. “I’m also pretty sure that this is definitely my thing.” He took another step closer and let their chests brush together. All he had to do was tilt his hips just so and…
“Right, wonderful,” Arthur said quietly, staring down the scant centimeters separating them at Eames’s lips. “I meant what I said, though. Leave me alone in there. This is my…” and here Arthur let the corner of his mouth curl up in a way that sent something shooting up Eames’s spine. “My ‘Marvelous Me’ time, if you will. So do whatever you want in there, just leave me out of it.” With that, Arthur strode through a heavy curtain and left Eames standing alone.
By the time Eames went through Arthur was gone. Well, not exactly.
He was lost somewhere in the crowd.
There looked to be about four hundred people spread across the large room. There was a rather large red, lit up bar at the center of it all, four bartenders working in it, surrounded by a few tables and raised platforms. There were two other bars lining the walls on either side of the room and people dancing everywhere in between.
Men, women, bodies of androgynous sex, all rolling and gyrating to the same low, pulsing beat. Eames took a few experimental steps forward and, even in the low light, got an eyeful when he passed a table and witnessed two beautiful women doing something that, in his opinion at least, two beautiful women should do to each other every single day. In public. Or maybe just around him. He watched as the girl straddling the other took her slim hands and pulled her to her feet, tugging the other woman behind her through the crowd.
They slid through a door at the very back of the club and Eames looked around himself. Then he looked at everyone closer.
Oh.
Ohhhh.
A dark smile lit his face as he warred with his emotions. On one hand, the fact that he’d followed Arthur to what could only be called a gay sex club stoked a fire of maniacal glee and raging lust deep in his chest. It was always, always, always the quiet ones. Someone like Arthur, so reserved and carefully put together, would only be able to let loose completely or never at all. If Eames got to see an eyeful of the repressed point man grinding, half-naked and undone, he would probably lose his shit.
On the other hand…
Eames looked through the crowd, gazing past face after pretty face, until he found a profile he would know anywhere. He took his time dragging his eyes down the length of Arthur’s body. He was leaning backwards, half on a stool, against the bar as though it was holding him up. The leather stretched over his lean thighs, bunched slightly over his boots, and looked soft to the touch.
Of course, he could always ask the man who had his hand high on the inside of Arthur’s thigh.
Arthur had his head tilted back, slouching enough to put this anonymous stranger a few inches above him, and a glass of something dark hanging from his fingertips. He was speaking, saying something to this man that wasn’t ‘get your hand off of me’ because the man’s hand inched higher and Eames…
Well. To put it nicely, he lost his shit.
It must’ve taken Eames more than a few steps to get to him, but it felt like no time had passed since he got an eyeful of this stranger’s hand cupping Arthur through his pants and was suddenly at his side. He pulled the glass from Arthur’s hand, sliding his other arm around Arthur’s waist and gave him a sloppy kiss on the temple.
“Sorry to take so long, Darling,” he said into Arthur’s ear, nuzzling it gently, “but I just got a peek of the most scandalous activity happening in the back and I wanted to try it with you immediately.” Eames downed half of the glass in one go and placed it back in Arthur’s empty hand. He slid his free hand over Arthur’s stomach and let two fingers snake between his shirt buttons, rubbing the skin of his stomach. Then Eames pulled his head back and smiled at the intruder. “What’s going on?”
He made sure to put the friendliest inflection he could muster into his voice while at the same time putting up a metaphorical flashing light that said BACK OFF, BITCH over Arthur’s head with his body language. Arthur, to his credit, didn’t punch Eames in the solar plexus for cock-blocking. Instead he leaned into Eames’s side with a tiny sigh and covered the hand over his stomach. He pulled Eames’s fingers out and linked them with his own.
Eames definitely didn’t wince when Arthur squeezed them hard.
“Nothing important,” the man said, nodding at Arthur. “I was just leaving.”
“Have a lovely night, then.” Eames watched him go and turned to Arthur, looking down at their hands. He tried tugging his hand back and Arthur dug his fingernails in. “Ow,” he deadpanned.
The calm look on Arthur’s face turned into something that could’ve resembled murderous. “What did I say about leaving me alone?”
“You would’ve just gone off with any random stranger, then?” Eames asked, incredulous. “You’ve been here a grand total of four minutes. You could have your pick of just about any person in this room. Don’t be afraid to aim a little higher, Darling. He,” Eames nodded in the direction Arthur’s potential had gone off in, “wasn’t nearly good enough for you. And definitely not attractive enough, at the very least.”
“In case you’ve missed it, Eames,” Arthur told him drily, “the whole point of this isn’t to make a lasting connection. I’m not going to meet the future Mr. Arthur Darling here, nor do I want to. This is about anonymity. Sex. No strings attached. I know that concept can’t be too hard for you to grasp, Mr. Love-em-and-Leave-em.”
“In my defense, when we first met I had just gotten my heart stomped all over by Jelani.” Arthur made a noise into his glass and sipped from it, eyes roaming the club as though he could’ve give a shit what Eames had to say. He didn’t shrug Eames’s other arm off of him, though, so Eames left it there and continued to speak to Arthur’s ear. “I was with him for three years.”
“How nice,” Arthur said blandly. Eames shook his head in exasperation.
“The point I’m trying to make here is you caught me at my lowest. I just got out of a serious relationship and didn’t want to get into another one again, ever, so I went through a little manwhoring phase. Can you blame me, really?”
“I guess not.”
“But that was years ago, petal.”
“There a point to all of this?”
“No, not really,” Eames said sourly. “I just wanted to dissuade you of your notion that I’m some kind of a slut and can’t form lasting relationships.” He took the drink out of Arthur’s hand and downed the rest of it. Arthur made a small noise and stood up. Eames immediately tugged him back down with the arm wrapped around his waist and Arthur gave him a mildly amused look.
“Fine,” Arthur said, and Eames realized too late that Arthur was only reaching for the wallet tucked into his back pocket. “You can buy me a new drink, since you stole mine.”
“With pleasure, Darling.” Eames turned to face the bar and flagged the tender over. As he ordered he reached back and hooked a finger into one of Arthur’s belt loops, preventing him from going anywhere while his back was turned. When he turned around and handed over the glass Arthur was staring at him with a calculated look on his face. “What?”
“Nothing.” Arthur looked down at his glass, his expression once again blank. “Nothing important, anyway. Cheers.” With that, he raised the glass and downed the entire thing. Eames watched the way his throat muscles worked, his eyes tracking a tiny bead of scotch that missed his mouth and trickled down his neck to disappear under his unbuttoned collar, and felt something down in the pit of his stomach swell.
“Thanks for the drink,” Arthur told him, nodding and reaching around Eames to place the empty glass next to the other. Then he unhooked himself from Eames’s arm and smiled. “Now, kindly leave me alone.”
Eames watched, helpless, as Arthur lost himself in the crowd once again.
The little shit.
*
Eames stared down at the spectacle on the floor. After Arthur had left him, yet again, he moved to one of the balconies over the floor. Try as he might, and he had been for a good fifteen minutes, he couldn’t pick Arthur out in the crowd. He was just giving up, turned his body to the left, when he saw it.
Eames swirled his own scotch for a minute, taking in the picture. Then he finished his drink, rolled up his shirtsleeves above his elbows, and made his way down to the dance floor. He pushed and shoved through the crowd until he saw a lean back, a white button down nearly soaked through with sweat, strands of dark hair spilling across a smooth neck.
He danced his way past a couple of lesbians nearly on top of each other, using the excuse of maneuvering them to lift the red silk scarf tucked into one of their back pockets (and he’s already so committed to someone he isn’t even with that he barely thinks about the mental image the scarf suggests on such a pretty little lesbian and he should really get some kind of reward for that) and tucked it into his shirt pocket.
Eames practically fell the last few feet and ended up plastered against Arthur’s back. Arthur didn’t even miss a beat and ground back against him and the feel of that tight body pressing into his had him biting down on his lip so he wouldn’t groan into Arthur’s ear. Instead, when the man against Arthur’s front lifted his head to glare at Eames, he grinned back evilly and slid his hands around Arthur’s waist, finally - finally! - sliding up and under the front of the untucked shirt that started it all.
