Inception fic: Uncomplicated
Title: Uncomplicated
Author: aviss
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Romance, Drama
Warnings: none
Summary: The first time they slept together was completely unexpected. It was the most amazing sex Eames had had in his life.
Word Count: ~5.500
Uncomplicated
The first time they slept together was completely unexpected.
It was the most amazing sex Eames had had in his life.
They'd been working together for a week, and Eames' first thought of Hey, I'd tap that in a second upon meeting Arthur had not changed. In fact, one week into the job and he was more than ready to just bend Arthur over the first surface he could find and pound him into it.
Arthur was more than a pretty face encased in a bloody expensive suit. Young as he might appear, Arthur was clever and quick, had a sharp tongue and took shit from no one. He was also the best Point Man Eames had ever seen in action. He was thoroughly impressed.
As luck would have it, Arthur wasn't exactly averse to the idea. It might be possible he had been thinking along the same lines.
"You've been staring at me the entire week, Mr. Eames," Arthur said once they were alone, Dom and Mal gone somewhere to have a romantic dinner for their anniversary. "Seen something you like?"
Eames smiled and leered playfully at Arthur's body. "Well, yes darling."
Arthur narrowed his eyes at him, considering. "Do you want to see more?" he said after a minute, and Eames was so surprised at the proposition it took him some time to find his voice.
"Hell yes."
They ended up in Arthur's hotel room, the ride back silent but not awkward, a kind of restless energy tingling through Eames' body. He couldn't believe it was going to be so easy, but he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
"This, Mr. Eames," Arthur said as he slowly removed each piece of that fucking armour he called clothing, Eames' arousal thrumming with every inch of flawless skin uncovered, "means nothing at all."
Eames agreed with him. It didn’t need to mean anything at all, or it could mean everything. It just depended on what they chose. But at that particular point in time it didn't matter. Not when Arthur could bend just so, his spine the perfect angle for Eames' tongue to trace each vertebra, when his breathless moans had that desperate quality, when his mouth was hot and warm and not hesitant at all as he sucked the very breath from Eames' lungs. Arthur was tight and warm, and surprisingly enough, he was fun once he was out of the workplace.
And more important, he was uncomplicated.
They made a point of fucking each other's brains out for the rest of the job.
In the morning, when they arrived together at the warehouse they were occupying, they fended off Mal's smirks and Dom's knowing smiles without any awkwardness.
"We're single, randy and available," Eames said not bothering to conceal his amusement at Mal's incredulous look. Mal, the romantic, looking for true love everywhere. She was lucky; she had Dom. "Don't you think, darling?"
Eames was also quite fortunate; he didn't need it. He had Arthur.
"We're working now, Eames," Arthur replied, his brow creasing in annoyance. "Save it for later."
That was the end of it, and since then neither Mal nor Dom bothered asking again. They worked well together, and they had a friendly relationship.
It was enough.
…
It wasn't always like that, it couldn't be.
As much as Eames appreciated Arthur's company and body, he knew both of them were seeing more people, and that it would come a time when it just wasn't possible.
Eames had just arrived in Rome, where they were preparing for a complicated job, when he was given ample proof of this.
Mal was sitting that one out, the risk factor coupled with her pregnancy enough to convince her to stay in Paris with her father. There was a young Scottish woman as the architect, and she was also inside Arthur's room when Eames knocked on his door.
Arthur opened the door on his shirtsleeves, a glass of scotch in his hand and his hair mused.
"Oh Eames," he said, looking completely relaxed and maybe a bit drunk. "I was expecting you."
It didn't take long to realize what was going on, and Eames shrugged his shoulders, considering already whether he should go to the bar and see if he got lucky or get back to his room and have a drink before going to bed.
He wasn't prepared for Arthur to open the door wider and invite him in.
"Aren't you busy now, darling?" Eames asked, his brows crawling up his forehead at the sight of Sarah, the architect, dressed only in a bathrobe and with her hair dripping wet, coming out of the bathroom.
"Yes, I am," Arthur replied, pouring another glass of scotch for Eames. "But you can stay for a drink if you want. We're not busy right now." There was no mistaking the tiny smirk on Arthur's face, or the way Sarah blushed and hurried inside the bedroom.
Things were going to get awkward in the morning.
He took the glass and drank slowly, enjoying the slow burn of the alcohol going down his throat. Eames wasn't entirely sure of what to say, it was the first time things had not gone accordingly to what he had come to expect, and though he felt disappointed to know he wouldn't be fucking Arthur this time, he wasn't hurt by it.
"So we're off for this job," he finally said, noticing little things around the room that told him Sarah wasn't just there for the night.
Arthur laughed. "We're off for the foreseeable future, Eames," he replied, amusement and something like regret in his voice. "Sarah and I have been together for a couple of months, I'm trying to make this work. I just thought I should tell you in person."
And that was so very Arthur Eames had the urge to laugh, all prim and proper in his interactions with people, all concerned about how every action could affect their job.
There had been a week, between the second and the third job they took together, when Eames believed he might fall in love with Arthur. It lasted for that entire week, and once it was over, Eames was convinced that whatever they were for each other, lovers was not it.
He was all right with that.
Eames smiled, leaning forward to plant a chaste kiss on Arthur's lips. "It's fine love," he said downing the rest of the glass. "I'll find someone else to shag tonight. I wish you luck."
He left Arthur's room and went straight to the bar.
…
It shouldn't be as surprising as it was to find Arthur at his doorstep. Eames wasn't naïve enough to believe Arthur didn't know his exact location at any point in time, though they had never talked about it.
That didn't mean he had expected to find Arthur there, suitcase in one hand and a lost expression on his face, clearly looking for him. They had worked together a couple of times in the past months, always with Sarah in the team, and it had been apparent for everyone they were a solid couple.
It didn't look so solid anymore to Eames.
"It didn't work," Arthur said as a way of greeting, and the next moment he was pushing Eames inside the house and trying to crawl inside him, devouring his mouth.
Eames let him for a minute, learning again the taste and shape or Arthur's mouth before pushing him away. "Hey, slow down love," he rasped out, breathless, keeping Arthur at an arm's length.
Arthur looked at him with a considering expression. "Are you attached?"
Eames shook his head. "No."
Arthur frowned. "Are you unwilling?"
Eames chuckled. "Of course not."
"Then why are you stopping me?" Arthur asked, his frown deepening.
It was an excellent question. Eames wanted nothing more than to take Arthur to his room and fuck him until they couldn't move, but the desperation he could feel from Arthur wasn't normal. And he didn't like it.
"What happened?" Eames finally asked, narrowing his eyes and taking in Arthur's appearance.
