Fic: Hole in One
Hole in One
Wordcount: 3000
Written for i-reversebang, inspired by pokemaster's adorable art!
"It should be relatively straightforward," Eames says. "You stay with the mark on the green while I retrieve the client list from the locker."
"Aren't I a little old to be pretending to be a caddy?" Arthur asks.
"Not at all. There are numerous professional caddies of various ages these days," Eames replies. "Caddies can sometimes serve as aides and lieutenants to top golfers-advising on the best way to approach a hole, the exact yardage and layout of the green, which clubs are best to use. Of course, in this dream you'll be playing a caddy that works for the golf course so the mark shouldn't be expecting extensive notes on his game."
"Wouldn't it be easier if I played one of his golfing buddies?"
"Do you know how to play golf on a professional level?"
Arthur has swung a golf club exactly twice in his life, both times at the beginning of miniature golf games that ended prematurely due to rain. He doubts those experiences apply. "Not exactly."
"Then it's simply not viable, I'm afraid," Eames says, shaking his head regretfully, though Arthur suspects he's not particularly sorry at all. "The mark is a tremendous snob about who he golfs with. Only plays with people as skilled as, or more so, than himself. Anyone else will draw his suspicions in an instant."
"Seems like you've got this job locked down already," Arthur observes. "Anything you need me to do?"
"I was thinking we could dedicate the latter half of this meeting to going under." Eames pulls out his PASIV. "Review the build, take a tour of the course."
"You have it built already?" Eames had called Arthur in for the job a few weeks ago, and Arthur arrived yesterday. He'd assumed Eames had done all the preliminary research, but Eames seems much further along in the planning stages than that.
"It's very basic, merely an amalgam of various golf courses and country clubs," Eames says as he rolls up his sleeve.
"Sure." Arthur settles into one of the overstuffed chairs. They're working out of Eames' hotel room. There wasn't any need to rent space since the team consists of just the two of them, though Arthur's starting to wonder if his presence is necessary to this job either.
Eames strides over with a wet wipe while Arthur rolls up his sleeve. "I would certainly appreciate your feedback on the build, of course."
"I haven't been on many golf courses before, so I can't comment too much on the aesthetics," Arthur says while Eames takes him gently by the wrist and runs the wipe over his skin. "This job seems straightforward enough that we shouldn't need to install anything too fancy. I'm happy to take a look, though."
"Marvelous. I'd be much obliged," Eames replies. He's still holding onto Arthur's arm, grip careful, as if Arthur were something that needed delicate handling.
"Eames?" Arthur prompts.
"Hm? Oh yes." Eames releases Arthur and steps back, coloring faintly. "Ahem. Yes."
Arthur watches Eames busy himself with the PASIV. There'd been a moment, years ago. Arthur had flirted a little-enough to convey interest while maintaining plausible deniability in case Eames rebuffed him. Eames had flirted back, much to Arthur's relief.
In fact, they even scheduled a date of sorts that Arthur was forced to cancel at the last minute. Complications arose with a previous job-semi-lethal complications-which involved him fleeing the country and going into hiding for months.
By the time he resurfaced, Eames had gotten involved with someone else. Arthur had been tempted to broach the topic again, but things seemed pretty serious with Eames' girlfriend. So that had been that.
Time passed, they both dated other people and subsequently broke up with them. Last Arthur heard, Eames was single again. And possibly still interested, if this carefully choreographed dance of a job is anything to go by.
It's a staggeringly simple extraction, one Eames could easily handle on his own. Which leads Arthur to postulate that this job has little to do with work at all.
"I can-" Arthur makes a half-hearted attempt to rise and reach for a cannula. Eames waves him off.
"My PASIV is rather old and this line can be finicky," Eames says as he skims fingertips along Arthur's forearm. "Best if I handle it, I think."
"Okay," Arthur replies, settling back. The view of Eames focusing intently on his arm, plush lips parted slightly is a pretty nice one. Arthur could get used to the attention.
"All set," Eames says, touching Arthur's shoulder. "Now, shall we?"