Arthur’s stomach was damp, hard, and it twitched under Eames’s hands when he scraped his fingernails over it. Arthur made a soft sound and turned his head to the side. Eames moved with him, keeping his face out of sight, and kept evading when Arthur tilted his head to the other side to try to catch a glimpse.
The man standing in front of him seemed to realize he wasn’t a part of this, not anymore, and left quietly enough. Arthur sighed but relaxed back into Eames’s arms. His hips kept doing the most delicious swivel against Eames’s crotch and before he realized what he was doing Eames was sliding his hand down between them. There was something digging into Eames’s hip, something hard. Eames let out a soft breath when his hand pushed into Arthur’s back pocket and closed around the small tube. He let it go and cupped Arthur’s ass, then he pulled back and yanked the scarf out of his shirt pocket.
He used one hand to keep Arthur’s face forward, his thumb curling upwards to trace Arthur’s bottom lip, while his other hand brought the scarf up. He let Arthur see the silk, bright red and soft, before slowly pulling it taut over Arthur’s eyes.
Arthur tensed against him only for a second, one of his hands coming back to squeeze Eames’s thigh. Then he relaxed and let Eames blindfold him.
After securing the knot, Eames let his hand drift down Arthur’s neck. He massaged the tense muscles he found tenderly, leaning forward to nuzzle behind Arthur’s ear and then bite at it teasingly. Arthur let out a tiny ‘ah!’ and squeezed Eames’s thigh again. Then he pushed back with his hips and rolled them hard.
Eames let out his breath in a huff, directly into Arthur’s ear, and swallowed back a moan. He was hard, achingly so, and Arthur rubbing up against him like a bitch in heat did bad things to his control.
Then Arthur’s hand came up and tangled in Eames’s hair. He yanked his head forward and tilted his own head back. Arthur slotted his open mouth against Eames’s jaw, his chin, his mouth and Eames practically heard the last of his control snap with a crack.
He plunged his tongue into Arthur’s mouth and let out a small hum, tiny enough to be lost in the noise of the club but enough for Arthur to feel the vibration against his lips. He curled his tongue around Arthur’s and drank in the taste: scotch and smoke and something sweet underneath, something that was pure Arthur at its core.
Eames let his hands drift down Arthur’s front, unbuttoning as they went, and then they ran back up to his chest and smoothed back down, again and again until he had the feel of Arthur’s skin burned into his memory. Arthur’s chest was heaving and his body was rolling a little harder, one hand still tight in Eames’s hair and the other still squeezing his thigh as he ravaged his mouth.
Eames let his hands run down, then, further than before until he was rubbing the zipper of Arthur’s pants with his fingertips enticingly. Arthur bucked his hips into Eames’s hand and let go of his thigh. Eames mourned the loss of Arthur’s hand on him until Arthur covered his hands and pressed them into his groin, hard. Eames pulled his head back with two sweet, tiny kisses to Arthur’s amazing mouth, then he sucked and nipped his way down Arthur’s neck as he rubbed Arthur through his pants.
He was long, which wasn’t surprising, but also thick which took Eames aback for a second. He tried to wrap his fingers around the girth through the leather. It was as unforgiving as leather usually was, though, and so he settled for unbuttoning the top of Arthur’s pants and trying to slide his hand inside.
Arthur’s hand circled his wrist though and stopped him.
“Let’s take this off the floor.”
Eames groaned silently into the back of Arthur’s neck and buttoned his pants back up. Next to them a man moaned and pouted at the loss of a show and Eames sent him a dangerous smile as he rounded to the front of Arthur’s body.
Arthur looked completely disheveled. His shirt was unbuttoned and there was the most delicious flush creeping from his face down his toned chest. His dick was hard and pressed against the front of his pants and Eames wanted to do nothing more than drop to his knees and suck it until it erupted in his mouth. Instead he drank the sight in as his fingers mapped Arthur’s torso, fingers dipping into crevices and through the sparse hair smattered across his chest. He wrapped a finger into one of Arthur’s belt loops and tugged.
Arthur obediently followed him.
He turned around and pulled Arthur’s hands to his hips, guiding them through the crowd to the back of the club. He pulled Arthur down the hallway he had seen the woman take her partner and was greeted with a long corridor with many open doorways. As he passed then he peeked in and caught flashes of bare leg, sweaty hair, a naked back.
Finally he found a room that was unoccupied and yanked Arthur into it, wasting no time by pressing Arthur against the wall next to the door and covering his mouth again.
Arthur’s hands came up to dig into Eames’s hair as they kissed, one long leg wrapping around his waist. Eames gripped his thigh and hiked his leg higher, pressing their groins together and grinding wonderfully against him.
Arthur pulled back with a gasp, his hands moving to the front of Eames’s shirt. He yanked blindly at the buttons he found until he managed to get them undone. Eames, uncaring of the state of his shirt, reached down and grabbed Arthur’s ass, lifting him. Arthur immediately wrapped his other leg around Eames’s waist as his hands slipped under his shirt and pushed it off. Eames let go long enough to let his shirt flutter to the ground, trusting Arthur’s strong legs and the wall to hold him up, then his hands returned to Arthur’s ass with a vengeance, squeezing and rubbing roughly.
Arthur immediately attacked Eames’s neck and shoulders with his mouth, biting and sucking hungrily. He unwrapped his legs and pushed Eames far enough away to tackle his pants. Eames just batted his hands away and dropped to his knees. He buried his face in Arthur’s crotch and mouthed wetly over the hot leather, opening his mouth over the head of Arthur’s cock and sucking hard through the material.
Arthur’s head hit the back of the wall with a dull thump and buried his hands in Eames’s hair. Then he let go with one hand and brought it to the front of his pants, clumsily fumbling with the zip.
Eames grabbed the hand and placed it back on his head. Then, with his head tilted up to watch Arthur’s face, he slid his hands up Arthur’s legs slowly, over the back of his calves and round to the front of his thighs. He stopped briefly when they hit the button and watched as Arthur tilted his head down, as though he could see Eames through the red of the scarf.
He didn’t stop watching his face when he popped the button, when he slid the zipper down, when he leaned forward and took the head of Arthur’s dick into his mouth. He only closed his eyes when Arthur’s mouth fell open and a soft ‘oh’ escaped.
Then Eames went to work.
Arthur was thick. He stretched his lips gloriously as Eames slid down, taking as much as he could into his mouth. He pulled back slowly and swirled his tongue around, tonguing the spot under the head that he himself loved. Arthur made a strangled noise and tightened his hands in Eames’s hair. Then he loosened his grip and scratched his short, immaculate nails against Eames’s scalp making the forger purr, his eyes half closed in pleasure.
Eames went down on him slowly, several times, learning the feel and weight of Arthur’s prick. He sucked and tongued until he could feel his saliva all over his own face, dripping down his chin and all over his hand where it was circled around the base of Arthur’s cock. Then he let go and cupped Arthur’s balls, rolled them gently, and opened his throat.
He pushed until his eyes watered and managed to stuff his throat with Arthur’s dick. He pressed forward when he was all the way down, his scruffy, wet chin pressed against Arthur’s ballsac and pulled one of Arthur’s hands to his neck.
Arthur let out something that could’ve been a gasp or just a sharp intake of breath at the friction, but when his thumb rubbed over the front of Eames’s very full throat where his dick was happily resting he definitely moaned. Loudly.
Eames pulled back and pressed forward again and again, delighting in the noises coming out of Arthur’s mouth. Then Arthur’s hand, which had been resting under Eames’s chin, came up to his face and his thumb brushed lightly over Eames’s eyelashes.
“Enough,” Arthur said, strangled. “I’m going to come soon and I don’t want to do it in your mouth.”
Eames moaned around his mouthful of rock hard erection but Arthur pushed at his head, whining, so he pulled back so he was sitting on his feet. He stayed down on his knees, staring up at the debauched point man in front of him. Arthur’s cock was flushed a dark, angry red, and his hair was hanging forward, strands of it stuck to his sweaty forehead. His clothes were hanging off of him and the blindfold only heightened his appeal.