He had been startled to find him there, and that might account for the fact that he hadn't noticed the little things showing how upset Arthur really was. Like the dark circles under his eyes, or the fact that his hair wasn't as neatly combed as it usually was, or that his shoes lacked polish and his suit appeared wrinkled.
"Sarah's gone, she left in the morning with a note saying she can't live with someone like me," Arthur spat out the words, the anger in his tone barely concealing his hurt. "Now, are you going to fuck me or not?"
There was nothing to say to that. Eames took Arthur to his room upstairs, ripping the clothes roughly from him and kissing and touching every part within reach. He pushed Arthur against the wall, pinning him there with his body and kissing his mouth deeply. Arthur responded with the same desperation Eames felt before, clinging to his body and devouring his mouth. Somehow Eames knew this wasn't the night for gentle or playful sex. Arthur needed something else, and he was going to have it.
Eames pushed against him, moving his mouth down Arthur's neck and biting him savagely, feeling the shudders coursing his frame.
"Up," he rasped against the soft skin, grabbing Arthur's arse and hitching him up.
Arthur complied readily, twining his legs around Eames' waist and clinging to him tightly, his hands gripping Eames' shoulders painfully. It wasn't the easiest or the most comfortable of positions, holding Arthur there, and Eames stumbled backward into the bed, both of them crashing on top of the soft mattress.
In an instant, he had flipped Arthur, pinning him face down against the bed, holding him like that with a large hand between his shoulder blades. Arthur let out a breathless moan, spreading his legs to accommodate Eames, his hands gripping the bedclothes until his knuckles were white. Eames pressed forwards, rubbing his cock against the crack or Arthur's arse, his free hand finding Arthur's lips.
Arthur sucked his fingers eagerly into his mouth, nipping sharply at the fingertips and coating them thoroughly with saliva, his tongue running over every inch of skin. Eames prepared him just like that, opening him with quick and efficient moves before entering him in one powerful thrust. Arthur cried out and stiffened under him, his breathing shallow, his eyes screwed shut. Eames leaned forward and bit the nape of his neck; teeth leaving angry marks soothed then by his tongue.
"Move," Arthur demanded after a few seconds, the pressure around Eames' cock eased enough that it wasn't painful anymore.
Eames did, pounding into him hard and fast, almost brutally. Arthur was meeting his thrusts eagerly, almost desperately, his moans edged with need on and bit of pain. It was over too quickly, Arthur shaking under him as Eames angled his thrusts, breath hitching in his chest. He was pushing against Eames hard, urging him deeper and faster, and he finally stiffened, clenching around Eames' cock painfully and wrenching the orgasm out of him.
Eames slumped on the bed, catching his breath before getting up, completely uncaring of his nudity, and walking out of the bedroom. He went downstairs and grabbed an ashtray, picking his cigarettes and Arthur's suitcase before going back to the bedroom.
Arthur was still naked on the bed, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. From there Eames could see bruises already forming on his pale skin, the shape of his fingers on his hips.
Arthur had looked like he wanted to feel that one for a long time; Eames had made sure he did.
"Want a fag, darling?" Eames said, lighting one for him and sitting on the bed next to Arthur, leaning against the headboard.
Arthur sat up, mirroring Eames posture and taking the offered cigarette. "I need a shower."
"You can have one later."
They smoked in silence, Eames waiting for Arthur to speak and tell him as much or as little as he wanted to tell.
"She wanted to retire from dream work," Arthur finally offered his voice low and tired. Eames turned to look at him, Arthur had his eyes closed, cigarette held loosely in one hand and exhaling the smoke lazily. It was a sight he never tired of, Arthur lazy and relaxed, smoking after sex. "She said we had enough money to live comfortably and look for legal work."
That was never going to work for Arthur. Whatever he had been in his past life, he was now a point man through and through, and nothing else was going to satisfy him. Not for a long time, possibly not ever.
Eames knew because it was the same for him.
"You wear the suits prettily, Arthur, but I don't see you in an office."
Arthur opened his eyes and smiled at him. "Yes, I know. It could have worked if Sarah hadn't insisted that the both of us retired. I told her I could keep working and go back home to her, and do you want to know what she said?"
Eames shook his head.
"How do I know you're not going to be sleeping with Eames, or someone else when you're away? I know you, Arthur." There was bitterness and anger and sadness in the words but Arthur's eyes were clear and sharp, narrowed in fury and disappointment.
"She doesn't know you at all, darling," was all Eames could say to that.
They finished smoking in silence, Eames taking the butt from Arthur fingers and putting it out in the ashtray. He leaned towards Arthur, pressing their lips together.
"Well, her loss, my gain."
…
Things didn't actually change after that, only now they were in the habit of informing the other of their whereabouts all the time.
Eames had a job in Bangkok at the same time Arthur was in Singapore, and he would make sure to take a couple of days detour on his way back home. Arthur would appear at his hotel in Prague one night and they would spend the rest of the weekend ensconced in the room, calling room service and exhausting each other enough to sleep without aid.
They also shared hotel rooms whenever they were in a job together. It made sense, considering they never slept alone those days. They still fought occasionally during the job, and their interactions puzzled and amused their team mates, their nightly activities known to all of them.
It was everything Eames had always wanted in a relationship: a friend he found attractive enough never to get tired of his body and interesting enough never to be bored of him.
They came and went as they pleased, without the complication of deep feelings or jealousy. In spite of their conflicting personalities, or maybe because of them, they were first and foremost, friends.
…
The call came at five in the morning, startling Eames awake. Next to him Matt turned in his sleep, groaning.
Eames extended a hand towards the nightstand, blinking the sleep from his eyes and with a bad feeling settling like lead in his stomach. Nobody called at that hour unless it was bad news.
"Who's it?" Matt mumbled, not entirely awake, turning again and squinting his eyes at Eames, who was still fumbling with his mobile with clumsy fingers.
"Don't know yet, got back to sleep love." He finally managed to get his phone and answer the call. "Eames."
"Eames, it's Arthur."
Eames was wide awake in a second, sitting upright on the bed and turning on the lamp on the nightstand. Matt made another noise of protest but Eames ignored it.
There was something in Arthur's voice Eames had not liked, something sad and broken. They had not seen each other for almost a year, their visits stopped when Eames began a relationship with Matt. They still talked, from time to time, and they had done a couple of easy jobs together, enjoying each other's company in a more innocent environment than they usually did. Eames sometimes missed him, missed the uncomplicated something he had with Arthur.
As much as he loved Matt and enjoyed being with him, this whole love business was a pain in the arse sometimes.
"Arthur? What's wrong?"