Arthur nods and waits for Eames to hook himself up. "I'm ready when you are."
Eames smiles at Arthur, expression warmer than one usually exchanged between strictly colleagues.
And then-lights out.
* * * * *
Arthur hasn't visited many golf courses in his life, but even he can tell that this is an unusually nice one. There are long stretches of immaculate green grass, small hills, and a blue sky overhead with the perfect ratio of sun and cloud.
Eames pulls up alongside Arthur in a golf cart, decked out in pastels. The outfit is complete with a driving cap and riding gloves. "Your chariot awaits," Eames says, a touch of mischief in his smile. He's wearing dark tinted aviators.
Arthur looks down at his own clothing, which consists of a white pair of coveralls. "This is one hell of an outfit."
Eames smiles, and Arthur gets the distinct impression that Eames is scanning him from head to toe behind his sunglasses. "It suits you."
"Thanks, I guess. I haven't worn a jumpsuit since I was in prison," Arthur says as he adjusts the bright white overalls into a more subdued white T-shirt and brown trousers. "Can't say I miss them."
"I didn't know you spent time in prison." Eames climbs out of the cart. "What were you in for?"
"They wanted me for burglary, assault, and corporate espionage," Arthur replies. "The only thing they could get to stick was a theft charge. It was a few months and I got out on parole for good behavior."
Eames gives Arthur a sidelong glance. "Such a checkered past you have. You're going to be a terrible influence, aren't you?"
"Because you're squeaky clean, huh?"
"Officially, yes."
"Officially, aren't you supposed to be dead?"
Eames waves a hand dismissively. "Legal semantics, really."
Arthur chuckles. "I thought you were going to give me the tour?"
"I am, but before we get to that, we're going to review some equipment basics." Eames hauls a considerable bag of clubs out of the backseat of the cart. "Most of what you'll be doing is retrieving the correct club for the mark to play with."
Eames explains the various types from putters to irons and woods (Arthur can't help sniggering throughout at all the names, especially when combined with discussion about various holes). They discuss wedges and head shapes and shaft lengths (more snickering, because good god) and what all the numbers stand for.
After a thorough explanation, Eames passes each club to Arthur to get a feel of the heft and weight.
"Now let's practice hitting a ball," Eames says. "You won't be called up to play, but a cursory knowledge will help in case the mark wishes to chat."
"Sure," Arthur says, suppressing a small smile at Eames' transparency.
"This is the grip." Eames holds the putter out for Arthur to take and folds Arthur's fingers over the handle individually. "Feel that? Firm, but no need to squeeze too tight. You don't want a club to fly away during the swing, but too much pressure will ruin the easy movement."
"Uh huh," Arthur says, mostly paying attention to Eames' hands on his.
"Now for the arc." Eames slides up behind Arthur, covering Arthur's hands with his. "I'll demonstrate the full swing forward and back, then you can try."
"Sounds good," Arthur says, distracted by the slight press of Eames' groin to his ass, the warmth of his skin.
"Keep the wrist and forearm straight. You want to be swinging with your whole body. Not just rotating the wrist." Eames' breath is warm on Arthur's ear, lips brushing ever so slightly against Arthur's earlobe.
"Like this?" Arthur asks, angling his face towards his shoulder. A few more inches and they'd be kissing.
Eames inhales quickly and goes still. "Yes. Precisely."
"What about the ball?" Arthur murmurs, stilling as well.
"You should constantly-" Eames' tongue darts out to wet his lips. "Keep it in your eye-line. Keep on your ball."
Arthur runs his thumb along the inside of Eames' wrist. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Eames murmurs, eyes unfocused.
They both startle when the golf club falls to the ground with a solid whoomp, jerking them out of the moment.
"Ah yes, the green," Eames says, not too subtly adjusting his pants as he steps away. "You always want to be aware of the terrain, of course, of the possible hills and valleys unique to each golf course, as well as the obvious things like sand traps and water hazards."