He looked like living, breathing, sin. Eames pressed the hell of his hand to the front of his pants and willed himself not to come yet.
Arthur carded his fingers through Eames’s hair and tilted his head down at him. “How do you want me?”
Eames leaned forward and untied the knots of Arthur’s boots, pulling his feet out of them one at a time. Then he stood and let Arthur tug him closer. He slid his hands into Arthur’s back pocket and pulled out the tube of lubricant. He searched the other pocket and found a square foil package. He tucked both items into his own front pocket and gave himself a sharp squeeze when he looked at the devastating picture Arthur made in front of him.
Arthur had spread his legs and leaned his shoulders back against the wall, putting his body on display, and Eames had a hard time not losing it right there. It only took a few seconds to tug the leather from Arthur’s legs and his shirt, which was already on its way down, fluttered to the floor to join Eames’s with merely a shrug of Arthur’s shoulders.
Eames grabbed Arthur around the waist and yanked him forward, pulling him into a quick, furious kiss, before he turned him around and grabbed his hands. He positioned Arthur’s hands on the wall above his head and placed his own hand in the dip between his shoulders blades, pushing gently. Arthur got the hint and leaned forward, thrusting his ass back into Eames. Eames took a few seconds to smooth his hands down Arthur’s back in a long, firm caress before he grabbed Arthur’s hips and, once again, dropped to his knees.
The sound of his knees hitting the floor made Arthur shiver and press his ass back again, a silent demand. Eames took great delight, then, in spreading Arthur’s round cheeks and pressing his face between them. The sound Arthur made when he speared his hole with the point of his tongue was well worth the pain in his kneecaps.
Arthur clenched his hands into fists and pushed back. Eames just moaned and closed his eyes, pushing his tongue as far as he could over and over into Arthur’s body. Arthur was now moaning constantly, his face pressed into his forearm as his hips jerked. Eames pulled back and ran his tongue up Arthur’s asscrack, then back down to his hole where he rested his tongue against it and fluttered it relentlessly without dipping back inside.
“Please,” Arthur begged, his voice hoarse, and Eames had to let go of him with one hand so he could rip at the fastenings of his own pants and shove his hand down to squeeze himself hard. “Please, please, inside, God, I want you inside me.”
Eames yanked his hand out of his pants and into his pocket. He stabbed his tongue back inside and enjoyed the stuttered moan it produced out of Arthur as he opened the bottle of lube. He worked Arthur with his tongue a few more moments as he coated his hand, then stood abruptly and draped himself over Arthur’s back, sliding two wet fingers inside of him smoothly.
Arthur arched back against him, mouth open and panting. Eames leaned in to rub his stubble over Arthur’s bare shoulder as his fingers twisted in and out, finding nearly no resistance. He spared only a moment for his jealousy, that other people got to see Arthur like this, that Arthur had no idea who he was and thought he was a random stranger, before he crooked his fingers and Arthur let out a delightful whimper.
“Enough, damnit,” Arthur demanded roughly, one hand coming up to grasp Eames’s hair. He pulled his face up and mouthed messily at his cheek. “I’m ready, I’m ready, just do it already.”
Eames slid his fingers free and groped at his other pocket, pulling out the condom with slippery fingers. He brought it up to his mouth and tore it open, rolling it on himself quickly. He grabbed one of Arthur’s shoulders and used his other hand to guide himself to Arthur’s entrance.
Arthur let out a soft grunt when the head slipped in, then pushed back for more. Eames let go of himself and gripped Arthur’s hip, sliding in with one long thrust.
He let go of Arthur’s hip and ran his hands up Arthur’s arms, twining their fingers together where they pressed against the wall. Arthur rolled his hips and moaned, turning his face to Eames. Their mouths met and from then on Eames lost himself.
He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, their bodies pushing together frantically, tongues meeting and sliding against each other. He was only aware of the taste of Arthur, the sounds he made, the feel of his back, soaked with sweat against his chest as they moved together. He was only sure that it was all too soon when he felt the familiar tingle at the base of his spine so he slowed down, pressed entirely against Arthur’s back as his hips rolled slowly.
Arthur made a protesting noise when he pulled out, only shut up when Eames whirled him around roughly and once again lifted him by his beautiful round ass. He wrapped his legs around Eames’s waist and it only took a few seconds for Eames to slide in again but those seconds felt like hours until he was back inside, surrounded by all of that delicious heat.
Arthur’s head fell back against the wall as his hands gripped Eames’s shoulders. He dug his nails in, scrabbling for purchase as Eames bucked against him wildly. Arthur tried to pull his head back in but Eames wasn’t having any of it, too busy staring down Arthur’s body to watch the muscles of his stomach clench, his chest heave, his cock bounce where it was trapped between them. Arthur’s dick was full and leaking onto his stomach and Eames let go of one cheek to wrap his hand around it.
Arthur’s hand came down to bat it away, then flew back up to his neck to try to pull him back in. Eames felt the sting of two of Arthur’s nails scratch the back of his neck, surely drawing blood. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth against Arthur’s again, biting and sucking anywhere he could reach as Arthur licked a stripe across his lips.
“Don’t, I don’t need it,” Arthur panted against his mouth. “Just keep doing- God, yes - that, there, fuck yes.”
Eames dropped his hand and pressed it against Arthur’s back, the same way he’d done a million times before only this time was so much better because Arthur was naked, was hot around him and sweaty and keening against him. Never again would Eames be able to usher Arthur out of a door, through a hallway, without placing his hand right there, on the dip just above his ass, without thinking of this.
The tingle came again and Eames did his best to hold it off, buried his face in Arthur’s neck and thrust frantically, staving off his own orgasm as long as he could. He didn’t want to come before Arthur did. He wouldn’t, damnit.
He raised his head enough to suck on the lobe of Arthur’s ear, groaned into it quietly, and Arthur’s hand at the back of his neck squeezed tightly as his entire body spasmed in Eames’s arms.
Eames pulled back as he thrust wildly once, twice more, watching Arthur’s prick jump and shoot all over his chest and stomach. He let go of Arthur’s back and swiped his hand through the come, bringing it to his face and sucking his fingers hungrily.
Arthur dropped his head forward and mumbled something against his neck that sounded vaguely familiar through his lust. And just like that, Eames tightened his grip and came and came and came.
His knees buckled almost immediately after he was finished filling the condom and they would’ve went crashing to the floor had it not been for the wall. Instead, when Eames finally lifted his head from Arthur’s sweaty neck, he realized his knees were pressed against the wall and he was slumped against the floor on his knees, Arthur folded nearly in half, still in his arms and still wrapped around him. One of Arthur’s hands pet his hair tiredly and touched one of the scrapes at the back of his neck.
Eames hissed and pulled his hips back, pulling out with a groan. Arthur winced and unlocked his legs, letting his feet hit the floor somewhere behind them with a dull thud.
Arthur dropped his head back against the wall and turned his head to face him. The blindfold didn’t lose any of its appeal, what with it being as wet and wrinkled as it was. But Arthur had the same calculating look on his face that Eames was very familiar with; he’d seen it enough times to know that Arthur was adding up two and two and two and would fairly soon come up with Eames’s number. So when one of those lithe hands came up to touch the blindfold Eames pulled his hand away and kissed the back of it.
He scooted backwards and let Arthur fall to the floor gently, his hands cupped under strong thighs that he couldn’t help but squeeze again, committing every crinkle of hair under his fingertips to memory.
Keeping one eye on Arthur, Eames reached behind himself and nabbed his shirt, pulling it on without bothering with the buttons. He stood and pulled his pants back up, staring down at Arthur as he buttoned himself back up.
Anonymity, Arthur had said. Sex. No strings attached. Granted, it had been a while since Eames had even thought about pursuing any kind of lasting romantic encounter. It had been years, in fact, since he had wanted anyone there at the end of the day to rub his feet or to cook his risotto for, since he wanted to go to sleep and wake up to the same face, to share tea with and quibble over the Arts section of the Sunday paper.