There was a silence at the other end of the line, almost as if Arthur was trying to find the words for what he had to say. It made Eames more anxious than he already was; Arthur was never at a loss for words.
"Mal's dead. Come to L.A. I need you."
Eames' heart clenched, his eyes suddenly stinging. He thought of Mal, beautiful Mal with the laughing eyes and the lush mouth, playful Mal full with life and love. Mal the friend, Mal the wife. His next thought was for Dom and the kids.
"I'll take the first flight," Eames said on the phone before hanging up and leaving his warm bed. He turned to look at Matt, wondering if he should leave a note or try to explain and hope he wasn't too asleep to remember in the morning.
Matt was awake, and he was staring a Eames with narrowed eyes. "Where are you going?" There was something ugly in his voice, something Eames had not seen previously, and he frowned.
"L.A."
"Because Arthur called?" There it was, Arthur's name said as if it was an insult. Eames had noticed Matt's jealousy before, especially when it came to Arthur, and he might even have encouraged it a bit. There was no sex like make-up sex, after all, and a couple of fights because his boyfriend was very possessive were something Eames enjoyed.
But not this, not now.
"Yes. A friend just passed away," Eames said shortly trying to keep his voice steady. If he let his sadness and loss to come out now, he'd be opening a dam. Arthur had said he needed him and Eames also needed Arthur, he was going to try to hold it together until he arrived.
Matt's expression softened, and he got up from the bed. "I'm so sorry, hon," he approached him and enfolded him in his arms. Eames allowed himself to rest his head on Matt's shoulders for a second, taking deep breaths and pushing his grief down. "Come back to bed, let me hold you."
Eames shook his head. "No, I have to go."
"When's the funeral?" Matt asked, his voice still soft but with something creeping on it Eames didn't like.
Eames took a step back pulling away from Matt's arms, his brows furrowing in a frown. "I don't know."
Matt tried a smile but Eames was too good at reading people to be fooled by its gentleness. He narrowed his eyes. "Then you don't need to be there just yet, stay here tonight and tomorrow you'll feel better. You can go later."
"They need me there," Eames said, turning his back to Matt and grabbing his suitcase. He picked things from the wardrobe at random, stuffing them inside the suitcase without care. Then he went to the back and brought out a suit, one he had barely used. It was black and sombre and Eames hated it. He had bought it when his sister died five years ago and hadn't used it since.
"Arthur needs you there." And there it was again, that ugliness in Matt's voice. Eames thought for a second, that if he were to turn and look at his boyfriend right that instant he wouldn't see the gorgeous and sweet Matt he loved but something twisted and hideous. He kept his back firmly turned to him.
"My friends need me, and I don't need this. Not now."
"Then I'm coming with you, I want to be with you."
He turned at that, and what he saw on Matt's face was not the expression of one worried about his lover, it was that of one worried about himself. "No, it's better if I go alone."
"So Arthur can comfort you?" And there it was, that hideous face Eames had not wanted to see.
It was the worst time for Matt to mess with him.
"Yes," he hissed angrily, taking a step towards Matt and relishing the way he flinched. "And so I can comfort him. It was going to be just drinks and crying on each other's shoulder since I had a lover." He didn't miss the way Matt paled at his use of the past tense. "Now, I think I don't have to worry about that." He grabbed his suitcase and snapped it close, taking a pair of jeans from a chair and a shirt and dressing quickly. He was at the door in record time. "I don't know when I'll return."
He left without looking back.
…
Arthur was waiting for him when he arrived at the airport.
He looked as if he hadn't slept in ages, dark shadows under his eyes and his hair and clothes in disarray. It was the downturn of his mouth and the creases on his forehead what told Eames how exhausted and sad he was, thought.
"You're staying at mine's," Arthur said, taking Eames' suitcase from his hand and stuffing it into the truck of his car. "Or is that going to be a problem with Matt?"
Eames' mouth quirked sadly at the irony. "No. Matt's over."
Arthur shot him a sharp look. "Since when?"
"Today."
"Do you want to talk about it, Eames?" The offer was sincere, the concern in Arthur's voice clear.
"No. I want a shower, a stiff drink, a few hours of sleep and you."
Arthur turned to look at him briefly before fixing his eyes on the road again. "I can do that."
They made the rest of the trip in silence, Eames staring numbly out of the window. He wondered if this was how Arthur had felt about Sarah when she had left him, and cursed Matt for forcing this on him right now. Mal deserved that he grieved her without the shadow of his broken heart getting in the way.
They arrived at Arthur's loft with the merciless sun of Los Angeles beating down on them. Eames had dozed off a couple of times during the ride, his head lolling forward and him starting awake with Mal's lovely laugh in his ears.
"Scotch?" Arthur asked once they were inside, one of his leftover habits from his time with Sarah, Eames' suitcase dumped unceremoniously in the living room.
"Ta love."
He went straight to the shower, washing away the grime from the flight and part of his tiredness, there was a deep exhaustion in his bones Eames doubted nothing but time would get rid of. When he emerged in the living room clad only in a towel and some water drops Arthur had already changed into a pair of pyjama pants and nothing else, and was sitting on the couch with his head resting on his hands. Eames grabbed the glass of scotch from the table and downed it in one go, putting it next to Arthur's already empty one.
He took Arthur's hand and tugged at it gently, making him stand up and leading him to the bedroom. They lay down on top of the bed, not bothering with the cover, and Eames wasn't surprised to see tear tracks on Arthur's cheeks. He kissed them gently, and then pressed his lips against Arthur's in a chaste kiss.
Arthur's arms encircled his back, pressing Eames against him and twining their legs together. He looked Eames in the eyes, and there was something dark and bruised, something hollow and painful and Eames' tears started falling as well.
"She jumped," Arthur whispered brokenly, his breath hot against Eames' lips. "The night of their anniversary. She jumped and Dom--Dom, I think he would have jumped too, were it not for the kids. And I--I couldn't--"
Eames silenced him with a kiss, their tears sharp and painful and real, their salt clinging to their lips.
"Shush, don't talk."
"I knew she was losing it," Arthur continued, ignoring him. "And Dom knew it as well, and we couldn't do anything. I hate her for doing this to Dom. How can I hate Mal?"
Eames tightened his embrace. "I hate her too, love." And it was true, right at that moment he hated Mal with his entire being. For doing this to herself, to Dom and her kids, but mostly for breaking Arthur.
They stayed like that for hours, just clinging tightly to each other, talking about Mal and crying, sometimes kissing, until the moon took over the dark sky and their eyes closed, sending them to the blessed oblivion of dreamless sleep.