"Looks pretty level to me," Arthur says, not really paying attention. Mostly he wants Eames' body pressed against his again.
"Appearances can be deceiving, which is why a lot of golfers crouch down low to survey the land." Eames demonstrates, and Arthur crouches down as well. "You see that small rise over there? It would completely alter your ball's trajectory, which you have to account for when choosing a club to use and how to swing."
Is this a sport purely invented for use in bad sexual puns? Arthur thinks as Eames straightens up and walks to the golf cart again.
Eames drives them around the green, pointing out the various holes and bunkers. Now that sex is on Arthur's mind, nearly everything Eames says sounds like a euphemism dripped in innuendo. The raspy British accent certainly doesn't help.
Arthur wonders idly if he's going to get a boner and forever associate golfing with sex. Apparently, Arthur wonders for too long because Eames touches his knee with a concerned, "Arthur? Did you hear what I said?"
"What? Sorry, missed that last part," Arthur replies, shifting his legs to accommodate his cock, which is most definitely beginning to harden from the close proximity of Eames' hand.
"I asked if you had any suggestions for changes," Eames says, his hand still resting on Arthur's knee. Thank god for automatic transmission in golf carts, Arthur thinks.
"Everything looks good so far," Arthur says, vaguely. "Sometimes it's an advantage to have a dreamscape very similar to the real thing. Then you won't arouse--suspicion."
"That is an excellent point you make, Arthur," Eames says, all the r's rolling together. "I'm glad you approve."
Arthur tears his gaze away from Eames' mouth, back up to his eyes. "Maybe you can show me where the mark's secrets will be housed?"
"A splendid idea," Eames says as he turns the golf cart around.
* * * * *
Eames leads Arthur into an athletic facility, sparkling clean and devoid of any projections. They walk past gym equipment and pristine showers to rows of lockers, all labeled with various names.
Eames stops in front of a locker with the mark's name on it. It's empty.
Arthur traces the nameplate of the locker beside the mark's, engraved with 'Eames'. "If I opened this, what would I find?'
A smile plays over Eames' lips as he spins the combination lock. The door opens to reveal a single envelope addressed to Arthur. "See for yourself."
Arthur turns the envelope over in his hands a moment before he drops it back into the locker and shuts it. "Don't think I need to," Arthur says, and kisses Eames.
Eames is slow to react. Arthur takes the opportunity to press him back against the lockers, savoring the feel of Eames' lips against his. At last. He can't remember why it took him this long.
Eames begins to kiss back, tentatively, mouth opening and tongue sweeping out-clever, quick. Arthur responds, the kiss escalating until he sinks his teeth lightly in Eames' lower lip and breaks away to breathe.
"Finally," Eames says, eyes hooded.
"How much longer were you going to wait?" Arthur asks. His fingers inch underneath the hem of Eames' polo.
"Not long, considering the rather racy photos contained in that envelope," Eames replies, lifting his arms so Arthur can pull off his shirt.
"Photos, huh?" Arthur says, intrigued. "Photos of what?"
"The things I’m going to do to you." Eames pushes Arthur a half step backwards and makes short work of Arthur's belt. "The things I'm going to let you do to me."
"Have you imagined these things in great detail before?" Arthur asks, thumbing Eames' pink perky nipples and marveling at his gorgeous pecs.
"Oh, extensive detail," Eames undoes Arthur's fly. "And you've kept me waiting a long time."
"Me? You were the one that got a girlfriend."
"You were the one that disappeared for months," Eames counters. "I had no idea where you'd gone or if you were ever coming back."
Arthur pauses in his exploration of Eames' chest, flicking up to gaze at Eames' face. "Someone put a bounty on my head."
"Well, I didn't bloody know that, did I?" Eames says, tension threading into his tone.
"I didn't realize-" Arthur cups Eames' chin and kisses him again, softer. "I'm sorry. I should have told you."
"Damn straight you should have," Eames says, leaning into Arthur's kiss. "Now how are you going to make it up to me?"
