FANFICTION: Bend It 3/3
It’s heading into the late afternoon by the time everything is packed away and everyone is showered and changed back into street clothes, sunlight slanting across the gym floor. Everyone’s broken off into groups again, commandeering pizza boxes and spots on the bleachers that won’t be taken down until Monday.
“That was a pretty decent wipeout, Arthur,” Rebecca says, shoving the pizza down the bench.
“I am still so pissed I missed it.”
Arthur shrugs and grabs a slice, sprawling back against the benches. “It wasn’t that impressive. Impressive ends in broken bones nine times out of ten.”
“True. I’d still be fucking mortified if I’d done it, though.”
“World Championship qualifiers, my second year in, I missed a beat and took a fall from the bars. It happens to the best of us.”
They all go quiet when Eames’s voice cuts in, and Arthur glances up. Eames is looking at him, and it isn’t until Arthur notices the way Eames’s eyes keep flicking down that he realises leaning back has let his shirt ride up to expose a tiny strip of his stomach.
He doesn’t move to pull it down.
“Arthur, mind if I borrow you for a bit?” Eames says, finally focusing on Arthur’s face. “We do need to have a talk about that landing.”
The hush of the others reminds Arthur of the bated silence whenever someone is about to get chewed out in class, and his stomach drops. “Okay.” He scrambles up, tugging his shirt down as he does, and follows Eames from the bleachers across the floor to the offices.
Eames doesn’t even look back to see if Arthur’s behind him, and it’s harder than it should be not to pay attention to the tight stretch of Eames’s shirt across his shoulders considering he’s about to give Arthur a dressing down. Sure, he deserves it, he fucked up, and he’s really not looking forward to it.
The office door is already open and Eames waits, gesturing Arthur in before closing the door behind them.
It’s so quiet Arthur can hear his own heart pounding as he tries to stay nonchalant, leaning back against the desk. Of course, nonchalance is fucking impossible wherever Eames is concerned, especially when he closes the space between them in two long steps. There’s nothing indecent about the distance; there’s still a good foot between them. But it’s close enough to let Eames crowd him, all broad chest and those annoying couple of inches, and Arthur licks his lips nervously.
“You can’t let me distract you like that,” Eames says, crossing his arms. “You could have broken something. Like your neck.”
“Maybe I just fucked up.”
“You did. But don’t act like we don’t both know why. Part of being an adult is owning your culpability, Arthur.”
Arthur clenches his fingers against the desk, glaring up at Eames like he’s not twice his size. “It’s not like it matters anyway, because you’ll be leaving for competition season and I’ll be--”
“No, I won’t.” Eames lets out a sharp breath and rakes his fingers through his hair. “Last year was my last competitive season. This is my full time now.”
“But...” That means you’re going to stay here.
Eames ignores him. “So you see, you have got to stop this. All this.” He gestures vaguely.
“All what?” Arthur says softly. There’s enough tension in Eames’s neck for Arthur to see the thick ridges of his tendons.
This isn’t the dressing down he expected.
Eames presses a finger against Arthur’s chest, leaning close. “For fuck’s sake Arthur, don’t play coy now. You think I don’t notice?”
The shadows are long enough to throw darkness across half of Eames’s face, and Arthur can’t help the way he shivers at the touch of Eames’s breath on his lips. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I notice. I noticed when you were still trying to hide it. Is that what you want to hear?” He flattens his hand against Arthur’s chest, fingers splayed over his breastbone. “You want me to tell you that just before, when you were sitting there with your stomach showing, I wanted to tug your jeans down and lick your hipbones so badly that it’s still killing me?”
Arthur bites his lip, but it’s not enough to stop the way his knees suddenly feel like they can’t hold him up.
“Because I did,” Eames says, breathing hard. “So don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, because you’re smarter than that.” His fingers shift, trailing up Arthur’s throat and curling under his chin. “You have no fucking idea what you do to me, Arthur.”
Those thick fingers are resting against his pulse, and Arthur swallows just to feel the pressure. “I do. Because you do it to me, too.”
“Fuck,” Eames growls out, and it’s the only warning Arthur gets before Eames is kissing him.
There’s nothing between them this time, no inconvenient armrest to stop them from pressing together. Eames’s hands skim down along Arthur’s ribs and tighten on his hips, thumbs pressing into the soft skin of his belly.
Arthur sucks in a breath when Eames nudges him back harder against the desk, lifting him just enough to perch on the edge. Just like that the couple of inches between them are gone. Eames’s breath is warm on Arthur’s mouth as they bump noses for a second, dragging in air while they can, before Eames cradles the back of Arthur’s head and pulls him forward.
Nobody’s ever kissed him like this before, pressing in hot and close and spreading his legs with their thighs. It’s got to be a dream, another fucking dream like the one that had ended in sticky boxers and an early morning call to Ariadne.
Except this time there’s the narrow edge of the desk digging into the backs of his thighs and the scrape of Eames’s stubble, and it’s so desperate and real Arthur can barely breathe, bucking his hips up against the heat of Eames’s body.
“Oh, fuck,” he whispers against Eames’s mouth, shuddering at the friction as Eames grinds closer.
“I want to,” Eames mutters back and licks along Arthur’s lip, dropping a hand to his thigh and dragging him in closer, close enough for Arthur to feel how hard he is.
It should be nothing. He can barely even get off rubbing himself through his boxers, so Eames grinding on him through jeans shouldn’t have him tense and gasping and so fucking close to coming. But he is, and he arches into it.
“Eames,” he says, tilting his head back a little to let Eames mouth at his neck, wet kisses with an occasional scrape of teeth. The hand on his thigh drags higher at the same time, smoothing up over the curve if his ass to slip under the back of his shirt.
Arthur can’t even fit his hand halfway around Eames’s bicep to steady himself and it’s that thought, so much fucking muscle between his legs and pressed up against him, that has his thighs shaking. “Fuck, Eames, I’m going to-“
But rather than press in closer and give him the last bit of pressure he needs, Eames jerks away. Arthur blinks up at him, cold and desperate and fuck, it’s so hard not to just pop the button on his jeans and finish himself off.
He digs his nails into the desk and tries to breathe properly as Eames scrubs his hands across his face.
“No,” Eames says finally, voice still low enough to do stupid things to Arthur’s insides.
“No, what?” Arthur chokes out.
Eames stares at him for a long moment. Arthur feels pinned down by the look just as easily as he was pinned down by Eames’s body a few seconds ago.
“No, not like this.”
He holds out his hand and Arthur just looks at it, confusion twisted up with the arousal still tugging low in his belly. “What?”
Eames helps him up off the desk but doesn’t let go of his hand. “If... if this is going to happen, it’s not happening like this. Not here, not now.” He brushes Arthur’s hair away from his eyes, fingertips warm on his skin.
Arthur’s still dazed, too hot, and it takes a few seconds for exactly what Eames is saying to sink in.
“You should go now anyway,” Eames continues, still out of breath at the edges as he walks over to the door. He hesitates. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
Arthur blinks again. He has to be dreaming. But he’s not, everything solid and almost too real as he walks towards the door. He stops by Eames just long enough to let himself touch his hand, a soft brush of fingertips across knuckles, but it’s just as real as the edge of the desk and the rasp of Eames’s stubble had been a few minutes before.
“Okay.”
*
As much as Arthur would like to spend most of his time wondering when Eames is going to talk to him, there are plenty of other things that manage to occupy him. He even skips gym class on Wednesday, because he’s mature enough to put his final exams before the urges of his dick.
That doesn’t mean he’s above jerking off when the formulas in his calculus textbook turn into nothing but an incomprehensible mess. It’s better now that he doesn’t feel bad about taking his time and pretending it’s Eames’s hands on his skin. But then he checks his email, and his phone, and the gnawing uncertainty comes creeping back when there’s still no word from Eames.
“Maybe he’s changed his mind,” he says on Friday night, tossing a scrunched up ball of paper into the air above his head.
“Unlikely.”
Arthur glances over from the bed to where Ariadne is swinging on his desk chair. “It’s been a whole week. There can’t be any other reason.”
Ariadne sighs. “I told you from the start he was totally into you. And now you tell me he made out with you on a desk and said he’d call. I think he’s going to.”
Arthur throws the paper again, ignoring the fact that fifteen minutes ago it was a bio revision sheet. “Well. He’d email, anyway. If he was going to.”
“Would he?” The sharp sound of Ari’s typing makes Arthur look over at his desk again.
“What are you--”
“Hey, there’s an email from him here now,” she says, still rocking on the chair.
Arthur tries to pretend the prospect alone doesn’t make his stomach tie itself in knots. “Liar.”
“I’m not kidding, here... ‘How badly did you--”
If she’s fucking with him Arthur is going to kill her. He jumps up, leaning over her shoulder to look at the screen .
How badly did you want to go to your prom afterparty?
There’s nothing else, not that there needs to be. “Ari, what does that say.”
She looks up at him. “That says you have somewhere far better to be next Friday night than Dom’s party.”
So much for keeping his brain out of his pants.
*
“Arthur! Ariadne’s here!” Arthur’s mother calls from the kitchen
He takes another few seconds to get his tie straight before stepping back from the mirror and staring himself in the face.
It’s not like Eames even said anything about what was going to happen. Maybe he doesn’t mean they’re going to have sex at all. The air still feels too thick with the implication that they will, and Arthur takes a few seconds to just breathe before he heads down stairs.
Ariadne’s standing at the bottom of the stairs in her red dress, skirt flaring out into a pretty A-line, and Arthur grins at her. “You look pretty good.”
“You don’t scrub up so bad yourself,” she says. “Did you sort out the plans for--”
“Don’t move for a second,” Arthur’s mom says. “I’ll take a picture of you both there on the stairs.”
They pose long enough to satisfy his mother, shoulders bumping as Arthur loops an arm around Ariadne’s waist.
“I was saying,” Ari says softly after his mother goes back into the kitchen, “did you sort out the plans for after?”