…
The next few days passed in a blur of funeral arrangements and alcohol and grief.
They never slept together, or it would be better to say that the only thing they did was actually sleep together, limbs tangled on the bed and the steady and reassuring sound of their heartbeats lulling them into the dreams.
Eames didn't know what Arthur dreamt about or even if he did. For him, it was Mal as he had met her, young and flirty and so alive. Before Cobb, before Arthur, when she was just the teenaged daughter of a professor in the Sorbonne and trying to get into mischief with the British exchange student. They got into many kinds of trouble together, and it was always Mal with her angelic face and her soft voice that got them out.
It would have been ironic if it wasn't so bloody tragic, Eames had dumped his boyfriend because Matt hadn't believed he could keep a platonic relationship with Arthur, and yet they had done nothing more than hold hands and kiss chastely.
And it felt good, it felt right for them.
They stood shoulder to shoulder watching as they buried Mal's coffin, their tears already spent the previous nights, and they finally left together to spend the last night at Arthur's house.
They kissed, long and deep and reassuring, their naked bodies illuminated by the full moon, but they didn't do more than that.
"Where are you going now?" Arthur asked, his head pillowed on Eames shoulder, his voice heavy with tiredness.
"I don't know, I'll pick a place tomorrow."
"Not home?" Not to Matt?
"No."
Arthur kissed his neck, comfort and apology all in one gesture, and Eames wanted to tell him it hadn't been his fault. It had not been anyone's fault except Matt's.
"Don't forget to tell me where you are, just in case I'm in the neighbourhood."
"Same to you."
…
Eames wasn't surprised in the least when Cobb appeared at his back in Mombasa.
He had been surprised when he received a text in the morning, after so many months of silence, from Arthur. The last thing he had heard, they were somewhere in Asia preparing for a big job, and then nothing. To say he had been worried would be an understatement.
Then, that morning, there was a message waiting for him when he woke up.
Dom's on his way to you, try to return him to Paris in one piece, Cobol wants us dead.
Eames's brows had crawled up his forehead, a smile curling his lips. Paris. It sounded nice. He read then the part about Cobol and determined to be on lookout, Arthur would not forgive him if he allowed Cobb to come to harm.
I might not be interested in the job, darling. Haven't you considered that? He couldn't resist but to reply, though he was already certain that whatever the offer was, he was going to be in.
It had been way too long to pass up an opportunity to work with Arthur.
You will be.
Eames chuckled.
So certain of your charms, Arthur?
The reply took a bit longer to arrive, and when it did, Eames stared at his mobile with a disbelieving expression.
Inception. One room or two?
Arthur definitely knew how to make his case.
One.
…
"I think Ariadne likes you."
Arthur shot him a disbelieving look, his brow creasing in a scowl and his lips pressed together harshly. It would have been a more impressive sight had he not been straddling Eames completely naked, his hair free of pomade and curling around his face and his skin glistening with sweat. He pushed down harshly, ripples of pleasure robbing Eames of both breath and speech for an instant.
"Is this the time to talk about that, Eames?" Arthur said, his voice slightly breathless as he moved up only to plunge down again even harder, his hands taking up residence on Eames' abdomen.
"Yeah," Eames agreed, though he wasn't sure to what at that precise point in time. He moved his hands to Arthur's hips, trying to get some control of the rhythm and make him move faster. Arthur smirked down at him, clenching around his cock and going at it even slower. "And I think you like her too." He moved one of his hands from Arthur's hips to the crack between his cheeks, moving it down until he could touch the point where his cock went inside him.
Arthur's brows shot up his forehead, his smirk turning positively filthy. "I don't sleep with colleagues," he had the cheek to say and Eames laughed breathlessly at that, slipping the tip of his finger inside Arthur's hole. Arthur shuddered on top of him and kept moving with slow and deliberate thrusts.
"Says the man riding his colleague." Eames pushed his finger in up to the second knuckle, the feeling or Arthur around both his cock and his finger strange and incredibly erotic.
"This is different," Arthur said, his voice strained and tight. He ground down and leaned forward, his hands moving up Eames' chest to grab his face, kissing him deeply and messily, his breath hot inside Eames' mouth. Eames took the chance to push a second finger past the ring of muscle, Arthur stiffening and growling into his mouth. "Eames," he gasped, biting on his lower lip savagely.
"Yes, darling?" Eames tried to say nonchalantly, but it came out more like a strained moan when Arthur tightened his muscles around him, and he pressed both fingers inside as far as they could go.
"Fuck, Eames!" Arthur half gasped half screamed, and he began to move in earnest, sitting up on top of Eames again, his thighs trembling, his entire body taut. Eames pushed his hips up and Arthur shuddered, head thrown back and exposing the line of his throat. His hands moved to Eames' legs, his back arched gracefully while he rode him hard and fast, eyes scrunched shut.
It was the hottest thing Eames had seen in his life. He made a chocked sound at the back of his throat, his free hand roaming Arthur's chest, his other one trapped inside Arthur's heat. He wanted to touch everything at once, wanted to mark Arthur's pristine skin inside and out.
"Arthur!" Eames groaned, breathless with wonder and weak with need, feeling his orgasm coming like a freight train. He came inside Arthur, sooner than he would have liked it but knowing there wasn't any way to stop him, and Arthur shot him a filthy look when he felt it.
"Don't you fucking dare--"
Eames didn't let him finish it, pushing up his body until he had toppled Arthur backwards on the bed, slipping out of him. "Eames," Arthur keened, voice needy and desperate, and the next instant Eames had swallowed him whole, his fingers finding Arthur's hole again and plunging in roughly. He took him back in his throat, swallowing around Arthur's cock and crooking his fingers inside his hole, and Arthur was coming, bitter and warm and shaking under Eames.
It took them a while to calm down, their breathing slowing down in the silent room.
"That was intense," Eames finally said, his heart still beating hard against his chest.
"Wait until you feel it from the other side, Eames," Arthur replied, amused, before kissing him.
They didn't say anything for a while, just watching in other on the bed, smiling.
"I was serious, though," Eames broke the silence after what felt like ages, his voice surprisingly rough and sleepy. "I think you and Ariadne would make a nice couple."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "I don't sleep with Architects."
Eames thought about it and nodded. Fair was fair, he didn't sleep with pretty boys either anymore, except Arthur, of course.
"But one day, you'll want romance and all that shite in your life again, darling," he insisted though, to be fair, Eames didn't think he'd want those things anymore. What he had with Arthur was far better than that.
Arthur looked at him as if he had lost his mind. "Why would I want that, Eames, when I already have you?"
And there was it. Simple. Uncomplicated.