"How about some mediocre head to start out with?" Arthur asks, undoing Eames' pants and pushing them down to reveal a very nice, uncut cock.
"Mediocre? Don't you mean mind-blowing?" Eames arches an eyebrow as he takes a seat on a bench.
"I prefer to under-promise and over-deliver," Arthur says. "Besides, blowjobs aren't my specialty."
"Oh? Then what is?"
Arthur takes the tip of Eames' cock into his mouth and cups Eames' balls, lifting them out of the way. He slides a finger backwards over Eames' hole meaningfully.
"Oh, well then," Eames spreads his legs even wider, welcoming. "Something we shall have to explore in depth later."
Arthur likes giving head. He especially likes it in dreams when everyone is generally guaranteed to be as clean and as well groomed as they'll ever be. He doesn't get to do it as often as he would like, owing to his hectic travel and work schedule, but maybe his luck is going to be changing on that score.
Eames has a decent-sized cock. Not overwhelmingly large, not shockingly small. Arthur tongues at the foreskin-still a bit of a novelty to him-and plays with it gently. Eames rests a hand on the back of Arthur's head and smiles, seeming amenable to this.
Arthur places one hand around the shaft of Eames cock (and now all this golf has got him thinking of club shaft widths) and jerks a few times to give his mouth a break. After a breather, he returns with new enthusiasm to lick and suck at the head, keeping a hand pumping back and forth along the base.
Eames breathes heavily throughout all of this, thumb stroking Arthur's cheek, eyes hooded. "I should have known after seeing you handle those clubs how good you'd be at this."
Arthur pulls off to stare up at Eames. "Seriously?"
Eames laughs and shakes his head. "Alright, it sounded better in my head than aloud. Please don't stop. I can be quiet."
Arthur teases one finger over Eames' perineum, then back and up against his hole. "I don't need you to be quiet, per se. But I am curious if this is what I have to look forward to going into the future."
Eames gasps, eyes falling shut as Arthur's finger works its way in with the assistance of dream lube. "Afraid it is. Sex does tend to reduce my-ah-facility with language."
"I see," Arthur says, searching for the prostate and smiling when Eames groans. "Are you going to go incoherent on me?"
"Very-" Eames inhales sharply as Arthur begins to stroke. "Very possibly."
"Good," Arthur replies, and applies his mouth to Eames' cock once more.
It's fucking hot is what it is, watching Eames quiver and groan above him, dick rock hard in Arthur's mouth, leaking precome steadily. Eames is reduced to some breathtakingly sexy moans pretty quickly, a fact Arthur feels proud about. When Eames comes, he mutters something incomprehensible and pulls at Arthur's hair. Arthur doesn't mind; he swallows. Dream come tastes better than real come, anyway.
"And now you," Eames says, sounding gratifyingly blissed out as he tugs Arthur in for a kiss. He flicks Arthur's fly open one-handed without even looking. His fingers-a thief's fingers, dexterous fingers--against Arthur's cock are incredible.
"Fuck, Eames," Arthur mumbles as he sways forward. There's no way a handjob should feel this good.
"A game of golf all begins with grip," Eames says as he strokes Arthur's shaft, thumbs the slit. "The club should be placed diagonally along the lower palm of the hand, not resting solely against the fingers."
"I'm close," Arthur says. Everything Eames is saying sounds dirty and hot now.
"And one must never forget to keep one's attention on the ball." Eames' other hand comes down to fold over Arthur's balls, and that's it-Arthur's done.
Arthur shudders through orgasm, sagging against Eames in the process. Eames eventually guides them both down onto the ground, where some semi-comfortable mats have appeared. Arthur opts to rest his head on Eames' chest.
"Is there even a real golf job?" Arthur asks, drowsy.
"Oh, the job is entirely real, I assure you," Eames replies. "The mark is mad about golf."
"And you?" Arthur asks. "You seem to know a fair amount about golf."
"It's alright," Eames says, leaning forward for a kiss. "I'm rather mad about something else at the moment. Have been for a while, really."
fin
Poll Fic: Hole in One
Wordcount: 3000
Written for i-reversebang, inspired by pokemaster's adorable art!