Arthur nods. He’s deleted the emails of course, he’s not stupid, but he’s memorised each one anyway. “Yeah. Any time is fine, if you can just drop me off on the way.”
“So you’re skipping prom?” Ariadne pokes him in the ribs.
The thought hadn’t actually occurred to him. It’s really fucking tempting too, to say yes, to skip all the stuff between and get right to the part where he’s with Eames. “Nah. Figure I better at least show up. Besides,” he offers her his arm. “Who’s going to dance with you if I don’t?”
“You’re an asshole,” Ariadne says affectionately, curling her hand over his elbow. “Are you ready?”
Arthur’s not entirely sure she’s only talking about leaving for the prom.“Yeah,” he says. “I’m ready.”
*
The first time Arthur checks his watch is at ten thirty, which is a lot later than he thought it’d be. He’s managed not to step on any toes, which Ariadne would probably say is a minor miracle in and of itself, and it’s been a pretty good time all things considered.
He leans against the wall and checks his watch again. The music feels almost too loud now, and he doesn’t notice Ari walking up beside him until she leans her head on his shoulder. “You look like you’re about to die,” she says.
“Well, I don’t feel like I’m about to die.” Arthur fiddles with his tie.
“Like you have somewhere better to be, then.”
Arthur laughs, a tense sound buried under the beat of the music. “Yeah.”
“You wanna get going? Dom was just saying he’s going to be going home to get changed and finish setting up soon anyway.”
“No rush,” Arthur says, trying not to think about big hands on his hips or the scrape of stubble against his jaw.
“I’ll just grab my stuff. Don’t go anywhere.”
She ducks away into the crowd. Arthur checks his watch again, and tries harder not to look conspicuous.
*
They pull up a house down from Eames’s and Ariadne kills the engine. The street is silent, streetlight flickering, and Arthur curls his fingers against the smooth fabric of his suit pants.
"Are you okay?" Ariadne looks over at him. "You can just come to the party if you want, you know."
Arthur shakes his head, sucking in a breath to try to calm the anxious tension clawing at the pit of his stomach. "No, I want to do this." He does. He really, really does, but somehow that doesn't make the prospect of having sex, with Eames, any less stomach churning.
"Well, I'm not drinking, so you can call me if you need to. I'll come get you." Ariadne grabs her purse from the dashboard and opens it with a snap. "Here," she says, rummaging in it for a second before reaching over and tucking two condoms into Arthur's breast pocket. "The school nurse was giving these out to all the girls this week, but you need them a lot more than I do."
Warmth creeps up Arthur's neck. "I'm sure I'll be fine."
Ariadne rests a hand on his shoulder, small fingers brushing over the curve of his arm. "You be careful, okay?"
Arthur nods. "I will."
Ariadne leans in close and kisses him on the cheek, warm breath fanning his cheek. "Go on then. Go get laid. Someone in this car right now might as well."
*
There's nothing particularly telling about Eames’s front porch. The light in the kitchen is on, but Arthur still hesitates with his knuckles on the smooth grain of the door for a few seconds before knocking.
The door swings open and in that instant Arthur has never been more sure about what he wants. Eames smiles softly at him, black t-shirt clinging to his chest and straining against his biceps, and the anxious tension that's been lurking in Arthur's stomach for most of the week morphs into something hungrier, more certain.
"Hi," he says, not even caring that he's staring because now, finally, he can stare and there's no reason why he can't.
Eames steps back, holding the door open. "Hi. How was prom?"
It's saying something that Eames’s bulk makes stepping through the doorway without touching him impossible. They barely brush, Arthur's shoulder against Eames’s chest, but the contact is more than enough to set off the memory of being pressed down onto that desk by the heavy breadth of Eames’s body.
Arthur shivers. "Good, I guess. It was pretty fun."
Eames locks the door behind them. "I was just making tea, would you like some?"
For a second he thinks about saying no, even though his throat is drier than it has been all night. Then he figures drinking tea will be easier than trying to act cool when he really has no fucking idea what to say. “Yeah, thanks.”
He follows Eames through to the kitchen. It’s pretty similar to his own house, the same kind of layout all the houses on their block had ended up with, a sense of familiarity that makes it easier to relax. Arthur leans against the counter as Eames moves about the kitchen, and resists the urge to fiddle with his cufflinks.
“Black, white?” Eames asks.
“White,” Arthur says.
Eames pours from the steaming kettle with deft hands and stops by the fridge to add milk before returning to the counter and handing Arthur the teacup. His fingers linger well after Arthur’s got his hands around the cup, chalk-rough against the backs of Arthur’s hands.
Soon he’ll know what those hands feel like sliding up his inner thighs, pressing his hips down, wrapping around his...
Arthur bites his lip. “Thanks.”
“You know, Arthur,” Eames says softly, once he’s taken a sip of his tea. “We don’t have to do anything tonight if you don’t want to. I downloaded a few Stuart Gordon movies and there are leftovers from dinner. We can--”
“No,” Arthur says quickly, and he wonders if he really looks that nervous. Fuck. So much for playing it cool. He sets down the teacup and steps closer to Eames, heart pounding as he reaches out and splays a hand against the broad warmth of Eames’s chest. Arthur can feel the pulse beneath his fingers and it’s fast, just as fast as his is, and knowing that Eames is just as strung out is almost too much to take. “I want this,” he says, looking up at Eames. “I want you to fuck me.”
It’s Eames’s turn to bite his lip. “Are you sure?”
Beneath all the uncertainty and the nerves and the desperation churning just under his skin, the only thing Arthur is absolutely sure of is how badly he wants Eames to strip him naked and fuck him like he means it. “Really, really sure.”
He’s expecting Eames to grab him like he did in the office, growl into his mouth, maybe push him up against the counter until he’s ten seconds away from coming in his pants again. But Eames doesn’t. Instead he slips his hands inside Arthur’s suit jacket, skimming down over his ribs until they settle heavy and warm at his hips.
Arthur tries to remember how to breath as Eames leans down slowly, deliberately, until their lips are almost but not quite touching.
“You want me to take you to bed?” he says.
The light breath ghosting over his lips is enough to make Arthur shiver, fingers tensing against the fabric of Eames’s t-shirt. “Yes,” Arthur says, tilting his head back a little more, straining up a little higher to try to close that last infuriating bit of space between them.
The kiss is gentle when it comes, no tongue, a soft touch of lips that somehow still manages to make Arthur’s toes curl with want.
“Tell me what you want,” Eames says.
“Everything,” Arthur whispers, licking the curve of Eames’s upper lip.
That gets a growl and Eames slides his hands back up, pushing the jacket off Arthur’s shoulders even as he presses down for a kiss, a real kiss.
Arthur struggles out of the jacket so he can get his arms up around Eames’s neck. Slowly, almost in time with each slick push of his tongue, Eames starts nudging Arthur backwards.
It’s hard to walk backwards and kiss at the same time but that’s irrelevant to the fact that Eames is kissing him, Eames is about to fuck him, Eames’s hands are fumbling at the buttons of his shirt.
Arthur breaks away with a gasp when his back hits the wall halfway down the hallway and undoes the last couple of buttons himself, shrugging it off. When he tries to wrap his arms around Eames’s neck again, lean back up into the kiss, Eames presses him back against the wall.
“Wait,” he says breathlessly, fingers curling against Arthur’s shoulders like he’s amazed to finally have the skin under his hands.
“What for?” Arthur reaches for the hem of the black t-shirt instead, tugging at it until Eames relents and lets go just long enough to strip it off.
“Because I said so,” Eames says and presses his hands to Arthur’s chest.
“Fuck.” Arthur shudders when thick thumbs brush his nipples. He’s never bothered touching himself like that before because... well, he’s a boy, but it feels so fucking good as Eames circles them slowly that he decides he’s been well and truly missing out.
“Do you like that?”
“Yes,” Arthur gasps, and tries to push his hips forward for some friction.
“Good. You have to promise you’re going to talk to me okay, Arthur? You have to talk to me when I ask you things, and you have to tell the truth.”
The words almost bring the anxiety of what he’s about to do rushing back, but the soft pressure of Eames’s thumbs rubbing over his nipples is distracting enough that he really doesn’t care anymore. “Promise.”
“Okay,” Eames says. There’s so much tension in his voice that Arthur can hear it, cracking at the edges as Eames grabs his hips and guides him the last few steps into the bedroom. The bed’s just a double, and Arthur can see the door to an ensuite ajar on the other side of the room.
“Sit,” Eames says, pressing down on Arthur’s shoulders lightly until he obeys.
That’s when it really hits him, perched on the edge of the bed as Eames drops to his knees and undoes Arthur’s shoelaces, pulling them off along with the socks and throwing them aside. This is real. He’s really about to actually have sex, with Eames, and he has no fucking idea at all what he’s doing, and--
“Have you done this before?”
Arthur freezes, staring down at Eames. The lie is right on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it down. “No.”
He’s half expecting Eames to change his mind and send him home. Instead he rests his hands over Arthur’s thighs, so broad and warm that Arthur just wants them all over him, right now. Then those hands slide higher and Eames moves closer so he’s kneeling right between Arthur’s legs, a solid weight keeping his thighs spread.
Arthur’s breathing goes shallow as Eames’s fingers shift to his fly and he undoes the button, stroking the trembling muscle of Arthur’s stomach before dragging the zip down.
In that instant Arthur wishes he’d worn underwear, because his cock is hard, jutting out of his open fly, and Eames is staring at it with his hands braced over Arthur’s hipbones. Arthur squirms against the pressure, not sure if he wants Eames to touch him or just say something so he at least knows that his cock isn’t some utter disappointment.
Eames looks up at him, all dark eyes and swollen lips, and it’s like something out of Arthur’s very best wet dreams. “I want to suck you.”
The only affirmation Arthur manages to get out is a groan and a nod, hips jerking up in anticipation.
