Fic:"We are slaves to the crimes we commit in fits of passion" (Arthur/Eames) NC-17 Part I
Title :We are slaves to the crimes we commit in fits of passion
Rating: NC-17 For explicit sexy times, language and references to non-con
Summary: Written for this prompt from the inception_kink meme. Just an excuse for me to write shameless, needy, unabashed porn with some story thrown in.❤
Eames has been trying to get Arthur in bed for years until finally one day an idea strikes him. Hours before the Fischer job/inception he calls Arthur over to his hotel and delievers his ultimatum; "Arthur, I am not rising from this bed until I've fucked someone." Angst and sexy times ensues!
Word Count: It's kind of a WIP right now but word count currently is about 11,000. I don't anticpate it going too much longer...
Notes: Don't sue. Just stay calm, take a deep breath, palm your totem and know that I don't own a thing Inception wise.
Title of this fic comes from the Cynthia Alexander song: "Comfort in your Strangness." I saw the song posted somewhere on the kink meme (doesn't remember where) and I liked it so...yeah... Please Review :)
We are slaves to the crimes we commit in fits of passion
Arthur had just untied his tie and his shoes and had just sat down when he felt his cell vibrate. He had a text. Given the situation, how close they were to all meeting at the Sydney airport he just knew. It could only be two people and given that Dom wasn’t really one for texting he knew it was Eames.
He thought for a half insane minute that he would just ignore it. Whatever it was it could wait as they would be meeting in, Arthur checked his Henry Winston watch, less than five hours.
He tapped his fingers on his knee impatiently. He really had nothing to do in the final hours before the job. Everything was prepared, bags were packed and ready to go, he would eat a couple hours before, it was good to have some food in your system before the heavy doses of the sedative and it was a ten hour flight.
He regrettably fished his cell from his pocket, a feeling of inevitable dread washing over him. He had a bad feeling and from experience in the field they were in he learned to trust that gut instinct.
He flipped open and read the brief text.
I need to go over some things with you. Come over.
He was surprised that Eames had actually used good English. He was expecting…well, he never knew what to fully expect from the forger even after knowing him for years. He was definitely a loose cannon to put it mildly.
The text however was preposterous. What did he possibly have to go over five hours before they were meeting?
Arthur groaned. He was going to end this.
He picked up on the first ring.
“Yes, love? Did you get my text?”
“I did. What is this about?”
“I have some last minute things I need to go over with you.”
“In terms of?”
There was no way in hell he was driving all the way to his seedy little dive motel, that Eames made a point of loudly announcing to everyone , to clearly let Arthur know where he was staying. He was never stupid or unaware of his tasteless advances on him over the years which seemed more pathetic and needy as of late.
“Pet, it’s urgent. Come over and I’ll tell you.”
He hung up.
Arthur stared at his phone in disbelief.
He cursed him. He didn’t need this especially so close to such a critical job. He didn’t him period. To say he was displeased that they were working with the forger would be an understatement.
His finger hovered on “dial”, to phone him back. He needed to know why he wanted him to come over. His finger massaged it. He knew that he was wasting time. He wanted to unwind before the flight, before all hell broke loose and they did the unbelievable. He checked his watch again. He would have time for both if he hurried.
He resolved that he didn’t want to waste anymore precious time and to amuse the insufferable Eames he regrettably got up, buttoning his suit, readjusting his tie, slipping his shoes back on still aware of the gnawing feeling in his gut telling him: “I’m going to tell you: ‘I told you so’.”
He left before he gave himself anymore time to think.
* * *
Eames wasn’t poor though he did heed Cobb and his advice when they told everyone to: “keep a low profile.” He didn’t think he would take their advice to such extremes.
He stared up at the miserable, crumbling, paint peeling building thinking he was in a plot of a bad horror film.
He approached the front desk, opened his mouth to speak to the old woman behind it when she slid a key card to him from across the counter.