"It should be relatively straightforward," Eames says. "You stay with the mark on the green while I retrieve the client list from the locker."
"Aren't I a little old to be pretending to be a caddy?" Arthur asks.
"Not at all. There are numerous professional caddies of various ages these days," Eames replies. "Caddies can sometimes serve as aides and lieutenants to top golfers-advising on the best way to approach a hole, the exact yardage and layout of the green, which clubs are best to use. Of course, in this dream you'll be playing a caddy that works for the golf course so the mark shouldn't be expecting extensive notes on his game."
"Wouldn't it be easier if I played one of his golfing buddies?"
"Do you know how to play golf on a professional level?"
Arthur has swung a golf club exactly twice in his life, both times at the beginning of miniature golf games that ended prematurely due to rain. He doubts those experiences apply. "Not exactly."
"Then it's simply not viable, I'm afraid," Eames says, shaking his head regretfully, though Arthur suspects he's not particularly sorry at all. "The mark is a tremendous snob about who he golfs with. Only plays with people as skilled as, or more so, than himself. Anyone else will draw his suspicions in an instant."
"Seems like you've got this job locked down already," Arthur observes. "Anything you need me to do?"
"I was thinking we could dedicate the latter half of this meeting to going under." Eames pulls out his PASIV. "Review the build, take a tour of the course."
"You have it built already?" Eames had called Arthur in for the job a few weeks ago, and Arthur arrived yesterday. He'd assumed Eames had done all the preliminary research, but Eames seems much further along in the planning stages than that.
"It's very basic, merely an amalgam of various golf courses and country clubs," Eames says as he rolls up his sleeve.
"Sure." Arthur settles into one of the overstuffed chairs. They're working out of Eames' hotel room. There wasn't any need to rent space since the team consists of just the two of them, though Arthur's starting to wonder if his presence is necessary to this job either.
Eames strides over with a wet wipe while Arthur rolls up his sleeve. "I would certainly appreciate your feedback on the build, of course."
"I haven't been on many golf courses before, so I can't comment too much on the aesthetics," Arthur says while Eames takes him gently by the wrist and runs the wipe over his skin. "This job seems straightforward enough that we shouldn't need to install anything too fancy. I'm happy to take a look, though."
"Marvelous. I'd be much obliged," Eames replies. He's still holding onto Arthur's arm, grip careful, as if Arthur were something that needed delicate handling.
"Eames?" Arthur prompts.
"Hm? Oh yes." Eames releases Arthur and steps back, coloring faintly. "Ahem. Yes."
Arthur watches Eames busy himself with the PASIV. There'd been a moment, years ago. Arthur had flirted a little-enough to convey interest while maintaining plausible deniability in case Eames rebuffed him. Eames had flirted back, much to Arthur's relief.
In fact, they even scheduled a date of sorts that Arthur was forced to cancel at the last minute. Complications arose with a previous job-semi-lethal complications-which involved him fleeing the country and going into hiding for months.
By the time he resurfaced, Eames had gotten involved with someone else. Arthur had been tempted to broach the topic again, but things seemed pretty serious with Eames' girlfriend. So that had been that.
Time passed, they both dated other people and subsequently broke up with them. Last Arthur heard, Eames was single again. And possibly still interested, if this carefully choreographed dance of a job is anything to go by.
It's a staggeringly simple extraction, one Eames could easily handle on his own. Which leads Arthur to postulate that this job has little to do with work at all.
"I can-" Arthur makes a half-hearted attempt to rise and reach for a cannula. Eames waves him off.
"My PASIV is rather old and this line can be finicky," Eames says as he skims fingertips along Arthur's forearm. "Best if I handle it, I think."
"Okay," Arthur replies, settling back. The view of Eames focusing intently on his arm, plush lips parted slightly is a pretty nice one. Arthur could get used to the attention.
"All set," Eames says, touching Arthur's shoulder. "Now, shall we?"