Why, indeed.
…
Author: aviss
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Romance, Drama
Warnings: none
Summary: The first time they slept together was completely unexpected. It was the most amazing sex Eames had had in his life.
Word Count: ~5.500
Uncomplicated
The first time they slept together was completely unexpected.
It was the most amazing sex Eames had had in his life.
They'd been working together for a week, and Eames' first thought of Hey, I'd tap that in a second upon meeting Arthur had not changed. In fact, one week into the job and he was more than ready to just bend Arthur over the first surface he could find and pound him into it.
Arthur was more than a pretty face encased in a bloody expensive suit. Young as he might appear, Arthur was clever and quick, had a sharp tongue and took shit from no one. He was also the best Point Man Eames had ever seen in action. He was thoroughly impressed.
As luck would have it, Arthur wasn't exactly averse to the idea. It might be possible he had been thinking along the same lines.
"You've been staring at me the entire week, Mr. Eames," Arthur said once they were alone, Dom and Mal gone somewhere to have a romantic dinner for their anniversary. "Seen something you like?"
Eames smiled and leered playfully at Arthur's body. "Well, yes darling."
Arthur narrowed his eyes at him, considering. "Do you want to see more?" he said after a minute, and Eames was so surprised at the proposition it took him some time to find his voice.
"Hell yes."
They ended up in Arthur's hotel room, the ride back silent but not awkward, a kind of restless energy tingling through Eames' body. He couldn't believe it was going to be so easy, but he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
"This, Mr. Eames," Arthur said as he slowly removed each piece of that fucking armour he called clothing, Eames' arousal thrumming with every inch of flawless skin uncovered, "means nothing at all."
Eames agreed with him. It didn’t need to mean anything at all, or it could mean everything. It just depended on what they chose. But at that particular point in time it didn't matter. Not when Arthur could bend just so, his spine the perfect angle for Eames' tongue to trace each vertebra, when his breathless moans had that desperate quality, when his mouth was hot and warm and not hesitant at all as he sucked the very breath from Eames' lungs. Arthur was tight and warm, and surprisingly enough, he was fun once he was out of the workplace.
And more important, he was uncomplicated.
They made a point of fucking each other's brains out for the rest of the job.
In the morning, when they arrived together at the warehouse they were occupying, they fended off Mal's smirks and Dom's knowing smiles without any awkwardness.
"We're single, randy and available," Eames said not bothering to conceal his amusement at Mal's incredulous look. Mal, the romantic, looking for true love everywhere. She was lucky; she had Dom. "Don't you think, darling?"
Eames was also quite fortunate; he didn't need it. He had Arthur.
"We're working now, Eames," Arthur replied, his brow creasing in annoyance. "Save it for later."
That was the end of it, and since then neither Mal nor Dom bothered asking again. They worked well together, and they had a friendly relationship.
It was enough.
…
It wasn't always like that, it couldn't be.
As much as Eames appreciated Arthur's company and body, he knew both of them were seeing more people, and that it would come a time when it just wasn't possible.
Eames had just arrived in Rome, where they were preparing for a complicated job, when he was given ample proof of this.
Mal was sitting that one out, the risk factor coupled with her pregnancy enough to convince her to stay in Paris with her father. There was a young Scottish woman as the architect, and she was also inside Arthur's room when Eames knocked on his door.
Arthur opened the door on his shirtsleeves, a glass of scotch in his hand and his hair mused.
"Oh Eames," he said, looking completely relaxed and maybe a bit drunk. "I was expecting you."
It didn't take long to realize what was going on, and Eames shrugged his shoulders, considering already whether he should go to the bar and see if he got lucky or get back to his room and have a drink before going to bed.
He wasn't prepared for Arthur to open the door wider and invite him in.
"Aren't you busy now, darling?" Eames asked, his brows crawling up his forehead at the sight of Sarah, the architect, dressed only in a bathrobe and with her hair dripping wet, coming out of the bathroom.
"Yes, I am," Arthur replied, pouring another glass of scotch for Eames. "But you can stay for a drink if you want. We're not busy right now." There was no mistaking the tiny smirk on Arthur's face, or the way Sarah blushed and hurried inside the bedroom.
Things were going to get awkward in the morning.
He took the glass and drank slowly, enjoying the slow burn of the alcohol going down his throat. Eames wasn't entirely sure of what to say, it was the first time things had not gone accordingly to what he had come to expect, and though he felt disappointed to know he wouldn't be fucking Arthur this time, he wasn't hurt by it.
"So we're off for this job," he finally said, noticing little things around the room that told him Sarah wasn't just there for the night.
Arthur laughed. "We're off for the foreseeable future, Eames," he replied, amusement and something like regret in his voice. "Sarah and I have been together for a couple of months, I'm trying to make this work. I just thought I should tell you in person."
And that was so very Arthur Eames had the urge to laugh, all prim and proper in his interactions with people, all concerned about how every action could affect their job.
There had been a week, between the second and the third job they took together, when Eames believed he might fall in love with Arthur. It lasted for that entire week, and once it was over, Eames was convinced that whatever they were for each other, lovers was not it.
He was all right with that.
Eames smiled, leaning forward to plant a chaste kiss on Arthur's lips. "It's fine love," he said downing the rest of the glass. "I'll find someone else to shag tonight. I wish you luck."
He left Arthur's room and went straight to the bar.
…
It shouldn't be as surprising as it was to find Arthur at his doorstep. Eames wasn't naïve enough to believe Arthur didn't know his exact location at any point in time, though they had never talked about it.
That didn't mean he had expected to find Arthur there, suitcase in one hand and a lost expression on his face, clearly looking for him. They had worked together a couple of times in the past months, always with Sarah in the team, and it had been apparent for everyone they were a solid couple.
It didn't look so solid anymore to Eames.
"It didn't work," Arthur said as a way of greeting, and the next moment he was pushing Eames inside the house and trying to crawl inside him, devouring his mouth.
Eames let him for a minute, learning again the taste and shape or Arthur's mouth before pushing him away. "Hey, slow down love," he rasped out, breathless, keeping Arthur at an arm's length.
Arthur looked at him with a considering expression. "Are you attached?"
Eames shook his head. "No."
Arthur frowned. "Are you unwilling?"
Eames chuckled. "Of course not."
"Then why are you stopping me?" Arthur asked, his frown deepening.
It was an excellent question. Eames wanted nothing more than to take Arthur to his room and fuck him until they couldn't move, but the desperation he could feel from Arthur wasn't normal. And he didn't like it.
"What happened?" Eames finally asked, narrowing his eyes and taking in Arthur's appearance.