Slowly, without breaking eye contact until the last second, Eames lowers his head. “You can grab my hair if you like,” he says, the words fanning warm, moist air over Arthur’s cock.
Arthur’s hips jerk again and he slides one hand into Eames’s hair, grabs at the comforter with the other. “Eames,” he says.
Eames breathes out in response, deliberately, and then his hand is curling around the base of Arthur’s cock, snug and warm and absolutely nothing like the feel of his own hand wrapped around it. Arthur watches as his mouth closes over the head of his cock, thighs shuddering at the sudden rush of sensation.
“Fuck,” he says, nails scraping over Eames’s scalp. He can feel his cock twitching against the pressure of Eames’s tongue and jesus fucking christ, he needs to come. He tries to thrust deeper into the wet heat of Eames’s mouth but Eames holds him still, a hand on his hip and a hand wrapped around his cock to stop him going any further.
There’s nothing he can do but feel it. He can’t just speed up like he would if he was jerking himself off. Eames’s tongue is slow and relentless and Arthur can’t do a thing about it but writhe. It’s more than enough though, and within a few seconds he comes, shaking.
Eames squeezes him through it, and Arthur opens his eyes in time to watch those fucking lips slip off the end of his cock. He blinks, thighs still trembling. “Shit. Sorry.” So much for sex.
“Arthur,” Eames says, tugging at the waistband of his trousers until he wriggles back onto the bed far enough for Eames to drag them the rest of the way off. “Shhh.”
Arthur shifts back further onto the bed, awkward, not sure exactly how he should lie or what he should do with his hands. He settles for propping himself up on his elbows and trying not to feel weird about the fact he’s completely naked on someone elses’s bed for the first time in his life, still warm and wrung out from coming.
It gets a whole lot easier to forget how naked he is when Eames stands up and drops his hands to his own fly, unzipping quickly and shoving his jeans down.
Arthur thought his throat was dry before. When Eames straightens back up, naked, Arthur’s mouth is so dry he can’t even manage a nervous swallow at the thick length of his cock curved up against his belly.
That’s going inside me, fuck, he thinks as Eames kneels on the bed, gently pushing Arthur’s legs apart so he can move up between them until his arms are braced on either side of Arthur’s head.
The thick muscle of those biceps hemming him in and the solid breadth of Eames’s chest pressing him down is almost enough to distract him from the feel of Eames’s erection pressing into his stomach, hot and slick and so fucking hard.
“Relax,” Eames murmurs, nuzzling at Arthur’s throat.
Having that much bulk spreading his thighs and looming over him is kind of... not scary, not exactly, but Arthur’s heart rate is already climbing higher as he tentatively smoothes his hands over the broad muscle of Eames’s back, testing the tension of muscle and bone as he strokes down to the taper at Eames’s waist before drawing his hands higher again.
Eames huffs out a breath by his cheek. “Feeling good?”
“Yeah,” Arthur says, trying to fit his hands around Eames’s biceps and failing miserably, wondering just how easily Eames could break him.
Eames lifts a hand and tilts his chin up, looking down at him for a second before kissing him softly. There’s a bitter taste on his tongue and it sends a thrill straight to Arthur’s bones when he realises that it’s his own come, because yeah, Eames just sucked him off.
He arches up into the kiss, testing Eames’s weight over him and pressing up into the heat of his erection. And fuck, he’s already getting hard again, rocking up against the hard muscle of Eames’s stomach.
Eames pulls away before Arthur can really get into it and he lets out a disappointed groan as Eames reaches across and up over Arthur’s head to the bedside table. Arthur tips his head back so he can see it, upside down, a dogeared book beside the lamp and Eames’s hand rummaging in the drawer.
It also puts Eames’s nipple right at mouth level, so Arthur leans up a little and laps at it, feeling it get hard under the wet pressure of his tongue.
“Fuck, Arthur,” Eames hisses, shuddering. He pulls back, dropping condoms and lube on the comforter beside them both.
Arthur grins. “So that does feel good for everyone?”
Eames growls and dips his head to suck one of Arthur’s nipples into his mouth, tounging at it until Arthur’s gasping.
“Generally,” Eames says finally, pressing a kiss to Arthur’s breastbone before sitting up and tucking his hands under Arthur’s knees. “Lift your legs up.”
Arthur obeys, planting his feet on the comforter and spreading his legs instinctively. He feels too exposed again without Eames’s body covering him, but it’s not enough to kill his erection.
He’s not naive, but it still takes a second for it to really sink in what’s about to happen when Eames flicks open the lube. Arthur isn’t sure whether he’s terrified or turned on beyond all reason at the thought of Eames fucking him with those thick fingers, but at least he doesn’t have to wait too long to find out which it really is.
“I’m going to finger you now,” Eames says, and yeah, okay, as scary as it is Arthur is really fucking turned on by the thought of Eames’s fingers inside him.
Eames shifts down the bed so he can lie with his elbows on either side of Arthur’s hips, one hand stroking soothing circles over his belly. “Are you ready?”
Arthur gives a tight nod.
“Tell me you’re ready, Arthur. Tell me you want me to slick my fingers and open you up so I can fuck you like you want me to.”
Eames’s voice is so low, rolling over Arthur’s name that same way it did months and months ago the first time they met on that street, and Arthur’s trembling so hard he’s not sure he can choke a single word out.
“Tell me,” Eames repeats, shifting just enough to cover his fingers in lube before setting it aside and replacing the warm hand across Arthur’s belly.
The lube’s glistening in the lamplight, like a promise of how wet those fingers are going to be on him, in him, and Arthur manages to swallow. “I want you to fuck me with your fingers.” The words alone make his stomach clench.
A whole lot more than that clenches at the first wet stroke of Eames’s fingers over his hole.
“How’s that?” Eames asks, turning his head a little to press a rough kiss to the inside of Arthur’s knee.
“Weird,” Arthur breathes, trying to spread his legs even further so he can tilt his hips up into the slick pressure right where nobody has ever touched him before. “But good.”
The tip of one finger slips in and Arthur freezes, every nerve focused down on the pleasant stretch as Eames pushes his finger deeper.
“Still good?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Arthur pants, distracted, “Yeah, that’s good.”
Eames isn’t even touching his cock but the familiar tension of orgasm is already tightening Arthur’s thighs, making him clench down on the solid heat thrusting slowly back and forth inside him, and that just feels even better.
By the time Eames pushes two fingers in Arthur’s trembling all over and biting down hard on his lip, rocking his hips in little jerks against the pressure of Eames’s hand.
“Please, fuck,” he hisses, not even sure exactly what he wants.
“Please, what?” Eames says as he presses down on Arthur’s stomach, soothing fingers turned firm and probing.
Arthur tosses his head back and forth. The pressure’s too much, thick fingers spreading him open inside while that hand pushes down on him. “I’m gonna come,” he says, desperate. “Oh fuck.”
“No, you’re not,” Eames says and pulls his fingers free. “Not quite yet.” He reaches for the condom.
Arthur watches with half-closed eyes as Eames rolls it on. Eames’s fingers are big, but two of them still aren’t as big as his cock, and a drop of fear sends nervous ripples stuttering across Arthur’s skin.
Then Eames is over him again, a blanket of solid warmth pushing him down into the mattress and lifting his knee a little higher.
“Arthur,” he whispers, nudging Arthur’s nose with his own. “Arthur, I’d really like to fuck you now, if that’s okay.”
“Yeah, please.” Arthur wraps his legs around Eames’s waist, shaky, and oh fuck that’s Eames’s cock pushing against his ass, barely nudging in.
It’s more pressure than the fingers were, wider, and Arthur can feel the shudder in the muscles of Eames’s back as he eases in torturously slow.
“Relax, love.” There’s a shudder in his voice too now. “I’ve got you.”
Arthur digs his nails into Eames’s shoulders, teeth buried in his lip. He wants to relax. He wants to let the tension seep away so he can concentrate on how good it feels. He really wants to. But... he shifts, wincing at the pain that streaks through him, colouring the pleasure too much for him to just relax into it. Eames feels huge, even if Arthur knows academically that this shouldn’t be such a big deal.
“Are you okay?” Eames says, voice warm and unsteady next to Arthur’s ear.
He wants to lie. It’d be so easy to lie, and it’s not like he wants Eames to stop. “I... .” Arthur breathes out, slowly, feeling the sharp ache where Eames is buried all the way inside him. Fuck. “It kind of hurts.”
Eames pulls out, faster than he pushed in, and there in that friction is enough pleasure to make Arthur hiss.
“Sorry,” Eames grits out. He pushes back.
Arthur’s about to protest when Eames pulls him up. “Here,” he says, rolling onto his back.
Somehow Eames manages to be even more intimidating stretched out on his back. Arthur eyes his cock, still hard and wet, and licks his lips. He wants to do this. His fingers trail down Eames’s chest, splay over his stomach, and he tentatively shifts until his knees are sinking into the mattress on either side of Eames’s hips.
He should feel more in control, but he just feels overwhelmed.
“Just go at your own pace,” Eames says, reaching out to brace Arthur’s hipbones in a comforting grip. Not enough to control, just enough to support.
It’s easier to take Eames’s cock in this time, different now he gets to decide how fast and how far that stretch spreads inside his body. By the time he’s sitting flush against Eames’s thighs, he’s panting again.
“Better, yeah?” Eames rocks him a little.
“Yeah,” Arthur says and braces his palms flat against the coarse hair on Eames’s chest, working himself back and forth a little, testing.
Eames bites his lip and his eyes flutter closed. The sudden sense of power is like a revelation, and Arthur rocks slowly just to watch the tension grow on Eames’s face. That, and it feels fucking good. There’s still a slight ache hovering just beneath the warm pleasure creeping up his spine, but it’s not enough to stop him lifting himself up and fucking back down properly. “Fuck.”
“That’s it,” Eames says, gripping his hips harder, tilting his hips up a little.
