[AU] One For the Money
Title: One For the Money
Words: ~8900
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Eames runs a porn studio, and has a very inconvenient crush on their newest bottom.
Warnings: Age disparity (21/36), [fake] underage, zero knowledge of how the film/porn industry works.
Author's Note: Based on this prompt over at the kink meme. Cleaned up and reposted. :)
Eames' first thought about Arthur is that he is twink personified. In fact, he's just set the new standard for twinks by which Eames will judge all other twinks to come. He's perfect, and that's with his clothes still on.
"You're Arthur?" he says.
"You're late," says Arthur.
"Right," says Eames, still distracted, "sorry. Right this way, please."
Arthur obligingly picks up his bag and follows Eames into his modest little office. Even the way he crosses the room and takes a seat is graceful. Eames' gaze tracks the smooth lines of his body.
"First things first," says Arthur, before Eames can even ask a question. "I haven't done this before. I -- I actually don't even have experience in film or acting."
Eames waves a hand. "Not to worry. Doesn't take a lot of acting to suck cock while being fucked from behind, as you can imagine."
He means to jar Arthur, remind him where he is and the exact nature of the films Eames produces. Arthur doesn't so much as flinch.
Intrigued now, Eames asks, "What brings you to the porn industry, then?"
"Student debts," says Arthur. "The salary you mentioned in the job posting was a lot more than I could make waiting tables."
"Are you a bottom?" Eames asks.
"Switch."
"You'd make a better bottom on camera." He can already picture Arthur, slutty on his knees with his legs spread, and it's a delectable image. Arthur simply raises and drops a shoulder in an impassive shrug. "Are you clean?"
Arthur nods and produces papers out of his bag, which he hands across the desk to Eames. He is indeed clean.
"Lovely," says Eames, handing them back. "I suppose that's about it. Do you have any questions for me?"
"That's it?" Arthur asks dubiously, eyebrows furrowed like he's offended at not having been examined more closely.
"There's just the trifling matter of you taking your clothes off for me," says Eames. "If you'd be so kind."
Again, he expects the boy to baulk; he just seems the type. But there's nothing hesitant about the way Arthur stands and starts stripping off, starting with his shirt. Eames watches as each article of clothing is carefully folded and set on the chair, and then Arthur is standing there, naked and not the least bit self-conscious, and Eames feels the sudden urge to grip the base of his own cock tightly. Arthur in all his glory is a thing of beauty, quite possibly God's gift to humanity. He's near hairless except for the soft thatch of hair above his cock, and even that is trimmed neatly. Eames wonders if he specifically prepared himself for the interview that way, or if that's just his personal preference. He somehow suspects it's the latter.
And Arthur's cock is perfect. Long and not too thick, flushed the slightest bit pink. Eames has had a lot of hopefuls traipse through this office, and never has he wanted so desperately to drop to his knees and wrap his mouth around an interviewee's dick before.
He clears his throat and gestures for Arthur to turn in a circle, which Arthur does. No tattoos, no blemishes; his shoulderblades are positively lickable and so, Eames notes now, is his washboard-flat, lean abdomen. He's not hugely defined, but there's not an ounce of superfluous flesh on him.
Eames is seized by a crazy urge to grab Arthur right there, to press kisses to every inch of his perfect body and rim him within an inch of an orgasm.
Evidently satisfied with Eames' expression, Arthur turns back to the chair and starts pulling his clothes back on.
"I don't do bareback," he says, "but I'll swallow if you can prove the guy's clean. I can start work tomorrow."
Eames raises his eyebrows. "What makes you so confident you've got the job?"
Arthur glances at him. "Mr. Eames, you've done nothing but ogle me since I stepped through the door."
That is perfectly true, so Eames clears his throat again. "Right," he says, once Arthur is standing fully clothed before him once more. "Expect a call from us."
"Nice meeting you in person," Arthur says, and extends a hand, which Eames shakes over the desk. God, even Arthur's hands are soft and firm.
He sits in his office for several minutes after Arthur is gone. Then, decisively, he cancels the next interview and retires to the bathroom for a long jerk-off session, wondering how soon he can call Arthur without seeming too eager.
+"We'll ease you in gently, Arthur," Eames promises. "This scene's very straightforward."
Arthur raises a dubious eyebrow. He's on the set wearing a houserobe and a pair of boxers underneath and Eames cannot stop thinking about how almost-naked he is under that robe and how badly he wants to tear that robe right off.
"Is there any gentle way to be eased into porn?" Arthur says.
"All I mean is, we'll hold off the double penetration for another day."
Arthur's brow furrows like he can't tell whether Eames is joking or not; but then he's called onto the set, where he shrugs off the robe easily. Again, Eames somehow expects him to hesitate, considering he's in a room packed with bright lights and people, but he doesn't.
This particular film is about a straight, manly jock (co-star Brendan) who is tempted into some decidedly not-straight acts by his slutty fey roommate (Arthur). In this scene, Arthur is sprawled deliciously over their couch, jerking off by himself, which is when Brendan stumbles in on him and is (naturally) invited to join in, which leads to a blowjob (obviously) and then sex (of course).
And so this first take, which is just Arthur on the couch, is mostly for the camera and lighting to get themselves set up just right. Eames doesn't always watch the shoots, because, as the owner and executive producer of their little studio, he doesn't technically have to be there, but he made a point of coming down to see how Arthur does. Cobb, the director, who is possibly the straightest man Eames has ever met, double-checks that everything's good to go and then calls action.
Arthur doesn't flinch under all the lights, the attention in the room suddenly hyperfocused on him. "Just act natural," Eames had told him, and he does. With every camera trained on him, Arthur slips a hand easily into his boxers and pushes them down just far enough to expose himself. Then he starts jerking off, slowly at first. His eyelids flutter shut, and Eames is acutely aware of his own body temperature ratcheting up several degrees.
There's nothing stilted or forced about the way Arthur touches himself, or the noises he makes. God, he's just really enjoying it, like he's all alone in the world with no audience to distract him. A wet bead of precome appears at the tip of his cock and he uses his thumb to smooth it over the head, parting his lips to let a low moan escape. His cheeks are flushed a beautiful pink and Eames has to surreptitiously adjust his trousers because he wants nothing more in the entire world than to replace Arthur's hand with his mouth right then.
There's something terribly arousing to be found in Arthur's utter lack of self-consciousness, and Eames figures the crew knows it, because they let him go on for a long time before Cobb wraps that take up. Then it's time to review the footage, gather which camera angles are best, and Arthur impassively shrugs the houserobe back on.
"Arthur," says Eames, very seriously, approaching him, "I think you were born to do this."
Again, Arthur can't seem to decide whether this is a joke or not, so he simply frowns, turns away and says nothing.
+"I'm not kidding, Eames," Cobb says. "You may have found us the next Brent Corrigan."
Eames makes a noncommittal sound. The camera loves Arthur. And so do the producers, and Cobb, and frankly, his co-stars. This movie was supposed to be just Brendan and Arthur, but after it wrapped up and Cobb had reviewed the footage, he demanded a few more scenes. The film now features bicurious jock, slutty fey roommate, and bicurious jock's two jock friends, who walk in on the former two engaged in a compromising position, and decide they want in (of course they do). Cobb and Eames are standing off to the side of the set now, watching the scene, while Arthur is putting the slut back in slutty fey roommate.
"Speaking of Brent Corrigan," Cobb goes on, seemingly to himself, "Arthur might want to consider a stage name."
That brings Eames back to himself, his gaze finally snapping away from the set. "What's wrong with 'Arthur'?"
"It's not exactly glamorous, is it?"
"I like it," says Eames. "There's a certain naiveté to it."
"There's not a whole lot naive about that," says Cobb dryly, gesturing to the set where Arthur is on his knees, thighs spread, sucking off two of the jocks at once, alternating back and forth or taking both in his mouth at once when he can. The third jock sprawls on the couch, watching and jerking himself off.
"That's why I like it," says Eames stubbornly.
Despite Eames' promise, they haven't exactly done their best to ease Arthur in gently. And yet he's taken everything they've thrown at him in his stride, not blushing or faltering. If he didn't look about eighteen, one might think he'd been doing this for years. His only hard limit is barebacking, but thus far he's been game for everything else they've suggested. As they watch, the third jock gets up, having rolled on a condom tossed to him while the cameras were facing elsewhere. Arthur obligingly gets onto his hands and knees without missing a beat, and the cameras close in for a shot of the third boy's sheathed cock nudging up against Arthur's already-slick hole and then sliding in, stretching him open. Arthur takes this with no more than a hot, breathy moan around the cock in his mouth.
Eames has seen and done a lot of porn in his time. He'd thought he was immune to all this. But right now, he's so jealous of those other actors he could cry at the injustice of it.
"Seriously," Cobb is saying, virtually white noise to Eames' ears. "I think he'll be to bottoming what you were to topping."
That stirs Eames again, briefly. "Imagine the response if you put me in a film with him," he says, only slightly joking. Cobb laughs, causing Eames to deflate.
"I thought you'd had enough of seeing your junk on the big screen," he says.
"Still, I'm not that old."
"Eames, face it," says Cobb. "Next to you, he looks like jailbait. That's not exactly the kind of movies we're making here. Okay, guys," he barks, striding onto the set now, "let's wrap here for the day and we'll pick it up again tomorrow ..."
Eames doesn't even hang around to talk to Arthur after each scene anymore. He just goes straight to his office, where he can lock the doors and jerk off in peace, imagining Arthur's face while he's being fucked all the while.
+Eames has made a point of avoiding the set lately, at least when Arthur is filming. Eventually, though, Cobb orders him down there.
"Why me?" Eames asks.
"Because you've developed more of a rapport with him," says Cobb, which makes Eames scoff incredulously. 'Rapport' in this instance refers to Eames' initial few awkward attempts at making conversation when Arthur was coming off the set, sweaty and fucked-out, and Arthur looking at him like he couldn't possibly be serious.
He knows what Cobb isn't saying, though. He and Arthur are both gay and both are (or were) in porn, so they must be able to relate to one another. Eames has his doubts, but he knows he'll at least get further than Cobb will, and that's how he ends up leaving the relative security of his office and venturing out to the set when he knows Arthur is in the middle of a photoshoot.
He watches for awhile, feeling the saliva steadily drain from his mouth until his throat feels like the Sahara. The kid is photogenic as fuck, and flexible.
There's a few shots of him and Brendan, his main co-star so far, and as Eames watches, Brendan dips his head and says something in Arthur's ear that makes him laugh. He laughs. With his dimples and everything. The flash and snck of a shutter closing preserve the proof forever.
Suddenly, irrationally, Eames is overcome with an intense feeling of envy. Arthur never laughs at anything he says, even when he is joking. What's so great about Brendan, anyway? Eames has half an inch on him, at least.
The photographer wraps it up and Arthur lingers to chat with Brendan while he pulls on his houserobe. Eames can only stand this for several seconds or so before he clears his throat and calls, "Arthur."
Arthur turns his head. He looks somewhat surprised to see Eames standing there in the open, and not hiding out in his office or lurking in the shadows behind the cameras like a creeper. He walks over, taking sips from a bottle of water.
"What is it?"