He had been startled to find him there, and that might account for the fact that he hadn't noticed the little things showing how upset Arthur really was. Like the dark circles under his eyes, or the fact that his hair wasn't as neatly combed as it usually was, or that his shoes lacked polish and his suit appeared wrinkled.
"Sarah's gone, she left in the morning with a note saying she can't live with someone like me," Arthur spat out the words, the anger in his tone barely concealing his hurt. "Now, are you going to fuck me or not?"
There was nothing to say to that. Eames took Arthur to his room upstairs, ripping the clothes roughly from him and kissing and touching every part within reach. He pushed Arthur against the wall, pinning him there with his body and kissing his mouth deeply. Arthur responded with the same desperation Eames felt before, clinging to his body and devouring his mouth. Somehow Eames knew this wasn't the night for gentle or playful sex. Arthur needed something else, and he was going to have it.
Eames pushed against him, moving his mouth down Arthur's neck and biting him savagely, feeling the shudders coursing his frame.
"Up," he rasped against the soft skin, grabbing Arthur's arse and hitching him up.
Arthur complied readily, twining his legs around Eames' waist and clinging to him tightly, his hands gripping Eames' shoulders painfully. It wasn't the easiest or the most comfortable of positions, holding Arthur there, and Eames stumbled backward into the bed, both of them crashing on top of the soft mattress.
In an instant, he had flipped Arthur, pinning him face down against the bed, holding him like that with a large hand between his shoulder blades. Arthur let out a breathless moan, spreading his legs to accommodate Eames, his hands gripping the bedclothes until his knuckles were white. Eames pressed forwards, rubbing his cock against the crack or Arthur's arse, his free hand finding Arthur's lips.
Arthur sucked his fingers eagerly into his mouth, nipping sharply at the fingertips and coating them thoroughly with saliva, his tongue running over every inch of skin. Eames prepared him just like that, opening him with quick and efficient moves before entering him in one powerful thrust. Arthur cried out and stiffened under him, his breathing shallow, his eyes screwed shut. Eames leaned forward and bit the nape of his neck; teeth leaving angry marks soothed then by his tongue.
"Move," Arthur demanded after a few seconds, the pressure around Eames' cock eased enough that it wasn't painful anymore.
Eames did, pounding into him hard and fast, almost brutally. Arthur was meeting his thrusts eagerly, almost desperately, his moans edged with need on and bit of pain. It was over too quickly, Arthur shaking under him as Eames angled his thrusts, breath hitching in his chest. He was pushing against Eames hard, urging him deeper and faster, and he finally stiffened, clenching around Eames' cock painfully and wrenching the orgasm out of him.
Eames slumped on the bed, catching his breath before getting up, completely uncaring of his nudity, and walking out of the bedroom. He went downstairs and grabbed an ashtray, picking his cigarettes and Arthur's suitcase before going back to the bedroom.
Arthur was still naked on the bed, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. From there Eames could see bruises already forming on his pale skin, the shape of his fingers on his hips.
Arthur had looked like he wanted to feel that one for a long time; Eames had made sure he did.
"Want a fag, darling?" Eames said, lighting one for him and sitting on the bed next to Arthur, leaning against the headboard.
Arthur sat up, mirroring Eames posture and taking the offered cigarette. "I need a shower."
"You can have one later."
They smoked in silence, Eames waiting for Arthur to speak and tell him as much or as little as he wanted to tell.
"She wanted to retire from dream work," Arthur finally offered his voice low and tired. Eames turned to look at him, Arthur had his eyes closed, cigarette held loosely in one hand and exhaling the smoke lazily. It was a sight he never tired of, Arthur lazy and relaxed, smoking after sex. "She said we had enough money to live comfortably and look for legal work."
That was never going to work for Arthur. Whatever he had been in his past life, he was now a point man through and through, and nothing else was going to satisfy him. Not for a long time, possibly not ever.
Eames knew because it was the same for him.
"You wear the suits prettily, Arthur, but I don't see you in an office."
Arthur opened his eyes and smiled at him. "Yes, I know. It could have worked if Sarah hadn't insisted that the both of us retired. I told her I could keep working and go back home to her, and do you want to know what she said?"
Eames shook his head.
"How do I know you're not going to be sleeping with Eames, or someone else when you're away? I know you, Arthur." There was bitterness and anger and sadness in the words but Arthur's eyes were clear and sharp, narrowed in fury and disappointment.
"She doesn't know you at all, darling," was all Eames could say to that.
They finished smoking in silence, Eames taking the butt from Arthur fingers and putting it out in the ashtray. He leaned towards Arthur, pressing their lips together.
"Well, her loss, my gain."
…
Things didn't actually change after that, only now they were in the habit of informing the other of their whereabouts all the time.
Eames had a job in Bangkok at the same time Arthur was in Singapore, and he would make sure to take a couple of days detour on his way back home. Arthur would appear at his hotel in Prague one night and they would spend the rest of the weekend ensconced in the room, calling room service and exhausting each other enough to sleep without aid.
They also shared hotel rooms whenever they were in a job together. It made sense, considering they never slept alone those days. They still fought occasionally during the job, and their interactions puzzled and amused their team mates, their nightly activities known to all of them.
It was everything Eames had always wanted in a relationship: a friend he found attractive enough never to get tired of his body and interesting enough never to be bored of him.
They came and went as they pleased, without the complication of deep feelings or jealousy. In spite of their conflicting personalities, or maybe because of them, they were first and foremost, friends.
…
The call came at five in the morning, startling Eames awake. Next to him Matt turned in his sleep, groaning.
Eames extended a hand towards the nightstand, blinking the sleep from his eyes and with a bad feeling settling like lead in his stomach. Nobody called at that hour unless it was bad news.
"Who's it?" Matt mumbled, not entirely awake, turning again and squinting his eyes at Eames, who was still fumbling with his mobile with clumsy fingers.
"Don't know yet, got back to sleep love." He finally managed to get his phone and answer the call. "Eames."
"Eames, it's Arthur."
Eames was wide awake in a second, sitting upright on the bed and turning on the lamp on the nightstand. Matt made another noise of protest but Eames ignored it.
There was something in Arthur's voice Eames had not liked, something sad and broken. They had not seen each other for almost a year, their visits stopped when Eames began a relationship with Matt. They still talked, from time to time, and they had done a couple of easy jobs together, enjoying each other's company in a more innocent environment than they usually did. Eames sometimes missed him, missed the uncomplicated something he had with Arthur.
As much as he loved Matt and enjoyed being with him, this whole love business was a pain in the arse sometimes.
"Arthur? What's wrong?"