He’s not kidding. Arthur uses the leverage from his hands to work up a steady rhythm, all the way out and then in deep again. It feels different to having his cock touched; the inexorable sense of orgasm feels like it’s coming from somewhere deeper, more intense. “Eames,” he hisses, rolling his hips. “I’m really going to come.”
“Yeah,” he growls and pulls Arthur’s hips down, hard. “Now you are.”
It’s not quite true. It takes a few more hard thrusts with Eames rocking up into him before he shudders and comes all over Eames’s stomach, arms and thighs trembling.
Eames groans and bucks up one last time, and Arthur swears he can feel the jerk of his cock inside him as he comes.
Arthur glances down, and Eames is grinning up at him with a loose, sleepy look in his eyes. He looks about like Arthur feels, actually. Arthur wants to move, get comfortable, but moving seems like a whole lot of effort that he really doesn’t have the muscle control for anymore.
As if he knows exactly what he’s thinking, Eames shifts his grip on Arthur’s hips and lifts him slowly, helping lift his leg so he can lie down.
So. That’s sex. He kind of wants to say it out loud. But it’s easier to stay quiet and press boneless into Eames’s side, listen to the steady beat of his heart and rasp of his breath.
Maybe he falls asleep a little. He must, because the next thing he knows there’s a cool touch between his thighs.
“You don’t have to move,” Eames says when he stirs, wiping him clean. “Just stay there.”
Arthur’s not about to argue. It’s kind of nice, anyway.
The bed dips again and then Eames presses in beside him, kissing his neck, the curve of his shoulder. “You awake?”
“Mmm,” Arthur says, curling closer to the enveloping warmth of Eames’s body.
The next kiss brushes his hairline. “ ‘night, Arthur.”
Arthur can’t even muster up an incoherent sound in response.
*
There’s a weird moment of disorientation when Arthur wakes up. It’s not his bed, or his pillow, and there’s a bulky body pressed up against his back.
He doesn’t open his eyes straight away. Eames’s knee is nudged between his thighs, one arm curled over his side, and it’s comfortable in a way Arthur hadn’t realised sharing a bed with someone could be. He brushes his fingers over the back of Eames’s hand.
“Morning.”
Arthur starts at the murmur of lips against the nape of his neck. “Hey.”
“How are you feeling?” Eames’s hand drifts lower, settling on his hip.
Comfortable. A bit sore. Holy fuck I’m not a virgin anymore. “Good.”
Eames kisses the back of his neck and nuzzles at his hair. “Ready for some breakfast maybe?”
Arthur wriggles over onto his back and looks up at Eames. He’s smiling, and there are creases at the corner of his eyes that Arthur has never noticed before. “I don’t know. Moving feels kind of hard right now.”
“Well,” Eames says, brushing hair away from Arthur’s forehead. “I’d love to say we should just stay in bed all morning.” His fingers walk down over Arthur’s hip. “But I’m hungry.” He kisses him, once, just long enough to make it obvious that if it weren’t for morning breath and desire for food, they’d definitely be staying in bed all morning.
Eames rolls away and Arthur sits up on his elbows, mostly just to check out Eames’s ass as he bends over to step back into his pants.
“Here.” Eames pulls a couple of things out of the dresser and drops them on the edge of the bed. “Get dressed, wash up, nap a bit longer, whatever you like. Then come out when you’re ready.”
Arthur flops back on the bed, stretching. There’s a warm spot where Eames was lying, the slight dip in the bed, and everything smells like him. All things considered, it’s possibly the best morning ever.
He grabs the clothes Eames threw on the bed. It’s just some shorts and a t-shirt that’ll definitely be too big for him. Slowly, careful of the fact his muscles really don’t feel like they want to carry him, he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and pulls the shirt over his head. It hits low enough to cover his ass, at least, and he leaves the shorts behind as he heads down the hallway.
*
The scratchy sound of a radio drifts down the hallway. Arthur tugs the shirt down a little lower as he steps into the kitchen, sudden nervousness knotting his stomach. It’s not like he knows what he’s meant to do; say thank you? Make a hasty retreat before things get awkward?
He hopes things don’t get awkward.
Eames is leaning into the fridge, humming along with the radio. Arthur clears his throat.
“Arthur,” Eames says, straightening up. “You’re--” The smile fades from his face when he looks up, mouth falling open just a little.
The wet glint of Eames’s tongue is enough to bring up the memory of how it felt working against the underside of his cock, but Arthur shoves the thought away. “I’m--”
“Gorgeous,” Eames finishes, before Arthur can apologise. “Jesus Christ, Arthur, you’re just...”
He steps closer and slides the flat of his hand up the back of Arthur’s thigh. Arthur tenses in anticipation, breath catching in his throat, but the warm weight of his fingers only barely creeps beneath the soft edge of the t-shirt, settling just under the curve of his ass without straying higher. It’s an undemanding pressure, but Arthur leans into it anyway.
“Ready for breakfast?” Eames says after a second, fingers tightening on Arthur’s skin as if he’s worried he might actually go away.
“Yeah,” Arthur says, trying to ignore how hard it is to breath with Eames’s hand practically cupping his bare ass. He rests his hands on the thick muscle of Eames’s biceps, squeezing.
Eames slips two fingers under his chin and tilts his head up to kiss him then, slow and unhurried, and Arthur’s toes curl against the cool tile.
“When do you have to get home?” Eames says once he pulls away and goes back to digging eggs and milk out of the fridge.
Arthur sits down at the counter. “Not until this afternoon, at least.” He almost says his mother’s not expecting him until then, but figures now is probably a really bad time to remind Eames that he just fucked a sixteen year old. Almost seventeen year old. Whatever.
“So we’ve got time to watch those Gordon movies?”
There’s a plaque on the wall closest to Arthur, metallic, a first place from the World Gymnastics Championships. The year means it’s from Eames’s first time competing, Arthur doesn’t even have to think about it to know that. And that’s when it hits him... this is the Eames. He just lost his virginity to one of the fucking best male gymnasts of the last ten years, the same guy he’s been jerking off over since he was fifteen, and--
“Arthur? You okay?”
Arthur blinks, and grins. “Yeah.”
He’s way better than okay.
*
The gym is empty and quiet when Arthur walks in, the setting sun throwing glare off the mirrors. He’s about to open his mouth and call out when he spots Eames on the pommel horse.
Watching Eames up close is nothing like watching Eames on T.V. Especially now, when Arthur can look at the way sweat streaks the bunched muscles of Eames’s neck and back and know how that same muscle feels when it tenses under his hands, the weight and breadth of it pressing him down into the mattress.
He waits until Eames dismounts and reaches for his towel. “Your flares could have been stronger.”
Eames glances up with a grin, scrubbing the towel over his face. “Oh?”
Arthur leans his elbows on the pommel horse. “Yeah.”
“Right. Because you’re the expert.” Eames slings the towel over his shoulder and sets his hands on either side of Arthur’s elbows. “Any other observations?”
“You’re really hot,” Arthur says, because he can, because it feels good to say out loud and have it mean something. Even the way Eames glances around just to be sure nobody else is in the gym before he leans down into the kiss isn’t enough to ruin how fucking good Arthur feels.
“So,” Eames says finally, brushing their lips together, “how did your last exam go?”
“Better than I thought it would. I think. I don’t know. The main thing is that it’s done.”
“Given any thought to what you’re going to do over the summer?”
He hasn’t, really. Not beyond spend as much time with you as humanly possible, anyway. “I figure I’ll try to get a summer job or something.”
“Hmm.” Eames straightens up. “Sarah was asking about hiring one of the older students to help her with the toddler class we’re starting over the summer. You could talk to her about that.”
“Maybe, after grad.” He lifts himself up on the pommel horse a little, trying to get closer for another kiss. “Apparently there’s going to be an even bigger party than there was for prom.”
Eames raises an eyebrow. “Is there now.”
“There is.” Just thinking about it makes Arthur’s skin feel too warm, tense, desperate for the prospect of more than a snatched hour or two together after school. Sure, right now sex any way he can get it is great, but there’s something to be said for having time to just touch and hang out afterwards. Eames has an amazing DVD collection that they’ve barely put a dent in.
“I guess I’ll have to check my calendar,” Eames says, but he’s smiling as he turns around and heads towards his office.
Arthur props his hands on his chin and watches him walk away for a good ten seconds
Before, summer seemed like a boring stretch of too much time and nothing to do with it but wait for college to start.
Now, it’s looking a whole lot more interesting.
********************************
It’s not an accident that Arthur is standing outside on a late August morning, staring into the trunk of the car he got for graduation and his birthday as if glaring alone will be enough to make more space. He’s so intent on the contents of his trunk that he doesn’t even hear the footsteps approaching.
“You won’t have room for anything else in your dorm anyway,” a familiar voice breathes just behind his ear, and Arthur starts.
“My mom’s just inside,” he says carefully, a warning, because as easy and comfortable as they’ve gotten with each other over the summer, it’d really suck to slip up now.
Eames’s eyes narrow a little, and he keeps the distance between them instead of moving any closer. “I just wanted to come and say goodbye.”
Arthur bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself saying you already did that yesterday afternoon. “Thanks.”
Eames rests his hand on the roof the car, hemming Arthur in without touching him. “You’re ready to go then?”
“Pretty much,” Arthur says. Having Eames so close shouldn’t fuck his breathing up so much anymore, but he can’t help it. The body of the car is cool against his back, a solid reminder that there’s nowhere to run. Not that he really wants to.
“Be careful, okay?” Eames presses in closer, setting his other hand on the roof of the car.
It’s stupid and reckless but all Arthur can think is please fucking kiss me. “I will,” he whispers, as Eames’s nose brushes his temple.
He knows he shouldn’t, but he tilts his face up and it’s all the encouragement Eames needs to kiss him, hard. Only for a second, and Arthur can’t help the disappointed noise he makes when Eames steps away.
“Sorry,” Eames says, tucking his hands into his pockets. His lips are wet, and suddenly Arthur really, really doesn’t want to go.