"I was wondering if you'd join me for dinner tonight," Eames says, wishing the photographer wasn't standing so close.
Arthur's eyes narrow slightly. He appears to be thinking rapidly.
"Sorry, Mr. Eames," he says flatly. "I don't mix business with pleasure."
This seems hypocritical, given that Arthur is in the business of pleasure, and Eames could say that, but he doesn't. Instead he draws himself up, offended, and says in his sharpest I'm your boss so smarten the fuck up voice, "Actually, this is business."
"Oh." Arthur has enough grace to look abashed, at least. "Of -- of course I will. Join you."
"Good," says Eames, satisfied. "I'll pick you up at eight."
He does, driving his BMW, just because. Arthur gets in very carefully, almost like he's afraid he'll mar the pristine leather. He's dressed nicely, a collared shirt and plain trousers, and it seems unfair to Eames that anyone can look as gorgeous as that both with and without clothing.
He feels like a schoolfriend's father driving Arthur home or something. The small talk they manage to make during the drive is awkward, mostly Eames inquiring about Arthur's studies and plans for the future and then listening to him talk about architecture and saying things like "Interesting" or "That sounds fun". Fun. As if designing hotels and office buildings can be anything but tedious hard work.
Arthur starts to look a little uncomfortable by the time they pull up outside the restaurant and Eames hands his keys over to the valet. At first Eames thinks it's him, but once they step inside and Arthur takes a dubious, slightly awed look around, Eames realizes he's just never been in a place like this before.
"Dinner's on me tonight," he says quickly.
"Thank you" is all Arthur says, but he relaxes a little bit after that. He still orders one of the cheapest things on the menu, some kind of pasta with an Italian name that rolls off his tongue fluidly, while Eames just gets a steak.
"So," Eames starts, once there's no more escaping it: they're here, they've exhausted the amount of conversation they could wring out of the menu, and they're waiting for their food. Arthur eyes him warily, like he expects to be fired. Eames clears his throat. "Cobb wanted me to discuss your career with you."
Arthur's brow furrows. "My career."
"In--" Eames lowers his voice, remembering where they are. "... movies."
"I don't have a career in movies," Arthur says. "I have a summer job in movies because I'm a dirt-broke student with debts."
"Well, that's the thing we have to discuss," says Eames. "Because you could. Have a career." He clears his throat again. "In movies."
"Why would I want to?"
"Arthur, you've--" It's so hard to hold his gaze. "You've really got a ... a talent, here. You shouldn't dismiss that."
"Talent," Arthur scoffs. His tone is withering. "Well, it's like you said. It doesn't take much talent to suck cock while being fucked from behind."
Eames glances around quickly, making sure nobody heard this. Then he hisses, "Acting. I said it didn't take acting, and just so you know, you're better at that than ninety-nine percent of the boys in my employ."
"Oh, great," says Arthur. "I make a good prostitute. Just what I've always dreamed of being told."
"This isn't prostitution."
"I'm being paid for getting fucked, you tell me how that isn't prostitution." There's a barely-controlled undercurrent of anger rippling through the words. "I'm fully aware of how far I've fallen, Mr. Eames, there's no need to placate me by telling me I'm good at it."
Eames huffs his breath out. So that's it. Arthur won't give him the time of day because Arthur disdains him. He takes a minute to absorb this, consider how to respond. Then he sits back.
"Fine," he says. "If acting in adult films is so beneath you. Find a new job, Arthur. I'm sure you'll be as good at brewing lattes as you are at spreading your legs."
It's a low blow, a mean blow, and Eames can almost physically see it land; because it's true. Arthur is a perfect little cockslut on camera.
Arthur winces. Eames pretends to start pushing his chair out to get up, and Arthur says quickly, softly, "--No. I'm sorry. I was ... I was out of line. I appreciate this job, really, I do," and he looks so earnest that Eames only leaves him hanging for a moment before he settles slowly back into his chair. Arthur exhales, relieved.
"I'm sorry," he says again. "It's just ... not what I ever pictured myself doing."
"Then I'm sorry, too," Eames says. "But just so you know, some of us find it a perfectable enjoyable profession."
The corner of Arthur's lip ticks up in a smile. Just a little one, but Eames counts it as a victory.
Their food arrives then, and the conversation is suspended for awhile. Eames waits until they're both nearly done eating before he goes on.
"We all like you, Arthur," he says, "you're doing great. But I'll get to the point of this evening. There's a role Cobb thinks you'd be perfect for. It's a sort of high school romance thing, and we don't have many actors who could legitimately pass for a high school student."
Arthur makes a face, but nods.
"The only thing is that it calls for barebacking."
"No," says Arthur promptly.
"Arthur," says Eames patiently. "I'll give you the script. It's a pretty nice story. But basically, the two characters have sex, and it's a big emotional thing because they're both virgins--"
"I said no. I told you from the start I wouldn't do barebacking."
"Arthur," Eames says again. "I promise you your partner will be clean."
"I don't care," says Arthur stubbornly.
"You already--" Again Eames has to lower his voice. "You already swallow, what's the difference?"
Arthur clenches his jaw.
"It's not that bad," Eames tries to persuade him. "The scene's crucial to this story, though, and Cobb really wants you for it. We all do. It could be--" He cuts himself off, reminding himself that Arthur probably has no interest in a breakout role. "It could be big. You could work with Brendan," he adds, biting back his resentment, when he sees that Arthur isn't going to budge. Cobb had told him to use any means necessary to secure Arthur for the role.
"I don't care," Arthur repeats.
Eames shuts his mouth. There's nothing he can say that will convince Arthur to do it, he can tell, and he doesn't much feel like pressuring him into doing something he's not comfortable with.
They finish their meal in relative silence. Neither of them order dessert, and Eames drives Arthur home.
"Thanks for dinner," Arthur says, when they're parked outside his apartment building. He's looking at the gear shift, not at Eames.
"Arthur," Eames says suddenly. "Would you consider a barebacking scene if it were with me?"
He's not sure what compels him to say it. Cobb is right, after all, Eames is done with this scene. He has been for a long time. He's perfectly content in his retirement, never lusting after the work he used to do. He had a good career and he's earned his break. And it's not as though he'd be of any use for the film Cobb wants Arthur to do, considering that where Arthur is twenty-one and can pass for a sixteen-year-old, Eames has fifteen years on him and definitely can't.
But Arthur's eyes flicker to him, guarded. His hand is resting on the door handle, but he hesitates.
"Are you ..."
"Clean? Yes. I have papers," Eames says quickly. Arthur sits there, thinking, his hand still on the door. Eames barely dares to breathe, like he's a skittish horse.
"I'll consider it," Arthur says finally, in a quiet voice. He opens the door. "See you tomorrow, Mr. Eames."
He leaves, the door clicking shut behind him. Eames could jump up and down for joy.
+Arthur calls the next morning, before Eames leaves for the studio, and says he'll do the movie.
Cobb shakes his head disbelievingly when Eames tells him. "How much did you have to offer him to do it?"
"Hey," Eames says, mock-offended. "As if you wouldn't jump at the chance to have sex with me on camera."
Cobb waves his wedding ring very pointedly.
"Alright, not you," Eames accedes. He pauses, and preens. "Arthur must like me."
"Uh-huh," says Cobb. "Well, whatever his reasons, he's fucking up my movie. I'm pretty sure you won't pass for a sixteen-year-old."
"Just do a quickie rewrite," says Eames. "Say I'm his sexy teacher. And," he says, mind already working, "he's almost failing because he's helplessly infatuated with me, and I put him in remedial to get his grades up and then--"
"Jesus," Cobb says, rolling his eyes, "what are we writing here, bad porn?" But he's reaching for his cell phone and shooing Eames away, so Eames figures it's a go and leaves.
Eames has fucked a lot of bottoms in his time. Never has he been so stupidly excited about it, though. He can't wait to have Arthur, to hold him down, pretend to take him through his first ever sexual act--
Arthur is waiting in his office when he gets there. Eames blinks and shuts the door.
"Arthur. How can I help you?"
Arthur fidgets, and says, "You said you had papers."
It takes Eames a moment to remember what he's talking about. He pulls open a drawer in his desk and rummages through a file folder until he finds the most recent of the lot, then hands it over. Arthur checks it swiftly.
"Cobb's hammering out the story now," Eames says. "You're sure you wouldn't rather work with Brendan?"
He says it because he wants to hear Arthur say no again, but for a second he's afraid Arthur will have changed his mind. To his relief, however, Arthur shakes his head firmly. He slides the test results back over the desk, and Eames supposes that means he checks out.
"Arthur," he says, refiling them. "I'm flattered."
Arthur's lips thin.
"I'm not doing this because -- well, yes, because it is you," he says tersely. Before Eames' ego can inflate any more, however, he continues, "I'm doing this because any movie starring you is bound to bring in a lot of money. Maybe enough that I can stop after this film."
It's a blow that sends Eames crashing back down to earth.
"Oh," he says. "I mean, of course."
Arthur nods, his hands knotting. "So I guess I'll see you later."
"Right. We'll send you the script soon."
Arthur nods, gets up, and leaves. Sighing, Eames props open his laptop and logs onto Twitter. His fans will want to hear the good news.
+Cobb complains endlessly about how Eames has screwed everything up. This was supposed to be a nice love story, and now Eames has turned it into his own perverted jailbait fantasy, and everything will be twisted and weird, and et cetera et cetera.
Then the day comes when they finally shoot the first scene.
It's been a few weeks since he last saw Arthur, and Eames finds that his schoolgirl crush has not diminished in the least. If anything, he wants Arthur even more now that he knows that, any day now, they're going to abandon the script and the dialogue and the formalities and just fuck for the camera. He used to meet his prospective costars with a cordial handshake, no more emotionally attached to them than to any of the crew on the set. With Arthur, he goes through his lines thinking wildly, I'm going to fuck you, and I can't wait.
And Arthur, who thus far has played the prettiest of cocksluts and yet retained a confidence that defies shame or boundaries, all at once becomes the character he's playing beautifully. Where there was confidence, there is now a shyness that speaks volumes about his experience in matters of the heart. Where there was a shameless coquettishness, there is an adorable hesitance about him.
When they end the scene and Cobb says cut, the whole crew is silent for a moment.
"What?" Eames demands peevishly, when he stalks up to Cobb. "If you try and tell me I've lost it and I'm too old for this--"
"Jesus, Eames," says Cobb. "You could cut the sexual tension between you two with a knife. Whatever you're doing, keep doing it."
+"I'm in love with you," Arthur is saying, staring Eames in the eye.
As they go along, Eames has come to like this story more and more. The thing about Eames is that he's not just a porn star; he's an actor. He's always taken his career quite seriously, which was part of the reason for his success. That's why he likes movies like this, ones with an actual plot. He doesn't have to just show up and fuck. He can bring intensity and passion to the role.
Arthur says, "I'm in love with you," and Eames injects as much passion as he possibly can into the kiss he pulls Arthur into.
Arthur kisses back just as hungrily, desperately, his fingertips digging into Eames' shirt. Then he's tugging, pulling at it, working the shirt over Eames' head, and Eames casts it aside and grabs Arthur up again, fastening their mouths back together. Arthur moans.