“He said that he was expecting someone,” she looked him up and down, looking not in the least bit amused. “Someone that looked like you, room 528,” she instantly dismissed him, going back to her newspaper and cigarette.
Arthur’s mouth was still dangling open, a question on his lips but he shut it with a SNAP a second later.
He wasn’t thrilled with the lack of security at this place. If the motel staff was more than eager to pass out room keys to any Tom, Dick or Harry when bribed well…he didn’t really need to finish the thought. Thankfully Eames was smart enough to keep a gun on him at all times, he could defend himself and he was leaving this God forsaken motel soon. He grabbed the key card muttering angrily to himself the entire time. He wasn’t going to make excuses for the forger. He was completely irresponsible and impossible. He had half a mind to burst through his motel room and start shooting just to teach him a lesson.
He sighed. This was going to be a quick in and out. He could still have time to relax, read a book and mentally prepare himself for the Fischer job.
He found room 528 with little problem. He was going to knock but the keycard proved he just wanted him to come in unannounced.
He burst through, deciding not to start shooting, it would be too messy.
Eames was splayed out on the shabby bed, fully dressed in a suit, shoes on as well like he just came in.
He was flipping through a magazine and calmly looked up when Arthur entered, barely batting an eye.
“Ruth gave you the keycard then?” He was back to his magazine, barely acknowledging the other man’s presence.
Arthur slammed the door shut, arms on hips. He tried pathetically to throw the keycard at Eames but it curved and just landed on the floor.
Eames didn’t even notice.
“What the hell did you call me over here for? What is so urgent that it couldn’t wait until we got at the airport?” He felt absolutely no guilt at not hiding the hostility in his voice.
Eames threw the magazine to the floor and cracked his knuckles like he was finally aware of the situation and gave a damn.
He regarded Arthur fully for the first time. He folded his hands on his lap and cocked his head a little to the side.
"Arthur, I am not rising from this bed until I've fucked someone,” totally deadpan, barely blinking.
Because it was so deadpan Arthur assumed it was a sick joke. They stared at each other for what probably was an uncomfortable time, each waiting for the other to make the first move, like a bad staring contest.
Arthur’s anger was reaching frightening levels and he finally caved because frankly he didn’t want to deal with this shit let alone the forger’s sick antics.
“Oh, well by all means. Let me call Ruth at the front desk so she can get you a phonebook. I’m sure there are plenty of prostitutes in this area that could be bribed just as well as you did her to sleep with you on such short notice. You have four and a half hours,” pure venomous sarcasm dripping from his words. He shot him the iciest look that he could muster.
He turned on his heel, hand on the doorknob.
"Arthur, I am not rising from this bed until I've fucked someone. That someone being you.”
Red exploded in front of his vision.
He turned and looked over his shoulder. Eames was still contently lounging on the bed, hands in his lap, looking serious.
Arthur’s hand was inching to his gun before he could even register what he was doing.
He was going to fucking kill him.
* * *
First instinct: Shoot him dead. He’d make excuses to Dom somehow. They certainly could make the Fischer job work without him right?
His fingers curled around the gun but as more coherent thoughts managed to slowly enter his brain he realized they COULDN’T do the job without him. He’d have to live. For now. After the Fischer job there were no guarantees.
Second instinct: Only put up with this charade long enough to know that Eames was not going to compromise the job, fuck it up completely. They were leaving in a few hours and he needed him on board.
He took a long shuddering breath trying to calm down and focus on anything but his deadpan, frustratingly aggravating statements.
He regrettably turned around.
“I'm not even going to respond to that. What the hell is this about?”
Eames’ eyes never looked any more severe.
“I thought I made it painfully clear,” his tone matched his expression.
Arthur was almost shocked at his seriousness, this was no joke.
Arthur crossed his arms shooting him a death look.
“This is what was urgent? You lead me here under the impression it was work related,” he tried to keep his voice to a steady level but it still came out in an angry growl. It was the best he could do.
Eames straightened up, the somber expression still on his face.