Arthur nods and waits for Eames to hook himself up. "I'm ready when you are."
Eames smiles at Arthur, expression warmer than one usually exchanged between strictly colleagues.
And then-lights out.
* * * * *
Arthur hasn't visited many golf courses in his life, but even he can tell that this is an unusually nice one. There are long stretches of immaculate green grass, small hills, and a blue sky overhead with the perfect ratio of sun and cloud.
Eames pulls up alongside Arthur in a golf cart, decked out in pastels. The outfit is complete with a driving cap and riding gloves. "Your chariot awaits," Eames says, a touch of mischief in his smile. He's wearing dark tinted aviators.
Arthur looks down at his own clothing, which consists of a white pair of coveralls. "This is one hell of an outfit."
Eames smiles, and Arthur gets the distinct impression that Eames is scanning him from head to toe behind his sunglasses. "It suits you."
"Thanks, I guess. I haven't worn a jumpsuit since I was in prison," Arthur says as he adjusts the bright white overalls into a more subdued white T-shirt and brown trousers. "Can't say I miss them."
"I didn't know you spent time in prison." Eames climbs out of the cart. "What were you in for?"
"They wanted me for burglary, assault, and corporate espionage," Arthur replies. "The only thing they could get to stick was a theft charge. It was a few months and I got out on parole for good behavior."
Eames gives Arthur a sidelong glance. "Such a checkered past you have. You're going to be a terrible influence, aren't you?"
"Because you're squeaky clean, huh?"
"Officially, yes."
"Officially, aren't you supposed to be dead?"
Eames waves a hand dismissively. "Legal semantics, really."
Arthur chuckles. "I thought you were going to give me the tour?"
"I am, but before we get to that, we're going to review some equipment basics." Eames hauls a considerable bag of clubs out of the backseat of the cart. "Most of what you'll be doing is retrieving the correct club for the mark to play with."
Eames explains the various types from putters to irons and woods (Arthur can't help sniggering throughout at all the names, especially when combined with discussion about various holes). They discuss wedges and head shapes and shaft lengths (more snickering, because good god) and what all the numbers stand for.
After a thorough explanation, Eames passes each club to Arthur to get a feel of the heft and weight.
"Now let's practice hitting a ball," Eames says. "You won't be called up to play, but a cursory knowledge will help in case the mark wishes to chat."
"Sure," Arthur says, suppressing a small smile at Eames' transparency.
"This is the grip." Eames holds the putter out for Arthur to take and folds Arthur's fingers over the handle individually. "Feel that? Firm, but no need to squeeze too tight. You don't want a club to fly away during the swing, but too much pressure will ruin the easy movement."
"Uh huh," Arthur says, mostly paying attention to Eames' hands on his.
"Now for the arc." Eames slides up behind Arthur, covering Arthur's hands with his. "I'll demonstrate the full swing forward and back, then you can try."
"Sounds good," Arthur says, distracted by the slight press of Eames' groin to his ass, the warmth of his skin.
"Keep the wrist and forearm straight. You want to be swinging with your whole body. Not just rotating the wrist." Eames' breath is warm on Arthur's ear, lips brushing ever so slightly against Arthur's earlobe.
"Like this?" Arthur asks, angling his face towards his shoulder. A few more inches and they'd be kissing.
Eames inhales quickly and goes still. "Yes. Precisely."
"What about the ball?" Arthur murmurs, stilling as well.
"You should constantly-" Eames' tongue darts out to wet his lips. "Keep it in your eye-line. Keep on your ball."
Arthur runs his thumb along the inside of Eames' wrist. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Eames murmurs, eyes unfocused.
They both startle when the golf club falls to the ground with a solid whoomp, jerking them out of the moment.
"Ah yes, the green," Eames says, not too subtly adjusting his pants as he steps away. "You always want to be aware of the terrain, of course, of the possible hills and valleys unique to each golf course, as well as the obvious things like sand traps and water hazards."