“Don’t be.” He sucks in a breath. “I’ll call you later.”
“Promise?”
Arthur smiles. “As if I’d forget.”
“That was a pretty decent wipeout, Arthur,” Rebecca says, shoving the pizza down the bench.
“I am still so pissed I missed it.”
Arthur shrugs and grabs a slice, sprawling back against the benches. “It wasn’t that impressive. Impressive ends in broken bones nine times out of ten.”
“True. I’d still be fucking mortified if I’d done it, though.”
“World Championship qualifiers, my second year in, I missed a beat and took a fall from the bars. It happens to the best of us.”
They all go quiet when Eames’s voice cuts in, and Arthur glances up. Eames is looking at him, and it isn’t until Arthur notices the way Eames’s eyes keep flicking down that he realises leaning back has let his shirt ride up to expose a tiny strip of his stomach.
He doesn’t move to pull it down.
“Arthur, mind if I borrow you for a bit?” Eames says, finally focusing on Arthur’s face. “We do need to have a talk about that landing.”
The hush of the others reminds Arthur of the bated silence whenever someone is about to get chewed out in class, and his stomach drops. “Okay.” He scrambles up, tugging his shirt down as he does, and follows Eames from the bleachers across the floor to the offices.
Eames doesn’t even look back to see if Arthur’s behind him, and it’s harder than it should be not to pay attention to the tight stretch of Eames’s shirt across his shoulders considering he’s about to give Arthur a dressing down. Sure, he deserves it, he fucked up, and he’s really not looking forward to it.
The office door is already open and Eames waits, gesturing Arthur in before closing the door behind them.
It’s so quiet Arthur can hear his own heart pounding as he tries to stay nonchalant, leaning back against the desk. Of course, nonchalance is fucking impossible wherever Eames is concerned, especially when he closes the space between them in two long steps. There’s nothing indecent about the distance; there’s still a good foot between them. But it’s close enough to let Eames crowd him, all broad chest and those annoying couple of inches, and Arthur licks his lips nervously.
“You can’t let me distract you like that,” Eames says, crossing his arms. “You could have broken something. Like your neck.”
“Maybe I just fucked up.”
“You did. But don’t act like we don’t both know why. Part of being an adult is owning your culpability, Arthur.”
Arthur clenches his fingers against the desk, glaring up at Eames like he’s not twice his size. “It’s not like it matters anyway, because you’ll be leaving for competition season and I’ll be--”
“No, I won’t.” Eames lets out a sharp breath and rakes his fingers through his hair. “Last year was my last competitive season. This is my full time now.”
“But...” That means you’re going to stay here.
Eames ignores him. “So you see, you have got to stop this. All this.” He gestures vaguely.
“All what?” Arthur says softly. There’s enough tension in Eames’s neck for Arthur to see the thick ridges of his tendons.
This isn’t the dressing down he expected.
Eames presses a finger against Arthur’s chest, leaning close. “For fuck’s sake Arthur, don’t play coy now. You think I don’t notice?”
The shadows are long enough to throw darkness across half of Eames’s face, and Arthur can’t help the way he shivers at the touch of Eames’s breath on his lips. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I notice. I noticed when you were still trying to hide it. Is that what you want to hear?” He flattens his hand against Arthur’s chest, fingers splayed over his breastbone. “You want me to tell you that just before, when you were sitting there with your stomach showing, I wanted to tug your jeans down and lick your hipbones so badly that it’s still killing me?”
Arthur bites his lip, but it’s not enough to stop the way his knees suddenly feel like they can’t hold him up.
“Because I did,” Eames says, breathing hard. “So don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, because you’re smarter than that.” His fingers shift, trailing up Arthur’s throat and curling under his chin. “You have no fucking idea what you do to me, Arthur.”
Those thick fingers are resting against his pulse, and Arthur swallows just to feel the pressure. “I do. Because you do it to me, too.”
“Fuck,” Eames growls out, and it’s the only warning Arthur gets before Eames is kissing him.
There’s nothing between them this time, no inconvenient armrest to stop them from pressing together. Eames’s hands skim down along Arthur’s ribs and tighten on his hips, thumbs pressing into the soft skin of his belly.
Arthur sucks in a breath when Eames nudges him back harder against the desk, lifting him just enough to perch on the edge. Just like that the couple of inches between them are gone. Eames’s breath is warm on Arthur’s mouth as they bump noses for a second, dragging in air while they can, before Eames cradles the back of Arthur’s head and pulls him forward.
Nobody’s ever kissed him like this before, pressing in hot and close and spreading his legs with their thighs. It’s got to be a dream, another fucking dream like the one that had ended in sticky boxers and an early morning call to Ariadne.
Except this time there’s the narrow edge of the desk digging into the backs of his thighs and the scrape of Eames’s stubble, and it’s so desperate and real Arthur can barely breathe, bucking his hips up against the heat of Eames’s body.
“Oh, fuck,” he whispers against Eames’s mouth, shuddering at the friction as Eames grinds closer.
“I want to,” Eames mutters back and licks along Arthur’s lip, dropping a hand to his thigh and dragging him in closer, close enough for Arthur to feel how hard he is.
It should be nothing. He can barely even get off rubbing himself through his boxers, so Eames grinding on him through jeans shouldn’t have him tense and gasping and so fucking close to coming. But he is, and he arches into it.
“Eames,” he says, tilting his head back a little to let Eames mouth at his neck, wet kisses with an occasional scrape of teeth. The hand on his thigh drags higher at the same time, smoothing up over the curve if his ass to slip under the back of his shirt.
Arthur can’t even fit his hand halfway around Eames’s bicep to steady himself and it’s that thought, so much fucking muscle between his legs and pressed up against him, that has his thighs shaking. “Fuck, Eames, I’m going to-“
But rather than press in closer and give him the last bit of pressure he needs, Eames jerks away. Arthur blinks up at him, cold and desperate and fuck, it’s so hard not to just pop the button on his jeans and finish himself off.
He digs his nails into the desk and tries to breathe properly as Eames scrubs his hands across his face.
“No,” Eames says finally, voice still low enough to do stupid things to Arthur’s insides.
“No, what?” Arthur chokes out.
Eames stares at him for a long moment. Arthur feels pinned down by the look just as easily as he was pinned down by Eames’s body a few seconds ago.
“No, not like this.”
He holds out his hand and Arthur just looks at it, confusion twisted up with the arousal still tugging low in his belly. “What?”
Eames helps him up off the desk but doesn’t let go of his hand. “If... if this is going to happen, it’s not happening like this. Not here, not now.” He brushes Arthur’s hair away from his eyes, fingertips warm on his skin.
Arthur’s still dazed, too hot, and it takes a few seconds for exactly what Eames is saying to sink in.
“You should go now anyway,” Eames continues, still out of breath at the edges as he walks over to the door. He hesitates. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
Arthur blinks again. He has to be dreaming. But he’s not, everything solid and almost too real as he walks towards the door. He stops by Eames just long enough to let himself touch his hand, a soft brush of fingertips across knuckles, but it’s just as real as the edge of the desk and the rasp of Eames’s stubble had been a few minutes before.
“Okay.”
*
As much as Arthur would like to spend most of his time wondering when Eames is going to talk to him, there are plenty of other things that manage to occupy him. He even skips gym class on Wednesday, because he’s mature enough to put his final exams before the urges of his dick.
That doesn’t mean he’s above jerking off when the formulas in his calculus textbook turn into nothing but an incomprehensible mess. It’s better now that he doesn’t feel bad about taking his time and pretending it’s Eames’s hands on his skin. But then he checks his email, and his phone, and the gnawing uncertainty comes creeping back when there’s still no word from Eames.
“Maybe he’s changed his mind,” he says on Friday night, tossing a scrunched up ball of paper into the air above his head.
“Unlikely.”
Arthur glances over from the bed to where Ariadne is swinging on his desk chair. “It’s been a whole week. There can’t be any other reason.”
Ariadne sighs. “I told you from the start he was totally into you. And now you tell me he made out with you on a desk and said he’d call. I think he’s going to.”
Arthur throws the paper again, ignoring the fact that fifteen minutes ago it was a bio revision sheet. “Well. He’d email, anyway. If he was going to.”
“Would he?” The sharp sound of Ari’s typing makes Arthur look over at his desk again.
“What are you--”
“Hey, there’s an email from him here now,” she says, still rocking on the chair.
Arthur tries to pretend the prospect alone doesn’t make his stomach tie itself in knots. “Liar.”
“I’m not kidding, here... ‘How badly did you--”
If she’s fucking with him Arthur is going to kill her. He jumps up, leaning over her shoulder to look at the screen .
How badly did you want to go to your prom afterparty?
There’s nothing else, not that there needs to be. “Ari, what does that say.”
She looks up at him. “That says you have somewhere far better to be next Friday night than Dom’s party.”
So much for keeping his brain out of his pants.
*
“Arthur! Ariadne’s here!” Arthur’s mother calls from the kitchen
He takes another few seconds to get his tie straight before stepping back from the mirror and staring himself in the face.
It’s not like Eames even said anything about what was going to happen. Maybe he doesn’t mean they’re going to have sex at all. The air still feels too thick with the implication that they will, and Arthur takes a few seconds to just breathe before he heads down stairs.
Ariadne’s standing at the bottom of the stairs in her red dress, skirt flaring out into a pretty A-line, and Arthur grins at her. “You look pretty good.”
“You don’t scrub up so bad yourself,” she says. “Did you sort out the plans for--”
“Don’t move for a second,” Arthur’s mom says. “I’ll take a picture of you both there on the stairs.”
They pose long enough to satisfy his mother, shoulders bumping as Arthur loops an arm around Ariadne’s waist.
“I was saying,” Ari says softly after his mother goes back into the kitchen, “did you sort out the plans for after?”
Arthur nods. He’s deleted the emails of course, he’s not stupid, but he’s memorised each one anyway. “Yeah. Any time is fine, if you can just drop me off on the way.”