Any time he had let himself think about Arthur, though, he stopped himself before he went too far, before he cast Arthur in the role of ‘partner’ in his silly fantasies. Any time he thought about what Arthur’s face would look like in orgasm he stopped himself before he started thinking about whether or not his dimples would show, the same way they did when he smiled.
Whenever he thought about Arthur he only allowed himself to think of this, and not of how Arthur’s eyebrows could go from insipid to hilarious in seconds. He definitely didn’t think about how he’d privately nicknamed them ‘Fred’ and ‘Johnny’, and how, when Arthur got angry, Johnny would try to climb into Arthur’s eyeball and was the reason why he could never get truly angry with him. Not with those ridiculous eyebrows dancing on his face.
But staring down at him, sprawled and fucked out on the floor, blindfolded and sweaty as Eames buttoned his shirt back up, Eames allowed himself the nine seconds it took to put himself back together to wonder if Arthur would ever want any of those things one day.
If Arthur would ever want any of those things with Eames.
He crouched down and ran a hand through Arthur’s loose hair and pressed his mouth to Arthur’s forehead, then to his slack lips. Arthur pursed his lips against his and reached up to cup his face, but Eames grabbed his hands and pushed them down gently. He pulled back, then darted in and pressed one last kiss to the corner of his mouth, and left.
*
The next day at the warehouse Arthur paused when Eames looked over his shoulder at something on the white board. Ariadne, bless her heart, was busy showing the model of the second level to their current extractor, Stephanie, and their chemist was busy in his corner, cell phone pressed to his ear as he made small clouds of smoke rise from his beakers with his other hand while he happily chatted with his wife.
Eames was leaning forward to ask a question, moving smoothly around Arthur to take the dry erase marker and add something. He knelt on the floor and was in the middle of a sentence when Arthur’s cool hand came down on the back of his neck.
Eames stilled, the marker slipped a little and turned the word ‘urgent’ into ‘urge___’ and suddenly the air around them felt heavy, thick, as though someone had dosed him.
Arthur’s index finger pushed the collar of Eames’s shirt down, pressed against the cut running along his neck.
“That looks painful.”
Eames swallowed, allowed himself a tiny nod. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
Arthur left his hand there and pressed his finger against the scab a little harder. “It might scar if you don’t put something on it.”
Eames erased the line coming off of the ‘e’ with his hand and continued writing. “Maybe I want the reminder.”
Arthur’s hand stilled where the tip of his finger was running along the wound lightly, then the back of his fingers made brief contact with the stubble at the corner of Eames’s jaw. Eames didn’t stop writing, even when those clever fingers walked the course of Eames’s jaw and settled lightly over the top of his throat the same way they had done last night, when Arthur’s cock was jammed down it. Eames swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. Then Arthur pulled his hand away and took a step back and Eames went back to his writing.
It was a fleeting touch, hardly memorable, but for the rest of the day Eames felt the lingering press of Arthur’s fingers to his face like the aftershock of an earthquake.
And when they all left for the day, heading for the pub two blocks down, he let his hand fall to the small of Arthur’s back and smiled when Arthur pressed back against it.
fin
So, the lovely titania2006 made a soundtrack for this, which made me =D like no other. Feel free to tell her she rules.
Title: Plus One
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 7,706
Summary: Arthur had his head tilted back, slouching enough to put this anonymous stranger a few inches above him, and a glass of something dark hanging from his fingertips. He was speaking, saying something to this man that wasn’t ‘get your hand off of me’ because the man’s hand inched higher and Eames… Well. To put it nicely, he lost his shit.
Notes: Written for this prompt, which asked for Arthur grinding up on some guys in a club and Eames being jealous and making his claim. I might've went a little overboard.
"What's this, now?"
Eames felt he barely had time to hang his coat up in his room before he heard the door down the hall slam. Well, it had actually shut pretty quietly but Eames ears were trained to pick up the slightest disturbance. When he stuck his head out the door he was treated to a rather unexpected sight; Arthur heading down the hallway dressed in leather pants, an untucked shirt and hair (and there was no other word for it, really) disheveled.
He couldn't be blamed for stopping him in the hallway, for running his hand down the soft cotton of Arthur's sleeve, not with Arthur looking the way he was. Eames held back from swallowing when he felt the coiled tension in Arthur's wiry arm, the soft hair on his forearm where Arthur's shirt was rolled up. Instead he grinned and tugged one of the loose ends of Arthur's shirt playfully.
"I'm heading out for a bit." Arthur sidestepped him neatly and headed for the elevator. Eames slipped into the space between Arthur and the gold shine of the elevator doors and made Arthur reach around him to push the button.
"Headed where?" he asked, intrigued. "A party, love? Mind if I tag along?"
"Yes, actually," Arthur said. "It's by invitation only."
"And I don't get to be your plus one?" Eames clutched at his heart dramatically. "Are you trying to break my heart, here?"
"Impossible." Arthur grinned at him. "First you need to have one."
"Ouch."
The elevator chimed and the doors opened. Eames stepped to the side and let Arthur pass. He pinched Arthur's ass and grinned, cheeky, when Arthur swatted his hand. Then he leaned against the doors to prevent them from closing, a hand on either side.
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do, pet."
Arthur rolled his eyes as he tried, and failed, to hold back a grin. "And I'm sure that leaves many options open for a suitably debauched evening." Arthur pushed a button and then laid a hand flat on Eames's chest. Eames let Arthur push him back gently. "Have a lovely night, Mr. Eames."
"You too, Arthur."
The doors closed and Eames reached into his sleeve. He pulled out the small square card he lifted out of Arthur's back pocket. It was black, heavy, made of metal and had two lines engraved on one side.
8/9/10
725 10th Ave
Eames raised an eyebrow and flipped it over. There was nothing but an ornate A engraved right in the center. He didn’t hesitate, just reached forward and pressed the button.
Eames ran his thumb over and over the letter. He looked down at his ensemble; black button down, black trousers, red paisley print tie. He loosened his tie and pulled it over his head, stuffing it into his back pocket. Then he unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt and, after glancing at his reflection in the gold mirrored doors, mussed his hair up a bit.
If Arthur, he of the Zegna and Armani filled closet, was heading out in leather pants and untucked (and those two fluttering shirttails had acted like a siren to Eames's hands, which were just itching to slide up that flat stomach) then he didn’t think anyone would balk at his appearance.
He leaned against the wall and waited for the elevator to come back up.
*
When Eames exited the front doors of the hotel the crisp smell of the city hit his nostrils and he inhaled deeply. He was hoping it could calm his racing heart. When that failed he shook his head at himself and walked to the curb to hail a taxi.
“Going somewhere?”
Eames didn’t jump, would deny it to his dying day, but he would admit to twitching just a little bit. He whirled around to see Arthur leaning casually against the building next to the doors, arms and legs crossed, with a cigarette dangling from his lips. His mouth went dry.
He stood there, dumbly, unable to speak. Arthur pushed off the wall and sauntered (sauntered! Was he trying to break something in Eames’s brain? If he was then he was succeeding, the little shit) toward him. He stopped next to Eames at the curb and raised a hand. A cab immediately pulled up next to them and Arthur stepped back to run his eyes up and down Eames’s body.
Then he turned around and opened the door. “Are you coming?” he called over his shoulder. Eames wasted no time in sliding in next to him and shutting the door behind them.
The driver looked at them in the rearview mirror and Arthur looked pointedly at Eames. “Well? You have my invitation. You know the address.”
Eames pulled the little square out of his pocket with two fingers and offered it to Arthur. “Seven twenty-five, tenth avenue.” Arthur pulled the ‘invite’ out of his hand without touching Eames at all. He looked down at it for a while as the cab rolled through the streets. Then he set his jaw and tucked it into his breast pocket, where it hung heavily against a nipple and made Arthur grit his teeth.
“You couldn’t leave it alone, could you?” Arthur shook his head, then he looked out the window at the passing city. “You never know when to quit. You can come in with me, but then I better not see you for the remainder of the night.”
“Now that’s just impolite.”
“You hijacked my night, Eames. I’ll be as rude as I like.” Arthur turns his head to glare at him before looking back out the window. “I’m serious. I don’t want you sniffing around after me once we get inside.”