There was a silence at the other end of the line, almost as if Arthur was trying to find the words for what he had to say. It made Eames more anxious than he already was; Arthur was never at a loss for words.
"Mal's dead. Come to L.A. I need you."
Eames' heart clenched, his eyes suddenly stinging. He thought of Mal, beautiful Mal with the laughing eyes and the lush mouth, playful Mal full with life and love. Mal the friend, Mal the wife. His next thought was for Dom and the kids.
"I'll take the first flight," Eames said on the phone before hanging up and leaving his warm bed. He turned to look at Matt, wondering if he should leave a note or try to explain and hope he wasn't too asleep to remember in the morning.
Matt was awake, and he was staring a Eames with narrowed eyes. "Where are you going?" There was something ugly in his voice, something Eames had not seen previously, and he frowned.
"L.A."
"Because Arthur called?" There it was, Arthur's name said as if it was an insult. Eames had noticed Matt's jealousy before, especially when it came to Arthur, and he might even have encouraged it a bit. There was no sex like make-up sex, after all, and a couple of fights because his boyfriend was very possessive were something Eames enjoyed.
But not this, not now.
"Yes. A friend just passed away," Eames said shortly trying to keep his voice steady. If he let his sadness and loss to come out now, he'd be opening a dam. Arthur had said he needed him and Eames also needed Arthur, he was going to try to hold it together until he arrived.
Matt's expression softened, and he got up from the bed. "I'm so sorry, hon," he approached him and enfolded him in his arms. Eames allowed himself to rest his head on Matt's shoulders for a second, taking deep breaths and pushing his grief down. "Come back to bed, let me hold you."
Eames shook his head. "No, I have to go."
"When's the funeral?" Matt asked, his voice still soft but with something creeping on it Eames didn't like.
Eames took a step back pulling away from Matt's arms, his brows furrowing in a frown. "I don't know."
Matt tried a smile but Eames was too good at reading people to be fooled by its gentleness. He narrowed his eyes. "Then you don't need to be there just yet, stay here tonight and tomorrow you'll feel better. You can go later."
"They need me there," Eames said, turning his back to Matt and grabbing his suitcase. He picked things from the wardrobe at random, stuffing them inside the suitcase without care. Then he went to the back and brought out a suit, one he had barely used. It was black and sombre and Eames hated it. He had bought it when his sister died five years ago and hadn't used it since.
"Arthur needs you there." And there it was again, that ugliness in Matt's voice. Eames thought for a second, that if he were to turn and look at his boyfriend right that instant he wouldn't see the gorgeous and sweet Matt he loved but something twisted and hideous. He kept his back firmly turned to him.
"My friends need me, and I don't need this. Not now."
"Then I'm coming with you, I want to be with you."
He turned at that, and what he saw on Matt's face was not the expression of one worried about his lover, it was that of one worried about himself. "No, it's better if I go alone."
"So Arthur can comfort you?" And there it was, that hideous face Eames had not wanted to see.
It was the worst time for Matt to mess with him.
"Yes," he hissed angrily, taking a step towards Matt and relishing the way he flinched. "And so I can comfort him. It was going to be just drinks and crying on each other's shoulder since I had a lover." He didn't miss the way Matt paled at his use of the past tense. "Now, I think I don't have to worry about that." He grabbed his suitcase and snapped it close, taking a pair of jeans from a chair and a shirt and dressing quickly. He was at the door in record time. "I don't know when I'll return."
He left without looking back.
…
Arthur was waiting for him when he arrived at the airport.
He looked as if he hadn't slept in ages, dark shadows under his eyes and his hair and clothes in disarray. It was the downturn of his mouth and the creases on his forehead what told Eames how exhausted and sad he was, thought.
"You're staying at mine's," Arthur said, taking Eames' suitcase from his hand and stuffing it into the truck of his car. "Or is that going to be a problem with Matt?"
Eames' mouth quirked sadly at the irony. "No. Matt's over."
Arthur shot him a sharp look. "Since when?"
"Today."
"Do you want to talk about it, Eames?" The offer was sincere, the concern in Arthur's voice clear.
"No. I want a shower, a stiff drink, a few hours of sleep and you."
Arthur turned to look at him briefly before fixing his eyes on the road again. "I can do that."
They made the rest of the trip in silence, Eames staring numbly out of the window. He wondered if this was how Arthur had felt about Sarah when she had left him, and cursed Matt for forcing this on him right now. Mal deserved that he grieved her without the shadow of his broken heart getting in the way.
They arrived at Arthur's loft with the merciless sun of Los Angeles beating down on them. Eames had dozed off a couple of times during the ride, his head lolling forward and him starting awake with Mal's lovely laugh in his ears.
"Scotch?" Arthur asked once they were inside, one of his leftover habits from his time with Sarah, Eames' suitcase dumped unceremoniously in the living room.
"Ta love."
He went straight to the shower, washing away the grime from the flight and part of his tiredness, there was a deep exhaustion in his bones Eames doubted nothing but time would get rid of. When he emerged in the living room clad only in a towel and some water drops Arthur had already changed into a pair of pyjama pants and nothing else, and was sitting on the couch with his head resting on his hands. Eames grabbed the glass of scotch from the table and downed it in one go, putting it next to Arthur's already empty one.
He took Arthur's hand and tugged at it gently, making him stand up and leading him to the bedroom. They lay down on top of the bed, not bothering with the cover, and Eames wasn't surprised to see tear tracks on Arthur's cheeks. He kissed them gently, and then pressed his lips against Arthur's in a chaste kiss.
Arthur's arms encircled his back, pressing Eames against him and twining their legs together. He looked Eames in the eyes, and there was something dark and bruised, something hollow and painful and Eames' tears started falling as well.
"She jumped," Arthur whispered brokenly, his breath hot against Eames' lips. "The night of their anniversary. She jumped and Dom--Dom, I think he would have jumped too, were it not for the kids. And I--I couldn't--"
Eames silenced him with a kiss, their tears sharp and painful and real, their salt clinging to their lips.
"Shush, don't talk."
"I knew she was losing it," Arthur continued, ignoring him. "And Dom knew it as well, and we couldn't do anything. I hate her for doing this to Dom. How can I hate Mal?"
Eames tightened his embrace. "I hate her too, love." And it was true, right at that moment he hated Mal with his entire being. For doing this to herself, to Dom and her kids, but mostly for breaking Arthur.
They stayed like that for hours, just clinging tightly to each other, talking about Mal and crying, sometimes kissing, until the moon took over the dark sky and their eyes closed, sending them to the blessed oblivion of dreamless sleep.
…
The next few days passed in a blur of funeral arrangements and alcohol and grief.