“It is work related, darling. I am not leaving this bed like I explained, now for the third time, until you fuck me. Meaning, and just to clarify as you still seemed confused, I am not leaving for the Fischer job until this happens.”
He couldn’t shoot him but he could do some serious damage, enough that he would still be walking and talking, in good enough condition for the Fischer job.
He was having trouble breathing and he was almost shaking with anger, fists balled.
“You’re serious?” he managed to choke out as his vision now was taken up by dancing and swirling black dots. He was going to lose his shit at any second.
Eames leaned towards him, a little smug smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“I am.”
The smugness of the remark was what did him in. He decided that hitting him in the face probably was a bad idea. He would be more clearly identified if and when they made it back from the job. He needed them to be as unrecognizable as possible.
He took the few strides to the bed, practically flying and punched him hard in the gut, taking and twisting his arm back over his head a second later.
Eames released a muffled shout and was broke out in sweat from the pain.
“That’s good, love. I can appreciate some hardcore foreplay. I didn’t think you had it in you,” he laughed a little under his breath.
He twisted his arm back further and he could see that the other man was trying very hard not to show how much it hurt. He winced and the sweating continued. They both were in the military and knew how to endure a little torture. He was aggravated none the less that he wasn’t in enough pain.
“Listen to me. We don’t have time for this shit. If you do anything to jeopardize this job so help me…”
“Or what? Think really hard about what you want to say next. I’m not stupid. I know what this job means, Arthur. Cobb didn’t formally announce his intentions which is understandable but I know that he has everything riding on this. If he’s successful he’ll be able to go back to the States, back to his home, his children,” he turned and took in Arthur’s face.
“I’m not wrong am I?”
Arthur answered him by releasing his arm and smacking him hard across the face. He couldn’t punch him but he could sure as hell slap him.
His hand throbbed as he climbed off the bed. Eames was caressing his reddened cheek, a little smile on his cracked lips.
The situation was getting completely out of hand. In all the research that he had done on the forger in the past nothing came up that he was totally bat shit crazy, been in any kind of mental institution or any kind of hospital visit for very long. He knew from knowing him over the years that he was known for doing some brash, spontaneous, and very stupid things but this…Arthur couldn’t even categorize it. It was almost unbelievable, something else entirely.
“Your silence speaks volumes, love. You’re not the only one that does research. I found out a while ago. And why I still wanted to work with him I’m not sure but I wouldn’t be so cruel as to not help a man that was accused of murdering his wife to get back to his children all that I ask is one little thing.”
Arthur tried hard to ignore his words and take himself out of the situation, to analyze it from all sides, to work out the scenarios and angles, to try to come up with some sort of compromise or deal until at least after the Fischer job.
“Fine, I understand what you want. I promise I will give it to you after the Fischer job, immediately if you will it. We don’t have enough time now…”
“No, not good enough,” he interrupted, shaking his head.
“I knew you would say something like that and the answer is: ‘No’, has to be now before the job. Again, I’m not so stupid to think that you wouldn’t run out of LAX like a bat out of hell.”
This was true but getting him to agree to a deal was really the only way out of this.
“I give you my word.”
Eames leaned towards him.
“Your word means shit, love. Action is what I want.”
He could feel his mounting anger ready to explode at any moment.
“Why are you doing this?” it was the stupidest question he had ever asked in his life, he knew damn well, he’s always known. He told himself he was trying to buy some time but for what he didn’t know. He knew deep down that this wasn’t going to end well. He was going to have to do it.
He stared at him, blinking, almost looking surprised, almost.
“Pet, really? We’ve been dancing around this for years, ages it seems…”
“No,” it was his turn to interrupt him.
“’We’ve’ is definitely not true. You perhaps but not me. Do not presume to know anything about me or what I want, what I may or not be ‘dancing around’. You’re delusional. Fucking delusional.”
He started pacing the small room again trying to work out some kind of solution but Eames was definitely not budging.
“My mistake,” he mumbled, perhaps to himself, Arthur really didn’t care.