"Looks pretty level to me," Arthur says, not really paying attention. Mostly he wants Eames' body pressed against his again.
"Appearances can be deceiving, which is why a lot of golfers crouch down low to survey the land." Eames demonstrates, and Arthur crouches down as well. "You see that small rise over there? It would completely alter your ball's trajectory, which you have to account for when choosing a club to use and how to swing."
Is this a sport purely invented for use in bad sexual puns? Arthur thinks as Eames straightens up and walks to the golf cart again.
Eames drives them around the green, pointing out the various holes and bunkers. Now that sex is on Arthur's mind, nearly everything Eames says sounds like a euphemism dripped in innuendo. The raspy British accent certainly doesn't help.
Arthur wonders idly if he's going to get a boner and forever associate golfing with sex. Apparently, Arthur wonders for too long because Eames touches his knee with a concerned, "Arthur? Did you hear what I said?"
"What? Sorry, missed that last part," Arthur replies, shifting his legs to accommodate his cock, which is most definitely beginning to harden from the close proximity of Eames' hand.
"I asked if you had any suggestions for changes," Eames says, his hand still resting on Arthur's knee. Thank god for automatic transmission in golf carts, Arthur thinks.
"Everything looks good so far," Arthur says, vaguely. "Sometimes it's an advantage to have a dreamscape very similar to the real thing. Then you won't arouse--suspicion."
"That is an excellent point you make, Arthur," Eames says, all the r's rolling together. "I'm glad you approve."
Arthur tears his gaze away from Eames' mouth, back up to his eyes. "Maybe you can show me where the mark's secrets will be housed?"
"A splendid idea," Eames says as he turns the golf cart around.
* * * * *
Eames leads Arthur into an athletic facility, sparkling clean and devoid of any projections. They walk past gym equipment and pristine showers to rows of lockers, all labeled with various names.
Eames stops in front of a locker with the mark's name on it. It's empty.
Arthur traces the nameplate of the locker beside the mark's, engraved with 'Eames'. "If I opened this, what would I find?'
A smile plays over Eames' lips as he spins the combination lock. The door opens to reveal a single envelope addressed to Arthur. "See for yourself."
Arthur turns the envelope over in his hands a moment before he drops it back into the locker and shuts it. "Don't think I need to," Arthur says, and kisses Eames.
Eames is slow to react. Arthur takes the opportunity to press him back against the lockers, savoring the feel of Eames' lips against his. At last. He can't remember why it took him this long.
Eames begins to kiss back, tentatively, mouth opening and tongue sweeping out-clever, quick. Arthur responds, the kiss escalating until he sinks his teeth lightly in Eames' lower lip and breaks away to breathe.
"Finally," Eames says, eyes hooded.
"How much longer were you going to wait?" Arthur asks. His fingers inch underneath the hem of Eames' polo.
"Not long, considering the rather racy photos contained in that envelope," Eames replies, lifting his arms so Arthur can pull off his shirt.
"Photos, huh?" Arthur says, intrigued. "Photos of what?"
"The things I’m going to do to you." Eames pushes Arthur a half step backwards and makes short work of Arthur's belt. "The things I'm going to let you do to me."
"Have you imagined these things in great detail before?" Arthur asks, thumbing Eames' pink perky nipples and marveling at his gorgeous pecs.
"Oh, extensive detail," Eames undoes Arthur's fly. "And you've kept me waiting a long time."
"Me? You were the one that got a girlfriend."
"You were the one that disappeared for months," Eames counters. "I had no idea where you'd gone or if you were ever coming back."
Arthur pauses in his exploration of Eames' chest, flicking up to gaze at Eames' face. "Someone put a bounty on my head."
"Well, I didn't bloody know that, did I?" Eames says, tension threading into his tone.
"I didn't realize-" Arthur cups Eames' chin and kisses him again, softer. "I'm sorry. I should have told you."
"Damn straight you should have," Eames says, leaning into Arthur's kiss. "Now how are you going to make it up to me?"