“So you’re skipping prom?” Ariadne pokes him in the ribs.
The thought hadn’t actually occurred to him. It’s really fucking tempting too, to say yes, to skip all the stuff between and get right to the part where he’s with Eames. “Nah. Figure I better at least show up. Besides,” he offers her his arm. “Who’s going to dance with you if I don’t?”
“You’re an asshole,” Ariadne says affectionately, curling her hand over his elbow. “Are you ready?”
Arthur’s not entirely sure she’s only talking about leaving for the prom.“Yeah,” he says. “I’m ready.”
*
The first time Arthur checks his watch is at ten thirty, which is a lot later than he thought it’d be. He’s managed not to step on any toes, which Ariadne would probably say is a minor miracle in and of itself, and it’s been a pretty good time all things considered.
He leans against the wall and checks his watch again. The music feels almost too loud now, and he doesn’t notice Ari walking up beside him until she leans her head on his shoulder. “You look like you’re about to die,” she says.
“Well, I don’t feel like I’m about to die.” Arthur fiddles with his tie.
“Like you have somewhere better to be, then.”
Arthur laughs, a tense sound buried under the beat of the music. “Yeah.”
“You wanna get going? Dom was just saying he’s going to be going home to get changed and finish setting up soon anyway.”
“No rush,” Arthur says, trying not to think about big hands on his hips or the scrape of stubble against his jaw.
“I’ll just grab my stuff. Don’t go anywhere.”
She ducks away into the crowd. Arthur checks his watch again, and tries harder not to look conspicuous.
*
They pull up a house down from Eames’s and Ariadne kills the engine. The street is silent, streetlight flickering, and Arthur curls his fingers against the smooth fabric of his suit pants.
"Are you okay?" Ariadne looks over at him. "You can just come to the party if you want, you know."
Arthur shakes his head, sucking in a breath to try to calm the anxious tension clawing at the pit of his stomach. "No, I want to do this." He does. He really, really does, but somehow that doesn't make the prospect of having sex, with Eames, any less stomach churning.
"Well, I'm not drinking, so you can call me if you need to. I'll come get you." Ariadne grabs her purse from the dashboard and opens it with a snap. "Here," she says, rummaging in it for a second before reaching over and tucking two condoms into Arthur's breast pocket. "The school nurse was giving these out to all the girls this week, but you need them a lot more than I do."
Warmth creeps up Arthur's neck. "I'm sure I'll be fine."
Ariadne rests a hand on his shoulder, small fingers brushing over the curve of his arm. "You be careful, okay?"
Arthur nods. "I will."
Ariadne leans in close and kisses him on the cheek, warm breath fanning his cheek. "Go on then. Go get laid. Someone in this car right now might as well."
*
There's nothing particularly telling about Eames’s front porch. The light in the kitchen is on, but Arthur still hesitates with his knuckles on the smooth grain of the door for a few seconds before knocking.
The door swings open and in that instant Arthur has never been more sure about what he wants. Eames smiles softly at him, black t-shirt clinging to his chest and straining against his biceps, and the anxious tension that's been lurking in Arthur's stomach for most of the week morphs into something hungrier, more certain.
"Hi," he says, not even caring that he's staring because now, finally, he can stare and there's no reason why he can't.
Eames steps back, holding the door open. "Hi. How was prom?"
It's saying something that Eames’s bulk makes stepping through the doorway without touching him impossible. They barely brush, Arthur's shoulder against Eames’s chest, but the contact is more than enough to set off the memory of being pressed down onto that desk by the heavy breadth of Eames’s body.
Arthur shivers. "Good, I guess. It was pretty fun."
Eames locks the door behind them. "I was just making tea, would you like some?"
For a second he thinks about saying no, even though his throat is drier than it has been all night. Then he figures drinking tea will be easier than trying to act cool when he really has no fucking idea what to say. “Yeah, thanks.”
He follows Eames through to the kitchen. It’s pretty similar to his own house, the same kind of layout all the houses on their block had ended up with, a sense of familiarity that makes it easier to relax. Arthur leans against the counter as Eames moves about the kitchen, and resists the urge to fiddle with his cufflinks.
“Black, white?” Eames asks.
“White,” Arthur says.
Eames pours from the steaming kettle with deft hands and stops by the fridge to add milk before returning to the counter and handing Arthur the teacup. His fingers linger well after Arthur’s got his hands around the cup, chalk-rough against the backs of Arthur’s hands.
Soon he’ll know what those hands feel like sliding up his inner thighs, pressing his hips down, wrapping around his...
Arthur bites his lip. “Thanks.”
“You know, Arthur,” Eames says softly, once he’s taken a sip of his tea. “We don’t have to do anything tonight if you don’t want to. I downloaded a few Stuart Gordon movies and there are leftovers from dinner. We can--”
“No,” Arthur says quickly, and he wonders if he really looks that nervous. Fuck. So much for playing it cool. He sets down the teacup and steps closer to Eames, heart pounding as he reaches out and splays a hand against the broad warmth of Eames’s chest. Arthur can feel the pulse beneath his fingers and it’s fast, just as fast as his is, and knowing that Eames is just as strung out is almost too much to take. “I want this,” he says, looking up at Eames. “I want you to fuck me.”
It’s Eames’s turn to bite his lip. “Are you sure?”
Beneath all the uncertainty and the nerves and the desperation churning just under his skin, the only thing Arthur is absolutely sure of is how badly he wants Eames to strip him naked and fuck him like he means it. “Really, really sure.”
He’s expecting Eames to grab him like he did in the office, growl into his mouth, maybe push him up against the counter until he’s ten seconds away from coming in his pants again. But Eames doesn’t. Instead he slips his hands inside Arthur’s suit jacket, skimming down over his ribs until they settle heavy and warm at his hips.
Arthur tries to remember how to breath as Eames leans down slowly, deliberately, until their lips are almost but not quite touching.
“You want me to take you to bed?” he says.
The light breath ghosting over his lips is enough to make Arthur shiver, fingers tensing against the fabric of Eames’s t-shirt. “Yes,” Arthur says, tilting his head back a little more, straining up a little higher to try to close that last infuriating bit of space between them.
The kiss is gentle when it comes, no tongue, a soft touch of lips that somehow still manages to make Arthur’s toes curl with want.
“Tell me what you want,” Eames says.
“Everything,” Arthur whispers, licking the curve of Eames’s upper lip.
That gets a growl and Eames slides his hands back up, pushing the jacket off Arthur’s shoulders even as he presses down for a kiss, a real kiss.
Arthur struggles out of the jacket so he can get his arms up around Eames’s neck. Slowly, almost in time with each slick push of his tongue, Eames starts nudging Arthur backwards.
It’s hard to walk backwards and kiss at the same time but that’s irrelevant to the fact that Eames is kissing him, Eames is about to fuck him, Eames’s hands are fumbling at the buttons of his shirt.
Arthur breaks away with a gasp when his back hits the wall halfway down the hallway and undoes the last couple of buttons himself, shrugging it off. When he tries to wrap his arms around Eames’s neck again, lean back up into the kiss, Eames presses him back against the wall.
“Wait,” he says breathlessly, fingers curling against Arthur’s shoulders like he’s amazed to finally have the skin under his hands.
“What for?” Arthur reaches for the hem of the black t-shirt instead, tugging at it until Eames relents and lets go just long enough to strip it off.
“Because I said so,” Eames says and presses his hands to Arthur’s chest.
“Fuck.” Arthur shudders when thick thumbs brush his nipples. He’s never bothered touching himself like that before because... well, he’s a boy, but it feels so fucking good as Eames circles them slowly that he decides he’s been well and truly missing out.
“Do you like that?”
“Yes,” Arthur gasps, and tries to push his hips forward for some friction.
“Good. You have to promise you’re going to talk to me okay, Arthur? You have to talk to me when I ask you things, and you have to tell the truth.”
The words almost bring the anxiety of what he’s about to do rushing back, but the soft pressure of Eames’s thumbs rubbing over his nipples is distracting enough that he really doesn’t care anymore. “Promise.”
“Okay,” Eames says. There’s so much tension in his voice that Arthur can hear it, cracking at the edges as Eames grabs his hips and guides him the last few steps into the bedroom. The bed’s just a double, and Arthur can see the door to an ensuite ajar on the other side of the room.
“Sit,” Eames says, pressing down on Arthur’s shoulders lightly until he obeys.
That’s when it really hits him, perched on the edge of the bed as Eames drops to his knees and undoes Arthur’s shoelaces, pulling them off along with the socks and throwing them aside. This is real. He’s really about to actually have sex, with Eames, and he has no fucking idea at all what he’s doing, and--
“Have you done this before?”
Arthur freezes, staring down at Eames. The lie is right on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it down. “No.”
He’s half expecting Eames to change his mind and send him home. Instead he rests his hands over Arthur’s thighs, so broad and warm that Arthur just wants them all over him, right now. Then those hands slide higher and Eames moves closer so he’s kneeling right between Arthur’s legs, a solid weight keeping his thighs spread.
Arthur’s breathing goes shallow as Eames’s fingers shift to his fly and he undoes the button, stroking the trembling muscle of Arthur’s stomach before dragging the zip down.
In that instant Arthur wishes he’d worn underwear, because his cock is hard, jutting out of his open fly, and Eames is staring at it with his hands braced over Arthur’s hipbones. Arthur squirms against the pressure, not sure if he wants Eames to touch him or just say something so he at least knows that his cock isn’t some utter disappointment.
Eames looks up at him, all dark eyes and swollen lips, and it’s like something out of Arthur’s very best wet dreams. “I want to suck you.”
The only affirmation Arthur manages to get out is a groan and a nod, hips jerking up in anticipation.
Slowly, without breaking eye contact until the last second, Eames lowers his head. “You can grab my hair if you like,” he says, the words fanning warm, moist air over Arthur’s cock.