Arthur continued to pace, head throbbing from tension and anger.
“Are we doing this or not? Time is of the essence. We wouldn’t want to miss our flight, miss helping Cobb get back to his kids.”
He was hitting a nerve and he knew it. He knew how close Dom and him were, knew that he would do almost anything to help him.
He uttered every single curse and horrible thing he knew under his breath about the other man, knowing he could hear him.
He sat at the only chair in the room and started to unlace his shoes, averting his eyes from the other man.
“When the Fischer job is over I hope you know that I will hunt you down and slaughter you. I will literally make you beg for me to kill you I will put you through so much pain and torture. And furthermore if you do anything and I mean anything to intentionally fuck this job up, preventing Cobb from getting back home I will castrate you, throw your balls into the ocean, annihilate you and make you wish you were fucking dead!”
Heavy silence consumed the air for a few heartbeats.
“Do you feel better now?”
Arthur slid his shoes under the chair, loosening his tie and finally looked at him, shooting him a look full of so much malice and hatred that it would turn most people instantly cold.
“No fucking talking and no kissing.”
Eames opened his mouth to presumably protest when Arthur was advancing on him, ready to do God knows what.
“You never said kissing or talking was part of the arrangement,” he jabbed a finger at him, keeping his hard eyes locked on his.
Eames nodded looking a little sullen. He shrugged after a moment. “I’m afraid you’re right. I’m still going to ravish and kiss your body though, that’s definitely not too personal,” he winked. “That’s what you’re afraid of right? That it will become a little too personal? That maybe despite your resentment and anger that you really do want it and will like it?”
Arthur felt some heat flush his cheeks at his statements but shook his head to weakly rid himself of the preposterous words.
He shrugged his suit jacket off, folding and tucking it under his arm.
“Do not open your mouth again, Eames, I mean it or I am not doing this,” he gingerly placed his suit jacket on the solitary chair.
Now what?
As if Eames knew what he was thinking. How did he always know? He patted a space next to him on the horribly shabby bed.
Arthur never wanted to die more in his entire life.
Cobb better fucking appreciate this.
* * *
He kept his eyes trained to the shabby, stained, thread bare carpet.
He took one step then another, feeling like every step was a step closer to inevitable doom, his body feeling impossibly heavy.
His heart fluttered but he surely was not nervous or if he was it was only because he was afraid that Eames would fuck this up further and they would miss their flight.
The bed felt worse than he thought.
His bottom sank in and it was much too springy, definitely something out of a bad horror or porn film.
He perched himself on the corner of it, as far away from the other man as possible. He averted his eyes but he did chance a quick look at him.
Eames looked far too amused and smug for his own good.
He could tell from the corner of his eye that he was staring at him, taking him in like he's never seen him before, it was totally unnerving and aggravating.
He wanted to open his mouth to scream at him to get it over with all ready-to do something, anything!
He bit his tongue, wrapping his arms around himself, remembering the deal he made with him.
After what felt like a century of him just looking at him, Arthur's eyes scanning the shabby room, he felt his warm hand on his suddenly, he instinctively smacked it away.
Eames glowered at him and was telling him with his eyes that he was sorry but...
Well fuck him, he shouldn't be doing this, sorry definitely was not covering it.
Arthur crossed his arms and again the warm hands were on him, gentler this time.
He was making motions for him to turn over.
Arthur sighed and laid face down on the bed, at least he was getting down to it, getting to the point.
Eames straddled him, legs on either side of his chest.
He didn't like how his body was reacting, he tried hard to think of anything besides Eames’ warm hands on his arms, the heat coming off his body, his breath, his smell, he concentrated on his anger and it helped.
What happened next he was totally not prepared for. He bent and kissed the back of his neck, making him shiver. The kiss said a lot. It mainly said: “I’m sorry” but Arthur knew it meant a thousand other things that he was definitely not going to pick apart or admit to. He again focused on his anger which was proving difficult as his warm hands lingered on his back, a finger trailing down his spine, again making him shiver.