This is the point where Cobb cockblocked them yesterday. After the footage was reviewed, it was found that for some reason the sound was lost from the last quarter or so of the scene they'd shot, and so they're redoing it today and then finally, finally, the moment Eames has been dreaming of since he first laid eyes on Arthur: He pulls Arthur into the flat his character owns, and lays him down on the nearest couch. Stretched out passively like that, his lips bitten and shiny, Arthur looks painfully young. Eames wants to devour him.
The cameras disappear, the lights, the boom, everything. He locks onto Arthur, perches on the edge of the couch and peels Arthur's shirt off. Arthur just watches, now looking a mix of half anticipatory and half wary, when Eames' hands trail lower and start unfastening his jeans.
"Have you ever done this with anyone?" Eames murmurs.
Arthur shakes his head jerkily. "No."
He arches his back so that Eames can slide his jeans down, first to his knees and then all the way, pulling them off with his socks and shoes in a move he actually manages to make look smooth. Arthur shivers, laid bare. He's completely hard. He makes such a pretty sixteen-year-old virgin.
"Nobody's ever seen you like this?" Eames asks softly.
"No."
He kneels between Arthur's thighs, trails a hand down Arthur's smooth torso, then rakes his fingernails through coarse, trimmed hair and wraps his hand around Arthur's cock. "Nobody's ever touched you like this?"
Arthur arches helplessly into his touch, breath hitching. "No."
Eames is no stranger to the sight of Arthur naked, but it's as though he's seeing him for the first time. He's beautiful, long and lean and flushed prettily down his neck, his skin milky and unblemished. Eames leans down and licks a long stripe up the inside of Arthur's thigh, breathing hot over it, then wraps his lips around the crown of Arthur's cock and swallows him down.
He's deviating from the script, but Cobb knows better than to hinder Eames' improv. Arthur deviates, too, choking out an "Oh God" that can't be anything less than a hundred percent authentic. He writhes, and Eames delights in this reaction that isn't scripted or manufactured. Not that anything coming from Arthur seems forced.
He pulls off. Already Arthur's gasping.
"Alright?" Eames murmurs, touching his face with one hand while fumbling for the lube stowed conveniently in his back pocket. It's in-character, but he's not just asking sixteen-year-old high school student Corey who's in love with his history teacher Mr. Pierce; he's asking Arthur, here with him right now in this moment, telling him they can stop if they need to.
"Yeah, I'm good," Arthur breathes. Then he seems to collect himself, remember where he is and what he's doing. He opens his eyes, looks up at Eames under his eyelashes and says, "Fuck me."
Eames is already rubbing himself through his trousers. Hastily he unbuckles them one-handed and peels them off. Now there's nothing left between them. He spares a moment to think how strange it is that it doesn't feel strange to be naked in front of a room full of people and cameras, but more like coming home.
And yet there's nobody, just him and Arthur, there on the couch together. Arthur slings an arm up over his head, stretching himself out, and watches Eames from under hooded lids.
It would take superhuman will to resist him. Eames slicks his cock up quickly, deftly. Funny, again, how his brain slots so easily back into this mindset, and normally he'd be so conscious of camera angles that it would be almost enough to kill the mood, but not now. Not with Arthur. He lifts one of Arthur's legs and circles a wet finger around his hole, just breaching it.
"Ready?"
"Yeah. Yeah," Arthur pants, squirming against his finger. Eames slides a second in.
"You sure?"
"Please fuck me," Arthur says unsteadily.
Eames pulls his fingers out. Then he's lining himself up, pushing himself in, and there's nothing between them, nothing but hot, silky flesh, the tight cling of Arthur's muscles as he gives way to Eames.
"Oh God," Arthur chokes again, clamping his eyes shut and screwing his fingers into his own hair, again so authentic that a hot throb of arousal pulses through Eames. He rolls his hips smoothly, sheathing himself inside Arthur -- and this, here, is what coming home feels like.
"Look at me," he breathes, starting to pick up a rhythm, rolling in all the way and then sliding back a bit. He wants to feel like this forever, encased in the snug heat of Arthur.
"Hey," he says, stroking Arthur's face with his thumb. "Open your eyes. Look at me."
Arthur forces his eyes open and looks up, dazedly.
"Shit," he manages in a strangled voice. And then he comes all over his stomach.
Eames stops, bemused.
"Cut!" Cobb barks, behind the lights somewhere, and Eames becomes conscious of the crew again, moving around and talking like they've just come back to life. He looks down at Arthur, who no longer has a hand knotted in his hair but has slid it down over his eyes. Arthur -- who didn't blush once when Eames told him to take his clothes off in the interview or when he had to get naked for the cameras for the first time -- who now has bright red cheeks.
"Sorry," he chokes out.
Eames pulls out reluctantly and takes the houserobe handed to him while offering Arthur a handtowel. Arthur mops himself up, still blushing furiously.
"Sorry," he says again, quieter, like it's only meant for Eames.
"Happens all the time, love," Eames says graciously, feeling considerably cheated.
"What the hell, Arthur?" Cobb demands, stomping onto the set. Arthur straightens up, pulling on a terrycloth robe of his own.
"I'll be good to go in a few," he says.
"Alright, good. Setbacks cost us money. And remember who you're playing."
"I'd call that pretty typical of a sixteen-year-old, actually," Eames says, causing Arthur's ears to flush pink as well.
"I'm not--" he starts, but Cobb cuts him off.
"He's a virgin. We don't want a hair trigger, we want him to gradually get off on this until he has the best orgasm of his entire life. Not," he says, turning to Arthur, "coming right off the bat and then just riding it out till Eames is done."
"I know," Arthur says defensively. "I'll get it together, alright?"
"Fine. Good," Cobb says again.
It takes a little while, but Arthur's soon got it up again. Then they're back on the couch, Arthur on his back and Eames between his legs, fucking into him like a goddamn machine (he definitely hasn't lost it), and Arthur is groaning and squirming around.
"You like that?" Eames pants over his face. "You like how it feels to be stretched around my cock? You want me to come inside you, fill you up, leave you wet and leaking--"
"Fuck," Arthur sobs, gripping himself, but he's already spilling through his fingers.
"Cut!"
Arthur lets his head drop back and hit the armrest of the couch with a thump, burying his face in his other hand again.
All in all, it's one of Eames' stranger shoots. They wrap up there with the intention of picking it up from the same spot tomorrow, and Eames pulls his clothes on with an uncomfortable case of blue balls. Nobody leaves the set faster than Arthur.
+Eames is lounging around the house, watching one of his movies, when Arthur turns up on his doorstep.
"Hey," he says, awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand.
"Arthur!" Eames opens the door wider. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I was in the neighbourhood," says Arthur. Since Eames knows he doesn't own a car, this is a blatant lie and they both know it. Arthur fidgets. "Can I come in?"
Eames holds the door open for him to slip in, then leads him to the den. He gestures briskly at the TV screen when his own face appears, suddenly embarrassed and worried Arthur thinks him an egotist.
"One of my few non-porn roles," he says. "I don't make a habit of watching all my old films, this one just happened to be on TV ..."
Arthur nods, and sits down on the leather couch. Eames joins him. Since Arthur makes no move to speak, they end up watching the movie for awhile.
"You were young," Arthur offers, when the ads come on. Eames mutes them.
"Twenty-seven," he says. "Almost ten years ago now." Has it really been that long? He feels old, suddenly, especially next to Arthur, with his youthful vibrance.
"How old were you when you got into ...?"
"Porn? Nineteen. Just a couple years younger than you," says Eames. "Came over from England with big dreams of acting and ended up with a shithead boyfriend and a drug habit."
"Oh," says Arthur quietly.
Eames can't remember the last time he told anyone about this, but he finds that now he's started, he can't stop. "I started sucking cock on camera to fund the drugs, and sometimes off camera to make my way up. Ended up in a long series of terrible relationships. I tried straight porn for a bit, but there's more money for men in gay porn, so I went right back to it and started bottoming. I only really became successful when I cleaned up, bulked out and started topping."
There's more he could say, about the dozens of times he's been screwed over and how he was pressured into a lot of unsafe situations and ended up with a few (non-serious) diseases and about the time he spent four days completely strung out on meth and still shot four scenes, and how when he watches them now he can't even remember being there. But it exhausts him just to think about.
"I didn't know," says Arthur.
"There's a lot of assholes in our industry, Arthur, a lot of people who'll take advantage of you. You're lucky, you're smarter than I was."
Arthur hunches down a little, and says, "I thought... I've seen the way you look at me. When you asked me to dinner, I thought maybe you wanted some kind of sexual favour."
Eames snorts, but not unkindly. "Anywhere else, you'd probably be right."
"Is that why you stopped?" Arthur asks.
"Yeah. Got burnt out. It got fun for awhile there, but it also got very ... lonely."
The movie's back on. Eames doesn't unmute the TV. They both watch the soundless screen for a minute; then Arthur takes a deep breath.
"I've watched all your movies," he says, almost shyly.
Eames turns his head, interested. "Have you now?"
Arthur nods. "I have this one on DVD, I've seen it eight times. And I've watched all your ... other stuff." His tone turns almost resentful. "I've been getting off to you since I was fourteen. If I have a hair trigger when it comes to you, I can't be blamed."
Eames laughs. He can't help it. He likes Arthur, he's liked Arthur since he met him, but never has he felt so overwhelmingly fond of the boy. He wants to grab him up and kiss him silly.
"Don't laugh," says Arthur defensively.
"I'm not laughing at you," says Eames. "I thought you disdained the adult film industry, that's all. And here you are telling me you're one of my biggest fans."
Arthur looks chagrined.
"Sorry," he says, and this time Eames knows he means it. "I don't look down on you, really I don't -- you or any of the guys. I'm just--" He struggles briefly for words, and looks at Eames hopelessly. "I'm supposed to be an architect. It's what I've known I want to do since I was fifteen. But now my parents can't afford to help me pay for my schooling at all, and I don't know how I'm going to get through this last year. I'm worried the school won't even let me back in if I don't pay off my debts soon. Even if we do this movie, Eames, and it brings in lots of money, I don't know that it'll be enough."
He looks down at his hands, clasped in his lap, and exhales slowly.
"So I'm just scared," he finishes quietly. "I'm scared this really will end up being my career. That's why I was kind of bitchy when you were talking about it to me. You were just telling me something I didn't want to hear."
"Oh, Arthur," Eames murmurs softly. He wants very badly to stroke the boy's hair.
"Anyway," Arthur says glumly, "getting money from this movie is looking like a moot point anyway. Today was just the first sex scene, and I can't even last five seconds without coming all over myself like a teenager."
He looks so miserable that now Eames just wants to hug him. "Arthur," he says instead. "I'm surprised at you."
"What?"
"We're actors," says Eames, drawing himself up self-importantly. "And what do actors do before a difficult scene?"
Arthur's brow knits slightly.
"We rehearse." Eames gets up, pulling him by the hand off the couch. "What d'you say?"
Arthur blinks. Then, slowly, a grin makes its way across his face.
"That might be helpful," he says.
+When they make it to Eames' room, Arthur gives a breathless little laugh.
"What?" Eames asks.