"How about some mediocre head to start out with?" Arthur asks, undoing Eames' pants and pushing them down to reveal a very nice, uncut cock.
"Mediocre? Don't you mean mind-blowing?" Eames arches an eyebrow as he takes a seat on a bench.
"I prefer to under-promise and over-deliver," Arthur says. "Besides, blowjobs aren't my specialty."
"Oh? Then what is?"
Arthur takes the tip of Eames' cock into his mouth and cups Eames' balls, lifting them out of the way. He slides a finger backwards over Eames' hole meaningfully.
"Oh, well then," Eames spreads his legs even wider, welcoming. "Something we shall have to explore in depth later."
Arthur likes giving head. He especially likes it in dreams when everyone is generally guaranteed to be as clean and as well groomed as they'll ever be. He doesn't get to do it as often as he would like, owing to his hectic travel and work schedule, but maybe his luck is going to be changing on that score.
Eames has a decent-sized cock. Not overwhelmingly large, not shockingly small. Arthur tongues at the foreskin-still a bit of a novelty to him-and plays with it gently. Eames rests a hand on the back of Arthur's head and smiles, seeming amenable to this.
Arthur places one hand around the shaft of Eames cock (and now all this golf has got him thinking of club shaft widths) and jerks a few times to give his mouth a break. After a breather, he returns with new enthusiasm to lick and suck at the head, keeping a hand pumping back and forth along the base.
Eames breathes heavily throughout all of this, thumb stroking Arthur's cheek, eyes hooded. "I should have known after seeing you handle those clubs how good you'd be at this."
Arthur pulls off to stare up at Eames. "Seriously?"
Eames laughs and shakes his head. "Alright, it sounded better in my head than aloud. Please don't stop. I can be quiet."
Arthur teases one finger over Eames' perineum, then back and up against his hole. "I don't need you to be quiet, per se. But I am curious if this is what I have to look forward to going into the future."
Eames gasps, eyes falling shut as Arthur's finger works its way in with the assistance of dream lube. "Afraid it is. Sex does tend to reduce my-ah-facility with language."
"I see," Arthur says, searching for the prostate and smiling when Eames groans. "Are you going to go incoherent on me?"
"Very-" Eames inhales sharply as Arthur begins to stroke. "Very possibly."
"Good," Arthur replies, and applies his mouth to Eames' cock once more.
It's fucking hot is what it is, watching Eames quiver and groan above him, dick rock hard in Arthur's mouth, leaking precome steadily. Eames is reduced to some breathtakingly sexy moans pretty quickly, a fact Arthur feels proud about. When Eames comes, he mutters something incomprehensible and pulls at Arthur's hair. Arthur doesn't mind; he swallows. Dream come tastes better than real come, anyway.
"And now you," Eames says, sounding gratifyingly blissed out as he tugs Arthur in for a kiss. He flicks Arthur's fly open one-handed without even looking. His fingers-a thief's fingers, dexterous fingers--against Arthur's cock are incredible.
"Fuck, Eames," Arthur mumbles as he sways forward. There's no way a handjob should feel this good.
"A game of golf all begins with grip," Eames says as he strokes Arthur's shaft, thumbs the slit. "The club should be placed diagonally along the lower palm of the hand, not resting solely against the fingers."
"I'm close," Arthur says. Everything Eames is saying sounds dirty and hot now.
"And one must never forget to keep one's attention on the ball." Eames' other hand comes down to fold over Arthur's balls, and that's it-Arthur's done.
Arthur shudders through orgasm, sagging against Eames in the process. Eames eventually guides them both down onto the ground, where some semi-comfortable mats have appeared. Arthur opts to rest his head on Eames' chest.
"Is there even a real golf job?" Arthur asks, drowsy.
"Oh, the job is entirely real, I assure you," Eames replies. "The mark is mad about golf."
"And you?" Arthur asks. "You seem to know a fair amount about golf."
"It's alright," Eames says, leaning forward for a kiss. "I'm rather mad about something else at the moment. Have been for a while, really."
fin
Poll Fic: Hole in One