He ran his hands over his arms rhythmically and Arthur didn’t like how good it felt. The rubbing turned to squeezing which felt effing fantastic, tension leaking out of his body at an alarming rate. The squeezing turned into light massaging. He worked his shoulders down his long arms to his hands. He took time which each hand, circling his thumb and applying pressure into his palm and knuckles, twisting and massaging his fingers. He felt his whole body shudder and relax. Despite his efforts he closed his eyes as he felt his talented fingers work his tense flesh. Once he worked his hands he moved again to his shoulders, a little harder, kneading and pulling, digging his thumbs in deep. He didn’t realize he was releasing a murmur of pleasure until he heard Eames chuckle softly.
His cheeks burned and he buried his face further into the pillow, trying desperately to grab onto and focus on the anger he felt earlier. But, oh, Eames had moved to his back and he was having a hard time focusing on anything except how good it felt.
He was approaching his weak spot.
His fingers moved rhythmically, thumbs circling his spine until he reached it. He released some kind of noise when his fingers grazed the small of his back, a place where he often felt much tension.
He could literally hear Eames’ smile as he turned all his attention to his lower back.
Bastard.
His body seemed to uncoil and seep into the lumpy bed. His body felt like jelly, like he was no longer a solid but a liquid now, moving only to the rhyme of his hands.
He blamed the relaxation for not comprehending what Eames was doing. He felt his shirt being untucked from his pants and suddenly there was no barrier. Eames’ rough, callused fingers were touching his naked skin. Arthur couldn’t believe how much better it felt!
His fingers worked the knots in his lower back, hands moving along the side of his ribs every so often, grazing his skin. Arthur knew he was lingering but didn’t care. He was lost to his touch, to the relaxation. He had never received such an intricate massage before, hell really any kind of massage before.
He knew he was releasing sounds but what they were he didn’t really know or care.
He felt hot breath followed by a cool blow being expelled on his now every relaxed back. He shuddered, feeling goose pimples break out on his skin. He then felt a very faint kiss like butterfly wings in the same area, it had the same effect.
He was a little more coherent now that his magical hands were no longer massaging him but then his tongue was.
“Oh fuck,” it slipped from his mouth breathlessly before he knew he even formed the words.
Eames chuckled and smiled against his skin and continued to massage the area slowly with his tongue, dipping and jabbing and finally just long, languid licks.
He was releasing sounds again, trying furiously to regain some kind of control but his body was betraying him, it felt slower, heavier, almost vibrating and humming from his relaxing touch. It was as if his muscles somehow betrayed him, forgetting how to function.
He felt powerless, something he was definitely not used to feeling. He was struggling a bit against him but oh, Eames was nipping his sensitive skin, sucking a trail down his tail bone, dangerously close to his ass, all the fight going out of him, feelings of sinking into the bed returning.
As if Eames read his mind he nudged his waistband with his nose, trying to go lower still. Something came out of Arthur’s mouth, a protest, an encouragement, he wasn’t sure.
Warm hands were on his waist and were moving to the front, unbuckling his belt with scary accuracy, nimble fingers working it off. An objection came to Arthur’s mouth but just as he was about to try and voice it he was being kissed at the nape of the neck again, fingers dusting the sensitive skin, lips being pressed into the tender flesh where neck and shoulder met making him melt.
He felt coolness on his legs and he realized faintly that his pants were off.
How in the world did that happen?
Both warm hands were caressing his neck now, massaging, his tongue teasing his skin; his thighs were more tightly clamped to either side of him. He shuddered at his touch, things releasing from his mouth and absentmindedly reached up and stroked his thigh.
The teasing turned to sucking, his tongue swirling, teeth nipping and curses tumbled from his mouth in quick succession. He was getting hard, much too hard and things were stirring inside him. Internal screams of opposition rose to enter his throat but again his body betrayed him. His muscles were still so fluid, practically floating.