"I'm in your room," Arthur says, looking around, and Eames can't be sure if he's imagining the hint of awe. Then Arthur grins again, like the little minx he is. "Do you have a waterbed?"
Eames snorts. Then he lightly scoops Arthur around the waist and drops him onto the springy -- solid -- mattress. Arthur reclines, stretching out so that his t-shirt rides up and exposes a pale strip of his abdomen, still grinning.
"Point taken," he says.
While he's still got his arms stretched over his head, Eames straddles him and pins his wrists there.
"We're supposed to be rehearsing," he chides into the soft skin of Arthur's neck, laying kisses and nips there. Immediately Arthur writhes under him.
"Oh, Mr. Pierce, fuck me hard!" he says in an exaggerated, breathy moan, addressing Eames' character. Then he dissolves into a little fit of laughter.
Eames has to join in. He's never seen this non-professional side of Arthur before. He's enchanted.
When Arthur's got his breath back, he frees his wrists and brings both hands to Eames' face, suddenly serious.
"Just fuck me," he says.
Immediately, Eames starts tearing at his clothes, fumbling to get them all out of the way so that he can get at Arthur's bare skin. Arthur works just as impatiently at Eames' clothing, and after a minute of scrabbling there's nothing between them anymore and Eames kisses him, just to taste his mouth again. He can feel Arthur's erection pressing into the curve of his hip.
He wants more than anything to get his mouth on Arthur's cock. Hastily, he slips down the bed, pressing wet kisses down Arthur's chest and stomach as he goes, and takes him into his mouth before Arthur has a chance to object.
"Hey--" Arthur props himself up on his elbows, flushed. "You're supposed to be--"
He breaks off with a groan when Eames swallows him down expertly in one quick slide, and drops bonelessly onto his back again.
"Fuck, Eames," he pants. "You're cheating."
Eames chuckles in his throat, lapping and laving and swirling his tongue and taking Arthur in again and again until Arthur makes a strangled noise and comes down his throat in hot spurts.
"Great," he says raggedly, once he's caught his breath again and Eames is kneeling astride him. "Two minutes. It's a new record."
He's being sarcastic. Eames leans down and kisses him, and thrills when Arthur doesn't flinch at the taste of himself.
"You just lie there, Arthur," he purrs. "I'll do the rest."
Arthur watches while he retrieves lube from the bedside table, and hesitates over a condom.
"Did you want to be true to the scene, or--?"
Arthur laughs again, quickly and sheepishly. "It's dumb," he says. "I just always felt like being unprotected with someone should be an important thing, an emotional thing. But it doesn't matter. I don't -- mind. With you."
Eames drops the condom back in the drawer and slides it shut.
"Right then," he says, settling over Arthur again and slicking his fingers. But Arthur grabs the lube from him before he can reach down, and starts dribbling the stuff over his own hand. Once he's motioned Eames away, he reaches down and slides two fingers into himself. His eyes flutter shut, knees falling apart to offer Eames an unimpeded view.
"Can't let you do all the work," he says, when he opens one eye.
"Arthur," says Eames, staring, "you are the sluttiest bottom I've ever met, did you know that?"
Arthur's ears flush pink. "I'm sure you've fucked sluttier."
"I've never fucked any I liked more than you," says Eames honestly.
Arthur's fingers falter where they're working inside him, and he smiles up at Eames tentatively. Eames kisses that cautious look off his face, slicking his cock, and Arthur moves his hand out of the way when the head of Eames' cock presses up against his hole. He pushes in, and Arthur's already relaxed from his orgasm, but his face tautens anyway.
"You're really big," he huffs out.
Eames keeps sliding in until his hips are resting flush against Arthur's ass. "Yeah?" he grunts. "The biggest you've ever had?"
"I'm a virgin, remember?"
"Minx." Eames kisses him again. He can't seem to get enough of kissing Arthur. Happily, Arthur doesn't seem to mind at all. Eames pulls back a bit, starting to work his hips. "I'm going to fuck you until you come again, Arthur."
Instantly Arthur groans. "Eames--"
"Yes?"
"You've made me come three times today," he says. "And I jerked myself off before we started filming, too, so I could last longer ..."
"So?" Eames kisses his eyelids, settling into a quick rhythm now. "You're young and sprightly. And we've got time."
Arthur laughs breathlessly. "Yeah? Sure you can outlast me, old man?"
Eames' voice dips into a rumble. "Arthur, I could fuck you all night long."
He punctuates this with a thrust of his hips that finds Arthur's prostate. Arthur's face goes slack with pleasure, and he starts rolling his hips adroitly into each one of Eames' thrusts.
Eames picks up the pace after that. He kisses Arthur fiercely, teeth catching on his lower lip, and fucks into him harder the more Arthur relaxes. Arthur writhes under him beautifully, teeth clenched when he thinks it's too much, and Eames can't have that.
"Hey," he says. "Let me hear you."
Arthur grunts, and unexpectedly stops moving and pushes at him. Eames slows, then stops altogether and pulls out. Arthur shoves him over quickly and straddles him.
"I told you I can't let you do all the work," he says, gripping Eames' cock between his legs and lowering himself onto the head. It's a slow slide after that, and once he's fully impaled, sitting back to take Eames as deep as possible, he sits for a moment, eyes closed, and breathes. Then he starts to lift his hips and fuck himself back onto Eames' cock.
Eames is a little in love.
He braces his heels in the mattress so that he can meet Arthur halfway, and each rough upward jolt of his hips makes Arthur's breath catch. His hands fly to Eames' chest so that he can steady himself, and Eames takes one of his hands by the wrist and raises it to his mouth. He sucks Arthur's fingers down lasciviously, lowering his eyelids, and Arthur's rhythm falters for a moment.
When Eames has wetted his hand enough, he guides it to Arthur's own prick and wraps his fingers around it. Taking his meaning, Arthur starts to jerk himself slowly. His expression is pinched and Eames knows he's sensitive, but his cock is already starting to fill again, and that thrills Eames.
"Tell me what you're thinking," he says.
"I'm thinking -- even Cobb would be happy with this," says Arthur in a strained voice.
"Don't think about Cobb." Eames has both hands at Arthur's waist now to help steady him, but he brings one to wrap around the hand Arthur is using to jerk himself off. Arthur groans through his teeth.
"I -- I think I'm actually going to come again."
With a wolfish grin, Eames bundles Arthur into his arms before he can resist and rolls, flipping him onto his back again without pulling out. Arthur yelps in surprise, and Eames is already fucking him rapidly, not missing a beat.
"Let go, Arthur," he says, finding Arthur's prostate again and thrusting into him hard, while Arthur squirms and whines under him. "I told you you could do it. Let go, come for me, Arthur ..."
"Fuck," Arthur says on a sobbing breath, coming into his hand, "fuck, fuck, Eames--"
His body is drawing tight, too sensitive, and Eames slows a little, fitting his mouth to Arthur's again to swallow every pained moan. His own climax washes over him abruptly, and he hilts himself roughly in Arthur before he's spilling into him, spending himself in the heat of Arthur. It feels incredible.
When he can see and breathe again, he finds that Arthur is panting harshly under him. Eames eases some of his weight off, and pulls out slowly. Arthur's breath hitches at the loss, and Eames slides two fingers into him, feeling the slickness of his own come.
"I should shower," Arthur says raggedly, when several minutes have passed and their breathing is starting to even out. He sounds exhausted.
"You can sleep first." Eames kisses his neck. Arthur sighs.
"Yeah," he mumbles. "Just for a bit."
Eames waits until he's drifted off before getting up. He returns with a damp washcloth, and takes his time cleaning Arthur up, tracing the smooth lines of his body. Arthur is as beautiful in sleep as he is at everything else, and Eames lies there for awhile, watching him and thinking.
+Cobb is on the warpath the next morning, but he's nowhere near as angry as Arthur is when he hears.
Eames is in his office, making a call, when Arthur storms in so forcefully that the door bangs off the wall.
"What the hell, Eames!" he shouts.
"Arthur." Eames hangs up smoothly. "Good morning. What can I do for you?"
"You can tell me why I'm jobless all of a sudden!" Arthur stomps up to the desk, shoving the phone out of the way when Eames reaches for it again. "What's wrong with you? You get me in bed and then you fire me?"
A flicker of -- something twists his expression for a moment. Pain?
"I thought you liked me," he says, quieter.
"I do," says Eames. "I like you very much, Arthur."
"Do you think I'm -- not good, or something?"
Watching him try to rationalize this is painful. Eames sighs.
"Arthur, you're amazing. You're incredible. I just don't think this industry is right for you."
"Well, it's not up to you!" Arthur barks. "I'm a grown-up, Eames, I don't need you looking out for me!"
"It's up to me as long as you work for my studio," says Eames. "I've pulled all your projects. Your paycheck's in the mail. Thank you for your hard work."
"How can you do this to me?" Arthur demands. "After I told you--" His voice breaks and lowers. "I need this money, Eames."
"I know you do," says Eames. "That's why I'll pay for all your schooling."
Arthur stiffens, surprised. He obviously wasn't expecting that.
"I don't -- I don't need your charity," he spits out. "I can work for my money--"
"Then you could be my secretary, if you'd like," Eames offers. "I'm in need of one, I'm afraid. People seem to burst into my office whenever they like, it really won't do."
"Stop -- patronizing me," Arthur says shakily. "I need real money. I need this job. You said I was good--"
"You are, Arthur," Eames says softly. "You are, that's the problem. I don't think I could stand to watch any more men that aren't me putting their hands on you."
Arthur draws himself up and blinks.
"Eames," he says.
"I'd like it very much if you were my boyfriend," says Eames. "And you could work for me and I'd pay you obscene amounts of money. Or you could work for me and not be my boyfriend and I promise I'd leave you alone and still give you all the money you need. Or you could just leave now altogether and never see my face again, if you want that. But I can't let you stay here just to be fucked on camera by other men. I can't stand it, Arthur. I'm mad about you."
Arthur's shoulders slump.
"Eames," he says again, and Eames glances up at him warily. He can sense he's about to be rejected. But then Arthur says, "You idiot," and, grabbing him by the front of his shirt, he yanks Eames out of his chair and pulls him into a biting kiss. It's angry and fierce and so hot Eames' knees almost buckle under him.
When Arthur is done, he drops Eames back into his seat, straightens up, and smooths out his shirt carefully.
"Right," he says. "Tell me more."
"About the job?" says Eames.
"I was talking about the boyfriend thing," says Arthur, the corners of his eyes creasing in a little wicked smile that hints at a dimple. "But I'd like to hear about the obscene amounts of money, too."
Eames stands up and kisses him again, just so he can ruin Arthur's ridiculously perfect hair with his fingers.
+++
Mondays are refreshing to Eames. It's Friday, the last day of each long work week, that is a drag.
Eventually, toward the tail end of this particular afternoon, he gets tired of going through all the papers Arthur told him he has to sign. He hits the button on his intercom and hears a phone being lifted in the next room.
"Yes?"
"Arthur," says Eames. "I have an important task for you."
"What is it?"
"It requires you to leave work right now," Eames says. "Then I need you to go home, strip off all your clothes, and wait in our bed for me."
"Right away, Mr. Eames," Arthur says smartly. He hangs up. Eames smiles.