Arthur’s hips jerk again and he slides one hand into Eames’s hair, grabs at the comforter with the other. “Eames,” he says.
Eames breathes out in response, deliberately, and then his hand is curling around the base of Arthur’s cock, snug and warm and absolutely nothing like the feel of his own hand wrapped around it. Arthur watches as his mouth closes over the head of his cock, thighs shuddering at the sudden rush of sensation.
“Fuck,” he says, nails scraping over Eames’s scalp. He can feel his cock twitching against the pressure of Eames’s tongue and jesus fucking christ, he needs to come. He tries to thrust deeper into the wet heat of Eames’s mouth but Eames holds him still, a hand on his hip and a hand wrapped around his cock to stop him going any further.
There’s nothing he can do but feel it. He can’t just speed up like he would if he was jerking himself off. Eames’s tongue is slow and relentless and Arthur can’t do a thing about it but writhe. It’s more than enough though, and within a few seconds he comes, shaking.
Eames squeezes him through it, and Arthur opens his eyes in time to watch those fucking lips slip off the end of his cock. He blinks, thighs still trembling. “Shit. Sorry.” So much for sex.
“Arthur,” Eames says, tugging at the waistband of his trousers until he wriggles back onto the bed far enough for Eames to drag them the rest of the way off. “Shhh.”
Arthur shifts back further onto the bed, awkward, not sure exactly how he should lie or what he should do with his hands. He settles for propping himself up on his elbows and trying not to feel weird about the fact he’s completely naked on someone elses’s bed for the first time in his life, still warm and wrung out from coming.
It gets a whole lot easier to forget how naked he is when Eames stands up and drops his hands to his own fly, unzipping quickly and shoving his jeans down.
Arthur thought his throat was dry before. When Eames straightens back up, naked, Arthur’s mouth is so dry he can’t even manage a nervous swallow at the thick length of his cock curved up against his belly.
That’s going inside me, fuck, he thinks as Eames kneels on the bed, gently pushing Arthur’s legs apart so he can move up between them until his arms are braced on either side of Arthur’s head.
The thick muscle of those biceps hemming him in and the solid breadth of Eames’s chest pressing him down is almost enough to distract him from the feel of Eames’s erection pressing into his stomach, hot and slick and so fucking hard.
“Relax,” Eames murmurs, nuzzling at Arthur’s throat.
Having that much bulk spreading his thighs and looming over him is kind of... not scary, not exactly, but Arthur’s heart rate is already climbing higher as he tentatively smoothes his hands over the broad muscle of Eames’s back, testing the tension of muscle and bone as he strokes down to the taper at Eames’s waist before drawing his hands higher again.
Eames huffs out a breath by his cheek. “Feeling good?”
“Yeah,” Arthur says, trying to fit his hands around Eames’s biceps and failing miserably, wondering just how easily Eames could break him.
Eames lifts a hand and tilts his chin up, looking down at him for a second before kissing him softly. There’s a bitter taste on his tongue and it sends a thrill straight to Arthur’s bones when he realises that it’s his own come, because yeah, Eames just sucked him off.
He arches up into the kiss, testing Eames’s weight over him and pressing up into the heat of his erection. And fuck, he’s already getting hard again, rocking up against the hard muscle of Eames’s stomach.
Eames pulls away before Arthur can really get into it and he lets out a disappointed groan as Eames reaches across and up over Arthur’s head to the bedside table. Arthur tips his head back so he can see it, upside down, a dogeared book beside the lamp and Eames’s hand rummaging in the drawer.
It also puts Eames’s nipple right at mouth level, so Arthur leans up a little and laps at it, feeling it get hard under the wet pressure of his tongue.
“Fuck, Arthur,” Eames hisses, shuddering. He pulls back, dropping condoms and lube on the comforter beside them both.
Arthur grins. “So that does feel good for everyone?”
Eames growls and dips his head to suck one of Arthur’s nipples into his mouth, tounging at it until Arthur’s gasping.
“Generally,” Eames says finally, pressing a kiss to Arthur’s breastbone before sitting up and tucking his hands under Arthur’s knees. “Lift your legs up.”
Arthur obeys, planting his feet on the comforter and spreading his legs instinctively. He feels too exposed again without Eames’s body covering him, but it’s not enough to kill his erection.
He’s not naive, but it still takes a second for it to really sink in what’s about to happen when Eames flicks open the lube. Arthur isn’t sure whether he’s terrified or turned on beyond all reason at the thought of Eames fucking him with those thick fingers, but at least he doesn’t have to wait too long to find out which it really is.
“I’m going to finger you now,” Eames says, and yeah, okay, as scary as it is Arthur is really fucking turned on by the thought of Eames’s fingers inside him.
Eames shifts down the bed so he can lie with his elbows on either side of Arthur’s hips, one hand stroking soothing circles over his belly. “Are you ready?”
Arthur gives a tight nod.
“Tell me you’re ready, Arthur. Tell me you want me to slick my fingers and open you up so I can fuck you like you want me to.”
Eames’s voice is so low, rolling over Arthur’s name that same way it did months and months ago the first time they met on that street, and Arthur’s trembling so hard he’s not sure he can choke a single word out.
“Tell me,” Eames repeats, shifting just enough to cover his fingers in lube before setting it aside and replacing the warm hand across Arthur’s belly.
The lube’s glistening in the lamplight, like a promise of how wet those fingers are going to be on him, in him, and Arthur manages to swallow. “I want you to fuck me with your fingers.” The words alone make his stomach clench.
A whole lot more than that clenches at the first wet stroke of Eames’s fingers over his hole.
“How’s that?” Eames asks, turning his head a little to press a rough kiss to the inside of Arthur’s knee.
“Weird,” Arthur breathes, trying to spread his legs even further so he can tilt his hips up into the slick pressure right where nobody has ever touched him before. “But good.”
The tip of one finger slips in and Arthur freezes, every nerve focused down on the pleasant stretch as Eames pushes his finger deeper.
“Still good?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Arthur pants, distracted, “Yeah, that’s good.”
Eames isn’t even touching his cock but the familiar tension of orgasm is already tightening Arthur’s thighs, making him clench down on the solid heat thrusting slowly back and forth inside him, and that just feels even better.
By the time Eames pushes two fingers in Arthur’s trembling all over and biting down hard on his lip, rocking his hips in little jerks against the pressure of Eames’s hand.
“Please, fuck,” he hisses, not even sure exactly what he wants.
“Please, what?” Eames says as he presses down on Arthur’s stomach, soothing fingers turned firm and probing.
Arthur tosses his head back and forth. The pressure’s too much, thick fingers spreading him open inside while that hand pushes down on him. “I’m gonna come,” he says, desperate. “Oh fuck.”
“No, you’re not,” Eames says and pulls his fingers free. “Not quite yet.” He reaches for the condom.
Arthur watches with half-closed eyes as Eames rolls it on. Eames’s fingers are big, but two of them still aren’t as big as his cock, and a drop of fear sends nervous ripples stuttering across Arthur’s skin.
Then Eames is over him again, a blanket of solid warmth pushing him down into the mattress and lifting his knee a little higher.
“Arthur,” he whispers, nudging Arthur’s nose with his own. “Arthur, I’d really like to fuck you now, if that’s okay.”
“Yeah, please.” Arthur wraps his legs around Eames’s waist, shaky, and oh fuck that’s Eames’s cock pushing against his ass, barely nudging in.
It’s more pressure than the fingers were, wider, and Arthur can feel the shudder in the muscles of Eames’s back as he eases in torturously slow.
“Relax, love.” There’s a shudder in his voice too now. “I’ve got you.”
Arthur digs his nails into Eames’s shoulders, teeth buried in his lip. He wants to relax. He wants to let the tension seep away so he can concentrate on how good it feels. He really wants to. But... he shifts, wincing at the pain that streaks through him, colouring the pleasure too much for him to just relax into it. Eames feels huge, even if Arthur knows academically that this shouldn’t be such a big deal.
“Are you okay?” Eames says, voice warm and unsteady next to Arthur’s ear.
He wants to lie. It’d be so easy to lie, and it’s not like he wants Eames to stop. “I... .” Arthur breathes out, slowly, feeling the sharp ache where Eames is buried all the way inside him. Fuck. “It kind of hurts.”
Eames pulls out, faster than he pushed in, and there in that friction is enough pleasure to make Arthur hiss.
“Sorry,” Eames grits out. He pushes back.
Arthur’s about to protest when Eames pulls him up. “Here,” he says, rolling onto his back.
Somehow Eames manages to be even more intimidating stretched out on his back. Arthur eyes his cock, still hard and wet, and licks his lips. He wants to do this. His fingers trail down Eames’s chest, splay over his stomach, and he tentatively shifts until his knees are sinking into the mattress on either side of Eames’s hips.
He should feel more in control, but he just feels overwhelmed.
“Just go at your own pace,” Eames says, reaching out to brace Arthur’s hipbones in a comforting grip. Not enough to control, just enough to support.
It’s easier to take Eames’s cock in this time, different now he gets to decide how fast and how far that stretch spreads inside his body. By the time he’s sitting flush against Eames’s thighs, he’s panting again.
“Better, yeah?” Eames rocks him a little.
“Yeah,” Arthur says and braces his palms flat against the coarse hair on Eames’s chest, working himself back and forth a little, testing.
Eames bites his lip and his eyes flutter closed. The sudden sense of power is like a revelation, and Arthur rocks slowly just to watch the tension grow on Eames’s face. That, and it feels fucking good. There’s still a slight ache hovering just beneath the warm pleasure creeping up his spine, but it’s not enough to stop him lifting himself up and fucking back down properly. “Fuck.”
“That’s it,” Eames says, gripping his hips harder, tilting his hips up a little.
He’s not kidding. Arthur uses the leverage from his hands to work up a steady rhythm, all the way out and then in deep again. It feels different to having his cock touched; the inexorable sense of orgasm feels like it’s coming from somewhere deeper, more intense. “Eames,” he hisses, rolling his hips. “I’m really going to come.”