He released his hand from the much too warm thigh only to be caught a second later by his deft fingers and then mouth. He pulled in two fingers up to the knuckle and sucked.
“Fuck.”
His mouth was much too warm, wet and inviting.
He found himself moving his fingers rhythmically in and out after some gentle coaxing. He moved with him, lapping his fingers with his long tongue, swirling the tips of them and then settling on gentle sucks.
It was the sucking that did him in, his erection throbbing, his body breaking out in beads of sweat, his lungs working harder, breath shorter.
He moved quicker and he moved with him, sucking harder, his tongue roaming free and gliding over the underside of his fingers, moving to the tips.
He was at his breaking point. He was trying so hard not to scream out, to clamp it down, to try and not think of how the real thing would feel. The little thoughts that did manage to leak through left him breathless and his erection ached, literally ached.
He tried to stop, murmuring, “No,” “stop” or other protests but he continued to suck, his free hands moving to the small of his back again, fingers running over exposed skin.
His arm was aching in protest, getting much too tired from holding itself up in the awkward position, he lowered it slightly and as if he knew what was happening the sucking abruptly stopped, he ran his tongue over his fingers a few more times and finally released him, wiping his dripping fingers on his shirt, cleaning them with expert care.
He felt something stir in his chest at the gesture, at taking the time to wipe someone’s fingers on your own shirt. He kissed his hand and laid his arm back down on the bed. He felt him shift, the pressure on his torso had let up.
He was somewhat coherent again and turned his head, trying to get a look at him. He had scooted to the side of the bed and was running a shaky hand through his hair. He apparently felt his eyes on him and he turned to look at him. They took each other in. Eames’ cheeks looked flushed and he was sweating as well, his brow glistening, his breathing labored.
Arthur shifted a bit, all blood had seemed to pool around his groin and it still ached horribly.
He must have looked confused because Eames regarded him with a face that he hadn’t seen before.
“I'm finished with you.”
Now Arthur really was confused. Elation should have came to his mind first but his head was full of sex, his muscles still felt so fluid, almost trembling with the faint remembrance of his touch and his god damn hard on would not go down.
“What?” he managed to whisper out.
Eames held his gaze for a long moment.
“I’m having second thoughts about this, call it guilt, a conscious what have you,” he clasped his hands between his legs and looked away from him to the window.
* * *
Eames refused to turn around, keeping his back turned, eyes trained to the window. He sat perched at the edge of the bed.
"My pants are off and I just fucked your mouth with my fingers."
He saw his back and the back of his neck tense ever so slightly at his statement. He had known him long enough to know that his words had gotten to him.
"Yeah, you're free to go."
Arthur didn't like this, talking to him like this like he was confessing his sins to a priest in a confessional, not able to see his face. He wanted him to at least look at him.
He berated himself for caring, for giving a damn.
His body still felt too good to move so he decided to curb his boredom by talking to him, getting it out of him why he had stopped. He cut him to the quick before he could.
"Do you remember the first time?"
His question shocked him a little, coming completely out of nowhere-the whole situation in a nutshell.
"That was a really long time ago..."
He remembered.
"I didn't ask when it happened I asked if you remembered."
"Yeah."
"And the second time?"
He winced at that.
"Yes," weaker now, feeling the churns of guilt and other things worm its way into his system, bringing things to the surface.
He really didn't want to have this conversation. Eames apparently didn’t get the response or answer he was looking for and he finally looked over his shoulder at him giving him a curious and open look.
"Well?"
He glared at him.
"What do you want me to say? It was a long time ago." He knew his reasoning wasn't sound. He never had a good excuse when it came to Eames.
The first time they kissed he had been ridiculously drunk on sake.
He didn't remember much, just the taste of sake still thick on their tongues. He didn't think it lasted long; he never had the nerve to ask him.
The second time....Arthur internally groaned.
It was worse. It was more of a makeout session; partially his fault and he remembered it a lot better.