Words: ~8900
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Eames runs a porn studio, and has a very inconvenient crush on their newest bottom.
Warnings: Age disparity (21/36), [fake] underage, zero knowledge of how the film/porn industry works.
Author's Note: Based on this prompt over at the kink meme. Cleaned up and reposted. :)
Eames' first thought about Arthur is that he is twink personified. In fact, he's just set the new standard for twinks by which Eames will judge all other twinks to come. He's perfect, and that's with his clothes still on.
"You're Arthur?" he says.
"You're late," says Arthur.
"Right," says Eames, still distracted, "sorry. Right this way, please."
Arthur obligingly picks up his bag and follows Eames into his modest little office. Even the way he crosses the room and takes a seat is graceful. Eames' gaze tracks the smooth lines of his body.
"First things first," says Arthur, before Eames can even ask a question. "I haven't done this before. I -- I actually don't even have experience in film or acting."
Eames waves a hand. "Not to worry. Doesn't take a lot of acting to suck cock while being fucked from behind, as you can imagine."
He means to jar Arthur, remind him where he is and the exact nature of the films Eames produces. Arthur doesn't so much as flinch.
Intrigued now, Eames asks, "What brings you to the porn industry, then?"
"Student debts," says Arthur. "The salary you mentioned in the job posting was a lot more than I could make waiting tables."
"Are you a bottom?" Eames asks.
"Switch."
"You'd make a better bottom on camera." He can already picture Arthur, slutty on his knees with his legs spread, and it's a delectable image. Arthur simply raises and drops a shoulder in an impassive shrug. "Are you clean?"
Arthur nods and produces papers out of his bag, which he hands across the desk to Eames. He is indeed clean.
"Lovely," says Eames, handing them back. "I suppose that's about it. Do you have any questions for me?"
"That's it?" Arthur asks dubiously, eyebrows furrowed like he's offended at not having been examined more closely.
"There's just the trifling matter of you taking your clothes off for me," says Eames. "If you'd be so kind."
Again, he expects the boy to baulk; he just seems the type. But there's nothing hesitant about the way Arthur stands and starts stripping off, starting with his shirt. Eames watches as each article of clothing is carefully folded and set on the chair, and then Arthur is standing there, naked and not the least bit self-conscious, and Eames feels the sudden urge to grip the base of his own cock tightly. Arthur in all his glory is a thing of beauty, quite possibly God's gift to humanity. He's near hairless except for the soft thatch of hair above his cock, and even that is trimmed neatly. Eames wonders if he specifically prepared himself for the interview that way, or if that's just his personal preference. He somehow suspects it's the latter.
And Arthur's cock is perfect. Long and not too thick, flushed the slightest bit pink. Eames has had a lot of hopefuls traipse through this office, and never has he wanted so desperately to drop to his knees and wrap his mouth around an interviewee's dick before.
He clears his throat and gestures for Arthur to turn in a circle, which Arthur does. No tattoos, no blemishes; his shoulderblades are positively lickable and so, Eames notes now, is his washboard-flat, lean abdomen. He's not hugely defined, but there's not an ounce of superfluous flesh on him.
Eames is seized by a crazy urge to grab Arthur right there, to press kisses to every inch of his perfect body and rim him within an inch of an orgasm.
Evidently satisfied with Eames' expression, Arthur turns back to the chair and starts pulling his clothes back on.
"I don't do bareback," he says, "but I'll swallow if you can prove the guy's clean. I can start work tomorrow."
Eames raises his eyebrows. "What makes you so confident you've got the job?"
Arthur glances at him. "Mr. Eames, you've done nothing but ogle me since I stepped through the door."
That is perfectly true, so Eames clears his throat again. "Right," he says, once Arthur is standing fully clothed before him once more. "Expect a call from us."
"Nice meeting you in person," Arthur says, and extends a hand, which Eames shakes over the desk. God, even Arthur's hands are soft and firm.
He sits in his office for several minutes after Arthur is gone. Then, decisively, he cancels the next interview and retires to the bathroom for a long jerk-off session, wondering how soon he can call Arthur without seeming too eager.
+"We'll ease you in gently, Arthur," Eames promises. "This scene's very straightforward."
Arthur raises a dubious eyebrow. He's on the set wearing a houserobe and a pair of boxers underneath and Eames cannot stop thinking about how almost-naked he is under that robe and how badly he wants to tear that robe right off.
"Is there any gentle way to be eased into porn?" Arthur says.
"All I mean is, we'll hold off the double penetration for another day."
Arthur's brow furrows like he can't tell whether Eames is joking or not; but then he's called onto the set, where he shrugs off the robe easily. Again, Eames somehow expects him to hesitate, considering he's in a room packed with bright lights and people, but he doesn't.
This particular film is about a straight, manly jock (co-star Brendan) who is tempted into some decidedly not-straight acts by his slutty fey roommate (Arthur). In this scene, Arthur is sprawled deliciously over their couch, jerking off by himself, which is when Brendan stumbles in on him and is (naturally) invited to join in, which leads to a blowjob (obviously) and then sex (of course).
And so this first take, which is just Arthur on the couch, is mostly for the camera and lighting to get themselves set up just right. Eames doesn't always watch the shoots, because, as the owner and executive producer of their little studio, he doesn't technically have to be there, but he made a point of coming down to see how Arthur does. Cobb, the director, who is possibly the straightest man Eames has ever met, double-checks that everything's good to go and then calls action.
Arthur doesn't flinch under all the lights, the attention in the room suddenly hyperfocused on him. "Just act natural," Eames had told him, and he does. With every camera trained on him, Arthur slips a hand easily into his boxers and pushes them down just far enough to expose himself. Then he starts jerking off, slowly at first. His eyelids flutter shut, and Eames is acutely aware of his own body temperature ratcheting up several degrees.
There's nothing stilted or forced about the way Arthur touches himself, or the noises he makes. God, he's just really enjoying it, like he's all alone in the world with no audience to distract him. A wet bead of precome appears at the tip of his cock and he uses his thumb to smooth it over the head, parting his lips to let a low moan escape. His cheeks are flushed a beautiful pink and Eames has to surreptitiously adjust his trousers because he wants nothing more in the entire world than to replace Arthur's hand with his mouth right then.
There's something terribly arousing to be found in Arthur's utter lack of self-consciousness, and Eames figures the crew knows it, because they let him go on for a long time before Cobb wraps that take up. Then it's time to review the footage, gather which camera angles are best, and Arthur impassively shrugs the houserobe back on.
"Arthur," says Eames, very seriously, approaching him, "I think you were born to do this."
Again, Arthur can't seem to decide whether this is a joke or not, so he simply frowns, turns away and says nothing.
+"I'm not kidding, Eames," Cobb says. "You may have found us the next Brent Corrigan."
Eames makes a noncommittal sound. The camera loves Arthur. And so do the producers, and Cobb, and frankly, his co-stars. This movie was supposed to be just Brendan and Arthur, but after it wrapped up and Cobb had reviewed the footage, he demanded a few more scenes. The film now features bicurious jock, slutty fey roommate, and bicurious jock's two jock friends, who walk in on the former two engaged in a compromising position, and decide they want in (of course they do). Cobb and Eames are standing off to the side of the set now, watching the scene, while Arthur is putting the slut back in slutty fey roommate.
"Speaking of Brent Corrigan," Cobb goes on, seemingly to himself, "Arthur might want to consider a stage name."
That brings Eames back to himself, his gaze finally snapping away from the set. "What's wrong with 'Arthur'?"
"It's not exactly glamorous, is it?"
"I like it," says Eames. "There's a certain naiveté to it."
"There's not a whole lot naive about that," says Cobb dryly, gesturing to the set where Arthur is on his knees, thighs spread, sucking off two of the jocks at once, alternating back and forth or taking both in his mouth at once when he can. The third jock sprawls on the couch, watching and jerking himself off.
"That's why I like it," says Eames stubbornly.
Despite Eames' promise, they haven't exactly done their best to ease Arthur in gently. And yet he's taken everything they've thrown at him in his stride, not blushing or faltering. If he didn't look about eighteen, one might think he'd been doing this for years. His only hard limit is barebacking, but thus far he's been game for everything else they've suggested. As they watch, the third jock gets up, having rolled on a condom tossed to him while the cameras were facing elsewhere. Arthur obligingly gets onto his hands and knees without missing a beat, and the cameras close in for a shot of the third boy's sheathed cock nudging up against Arthur's already-slick hole and then sliding in, stretching him open. Arthur takes this with no more than a hot, breathy moan around the cock in his mouth.
Eames has seen and done a lot of porn in his time. He'd thought he was immune to all this. But right now, he's so jealous of those other actors he could cry at the injustice of it.
"Seriously," Cobb is saying, virtually white noise to Eames' ears. "I think he'll be to bottoming what you were to topping."
That stirs Eames again, briefly. "Imagine the response if you put me in a film with him," he says, only slightly joking. Cobb laughs, causing Eames to deflate.
"I thought you'd had enough of seeing your junk on the big screen," he says.
"Still, I'm not that old."
"Eames, face it," says Cobb. "Next to you, he looks like jailbait. That's not exactly the kind of movies we're making here. Okay, guys," he barks, striding onto the set now, "let's wrap here for the day and we'll pick it up again tomorrow ..."
Eames doesn't even hang around to talk to Arthur after each scene anymore. He just goes straight to his office, where he can lock the doors and jerk off in peace, imagining Arthur's face while he's being fucked all the while.
+Eames has made a point of avoiding the set lately, at least when Arthur is filming. Eventually, though, Cobb orders him down there.
"Why me?" Eames asks.
"Because you've developed more of a rapport with him," says Cobb, which makes Eames scoff incredulously. 'Rapport' in this instance refers to Eames' initial few awkward attempts at making conversation when Arthur was coming off the set, sweaty and fucked-out, and Arthur looking at him like he couldn't possibly be serious.
He knows what Cobb isn't saying, though. He and Arthur are both gay and both are (or were) in porn, so they must be able to relate to one another. Eames has his doubts, but he knows he'll at least get further than Cobb will, and that's how he ends up leaving the relative security of his office and venturing out to the set when he knows Arthur is in the middle of a photoshoot.
He watches for awhile, feeling the saliva steadily drain from his mouth until his throat feels like the Sahara. The kid is photogenic as fuck, and flexible.
There's a few shots of him and Brendan, his main co-star so far, and as Eames watches, Brendan dips his head and says something in Arthur's ear that makes him laugh. He laughs. With his dimples and everything. The flash and snck of a shutter closing preserve the proof forever.
Suddenly, irrationally, Eames is overcome with an intense feeling of envy. Arthur never laughs at anything he says, even when he is joking. What's so great about Brendan, anyway? Eames has half an inch on him, at least.
The photographer wraps it up and Arthur lingers to chat with Brendan while he pulls on his houserobe. Eames can only stand this for several seconds or so before he clears his throat and calls, "Arthur."
Arthur turns his head. He looks somewhat surprised to see Eames standing there in the open, and not hiding out in his office or lurking in the shadows behind the cameras like a creeper. He walks over, taking sips from a bottle of water.
"What is it?"
