Inception - I've Got a Rock n' Roll Life (2/16)

[osaki_nana_707]

Title: I've Got a Rock n' Roll Life (2/16)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Word count: 5,795
Pairings/Characters: ArthurxEames, Ariadne, Saito, Mal
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: language, smut, alcohol use, dub-con, Arthur being an asshole, leather pants, un-betaed
Summary: AU. Arthur is a concert violinist at a prestigious arts college. His best (and only) friend Ariadne convinces him to come with her to a rock concert, aka his worst nightmare. He does seem to be quite taken with the charismatic lead guitarist though... or rather, the guitarist seems to be quite taken by him.



Track Two: I Need Some Touch

When Arthur woke up, it was to the sound of a door slamming. It took approximately six seconds before he realized that he wasn't in his apartment.

"Shit!" he shouted, stumbling out of the bed.

Where were his clothes? Where was he?

Why did his ass hurt so fucking bad?

He stumbled blindly around the dark room until the door swung open, momentarily blinding him with the light from the other room. "Eames-Oh."

Before him stood a tall Asian man in a business suit, raising an eyebrow at Arthur.

Okay, Arthur thought, let's assess this situation.

He was standing naked (except for his shoes-seriously, what?) in an unfamiliar room being appraised by an intimidating looking Asian businessman.

Yeah, he could suffice to say that things couldn't get much worse than this.

"Excuse me for intruding," the Asian man said, but he didn't really seem to mind walking into the room even though Arthur was very much in the buff and horrified and confused and in pain. "I'm assuming that violin out in the other room is yours then."

"Y…yeah," was all Arthur could really say as he tugged his underwear and jeans on over his shoes. "I ah-um… that is…"

"I've shooed off the paparazzi, so you should be safe to leave," the man said, leaning over the body still in the bed.

Oh, shit, there was someone else in the bed-

It was Eames.

Arthur had gotten fucked by him that night.

Momentarily he was just motionless, mouth hanging open and eyes staring at the wall as that realization smacked against him like a tidal wave. Now that his mind was unclouded by alcohol and not distracted by pleasure, the weight of what he had done was pushing down on him, and he was floored by the nightmare that was all too much of a reality.

"Who are you?" Arthur asked the Asian man.

The Asian man seemed to give up on trying to wake Eames who was snoring into his pillow and turned back to Arthur, "Saito," he said simply, "the band manager."

"…Oh…" Arthur said, leaning over to pick up his shirt, even though it was painful to do so. He had fingertip-shaped bruised all over, and his hole was still sore. There was also come dried to his chest and abdomen. "Um…"

"If you're going to threaten to sue, I assure you that I can write you a check and have him beaten for you," Saito replied lightly, shaking Eames one more time to no avail before going out into the front room and returning with Arthur's violin case, handing it to him.

"No… no, that's not necessary…" Arthur said awkwardly, tugging his shirt over his head before taking the case. "I ah… I'll just uh… go."

"Please don't tell anyone about this," Saito replied, smiling in a businesslike way. Arthur wondered if he could smile in any other way than that and settled on probably not.

"I don't intend to-I… I'm out of here. I won't tell anyone. I don't want anyone to know!"

The lump in the bed that was Eames moved then, and he sleepily mumbled, "wasn't that bad, was it?"

Arthur didn't stick around to answer, running out the door and out of the back lot and out of the parking lot until he was as far from Eames as his aching legs could carry him.

"So, you are awake," Saito said, looking down his nose at Eames. "What was that all about, I wonder?"

"That was a right twat, that boy," Eames said, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, only realizing he was in the nude when Saito cleared his throat uncomfortably and looked away. "Oh, sorry," Eames said, grabbing a pillow to cover himself.

"I've seen quite enough of that this morning, Mr. Eames. I will never understand the musician's need to stick themselves into any hole possible. I do hope you asked him about his previous sexual partners before going on that little escapade. For you to be diagnosed with some kind of sexually transmitted illness would be very troublesome for the band, especially if the information were to go public, and heaven forbid they find out you're a homosexual."

Eames pouted because really, could Saito ever be something other than business? "I didn't exactly plan on sleeping with him," he replied, stretching a little. "In fact, I was under the impression that he absolutely despised me for most of our encounter. Shows how much I know, I guess… or I don't know, maybe he just really likes hate sex."

"I suppose this is his then," Saito said, lifting something and tossing it to Eames who, even though he was still half asleep, didn't have any problem catching it.

After a quick observation, he discovered it was a wallet. It must have fallen out of his jeans during… well, yeah. It most certainly wasn't Eames's wallet by any means. Curiously, he flipped it open and immediately was caught by the face of the boy from the night before, staring into the camera, clearly a little bit younger but just as serious. It was his driver's license...

"He was a fine bloke, that's for sure," he said, smirking, "at least in the looks department."