“Always so full of yourself,” Eames said snidely. “I think I can manage not being in your presence for one more night. Forgive me if I thought we could have a nice night out together. We had a lovely time in San Sebastián!”
“I woke up midday, on a beach, in a pair of flip flops and a straw hat.” Arthur’s voice went up and made the cabbie smirk at the road. “I had sunburn in places there should never, ever be sunburn. Ever.”
“And that’s the last time I let you try absinthe.”
“Is it really a wonder that your name leaves a foul taste in my mouth?”
“Oh, Darling--” Eames began, twisting his body to face Arthur, but the cab suddenly stopped and sent him flying into the glass partition.
“That’s thirteen eighty-nine.” The cabbie turned around to grin at them, toothpick in his mouth. Then he took in their attire, Arthur’s endless legs encased in soft leather and Eames hair, and his grin turned into a smirk.
Arthur just opened the door and let himself out. Eames cursed quietly as he fumbled to get his wallet out, tossed the driver a twenty. “Keep it,” he said as he hurried out the door. The man just snorted and drove off.
Eames followed Arthur through a nondescript oak door and into a dark hallway where they walked and walked and suddenly a flight of stairs appeared in a hole in the floor. Eames raised an eyebrow as Arthur swiftly jogged down them, one hand on the wall to guide himself, but he resiliently followed him down.
After several twists and turns Arthur’s hand fell on Eames’s arm in the darkness and stopped him in his tracks. “Okay, look. Don’t mention my name.” He turned away, then turned back to face him again quickly. “Or yours, for that matter.” He let go of Eames’s arm, then poked him in the chest. “And don’t talk to Lloyd.”
Eames could practically see Arthur’s hands land on his hips and the tilt of his head in the darkness; it was so easy to read Arthur sometimes. “Actually, it’s probably best if you don’t talk at all. At least not for the first few minutes.”
“Am I going to be frisked for weapons?” Eames asked, amused. “Should I ditch the knife strapped to my ankle?”
And still, there’s a movie playing in his head that’s got Arthur blinking at him. “Right. Don’t talk.”
Then Arthur opened a door and walked through it. When Eames followed him into it he wasn’t sure what exactly he was expecting, but it wasn’t this.
It looked like a waiting room at a small dentistry, or an Insurance building. Several empty uncomfortable looking chairs were scattered about, there was a table with magazines and a small potted plant, there was even muzak. The only things out of place were the two men sitting in the aforementioned uncomfortable chairs wearing tight clothing and the man sitting on the other side of the sliding glass window.
Who was wearing an electric blue shirt with the sleeves ripped off at the seams. He had heavy black eyeliner on and his hair was styled in a loose Mohawk. When he looked up at Arthur his face broke out into a smile and he lifted his hand to wave him over.
The first thing Eames thought when he saw him was what the fuck? and immediately after he caught sight of the fingerless black leather gloves and the only thing he could focus on was where the fuck am I?
“Why, Easy A,” the man (who looked more like a boy, really, with those cheekbones) said to Arthur, grinning hugely. “You came back. I’m ecstatic.”
“Lloyd.” Arthur nodded at him and plucked the metal square out of his pocket. He slid it through the small opening at the bottom of the window and Eames swore he saw his mouth twitch when Lloyd covered his hand with his own and slid the invite away. “It’s been a long time.” Arthur nodded back at Eames, who was standing with his hands in his pockets. “He’s with me.”
“I see,” Lloyd said, turning his predatory grin on Eames. Then he slid his eyes back to Arthur, looking up through his lashes at him. “And will you two be needing…?”
“No,” Arthur said quickly, pulling his hand back and sliding it down his chest as though caressing a phantom tie. “God, no. He’s my,” and here Arthur paused just long enough to make an unpleasant face, “plus one.”
“Ahh.” Lloyd eyed Eames for a long minute in a way that made him want to squirm. Then his mouth curled at the corners and he wrote a few things down haphazard on a clip board and nodded with his head. “Go right on in. And have a wonderful time.”
“No doubt I will, love.” Eames winked at Lloyd, who smirked back at him, and ignored Arthur’s long suffering sigh as he followed him through the door on the far wall. As he closed it behind him he noticed one of the other men in the room glaring at their backs and winked at him as well before he turned around.
And was greeted with a low level thump and dim red lighting down a short hallway.
Arthur turned around just as they reached the end of it and put a hand to Eames’s chest to stop him.
“Look, I don’t know if this is your thing and I honestly don’t care. You were the one who followed me. If it bothers you, you know where the door is; you can leave at any time. I’d prefer it, in fact.” And there Arthur shifted, as though he was suddenly uncomfortable. It was strange to see Arthur unsure, the point man usually so certain of his facts suddenly… uncertain. It made Eames grin a little as he looked down at Arthur’s hand in the low lighting, then back up at his once again stern face.
“I’m pretty sure I get what this is all about,” Eames murmured, taking a step closer to Arthur. Arthur yanked his hand away but didn’t move back. “I’m also pretty sure that this is definitely my thing.” He took another step closer and let their chests brush together. All he had to do was tilt his hips just so and…
“Right, wonderful,” Arthur said quietly, staring down the scant centimeters separating them at Eames’s lips. “I meant what I said, though. Leave me alone in there. This is my…” and here Arthur let the corner of his mouth curl up in a way that sent something shooting up Eames’s spine. “My ‘Marvelous Me’ time, if you will. So do whatever you want in there, just leave me out of it.” With that, Arthur strode through a heavy curtain and left Eames standing alone.
By the time Eames went through Arthur was gone. Well, not exactly.
He was lost somewhere in the crowd.
There looked to be about four hundred people spread across the large room. There was a rather large red, lit up bar at the center of it all, four bartenders working in it, surrounded by a few tables and raised platforms. There were two other bars lining the walls on either side of the room and people dancing everywhere in between.
Men, women, bodies of androgynous sex, all rolling and gyrating to the same low, pulsing beat. Eames took a few experimental steps forward and, even in the low light, got an eyeful when he passed a table and witnessed two beautiful women doing something that, in his opinion at least, two beautiful women should do to each other every single day. In public. Or maybe just around him. He watched as the girl straddling the other took her slim hands and pulled her to her feet, tugging the other woman behind her through the crowd.
They slid through a door at the very back of the club and Eames looked around himself. Then he looked at everyone closer.
Oh.
Ohhhh.
A dark smile lit his face as he warred with his emotions. On one hand, the fact that he’d followed Arthur to what could only be called a gay sex club stoked a fire of maniacal glee and raging lust deep in his chest. It was always, always, always the quiet ones. Someone like Arthur, so reserved and carefully put together, would only be able to let loose completely or never at all. If Eames got to see an eyeful of the repressed point man grinding, half-naked and undone, he would probably lose his shit.
On the other hand…
Eames looked through the crowd, gazing past face after pretty face, until he found a profile he would know anywhere. He took his time dragging his eyes down the length of Arthur’s body. He was leaning backwards, half on a stool, against the bar as though it was holding him up. The leather stretched over his lean thighs, bunched slightly over his boots, and looked soft to the touch.
Of course, he could always ask the man who had his hand high on the inside of Arthur’s thigh.
Arthur had his head tilted back, slouching enough to put this anonymous stranger a few inches above him, and a glass of something dark hanging from his fingertips. He was speaking, saying something to this man that wasn’t ‘get your hand off of me’ because the man’s hand inched higher and Eames…
Well. To put it nicely, he lost his shit.
It must’ve taken Eames more than a few steps to get to him, but it felt like no time had passed since he got an eyeful of this stranger’s hand cupping Arthur through his pants and was suddenly at his side. He pulled the glass from Arthur’s hand, sliding his other arm around Arthur’s waist and gave him a sloppy kiss on the temple.
“Sorry to take so long, Darling,” he said into Arthur’s ear, nuzzling it gently, “but I just got a peek of the most scandalous activity happening in the back and I wanted to try it with you immediately.” Eames downed half of the glass in one go and placed it back in Arthur’s empty hand. He slid his free hand over Arthur’s stomach and let two fingers snake between his shirt buttons, rubbing the skin of his stomach. Then Eames pulled his head back and smiled at the intruder. “What’s going on?”