"I was wondering if you'd join me for dinner tonight," Eames says, wishing the photographer wasn't standing so close.
Arthur's eyes narrow slightly. He appears to be thinking rapidly.
"Sorry, Mr. Eames," he says flatly. "I don't mix business with pleasure."
This seems hypocritical, given that Arthur is in the business of pleasure, and Eames could say that, but he doesn't. Instead he draws himself up, offended, and says in his sharpest I'm your boss so smarten the fuck up voice, "Actually, this is business."
"Oh." Arthur has enough grace to look abashed, at least. "Of -- of course I will. Join you."
"Good," says Eames, satisfied. "I'll pick you up at eight."
He does, driving his BMW, just because. Arthur gets in very carefully, almost like he's afraid he'll mar the pristine leather. He's dressed nicely, a collared shirt and plain trousers, and it seems unfair to Eames that anyone can look as gorgeous as that both with and without clothing.
He feels like a schoolfriend's father driving Arthur home or something. The small talk they manage to make during the drive is awkward, mostly Eames inquiring about Arthur's studies and plans for the future and then listening to him talk about architecture and saying things like "Interesting" or "That sounds fun". Fun. As if designing hotels and office buildings can be anything but tedious hard work.
Arthur starts to look a little uncomfortable by the time they pull up outside the restaurant and Eames hands his keys over to the valet. At first Eames thinks it's him, but once they step inside and Arthur takes a dubious, slightly awed look around, Eames realizes he's just never been in a place like this before.
"Dinner's on me tonight," he says quickly.
"Thank you" is all Arthur says, but he relaxes a little bit after that. He still orders one of the cheapest things on the menu, some kind of pasta with an Italian name that rolls off his tongue fluidly, while Eames just gets a steak.
"So," Eames starts, once there's no more escaping it: they're here, they've exhausted the amount of conversation they could wring out of the menu, and they're waiting for their food. Arthur eyes him warily, like he expects to be fired. Eames clears his throat. "Cobb wanted me to discuss your career with you."
Arthur's brow furrows. "My career."
"In--" Eames lowers his voice, remembering where they are. "... movies."
"I don't have a career in movies," Arthur says. "I have a summer job in movies because I'm a dirt-broke student with debts."
"Well, that's the thing we have to discuss," says Eames. "Because you could. Have a career." He clears his throat again. "In movies."
"Why would I want to?"
"Arthur, you've--" It's so hard to hold his gaze. "You've really got a ... a talent, here. You shouldn't dismiss that."
"Talent," Arthur scoffs. His tone is withering. "Well, it's like you said. It doesn't take much talent to suck cock while being fucked from behind."
Eames glances around quickly, making sure nobody heard this. Then he hisses, "Acting. I said it didn't take acting, and just so you know, you're better at that than ninety-nine percent of the boys in my employ."
"Oh, great," says Arthur. "I make a good prostitute. Just what I've always dreamed of being told."
"This isn't prostitution."
"I'm being paid for getting fucked, you tell me how that isn't prostitution." There's a barely-controlled undercurrent of anger rippling through the words. "I'm fully aware of how far I've fallen, Mr. Eames, there's no need to placate me by telling me I'm good at it."
Eames huffs his breath out. So that's it. Arthur won't give him the time of day because Arthur disdains him. He takes a minute to absorb this, consider how to respond. Then he sits back.
"Fine," he says. "If acting in adult films is so beneath you. Find a new job, Arthur. I'm sure you'll be as good at brewing lattes as you are at spreading your legs."
It's a low blow, a mean blow, and Eames can almost physically see it land; because it's true. Arthur is a perfect little cockslut on camera.
Arthur winces. Eames pretends to start pushing his chair out to get up, and Arthur says quickly, softly, "--No. I'm sorry. I was ... I was out of line. I appreciate this job, really, I do," and he looks so earnest that Eames only leaves him hanging for a moment before he settles slowly back into his chair. Arthur exhales, relieved.
"I'm sorry," he says again. "It's just ... not what I ever pictured myself doing."
"Then I'm sorry, too," Eames says. "But just so you know, some of us find it a perfectable enjoyable profession."
The corner of Arthur's lip ticks up in a smile. Just a little one, but Eames counts it as a victory.
Their food arrives then, and the conversation is suspended for awhile. Eames waits until they're both nearly done eating before he goes on.
"We all like you, Arthur," he says, "you're doing great. But I'll get to the point of this evening. There's a role Cobb thinks you'd be perfect for. It's a sort of high school romance thing, and we don't have many actors who could legitimately pass for a high school student."
Arthur makes a face, but nods.
"The only thing is that it calls for barebacking."
"No," says Arthur promptly.
"Arthur," says Eames patiently. "I'll give you the script. It's a pretty nice story. But basically, the two characters have sex, and it's a big emotional thing because they're both virgins--"
"I said no. I told you from the start I wouldn't do barebacking."
"Arthur," Eames says again. "I promise you your partner will be clean."
"I don't care," says Arthur stubbornly.
"You already--" Again Eames has to lower his voice. "You already swallow, what's the difference?"
Arthur clenches his jaw.
"It's not that bad," Eames tries to persuade him. "The scene's crucial to this story, though, and Cobb really wants you for it. We all do. It could be--" He cuts himself off, reminding himself that Arthur probably has no interest in a breakout role. "It could be big. You could work with Brendan," he adds, biting back his resentment, when he sees that Arthur isn't going to budge. Cobb had told him to use any means necessary to secure Arthur for the role.
"I don't care," Arthur repeats.
Eames shuts his mouth. There's nothing he can say that will convince Arthur to do it, he can tell, and he doesn't much feel like pressuring him into doing something he's not comfortable with.
They finish their meal in relative silence. Neither of them order dessert, and Eames drives Arthur home.
"Thanks for dinner," Arthur says, when they're parked outside his apartment building. He's looking at the gear shift, not at Eames.
"Arthur," Eames says suddenly. "Would you consider a barebacking scene if it were with me?"
He's not sure what compels him to say it. Cobb is right, after all, Eames is done with this scene. He has been for a long time. He's perfectly content in his retirement, never lusting after the work he used to do. He had a good career and he's earned his break. And it's not as though he'd be of any use for the film Cobb wants Arthur to do, considering that where Arthur is twenty-one and can pass for a sixteen-year-old, Eames has fifteen years on him and definitely can't.
But Arthur's eyes flicker to him, guarded. His hand is resting on the door handle, but he hesitates.
"Are you ..."
"Clean? Yes. I have papers," Eames says quickly. Arthur sits there, thinking, his hand still on the door. Eames barely dares to breathe, like he's a skittish horse.
"I'll consider it," Arthur says finally, in a quiet voice. He opens the door. "See you tomorrow, Mr. Eames."
He leaves, the door clicking shut behind him. Eames could jump up and down for joy.
+Arthur calls the next morning, before Eames leaves for the studio, and says he'll do the movie.
Cobb shakes his head disbelievingly when Eames tells him. "How much did you have to offer him to do it?"
"Hey," Eames says, mock-offended. "As if you wouldn't jump at the chance to have sex with me on camera."
Cobb waves his wedding ring very pointedly.
"Alright, not you," Eames accedes. He pauses, and preens. "Arthur must like me."
"Uh-huh," says Cobb. "Well, whatever his reasons, he's fucking up my movie. I'm pretty sure you won't pass for a sixteen-year-old."
"Just do a quickie rewrite," says Eames. "Say I'm his sexy teacher. And," he says, mind already working, "he's almost failing because he's helplessly infatuated with me, and I put him in remedial to get his grades up and then--"
"Jesus," Cobb says, rolling his eyes, "what are we writing here, bad porn?" But he's reaching for his cell phone and shooing Eames away, so Eames figures it's a go and leaves.
Eames has fucked a lot of bottoms in his time. Never has he been so stupidly excited about it, though. He can't wait to have Arthur, to hold him down, pretend to take him through his first ever sexual act--
Arthur is waiting in his office when he gets there. Eames blinks and shuts the door.
"Arthur. How can I help you?"
Arthur fidgets, and says, "You said you had papers."
It takes Eames a moment to remember what he's talking about. He pulls open a drawer in his desk and rummages through a file folder until he finds the most recent of the lot, then hands it over. Arthur checks it swiftly.
"Cobb's hammering out the story now," Eames says. "You're sure you wouldn't rather work with Brendan?"
He says it because he wants to hear Arthur say no again, but for a second he's afraid Arthur will have changed his mind. To his relief, however, Arthur shakes his head firmly. He slides the test results back over the desk, and Eames supposes that means he checks out.
"Arthur," he says, refiling them. "I'm flattered."
Arthur's lips thin.
"I'm not doing this because -- well, yes, because it is you," he says tersely. Before Eames' ego can inflate any more, however, he continues, "I'm doing this because any movie starring you is bound to bring in a lot of money. Maybe enough that I can stop after this film."
It's a blow that sends Eames crashing back down to earth.
"Oh," he says. "I mean, of course."
Arthur nods, his hands knotting. "So I guess I'll see you later."
"Right. We'll send you the script soon."
Arthur nods, gets up, and leaves. Sighing, Eames props open his laptop and logs onto Twitter. His fans will want to hear the good news.
+Cobb complains endlessly about how Eames has screwed everything up. This was supposed to be a nice love story, and now Eames has turned it into his own perverted jailbait fantasy, and everything will be twisted and weird, and et cetera et cetera.
Then the day comes when they finally shoot the first scene.
It's been a few weeks since he last saw Arthur, and Eames finds that his schoolgirl crush has not diminished in the least. If anything, he wants Arthur even more now that he knows that, any day now, they're going to abandon the script and the dialogue and the formalities and just fuck for the camera. He used to meet his prospective costars with a cordial handshake, no more emotionally attached to them than to any of the crew on the set. With Arthur, he goes through his lines thinking wildly, I'm going to fuck you, and I can't wait.
And Arthur, who thus far has played the prettiest of cocksluts and yet retained a confidence that defies shame or boundaries, all at once becomes the character he's playing beautifully. Where there was confidence, there is now a shyness that speaks volumes about his experience in matters of the heart. Where there was a shameless coquettishness, there is an adorable hesitance about him.
When they end the scene and Cobb says cut, the whole crew is silent for a moment.
"What?" Eames demands peevishly, when he stalks up to Cobb. "If you try and tell me I've lost it and I'm too old for this--"
"Jesus, Eames," says Cobb. "You could cut the sexual tension between you two with a knife. Whatever you're doing, keep doing it."
+"I'm in love with you," Arthur is saying, staring Eames in the eye.
As they go along, Eames has come to like this story more and more. The thing about Eames is that he's not just a porn star; he's an actor. He's always taken his career quite seriously, which was part of the reason for his success. That's why he likes movies like this, ones with an actual plot. He doesn't have to just show up and fuck. He can bring intensity and passion to the role.
Arthur says, "I'm in love with you," and Eames injects as much passion as he possibly can into the kiss he pulls Arthur into.
Arthur kisses back just as hungrily, desperately, his fingertips digging into Eames' shirt. Then he's tugging, pulling at it, working the shirt over Eames' head, and Eames casts it aside and grabs Arthur up again, fastening their mouths back together. Arthur moans.