They were in Prague; again they both were almost totally smashed, walking the streets. He remembered wanting to see the fountains, grabbing his hand for some reason, to tell him to stop. He took his hands in his and wrapped them around his neck smiling and then their lips were dissolving into each other, Arthur reciprocating right in front of the fountain like some god damn cheesy romance. Luckily, thankfully it did not go further, both passed out in their respective hotel rooms about an hour later.
They both didn't speak of it the next day nor ever until this night but the flashes of knowing in his eyes at times was unmistakable.
That was four years ago at least.
"We've always...Everything has always been wrong between you and I. We always start off...just wrong," he was struggling for his words which was odd for him. He was usually such an eloquent speaker.
He let him collect his thoughts even though he really didn't like where this conversation was headed, hadn't liked it for a while. He definitely felt like he was in a confessional.
He exhaled deeply, looking lost in thought, his fingers twisted together in his lap.
"Why is that? We're always going in circles it seems like. It's just...wrong," he repeated like it was significant.
"You just gave me the most vicious proposition saying you would jeopardize the Fischer job and Cobb returning home if I didn't sleep with you. I think that definitely qualifies as 'wrong', yes," he chuckled a little, their whole "relationship" was definitely insane.
He saw a little smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth, he knew that smirk too well.
"But you liked it," a statement not a question, he eyed him.
Arthur knew he couldn't lie, Eames would see right through it. He made those sounds when he was massaging him, sucking him.
He felt a surge of heat ripple through his body at the remembrance.
"It wasn't completely horrible."
Eames played with his sock, rubbing his calloused fingers over his ankle affectionately. Arthur tried to shake him off but it was a weak attempt, Eames just smiled.
"You know. It would be 'not completely horrible’ all the time. I would make you feel fantastic, the best you ever felt. I would treat you so well," he seemed to be saying it to himself, his voice was low and husky.
He was massaging his ankle now as if to drive home the point. Arthur relaxed into the bed without even thinking.
"Eames..."
"Like I said, even though you won't admit it, we've been dancing around this for so long, darling," he circled his thumb into his ankle bone making him melt.
The massaging was pushing out coherent thoughts.
"You say you want to treat me well then why force me..."
"I'm sorry, I just," he interrupted, cutting him off.
"This job I guess it got me thinking. It’s completely insane and dangerous. I feel we're in a little over our heads regardless of how prepared we are and...well you've always shot down my advances. I guess I just needed to have you once before this job."
This was a very heavy statement from the other man, he had never admitted to being scared before.
He was twisting and massaging his ankle harder, having removed his shoe in the process, somewhere along the way.
"Eames..." he had no idea what he wanted to say, his statement shocking him.
"There are other ways..."
Eames laughed, taking his other shoe off while maintaining his grip around his other ankle.
"Love, believe me I've tried everything. If I knew massaging was the key I would have done it when I met you eight years ago," he laughed continuing to massage.
He tried to take himself back, back to when they first met. It was hard to remember but he did remember his many failed attempts at flirting, at everything. He had almost gotten used to it, almost.
"This isn't just about sex," he knew it was true after he spoke it.
Eames shook his head, concentrating hard; he had taken off his sock now and was massaging his one foot.
God, it felt effing good.
He tried hard to suppress the noises of pleasure that were coming out of his mouth.
Why was he doing this? Having this confessional, this heart to heart with him now of all times when they had three hours before the Fischer job?
Both his socks were off, he was running his hands all over his bare feet.
"My feet are ugly," his face beat red at the stupid statement, again he blamed it on how relaxed he felt.
He felt a kiss being planted on each one.
"I love your little hobbit feet, crooked, hairy , bent toes and all."
"Shut up."
"Do you want me to stop?" the twisting and delicious digging stopped abruptly.
"No," he said much too quickly, face beating redder.
He could swear he could feel that smile again, he returned it.
"I'll do this for you as long as you want, darling. Anything for you."
He felt something stir in his chest at that, harder to ignore this time, his smile widened despite himself.
"I really effing hate you."
"I know darling, I know."
* * *