He made sure to put the friendliest inflection he could muster into his voice while at the same time putting up a metaphorical flashing light that said BACK OFF, BITCH over Arthur’s head with his body language. Arthur, to his credit, didn’t punch Eames in the solar plexus for cock-blocking. Instead he leaned into Eames’s side with a tiny sigh and covered the hand over his stomach. He pulled Eames’s fingers out and linked them with his own.
Eames definitely didn’t wince when Arthur squeezed them hard.
“Nothing important,” the man said, nodding at Arthur. “I was just leaving.”
“Have a lovely night, then.” Eames watched him go and turned to Arthur, looking down at their hands. He tried tugging his hand back and Arthur dug his fingernails in. “Ow,” he deadpanned.
The calm look on Arthur’s face turned into something that could’ve resembled murderous. “What did I say about leaving me alone?”
“You would’ve just gone off with any random stranger, then?” Eames asked, incredulous. “You’ve been here a grand total of four minutes. You could have your pick of just about any person in this room. Don’t be afraid to aim a little higher, Darling. He,” Eames nodded in the direction Arthur’s potential had gone off in, “wasn’t nearly good enough for you. And definitely not attractive enough, at the very least.”
“In case you’ve missed it, Eames,” Arthur told him drily, “the whole point of this isn’t to make a lasting connection. I’m not going to meet the future Mr. Arthur Darling here, nor do I want to. This is about anonymity. Sex. No strings attached. I know that concept can’t be too hard for you to grasp, Mr. Love-em-and-Leave-em.”
“In my defense, when we first met I had just gotten my heart stomped all over by Jelani.” Arthur made a noise into his glass and sipped from it, eyes roaming the club as though he could’ve give a shit what Eames had to say. He didn’t shrug Eames’s other arm off of him, though, so Eames left it there and continued to speak to Arthur’s ear. “I was with him for three years.”
“How nice,” Arthur said blandly. Eames shook his head in exasperation.
“The point I’m trying to make here is you caught me at my lowest. I just got out of a serious relationship and didn’t want to get into another one again, ever, so I went through a little manwhoring phase. Can you blame me, really?”
“I guess not.”
“But that was years ago, petal.”
“There a point to all of this?”
“No, not really,” Eames said sourly. “I just wanted to dissuade you of your notion that I’m some kind of a slut and can’t form lasting relationships.” He took the drink out of Arthur’s hand and downed the rest of it. Arthur made a small noise and stood up. Eames immediately tugged him back down with the arm wrapped around his waist and Arthur gave him a mildly amused look.
“Fine,” Arthur said, and Eames realized too late that Arthur was only reaching for the wallet tucked into his back pocket. “You can buy me a new drink, since you stole mine.”
“With pleasure, Darling.” Eames turned to face the bar and flagged the tender over. As he ordered he reached back and hooked a finger into one of Arthur’s belt loops, preventing him from going anywhere while his back was turned. When he turned around and handed over the glass Arthur was staring at him with a calculated look on his face. “What?”
“Nothing.” Arthur looked down at his glass, his expression once again blank. “Nothing important, anyway. Cheers.” With that, he raised the glass and downed the entire thing. Eames watched the way his throat muscles worked, his eyes tracking a tiny bead of scotch that missed his mouth and trickled down his neck to disappear under his unbuttoned collar, and felt something down in the pit of his stomach swell.
“Thanks for the drink,” Arthur told him, nodding and reaching around Eames to place the empty glass next to the other. Then he unhooked himself from Eames’s arm and smiled. “Now, kindly leave me alone.”
Eames watched, helpless, as Arthur lost himself in the crowd once again.
The little shit.
*
Eames stared down at the spectacle on the floor. After Arthur had left him, yet again, he moved to one of the balconies over the floor. Try as he might, and he had been for a good fifteen minutes, he couldn’t pick Arthur out in the crowd. He was just giving up, turned his body to the left, when he saw it.
Eames swirled his own scotch for a minute, taking in the picture. Then he finished his drink, rolled up his shirtsleeves above his elbows, and made his way down to the dance floor. He pushed and shoved through the crowd until he saw a lean back, a white button down nearly soaked through with sweat, strands of dark hair spilling across a smooth neck.
He danced his way past a couple of lesbians nearly on top of each other, using the excuse of maneuvering them to lift the red silk scarf tucked into one of their back pockets (and he’s already so committed to someone he isn’t even with that he barely thinks about the mental image the scarf suggests on such a pretty little lesbian and he should really get some kind of reward for that) and tucked it into his shirt pocket.
Eames practically fell the last few feet and ended up plastered against Arthur’s back. Arthur didn’t even miss a beat and ground back against him and the feel of that tight body pressing into his had him biting down on his lip so he wouldn’t groan into Arthur’s ear. Instead, when the man against Arthur’s front lifted his head to glare at Eames, he grinned back evilly and slid his hands around Arthur’s waist, finally - finally! - sliding up and under the front of the untucked shirt that started it all.
Arthur’s stomach was damp, hard, and it twitched under Eames’s hands when he scraped his fingernails over it. Arthur made a soft sound and turned his head to the side. Eames moved with him, keeping his face out of sight, and kept evading when Arthur tilted his head to the other side to try to catch a glimpse.
The man standing in front of him seemed to realize he wasn’t a part of this, not anymore, and left quietly enough. Arthur sighed but relaxed back into Eames’s arms. His hips kept doing the most delicious swivel against Eames’s crotch and before he realized what he was doing Eames was sliding his hand down between them. There was something digging into Eames’s hip, something hard. Eames let out a soft breath when his hand pushed into Arthur’s back pocket and closed around the small tube. He let it go and cupped Arthur’s ass, then he pulled back and yanked the scarf out of his shirt pocket.
He used one hand to keep Arthur’s face forward, his thumb curling upwards to trace Arthur’s bottom lip, while his other hand brought the scarf up. He let Arthur see the silk, bright red and soft, before slowly pulling it taut over Arthur’s eyes.
Arthur tensed against him only for a second, one of his hands coming back to squeeze Eames’s thigh. Then he relaxed and let Eames blindfold him.
After securing the knot, Eames let his hand drift down Arthur’s neck. He massaged the tense muscles he found tenderly, leaning forward to nuzzle behind Arthur’s ear and then bite at it teasingly. Arthur let out a tiny ‘ah!’ and squeezed Eames’s thigh again. Then he pushed back with his hips and rolled them hard.
Eames let out his breath in a huff, directly into Arthur’s ear, and swallowed back a moan. He was hard, achingly so, and Arthur rubbing up against him like a bitch in heat did bad things to his control.
Then Arthur’s hand came up and tangled in Eames’s hair. He yanked his head forward and tilted his own head back. Arthur slotted his open mouth against Eames’s jaw, his chin, his mouth and Eames practically heard the last of his control snap with a crack.
He plunged his tongue into Arthur’s mouth and let out a small hum, tiny enough to be lost in the noise of the club but enough for Arthur to feel the vibration against his lips. He curled his tongue around Arthur’s and drank in the taste: scotch and smoke and something sweet underneath, something that was pure Arthur at its core.
Eames let his hands drift down Arthur’s front, unbuttoning as they went, and then they ran back up to his chest and smoothed back down, again and again until he had the feel of Arthur’s skin burned into his memory. Arthur’s chest was heaving and his body was rolling a little harder, one hand still tight in Eames’s hair and the other still squeezing his thigh as he ravaged his mouth.
Eames let his hands run down, then, further than before until he was rubbing the zipper of Arthur’s pants with his fingertips enticingly. Arthur bucked his hips into Eames’s hand and let go of his thigh. Eames mourned the loss of Arthur’s hand on him until Arthur covered his hands and pressed them into his groin, hard. Eames pulled his head back with two sweet, tiny kisses to Arthur’s amazing mouth, then he sucked and nipped his way down Arthur’s neck as he rubbed Arthur through his pants.