This is the point where Cobb cockblocked them yesterday. After the footage was reviewed, it was found that for some reason the sound was lost from the last quarter or so of the scene they'd shot, and so they're redoing it today and then finally, finally, the moment Eames has been dreaming of since he first laid eyes on Arthur: He pulls Arthur into the flat his character owns, and lays him down on the nearest couch. Stretched out passively like that, his lips bitten and shiny, Arthur looks painfully young. Eames wants to devour him.
The cameras disappear, the lights, the boom, everything. He locks onto Arthur, perches on the edge of the couch and peels Arthur's shirt off. Arthur just watches, now looking a mix of half anticipatory and half wary, when Eames' hands trail lower and start unfastening his jeans.
"Have you ever done this with anyone?" Eames murmurs.
Arthur shakes his head jerkily. "No."
He arches his back so that Eames can slide his jeans down, first to his knees and then all the way, pulling them off with his socks and shoes in a move he actually manages to make look smooth. Arthur shivers, laid bare. He's completely hard. He makes such a pretty sixteen-year-old virgin.
"Nobody's ever seen you like this?" Eames asks softly.
"No."
He kneels between Arthur's thighs, trails a hand down Arthur's smooth torso, then rakes his fingernails through coarse, trimmed hair and wraps his hand around Arthur's cock. "Nobody's ever touched you like this?"
Arthur arches helplessly into his touch, breath hitching. "No."
Eames is no stranger to the sight of Arthur naked, but it's as though he's seeing him for the first time. He's beautiful, long and lean and flushed prettily down his neck, his skin milky and unblemished. Eames leans down and licks a long stripe up the inside of Arthur's thigh, breathing hot over it, then wraps his lips around the crown of Arthur's cock and swallows him down.
He's deviating from the script, but Cobb knows better than to hinder Eames' improv. Arthur deviates, too, choking out an "Oh God" that can't be anything less than a hundred percent authentic. He writhes, and Eames delights in this reaction that isn't scripted or manufactured. Not that anything coming from Arthur seems forced.
He pulls off. Already Arthur's gasping.
"Alright?" Eames murmurs, touching his face with one hand while fumbling for the lube stowed conveniently in his back pocket. It's in-character, but he's not just asking sixteen-year-old high school student Corey who's in love with his history teacher Mr. Pierce; he's asking Arthur, here with him right now in this moment, telling him they can stop if they need to.
"Yeah, I'm good," Arthur breathes. Then he seems to collect himself, remember where he is and what he's doing. He opens his eyes, looks up at Eames under his eyelashes and says, "Fuck me."
Eames is already rubbing himself through his trousers. Hastily he unbuckles them one-handed and peels them off. Now there's nothing left between them. He spares a moment to think how strange it is that it doesn't feel strange to be naked in front of a room full of people and cameras, but more like coming home.
And yet there's nobody, just him and Arthur, there on the couch together. Arthur slings an arm up over his head, stretching himself out, and watches Eames from under hooded lids.
It would take superhuman will to resist him. Eames slicks his cock up quickly, deftly. Funny, again, how his brain slots so easily back into this mindset, and normally he'd be so conscious of camera angles that it would be almost enough to kill the mood, but not now. Not with Arthur. He lifts one of Arthur's legs and circles a wet finger around his hole, just breaching it.
"Ready?"
"Yeah. Yeah," Arthur pants, squirming against his finger. Eames slides a second in.
"You sure?"
"Please fuck me," Arthur says unsteadily.
Eames pulls his fingers out. Then he's lining himself up, pushing himself in, and there's nothing between them, nothing but hot, silky flesh, the tight cling of Arthur's muscles as he gives way to Eames.
"Oh God," Arthur chokes again, clamping his eyes shut and screwing his fingers into his own hair, again so authentic that a hot throb of arousal pulses through Eames. He rolls his hips smoothly, sheathing himself inside Arthur -- and this, here, is what coming home feels like.
"Look at me," he breathes, starting to pick up a rhythm, rolling in all the way and then sliding back a bit. He wants to feel like this forever, encased in the snug heat of Arthur.
"Hey," he says, stroking Arthur's face with his thumb. "Open your eyes. Look at me."
Arthur forces his eyes open and looks up, dazedly.
"Shit," he manages in a strangled voice. And then he comes all over his stomach.
Eames stops, bemused.
"Cut!" Cobb barks, behind the lights somewhere, and Eames becomes conscious of the crew again, moving around and talking like they've just come back to life. He looks down at Arthur, who no longer has a hand knotted in his hair but has slid it down over his eyes. Arthur -- who didn't blush once when Eames told him to take his clothes off in the interview or when he had to get naked for the cameras for the first time -- who now has bright red cheeks.
"Sorry," he chokes out.
Eames pulls out reluctantly and takes the houserobe handed to him while offering Arthur a handtowel. Arthur mops himself up, still blushing furiously.
"Sorry," he says again, quieter, like it's only meant for Eames.
"Happens all the time, love," Eames says graciously, feeling considerably cheated.
"What the hell, Arthur?" Cobb demands, stomping onto the set. Arthur straightens up, pulling on a terrycloth robe of his own.
"I'll be good to go in a few," he says.
"Alright, good. Setbacks cost us money. And remember who you're playing."
"I'd call that pretty typical of a sixteen-year-old, actually," Eames says, causing Arthur's ears to flush pink as well.
"I'm not--" he starts, but Cobb cuts him off.
"He's a virgin. We don't want a hair trigger, we want him to gradually get off on this until he has the best orgasm of his entire life. Not," he says, turning to Arthur, "coming right off the bat and then just riding it out till Eames is done."
"I know," Arthur says defensively. "I'll get it together, alright?"
"Fine. Good," Cobb says again.
It takes a little while, but Arthur's soon got it up again. Then they're back on the couch, Arthur on his back and Eames between his legs, fucking into him like a goddamn machine (he definitely hasn't lost it), and Arthur is groaning and squirming around.
"You like that?" Eames pants over his face. "You like how it feels to be stretched around my cock? You want me to come inside you, fill you up, leave you wet and leaking--"
"Fuck," Arthur sobs, gripping himself, but he's already spilling through his fingers.
"Cut!"
Arthur lets his head drop back and hit the armrest of the couch with a thump, burying his face in his other hand again.
All in all, it's one of Eames' stranger shoots. They wrap up there with the intention of picking it up from the same spot tomorrow, and Eames pulls his clothes on with an uncomfortable case of blue balls. Nobody leaves the set faster than Arthur.
+Eames is lounging around the house, watching one of his movies, when Arthur turns up on his doorstep.
"Hey," he says, awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand.
"Arthur!" Eames opens the door wider. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I was in the neighbourhood," says Arthur. Since Eames knows he doesn't own a car, this is a blatant lie and they both know it. Arthur fidgets. "Can I come in?"
Eames holds the door open for him to slip in, then leads him to the den. He gestures briskly at the TV screen when his own face appears, suddenly embarrassed and worried Arthur thinks him an egotist.
"One of my few non-porn roles," he says. "I don't make a habit of watching all my old films, this one just happened to be on TV ..."
Arthur nods, and sits down on the leather couch. Eames joins him. Since Arthur makes no move to speak, they end up watching the movie for awhile.
"You were young," Arthur offers, when the ads come on. Eames mutes them.
"Twenty-seven," he says. "Almost ten years ago now." Has it really been that long? He feels old, suddenly, especially next to Arthur, with his youthful vibrance.
"How old were you when you got into ...?"
"Porn? Nineteen. Just a couple years younger than you," says Eames. "Came over from England with big dreams of acting and ended up with a shithead boyfriend and a drug habit."
"Oh," says Arthur quietly.
Eames can't remember the last time he told anyone about this, but he finds that now he's started, he can't stop. "I started sucking cock on camera to fund the drugs, and sometimes off camera to make my way up. Ended up in a long series of terrible relationships. I tried straight porn for a bit, but there's more money for men in gay porn, so I went right back to it and started bottoming. I only really became successful when I cleaned up, bulked out and started topping."
There's more he could say, about the dozens of times he's been screwed over and how he was pressured into a lot of unsafe situations and ended up with a few (non-serious) diseases and about the time he spent four days completely strung out on meth and still shot four scenes, and how when he watches them now he can't even remember being there. But it exhausts him just to think about.
"I didn't know," says Arthur.
"There's a lot of assholes in our industry, Arthur, a lot of people who'll take advantage of you. You're lucky, you're smarter than I was."
Arthur hunches down a little, and says, "I thought... I've seen the way you look at me. When you asked me to dinner, I thought maybe you wanted some kind of sexual favour."
Eames snorts, but not unkindly. "Anywhere else, you'd probably be right."
"Is that why you stopped?" Arthur asks.
"Yeah. Got burnt out. It got fun for awhile there, but it also got very ... lonely."
The movie's back on. Eames doesn't unmute the TV. They both watch the soundless screen for a minute; then Arthur takes a deep breath.
"I've watched all your movies," he says, almost shyly.
Eames turns his head, interested. "Have you now?"
Arthur nods. "I have this one on DVD, I've seen it eight times. And I've watched all your ... other stuff." His tone turns almost resentful. "I've been getting off to you since I was fourteen. If I have a hair trigger when it comes to you, I can't be blamed."
Eames laughs. He can't help it. He likes Arthur, he's liked Arthur since he met him, but never has he felt so overwhelmingly fond of the boy. He wants to grab him up and kiss him silly.
"Don't laugh," says Arthur defensively.
"I'm not laughing at you," says Eames. "I thought you disdained the adult film industry, that's all. And here you are telling me you're one of my biggest fans."
Arthur looks chagrined.
"Sorry," he says, and this time Eames knows he means it. "I don't look down on you, really I don't -- you or any of the guys. I'm just--" He struggles briefly for words, and looks at Eames hopelessly. "I'm supposed to be an architect. It's what I've known I want to do since I was fifteen. But now my parents can't afford to help me pay for my schooling at all, and I don't know how I'm going to get through this last year. I'm worried the school won't even let me back in if I don't pay off my debts soon. Even if we do this movie, Eames, and it brings in lots of money, I don't know that it'll be enough."
He looks down at his hands, clasped in his lap, and exhales slowly.
"So I'm just scared," he finishes quietly. "I'm scared this really will end up being my career. That's why I was kind of bitchy when you were talking about it to me. You were just telling me something I didn't want to hear."
"Oh, Arthur," Eames murmurs softly. He wants very badly to stroke the boy's hair.
"Anyway," Arthur says glumly, "getting money from this movie is looking like a moot point anyway. Today was just the first sex scene, and I can't even last five seconds without coming all over myself like a teenager."
He looks so miserable that now Eames just wants to hug him. "Arthur," he says instead. "I'm surprised at you."
"What?"
"We're actors," says Eames, drawing himself up self-importantly. "And what do actors do before a difficult scene?"
Arthur's brow knits slightly.
"We rehearse." Eames gets up, pulling him by the hand off the couch. "What d'you say?"
Arthur blinks. Then, slowly, a grin makes its way across his face.
"That might be helpful," he says.
+When they make it to Eames' room, Arthur gives a breathless little laugh.
"What?" Eames asks.