“Yeah,” he growls and pulls Arthur’s hips down, hard. “Now you are.”
It’s not quite true. It takes a few more hard thrusts with Eames rocking up into him before he shudders and comes all over Eames’s stomach, arms and thighs trembling.
Eames groans and bucks up one last time, and Arthur swears he can feel the jerk of his cock inside him as he comes.
Arthur glances down, and Eames is grinning up at him with a loose, sleepy look in his eyes. He looks about like Arthur feels, actually. Arthur wants to move, get comfortable, but moving seems like a whole lot of effort that he really doesn’t have the muscle control for anymore.
As if he knows exactly what he’s thinking, Eames shifts his grip on Arthur’s hips and lifts him slowly, helping lift his leg so he can lie down.
So. That’s sex. He kind of wants to say it out loud. But it’s easier to stay quiet and press boneless into Eames’s side, listen to the steady beat of his heart and rasp of his breath.
Maybe he falls asleep a little. He must, because the next thing he knows there’s a cool touch between his thighs.
“You don’t have to move,” Eames says when he stirs, wiping him clean. “Just stay there.”
Arthur’s not about to argue. It’s kind of nice, anyway.
The bed dips again and then Eames presses in beside him, kissing his neck, the curve of his shoulder. “You awake?”
“Mmm,” Arthur says, curling closer to the enveloping warmth of Eames’s body.
The next kiss brushes his hairline. “ ‘night, Arthur.”
Arthur can’t even muster up an incoherent sound in response.
*
There’s a weird moment of disorientation when Arthur wakes up. It’s not his bed, or his pillow, and there’s a bulky body pressed up against his back.
He doesn’t open his eyes straight away. Eames’s knee is nudged between his thighs, one arm curled over his side, and it’s comfortable in a way Arthur hadn’t realised sharing a bed with someone could be. He brushes his fingers over the back of Eames’s hand.
“Morning.”
Arthur starts at the murmur of lips against the nape of his neck. “Hey.”
“How are you feeling?” Eames’s hand drifts lower, settling on his hip.
Comfortable. A bit sore. Holy fuck I’m not a virgin anymore. “Good.”
Eames kisses the back of his neck and nuzzles at his hair. “Ready for some breakfast maybe?”
Arthur wriggles over onto his back and looks up at Eames. He’s smiling, and there are creases at the corner of his eyes that Arthur has never noticed before. “I don’t know. Moving feels kind of hard right now.”
“Well,” Eames says, brushing hair away from Arthur’s forehead. “I’d love to say we should just stay in bed all morning.” His fingers walk down over Arthur’s hip. “But I’m hungry.” He kisses him, once, just long enough to make it obvious that if it weren’t for morning breath and desire for food, they’d definitely be staying in bed all morning.
Eames rolls away and Arthur sits up on his elbows, mostly just to check out Eames’s ass as he bends over to step back into his pants.
“Here.” Eames pulls a couple of things out of the dresser and drops them on the edge of the bed. “Get dressed, wash up, nap a bit longer, whatever you like. Then come out when you’re ready.”
Arthur flops back on the bed, stretching. There’s a warm spot where Eames was lying, the slight dip in the bed, and everything smells like him. All things considered, it’s possibly the best morning ever.
He grabs the clothes Eames threw on the bed. It’s just some shorts and a t-shirt that’ll definitely be too big for him. Slowly, careful of the fact his muscles really don’t feel like they want to carry him, he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and pulls the shirt over his head. It hits low enough to cover his ass, at least, and he leaves the shorts behind as he heads down the hallway.
*
The scratchy sound of a radio drifts down the hallway. Arthur tugs the shirt down a little lower as he steps into the kitchen, sudden nervousness knotting his stomach. It’s not like he knows what he’s meant to do; say thank you? Make a hasty retreat before things get awkward?
He hopes things don’t get awkward.
Eames is leaning into the fridge, humming along with the radio. Arthur clears his throat.
“Arthur,” Eames says, straightening up. “You’re--” The smile fades from his face when he looks up, mouth falling open just a little.
The wet glint of Eames’s tongue is enough to bring up the memory of how it felt working against the underside of his cock, but Arthur shoves the thought away. “I’m--”
“Gorgeous,” Eames finishes, before Arthur can apologise. “Jesus Christ, Arthur, you’re just...”
He steps closer and slides the flat of his hand up the back of Arthur’s thigh. Arthur tenses in anticipation, breath catching in his throat, but the warm weight of his fingers only barely creeps beneath the soft edge of the t-shirt, settling just under the curve of his ass without straying higher. It’s an undemanding pressure, but Arthur leans into it anyway.
“Ready for breakfast?” Eames says after a second, fingers tightening on Arthur’s skin as if he’s worried he might actually go away.
“Yeah,” Arthur says, trying to ignore how hard it is to breath with Eames’s hand practically cupping his bare ass. He rests his hands on the thick muscle of Eames’s biceps, squeezing.
Eames slips two fingers under his chin and tilts his head up to kiss him then, slow and unhurried, and Arthur’s toes curl against the cool tile.
“When do you have to get home?” Eames says once he pulls away and goes back to digging eggs and milk out of the fridge.
Arthur sits down at the counter. “Not until this afternoon, at least.” He almost says his mother’s not expecting him until then, but figures now is probably a really bad time to remind Eames that he just fucked a sixteen year old. Almost seventeen year old. Whatever.
“So we’ve got time to watch those Gordon movies?”
There’s a plaque on the wall closest to Arthur, metallic, a first place from the World Gymnastics Championships. The year means it’s from Eames’s first time competing, Arthur doesn’t even have to think about it to know that. And that’s when it hits him... this is the Eames. He just lost his virginity to one of the fucking best male gymnasts of the last ten years, the same guy he’s been jerking off over since he was fifteen, and--
“Arthur? You okay?”
Arthur blinks, and grins. “Yeah.”
He’s way better than okay.
*
The gym is empty and quiet when Arthur walks in, the setting sun throwing glare off the mirrors. He’s about to open his mouth and call out when he spots Eames on the pommel horse.
Watching Eames up close is nothing like watching Eames on T.V. Especially now, when Arthur can look at the way sweat streaks the bunched muscles of Eames’s neck and back and know how that same muscle feels when it tenses under his hands, the weight and breadth of it pressing him down into the mattress.
He waits until Eames dismounts and reaches for his towel. “Your flares could have been stronger.”
Eames glances up with a grin, scrubbing the towel over his face. “Oh?”
Arthur leans his elbows on the pommel horse. “Yeah.”
“Right. Because you’re the expert.” Eames slings the towel over his shoulder and sets his hands on either side of Arthur’s elbows. “Any other observations?”
“You’re really hot,” Arthur says, because he can, because it feels good to say out loud and have it mean something. Even the way Eames glances around just to be sure nobody else is in the gym before he leans down into the kiss isn’t enough to ruin how fucking good Arthur feels.
“So,” Eames says finally, brushing their lips together, “how did your last exam go?”
“Better than I thought it would. I think. I don’t know. The main thing is that it’s done.”
“Given any thought to what you’re going to do over the summer?”
He hasn’t, really. Not beyond spend as much time with you as humanly possible, anyway. “I figure I’ll try to get a summer job or something.”
“Hmm.” Eames straightens up. “Sarah was asking about hiring one of the older students to help her with the toddler class we’re starting over the summer. You could talk to her about that.”
“Maybe, after grad.” He lifts himself up on the pommel horse a little, trying to get closer for another kiss. “Apparently there’s going to be an even bigger party than there was for prom.”
Eames raises an eyebrow. “Is there now.”
“There is.” Just thinking about it makes Arthur’s skin feel too warm, tense, desperate for the prospect of more than a snatched hour or two together after school. Sure, right now sex any way he can get it is great, but there’s something to be said for having time to just touch and hang out afterwards. Eames has an amazing DVD collection that they’ve barely put a dent in.
“I guess I’ll have to check my calendar,” Eames says, but he’s smiling as he turns around and heads towards his office.
Arthur props his hands on his chin and watches him walk away for a good ten seconds
Before, summer seemed like a boring stretch of too much time and nothing to do with it but wait for college to start.
Now, it’s looking a whole lot more interesting.
********************************
It’s not an accident that Arthur is standing outside on a late August morning, staring into the trunk of the car he got for graduation and his birthday as if glaring alone will be enough to make more space. He’s so intent on the contents of his trunk that he doesn’t even hear the footsteps approaching.
“You won’t have room for anything else in your dorm anyway,” a familiar voice breathes just behind his ear, and Arthur starts.
“My mom’s just inside,” he says carefully, a warning, because as easy and comfortable as they’ve gotten with each other over the summer, it’d really suck to slip up now.
Eames’s eyes narrow a little, and he keeps the distance between them instead of moving any closer. “I just wanted to come and say goodbye.”
Arthur bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself saying you already did that yesterday afternoon. “Thanks.”
Eames rests his hand on the roof the car, hemming Arthur in without touching him. “You’re ready to go then?”
“Pretty much,” Arthur says. Having Eames so close shouldn’t fuck his breathing up so much anymore, but he can’t help it. The body of the car is cool against his back, a solid reminder that there’s nowhere to run. Not that he really wants to.
“Be careful, okay?” Eames presses in closer, setting his other hand on the roof of the car.
It’s stupid and reckless but all Arthur can think is please fucking kiss me. “I will,” he whispers, as Eames’s nose brushes his temple.
He knows he shouldn’t, but he tilts his face up and it’s all the encouragement Eames needs to kiss him, hard. Only for a second, and Arthur can’t help the disappointed noise he makes when Eames steps away.
“Sorry,” Eames says, tucking his hands into his pockets. His lips are wet, and suddenly Arthur really, really doesn’t want to go.
“Don’t be.” He sucks in a breath. “I’ll call you later.”
“Promise?”
Arthur smiles. “As if I’d forget.”