He was long, which wasn’t surprising, but also thick which took Eames aback for a second. He tried to wrap his fingers around the girth through the leather. It was as unforgiving as leather usually was, though, and so he settled for unbuttoning the top of Arthur’s pants and trying to slide his hand inside.
Arthur’s hand circled his wrist though and stopped him.
“Let’s take this off the floor.”
Eames groaned silently into the back of Arthur’s neck and buttoned his pants back up. Next to them a man moaned and pouted at the loss of a show and Eames sent him a dangerous smile as he rounded to the front of Arthur’s body.
Arthur looked completely disheveled. His shirt was unbuttoned and there was the most delicious flush creeping from his face down his toned chest. His dick was hard and pressed against the front of his pants and Eames wanted to do nothing more than drop to his knees and suck it until it erupted in his mouth. Instead he drank the sight in as his fingers mapped Arthur’s torso, fingers dipping into crevices and through the sparse hair smattered across his chest. He wrapped a finger into one of Arthur’s belt loops and tugged.
Arthur obediently followed him.
He turned around and pulled Arthur’s hands to his hips, guiding them through the crowd to the back of the club. He pulled Arthur down the hallway he had seen the woman take her partner and was greeted with a long corridor with many open doorways. As he passed then he peeked in and caught flashes of bare leg, sweaty hair, a naked back.
Finally he found a room that was unoccupied and yanked Arthur into it, wasting no time by pressing Arthur against the wall next to the door and covering his mouth again.
Arthur’s hands came up to dig into Eames’s hair as they kissed, one long leg wrapping around his waist. Eames gripped his thigh and hiked his leg higher, pressing their groins together and grinding wonderfully against him.
Arthur pulled back with a gasp, his hands moving to the front of Eames’s shirt. He yanked blindly at the buttons he found until he managed to get them undone. Eames, uncaring of the state of his shirt, reached down and grabbed Arthur’s ass, lifting him. Arthur immediately wrapped his other leg around Eames’s waist as his hands slipped under his shirt and pushed it off. Eames let go long enough to let his shirt flutter to the ground, trusting Arthur’s strong legs and the wall to hold him up, then his hands returned to Arthur’s ass with a vengeance, squeezing and rubbing roughly.
Arthur immediately attacked Eames’s neck and shoulders with his mouth, biting and sucking hungrily. He unwrapped his legs and pushed Eames far enough away to tackle his pants. Eames just batted his hands away and dropped to his knees. He buried his face in Arthur’s crotch and mouthed wetly over the hot leather, opening his mouth over the head of Arthur’s cock and sucking hard through the material.
Arthur’s head hit the back of the wall with a dull thump and buried his hands in Eames’s hair. Then he let go with one hand and brought it to the front of his pants, clumsily fumbling with the zip.
Eames grabbed the hand and placed it back on his head. Then, with his head tilted up to watch Arthur’s face, he slid his hands up Arthur’s legs slowly, over the back of his calves and round to the front of his thighs. He stopped briefly when they hit the button and watched as Arthur tilted his head down, as though he could see Eames through the red of the scarf.
He didn’t stop watching his face when he popped the button, when he slid the zipper down, when he leaned forward and took the head of Arthur’s dick into his mouth. He only closed his eyes when Arthur’s mouth fell open and a soft ‘oh’ escaped.
Then Eames went to work.
Arthur was thick. He stretched his lips gloriously as Eames slid down, taking as much as he could into his mouth. He pulled back slowly and swirled his tongue around, tonguing the spot under the head that he himself loved. Arthur made a strangled noise and tightened his hands in Eames’s hair. Then he loosened his grip and scratched his short, immaculate nails against Eames’s scalp making the forger purr, his eyes half closed in pleasure.
Eames went down on him slowly, several times, learning the feel and weight of Arthur’s prick. He sucked and tongued until he could feel his saliva all over his own face, dripping down his chin and all over his hand where it was circled around the base of Arthur’s cock. Then he let go and cupped Arthur’s balls, rolled them gently, and opened his throat.
He pushed until his eyes watered and managed to stuff his throat with Arthur’s dick. He pressed forward when he was all the way down, his scruffy, wet chin pressed against Arthur’s ballsac and pulled one of Arthur’s hands to his neck.
Arthur let out something that could’ve been a gasp or just a sharp intake of breath at the friction, but when his thumb rubbed over the front of Eames’s very full throat where his dick was happily resting he definitely moaned. Loudly.
Eames pulled back and pressed forward again and again, delighting in the noises coming out of Arthur’s mouth. Then Arthur’s hand, which had been resting under Eames’s chin, came up to his face and his thumb brushed lightly over Eames’s eyelashes.
“Enough,” Arthur said, strangled. “I’m going to come soon and I don’t want to do it in your mouth.”
Eames moaned around his mouthful of rock hard erection but Arthur pushed at his head, whining, so he pulled back so he was sitting on his feet. He stayed down on his knees, staring up at the debauched point man in front of him. Arthur’s cock was flushed a dark, angry red, and his hair was hanging forward, strands of it stuck to his sweaty forehead. His clothes were hanging off of him and the blindfold only heightened his appeal.
He looked like living, breathing, sin. Eames pressed the hell of his hand to the front of his pants and willed himself not to come yet.
Arthur carded his fingers through Eames’s hair and tilted his head down at him. “How do you want me?”
Eames leaned forward and untied the knots of Arthur’s boots, pulling his feet out of them one at a time. Then he stood and let Arthur tug him closer. He slid his hands into Arthur’s back pocket and pulled out the tube of lubricant. He searched the other pocket and found a square foil package. He tucked both items into his own front pocket and gave himself a sharp squeeze when he looked at the devastating picture Arthur made in front of him.
Arthur had spread his legs and leaned his shoulders back against the wall, putting his body on display, and Eames had a hard time not losing it right there. It only took a few seconds to tug the leather from Arthur’s legs and his shirt, which was already on its way down, fluttered to the floor to join Eames’s with merely a shrug of Arthur’s shoulders.
Eames grabbed Arthur around the waist and yanked him forward, pulling him into a quick, furious kiss, before he turned him around and grabbed his hands. He positioned Arthur’s hands on the wall above his head and placed his own hand in the dip between his shoulders blades, pushing gently. Arthur got the hint and leaned forward, thrusting his ass back into Eames. Eames took a few seconds to smooth his hands down Arthur’s back in a long, firm caress before he grabbed Arthur’s hips and, once again, dropped to his knees.
The sound of his knees hitting the floor made Arthur shiver and press his ass back again, a silent demand. Eames took great delight, then, in spreading Arthur’s round cheeks and pressing his face between them. The sound Arthur made when he speared his hole with the point of his tongue was well worth the pain in his kneecaps.
Arthur clenched his hands into fists and pushed back. Eames just moaned and closed his eyes, pushing his tongue as far as he could over and over into Arthur’s body. Arthur was now moaning constantly, his face pressed into his forearm as his hips jerked. Eames pulled back and ran his tongue up Arthur’s asscrack, then back down to his hole where he rested his tongue against it and fluttered it relentlessly without dipping back inside.
“Please,” Arthur begged, his voice hoarse, and Eames had to let go of him with one hand so he could rip at the fastenings of his own pants and shove his hand down to squeeze himself hard. “Please, please, inside, God, I want you inside me.”
Eames yanked his hand out of his pants and into his pocket. He stabbed his tongue back inside and enjoyed the stuttered moan it produced out of Arthur as he opened the bottle of lube. He worked Arthur with his tongue a few more moments as he coated his hand, then stood abruptly and draped himself over Arthur’s back, sliding two wet fingers inside of him smoothly.
Arthur arched back against him, mouth open and panting. Eames leaned in to rub his stubble over Arthur’s bare shoulder as his fingers twisted in and out, finding nearly no resistance. He spared only a moment for his jealousy, that other people got to see Arthur like this, that Arthur had no idea who he was and thought he was a random stranger, before he crooked his fingers and Arthur let out a delightful whimper.
“Enough, damnit,” Arthur demanded roughly, one hand coming up to grasp Eames’s hair. He pulled his face up and mouthed messily at his cheek. “I’m ready, I’m ready, just do it already.”