"I'm in your room," Arthur says, looking around, and Eames can't be sure if he's imagining the hint of awe. Then Arthur grins again, like the little minx he is. "Do you have a waterbed?"
Eames snorts. Then he lightly scoops Arthur around the waist and drops him onto the springy -- solid -- mattress. Arthur reclines, stretching out so that his t-shirt rides up and exposes a pale strip of his abdomen, still grinning.
"Point taken," he says.
While he's still got his arms stretched over his head, Eames straddles him and pins his wrists there.
"We're supposed to be rehearsing," he chides into the soft skin of Arthur's neck, laying kisses and nips there. Immediately Arthur writhes under him.
"Oh, Mr. Pierce, fuck me hard!" he says in an exaggerated, breathy moan, addressing Eames' character. Then he dissolves into a little fit of laughter.
Eames has to join in. He's never seen this non-professional side of Arthur before. He's enchanted.
When Arthur's got his breath back, he frees his wrists and brings both hands to Eames' face, suddenly serious.
"Just fuck me," he says.
Immediately, Eames starts tearing at his clothes, fumbling to get them all out of the way so that he can get at Arthur's bare skin. Arthur works just as impatiently at Eames' clothing, and after a minute of scrabbling there's nothing between them anymore and Eames kisses him, just to taste his mouth again. He can feel Arthur's erection pressing into the curve of his hip.
He wants more than anything to get his mouth on Arthur's cock. Hastily, he slips down the bed, pressing wet kisses down Arthur's chest and stomach as he goes, and takes him into his mouth before Arthur has a chance to object.
"Hey--" Arthur props himself up on his elbows, flushed. "You're supposed to be--"
He breaks off with a groan when Eames swallows him down expertly in one quick slide, and drops bonelessly onto his back again.
"Fuck, Eames," he pants. "You're cheating."
Eames chuckles in his throat, lapping and laving and swirling his tongue and taking Arthur in again and again until Arthur makes a strangled noise and comes down his throat in hot spurts.
"Great," he says raggedly, once he's caught his breath again and Eames is kneeling astride him. "Two minutes. It's a new record."
He's being sarcastic. Eames leans down and kisses him, and thrills when Arthur doesn't flinch at the taste of himself.
"You just lie there, Arthur," he purrs. "I'll do the rest."
Arthur watches while he retrieves lube from the bedside table, and hesitates over a condom.
"Did you want to be true to the scene, or--?"
Arthur laughs again, quickly and sheepishly. "It's dumb," he says. "I just always felt like being unprotected with someone should be an important thing, an emotional thing. But it doesn't matter. I don't -- mind. With you."
Eames drops the condom back in the drawer and slides it shut.
"Right then," he says, settling over Arthur again and slicking his fingers. But Arthur grabs the lube from him before he can reach down, and starts dribbling the stuff over his own hand. Once he's motioned Eames away, he reaches down and slides two fingers into himself. His eyes flutter shut, knees falling apart to offer Eames an unimpeded view.
"Can't let you do all the work," he says, when he opens one eye.
"Arthur," says Eames, staring, "you are the sluttiest bottom I've ever met, did you know that?"
Arthur's ears flush pink. "I'm sure you've fucked sluttier."
"I've never fucked any I liked more than you," says Eames honestly.
Arthur's fingers falter where they're working inside him, and he smiles up at Eames tentatively. Eames kisses that cautious look off his face, slicking his cock, and Arthur moves his hand out of the way when the head of Eames' cock presses up against his hole. He pushes in, and Arthur's already relaxed from his orgasm, but his face tautens anyway.
"You're really big," he huffs out.
Eames keeps sliding in until his hips are resting flush against Arthur's ass. "Yeah?" he grunts. "The biggest you've ever had?"
"I'm a virgin, remember?"
"Minx." Eames kisses him again. He can't seem to get enough of kissing Arthur. Happily, Arthur doesn't seem to mind at all. Eames pulls back a bit, starting to work his hips. "I'm going to fuck you until you come again, Arthur."
Instantly Arthur groans. "Eames--"
"Yes?"
"You've made me come three times today," he says. "And I jerked myself off before we started filming, too, so I could last longer ..."
"So?" Eames kisses his eyelids, settling into a quick rhythm now. "You're young and sprightly. And we've got time."
Arthur laughs breathlessly. "Yeah? Sure you can outlast me, old man?"
Eames' voice dips into a rumble. "Arthur, I could fuck you all night long."
He punctuates this with a thrust of his hips that finds Arthur's prostate. Arthur's face goes slack with pleasure, and he starts rolling his hips adroitly into each one of Eames' thrusts.
Eames picks up the pace after that. He kisses Arthur fiercely, teeth catching on his lower lip, and fucks into him harder the more Arthur relaxes. Arthur writhes under him beautifully, teeth clenched when he thinks it's too much, and Eames can't have that.
"Hey," he says. "Let me hear you."
Arthur grunts, and unexpectedly stops moving and pushes at him. Eames slows, then stops altogether and pulls out. Arthur shoves him over quickly and straddles him.
"I told you I can't let you do all the work," he says, gripping Eames' cock between his legs and lowering himself onto the head. It's a slow slide after that, and once he's fully impaled, sitting back to take Eames as deep as possible, he sits for a moment, eyes closed, and breathes. Then he starts to lift his hips and fuck himself back onto Eames' cock.
Eames is a little in love.
He braces his heels in the mattress so that he can meet Arthur halfway, and each rough upward jolt of his hips makes Arthur's breath catch. His hands fly to Eames' chest so that he can steady himself, and Eames takes one of his hands by the wrist and raises it to his mouth. He sucks Arthur's fingers down lasciviously, lowering his eyelids, and Arthur's rhythm falters for a moment.
When Eames has wetted his hand enough, he guides it to Arthur's own prick and wraps his fingers around it. Taking his meaning, Arthur starts to jerk himself slowly. His expression is pinched and Eames knows he's sensitive, but his cock is already starting to fill again, and that thrills Eames.
"Tell me what you're thinking," he says.
"I'm thinking -- even Cobb would be happy with this," says Arthur in a strained voice.
"Don't think about Cobb." Eames has both hands at Arthur's waist now to help steady him, but he brings one to wrap around the hand Arthur is using to jerk himself off. Arthur groans through his teeth.
"I -- I think I'm actually going to come again."
With a wolfish grin, Eames bundles Arthur into his arms before he can resist and rolls, flipping him onto his back again without pulling out. Arthur yelps in surprise, and Eames is already fucking him rapidly, not missing a beat.
"Let go, Arthur," he says, finding Arthur's prostate again and thrusting into him hard, while Arthur squirms and whines under him. "I told you you could do it. Let go, come for me, Arthur ..."
"Fuck," Arthur says on a sobbing breath, coming into his hand, "fuck, fuck, Eames--"
His body is drawing tight, too sensitive, and Eames slows a little, fitting his mouth to Arthur's again to swallow every pained moan. His own climax washes over him abruptly, and he hilts himself roughly in Arthur before he's spilling into him, spending himself in the heat of Arthur. It feels incredible.
When he can see and breathe again, he finds that Arthur is panting harshly under him. Eames eases some of his weight off, and pulls out slowly. Arthur's breath hitches at the loss, and Eames slides two fingers into him, feeling the slickness of his own come.
"I should shower," Arthur says raggedly, when several minutes have passed and their breathing is starting to even out. He sounds exhausted.
"You can sleep first." Eames kisses his neck. Arthur sighs.
"Yeah," he mumbles. "Just for a bit."
Eames waits until he's drifted off before getting up. He returns with a damp washcloth, and takes his time cleaning Arthur up, tracing the smooth lines of his body. Arthur is as beautiful in sleep as he is at everything else, and Eames lies there for awhile, watching him and thinking.
+Cobb is on the warpath the next morning, but he's nowhere near as angry as Arthur is when he hears.
Eames is in his office, making a call, when Arthur storms in so forcefully that the door bangs off the wall.
"What the hell, Eames!" he shouts.
"Arthur." Eames hangs up smoothly. "Good morning. What can I do for you?"
"You can tell me why I'm jobless all of a sudden!" Arthur stomps up to the desk, shoving the phone out of the way when Eames reaches for it again. "What's wrong with you? You get me in bed and then you fire me?"
A flicker of -- something twists his expression for a moment. Pain?
"I thought you liked me," he says, quieter.
"I do," says Eames. "I like you very much, Arthur."
"Do you think I'm -- not good, or something?"
Watching him try to rationalize this is painful. Eames sighs.
"Arthur, you're amazing. You're incredible. I just don't think this industry is right for you."
"Well, it's not up to you!" Arthur barks. "I'm a grown-up, Eames, I don't need you looking out for me!"
"It's up to me as long as you work for my studio," says Eames. "I've pulled all your projects. Your paycheck's in the mail. Thank you for your hard work."
"How can you do this to me?" Arthur demands. "After I told you--" His voice breaks and lowers. "I need this money, Eames."
"I know you do," says Eames. "That's why I'll pay for all your schooling."
Arthur stiffens, surprised. He obviously wasn't expecting that.
"I don't -- I don't need your charity," he spits out. "I can work for my money--"
"Then you could be my secretary, if you'd like," Eames offers. "I'm in need of one, I'm afraid. People seem to burst into my office whenever they like, it really won't do."
"Stop -- patronizing me," Arthur says shakily. "I need real money. I need this job. You said I was good--"
"You are, Arthur," Eames says softly. "You are, that's the problem. I don't think I could stand to watch any more men that aren't me putting their hands on you."
Arthur draws himself up and blinks.
"Eames," he says.
"I'd like it very much if you were my boyfriend," says Eames. "And you could work for me and I'd pay you obscene amounts of money. Or you could work for me and not be my boyfriend and I promise I'd leave you alone and still give you all the money you need. Or you could just leave now altogether and never see my face again, if you want that. But I can't let you stay here just to be fucked on camera by other men. I can't stand it, Arthur. I'm mad about you."
Arthur's shoulders slump.
"Eames," he says again, and Eames glances up at him warily. He can sense he's about to be rejected. But then Arthur says, "You idiot," and, grabbing him by the front of his shirt, he yanks Eames out of his chair and pulls him into a biting kiss. It's angry and fierce and so hot Eames' knees almost buckle under him.
When Arthur is done, he drops Eames back into his seat, straightens up, and smooths out his shirt carefully.
"Right," he says. "Tell me more."
"About the job?" says Eames.
"I was talking about the boyfriend thing," says Arthur, the corners of his eyes creasing in a little wicked smile that hints at a dimple. "But I'd like to hear about the obscene amounts of money, too."
Eames stands up and kisses him again, just so he can ruin Arthur's ridiculously perfect hair with his fingers.
+++
Mondays are refreshing to Eames. It's Friday, the last day of each long work week, that is a drag.
Eventually, toward the tail end of this particular afternoon, he gets tired of going through all the papers Arthur told him he has to sign. He hits the button on his intercom and hears a phone being lifted in the next room.
"Yes?"
"Arthur," says Eames. "I have an important task for you."
"What is it?"
"It requires you to leave work right now," Eames says. "Then I need you to go home, strip off all your clothes, and wait in our bed for me."
"Right away, Mr. Eames," Arthur says smartly. He hangs up. Eames smiles.