They never slept together, or it would be better to say that the only thing they did was actually sleep together, limbs tangled on the bed and the steady and reassuring sound of their heartbeats lulling them into the dreams.
Eames didn't know what Arthur dreamt about or even if he did. For him, it was Mal as he had met her, young and flirty and so alive. Before Cobb, before Arthur, when she was just the teenaged daughter of a professor in the Sorbonne and trying to get into mischief with the British exchange student. They got into many kinds of trouble together, and it was always Mal with her angelic face and her soft voice that got them out.
It would have been ironic if it wasn't so bloody tragic, Eames had dumped his boyfriend because Matt hadn't believed he could keep a platonic relationship with Arthur, and yet they had done nothing more than hold hands and kiss chastely.
And it felt good, it felt right for them.
They stood shoulder to shoulder watching as they buried Mal's coffin, their tears already spent the previous nights, and they finally left together to spend the last night at Arthur's house.
They kissed, long and deep and reassuring, their naked bodies illuminated by the full moon, but they didn't do more than that.
"Where are you going now?" Arthur asked, his head pillowed on Eames shoulder, his voice heavy with tiredness.
"I don't know, I'll pick a place tomorrow."
"Not home?" Not to Matt?
"No."
Arthur kissed his neck, comfort and apology all in one gesture, and Eames wanted to tell him it hadn't been his fault. It had not been anyone's fault except Matt's.
"Don't forget to tell me where you are, just in case I'm in the neighbourhood."
"Same to you."
…
Eames wasn't surprised in the least when Cobb appeared at his back in Mombasa.
He had been surprised when he received a text in the morning, after so many months of silence, from Arthur. The last thing he had heard, they were somewhere in Asia preparing for a big job, and then nothing. To say he had been worried would be an understatement.
Then, that morning, there was a message waiting for him when he woke up.
Dom's on his way to you, try to return him to Paris in one piece, Cobol wants us dead.
Eames's brows had crawled up his forehead, a smile curling his lips. Paris. It sounded nice. He read then the part about Cobol and determined to be on lookout, Arthur would not forgive him if he allowed Cobb to come to harm.
I might not be interested in the job, darling. Haven't you considered that? He couldn't resist but to reply, though he was already certain that whatever the offer was, he was going to be in.
It had been way too long to pass up an opportunity to work with Arthur.
You will be.
Eames chuckled.
So certain of your charms, Arthur?
The reply took a bit longer to arrive, and when it did, Eames stared at his mobile with a disbelieving expression.
Inception. One room or two?
Arthur definitely knew how to make his case.
One.
…
"I think Ariadne likes you."
Arthur shot him a disbelieving look, his brow creasing in a scowl and his lips pressed together harshly. It would have been a more impressive sight had he not been straddling Eames completely naked, his hair free of pomade and curling around his face and his skin glistening with sweat. He pushed down harshly, ripples of pleasure robbing Eames of both breath and speech for an instant.
"Is this the time to talk about that, Eames?" Arthur said, his voice slightly breathless as he moved up only to plunge down again even harder, his hands taking up residence on Eames' abdomen.
"Yeah," Eames agreed, though he wasn't sure to what at that precise point in time. He moved his hands to Arthur's hips, trying to get some control of the rhythm and make him move faster. Arthur smirked down at him, clenching around his cock and going at it even slower. "And I think you like her too." He moved one of his hands from Arthur's hips to the crack between his cheeks, moving it down until he could touch the point where his cock went inside him.
Arthur's brows shot up his forehead, his smirk turning positively filthy. "I don't sleep with colleagues," he had the cheek to say and Eames laughed breathlessly at that, slipping the tip of his finger inside Arthur's hole. Arthur shuddered on top of him and kept moving with slow and deliberate thrusts.
"Says the man riding his colleague." Eames pushed his finger in up to the second knuckle, the feeling or Arthur around both his cock and his finger strange and incredibly erotic.
"This is different," Arthur said, his voice strained and tight. He ground down and leaned forward, his hands moving up Eames' chest to grab his face, kissing him deeply and messily, his breath hot inside Eames' mouth. Eames took the chance to push a second finger past the ring of muscle, Arthur stiffening and growling into his mouth. "Eames," he gasped, biting on his lower lip savagely.
"Yes, darling?" Eames tried to say nonchalantly, but it came out more like a strained moan when Arthur tightened his muscles around him, and he pressed both fingers inside as far as they could go.
"Fuck, Eames!" Arthur half gasped half screamed, and he began to move in earnest, sitting up on top of Eames again, his thighs trembling, his entire body taut. Eames pushed his hips up and Arthur shuddered, head thrown back and exposing the line of his throat. His hands moved to Eames' legs, his back arched gracefully while he rode him hard and fast, eyes scrunched shut.
It was the hottest thing Eames had seen in his life. He made a chocked sound at the back of his throat, his free hand roaming Arthur's chest, his other one trapped inside Arthur's heat. He wanted to touch everything at once, wanted to mark Arthur's pristine skin inside and out.
"Arthur!" Eames groaned, breathless with wonder and weak with need, feeling his orgasm coming like a freight train. He came inside Arthur, sooner than he would have liked it but knowing there wasn't any way to stop him, and Arthur shot him a filthy look when he felt it.
"Don't you fucking dare--"
Eames didn't let him finish it, pushing up his body until he had toppled Arthur backwards on the bed, slipping out of him. "Eames," Arthur keened, voice needy and desperate, and the next instant Eames had swallowed him whole, his fingers finding Arthur's hole again and plunging in roughly. He took him back in his throat, swallowing around Arthur's cock and crooking his fingers inside his hole, and Arthur was coming, bitter and warm and shaking under Eames.
It took them a while to calm down, their breathing slowing down in the silent room.
"That was intense," Eames finally said, his heart still beating hard against his chest.
"Wait until you feel it from the other side, Eames," Arthur replied, amused, before kissing him.
They didn't say anything for a while, just watching in other on the bed, smiling.
"I was serious, though," Eames broke the silence after what felt like ages, his voice surprisingly rough and sleepy. "I think you and Ariadne would make a nice couple."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "I don't sleep with Architects."
Eames thought about it and nodded. Fair was fair, he didn't sleep with pretty boys either anymore, except Arthur, of course.
"But one day, you'll want romance and all that shite in your life again, darling," he insisted though, to be fair, Eames didn't think he'd want those things anymore. What he had with Arthur was far better than that.
Arthur looked at him as if he had lost his mind. "Why would I want that, Eames, when I already have you?"
And there was it. Simple. Uncomplicated.
Why, indeed.
…