Eames slid his fingers free and groped at his other pocket, pulling out the condom with slippery fingers. He brought it up to his mouth and tore it open, rolling it on himself quickly. He grabbed one of Arthur’s shoulders and used his other hand to guide himself to Arthur’s entrance.
Arthur let out a soft grunt when the head slipped in, then pushed back for more. Eames let go of himself and gripped Arthur’s hip, sliding in with one long thrust.
He let go of Arthur’s hip and ran his hands up Arthur’s arms, twining their fingers together where they pressed against the wall. Arthur rolled his hips and moaned, turning his face to Eames. Their mouths met and from then on Eames lost himself.
He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, their bodies pushing together frantically, tongues meeting and sliding against each other. He was only aware of the taste of Arthur, the sounds he made, the feel of his back, soaked with sweat against his chest as they moved together. He was only sure that it was all too soon when he felt the familiar tingle at the base of his spine so he slowed down, pressed entirely against Arthur’s back as his hips rolled slowly.
Arthur made a protesting noise when he pulled out, only shut up when Eames whirled him around roughly and once again lifted him by his beautiful round ass. He wrapped his legs around Eames’s waist and it only took a few seconds for Eames to slide in again but those seconds felt like hours until he was back inside, surrounded by all of that delicious heat.
Arthur’s head fell back against the wall as his hands gripped Eames’s shoulders. He dug his nails in, scrabbling for purchase as Eames bucked against him wildly. Arthur tried to pull his head back in but Eames wasn’t having any of it, too busy staring down Arthur’s body to watch the muscles of his stomach clench, his chest heave, his cock bounce where it was trapped between them. Arthur’s dick was full and leaking onto his stomach and Eames let go of one cheek to wrap his hand around it.
Arthur’s hand came down to bat it away, then flew back up to his neck to try to pull him back in. Eames felt the sting of two of Arthur’s nails scratch the back of his neck, surely drawing blood. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth against Arthur’s again, biting and sucking anywhere he could reach as Arthur licked a stripe across his lips.
“Don’t, I don’t need it,” Arthur panted against his mouth. “Just keep doing- God, yes - that, there, fuck yes.”
Eames dropped his hand and pressed it against Arthur’s back, the same way he’d done a million times before only this time was so much better because Arthur was naked, was hot around him and sweaty and keening against him. Never again would Eames be able to usher Arthur out of a door, through a hallway, without placing his hand right there, on the dip just above his ass, without thinking of this.
The tingle came again and Eames did his best to hold it off, buried his face in Arthur’s neck and thrust frantically, staving off his own orgasm as long as he could. He didn’t want to come before Arthur did. He wouldn’t, damnit.
He raised his head enough to suck on the lobe of Arthur’s ear, groaned into it quietly, and Arthur’s hand at the back of his neck squeezed tightly as his entire body spasmed in Eames’s arms.
Eames pulled back as he thrust wildly once, twice more, watching Arthur’s prick jump and shoot all over his chest and stomach. He let go of Arthur’s back and swiped his hand through the come, bringing it to his face and sucking his fingers hungrily.
Arthur dropped his head forward and mumbled something against his neck that sounded vaguely familiar through his lust. And just like that, Eames tightened his grip and came and came and came.
His knees buckled almost immediately after he was finished filling the condom and they would’ve went crashing to the floor had it not been for the wall. Instead, when Eames finally lifted his head from Arthur’s sweaty neck, he realized his knees were pressed against the wall and he was slumped against the floor on his knees, Arthur folded nearly in half, still in his arms and still wrapped around him. One of Arthur’s hands pet his hair tiredly and touched one of the scrapes at the back of his neck.
Eames hissed and pulled his hips back, pulling out with a groan. Arthur winced and unlocked his legs, letting his feet hit the floor somewhere behind them with a dull thud.
Arthur dropped his head back against the wall and turned his head to face him. The blindfold didn’t lose any of its appeal, what with it being as wet and wrinkled as it was. But Arthur had the same calculating look on his face that Eames was very familiar with; he’d seen it enough times to know that Arthur was adding up two and two and two and would fairly soon come up with Eames’s number. So when one of those lithe hands came up to touch the blindfold Eames pulled his hand away and kissed the back of it.
He scooted backwards and let Arthur fall to the floor gently, his hands cupped under strong thighs that he couldn’t help but squeeze again, committing every crinkle of hair under his fingertips to memory.
Keeping one eye on Arthur, Eames reached behind himself and nabbed his shirt, pulling it on without bothering with the buttons. He stood and pulled his pants back up, staring down at Arthur as he buttoned himself back up.
Anonymity, Arthur had said. Sex. No strings attached. Granted, it had been a while since Eames had even thought about pursuing any kind of lasting romantic encounter. It had been years, in fact, since he had wanted anyone there at the end of the day to rub his feet or to cook his risotto for, since he wanted to go to sleep and wake up to the same face, to share tea with and quibble over the Arts section of the Sunday paper.
Any time he had let himself think about Arthur, though, he stopped himself before he went too far, before he cast Arthur in the role of ‘partner’ in his silly fantasies. Any time he thought about what Arthur’s face would look like in orgasm he stopped himself before he started thinking about whether or not his dimples would show, the same way they did when he smiled.
Whenever he thought about Arthur he only allowed himself to think of this, and not of how Arthur’s eyebrows could go from insipid to hilarious in seconds. He definitely didn’t think about how he’d privately nicknamed them ‘Fred’ and ‘Johnny’, and how, when Arthur got angry, Johnny would try to climb into Arthur’s eyeball and was the reason why he could never get truly angry with him. Not with those ridiculous eyebrows dancing on his face.
But staring down at him, sprawled and fucked out on the floor, blindfolded and sweaty as Eames buttoned his shirt back up, Eames allowed himself the nine seconds it took to put himself back together to wonder if Arthur would ever want any of those things one day.
If Arthur would ever want any of those things with Eames.
He crouched down and ran a hand through Arthur’s loose hair and pressed his mouth to Arthur’s forehead, then to his slack lips. Arthur pursed his lips against his and reached up to cup his face, but Eames grabbed his hands and pushed them down gently. He pulled back, then darted in and pressed one last kiss to the corner of his mouth, and left.
*
The next day at the warehouse Arthur paused when Eames looked over his shoulder at something on the white board. Ariadne, bless her heart, was busy showing the model of the second level to their current extractor, Stephanie, and their chemist was busy in his corner, cell phone pressed to his ear as he made small clouds of smoke rise from his beakers with his other hand while he happily chatted with his wife.
Eames was leaning forward to ask a question, moving smoothly around Arthur to take the dry erase marker and add something. He knelt on the floor and was in the middle of a sentence when Arthur’s cool hand came down on the back of his neck.
Eames stilled, the marker slipped a little and turned the word ‘urgent’ into ‘urge___’ and suddenly the air around them felt heavy, thick, as though someone had dosed him.
Arthur’s index finger pushed the collar of Eames’s shirt down, pressed against the cut running along his neck.
“That looks painful.”
Eames swallowed, allowed himself a tiny nod. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
Arthur left his hand there and pressed his finger against the scab a little harder. “It might scar if you don’t put something on it.”
Eames erased the line coming off of the ‘e’ with his hand and continued writing. “Maybe I want the reminder.”
Arthur’s hand stilled where the tip of his finger was running along the wound lightly, then the back of his fingers made brief contact with the stubble at the corner of Eames’s jaw. Eames didn’t stop writing, even when those clever fingers walked the course of Eames’s jaw and settled lightly over the top of his throat the same way they had done last night, when Arthur’s cock was jammed down it. Eames swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. Then Arthur pulled his hand away and took a step back and Eames went back to his writing.
It was a fleeting touch, hardly memorable, but for the rest of the day Eames felt the lingering press of Arthur’s fingers to his face like the aftershock of an earthquake.
And when they all left for the day, heading for the pub two blocks down, he let his hand fall to the small of Arthur’s back and smiled when Arthur pressed back against it.
fin
So, the lovely titania2006 made a soundtrack for this, which made me =D like no other. Feel free to tell her she rules.