"You can share that information with someone else," Saito replied, tidying up Eames's room as he tended to do. "I'll have someone return the wallet to him sometime tomorrow. I'm assuming you're headed back to London for the next two weeks?"

"Don't worry about the wallet, I'm sticking around. Cobb said he was going to, so I will too. Rent me a hotel room, would you, Saito?"

Saito narrowed his gaze at Eames but pulled out his mobile phone. "You're not going to keep that cheap wallet, are you?"

"I haven't decided what to do yet," Eames said, though that wasn't necessarily true.

"Ariadne?" Arthur said unsurely when she picked up on the fifth ring. He'd finally stopped running when it hurt too bad and realized he was still too far from home.

"A-Arthur? What the fuck? It's six in the morning. I only went to bed like… an hour ago…" she mumbled sleepily. "What's wrong?"

"I uh… I need you to come pick me up."

"What?"

"I didn't exactly make it home last night, and I need you to come pick me up. I'm at the corner of Parker and Maine."

"Didn't make it… where did you go exactly?" Ariadne asked, voice becoming laced with concern. "Oh, my God, I thought you found a way-your violin was gone, and I didn't see you around so-"

"I was really drunk, and I got sick, and then I passed out and…" Well, it wasn't necessarily a lie. He just left out the part in between getting sick and passing out. "Please, just come and get me. I need to get home and clean myself up before rehearsal."

"Oh, my-Arthur! I'm so sorry-"

"Be sorry later. Just come get me."

"I'll be there in like… five minutes. Just wait there. I'm so sorry, Arthur. I should have called you."

Maybe if she had, he would have managed to remember what the hell he was doing and stop himself. He didn't bitch at her for it at the moment though since she was the only person who could come get him. He just mumbled thanks and hung up.

She was there in only a few minutes, still in her pajamas, and Arthur eased himself into the passenger seat. It was only after he shut the door and caught his reflection in the visor mirror that he realized how ridiculous he looked. His hair had been mussed into very awkward tangles, sticking up and out. His eyes were lined with dark circles yet his cheeks were flushed from running. He couldn't see any of the marks Eames had left on him through his clothes, but he could feel them on his skin. He could still imagine his fingers on him… inside him.

"Oh, man, Arthur, I thought you made it home. I suck so bad. I'm the worst friend ever! Ugh… and I didn't even get an autograph either. I should have just taken you home. Fuck," Ariadne rambled but Arthur was only halfway listening, distracted by Radical Notion's song playing on the CD player.

He'd slept with the lead guitarist of Radical Notion.

That was something fans and groupies worldwide had dreamed of doing… and yet the only person in the world who apparently didn't want to had ended up doing it.

Well, that wasn't completely true… after all, he'd been the one who'd started the whole thing-

NO! He'd been seduced and bamboozled! He'd been drunk and out of control! This was just a moment he needed to put behind him and never tell anyone about ever.

…even if it had been his first time…

That shouldn't have been the punch to the gut that it was, considering he'd never allowed himself to take even a half-step in the direction of a non-celibate lifestyle before then, horrified of even the idea of masturbation. Sure, he was twenty years old and male, so by the standards of most of the other guys his age he knew, he should have lost his virginity long before, but he hadn't. Maybe that was why he was so pained by the realization… because he'd just up and thrown out twenty years of self-control for a one night stand with a guy he didn't even like.

"Are you okay?" Ariadne was asking, and all Arthur could do was nod a little and blame the way his eyes were watering and the way he was clutching his head on a hangover.

She dropped him off at his apartment, and he hoped that would be the end of it, but when he had to pause on the stairs because he was in pain, she got out of the car and went to his aid. "Are you sure you're okay?" she asked, taking hold of his arm. "What happened to you last night?"

"Nothing, I just… slept weird, and I'm sore."

He wouldn't normally lie to Ariadne, since he trusted her with a lot of things he didn't trust anyone else with, but this was something he was sure he couldn't tell her. He just couldn't tell her that his ass was sore because he'd fornicated with another guy who just happened to be the lead guitarist in her favorite band.

She'd probably be jealous that he'd been violated instead of her (not that he hadn't brought it on himself-you don't just throw your legs around the waist of someone you don't want to fuck around with). In fact, he was almost positive that she would be jealous. That, and she probably wouldn't believe him. He barely believed it, and he'd experienced it. It just didn't sound like something he would ever, ever do.

Oh, but he'd done it… he remembered distinctly the way it had felt. He'd never felt so on fire in his life, never been so hard, never moaned so loudly… His cock jumped a little in his jeans just thinking about it.

He sent Ariadne away as soon as he got inside and made a beeline for the restroom, stripping out of his clothes. He was only marginally surprised to find blood in his underwear, but he still cursed. He scrubbed himself until his skin was raw in the shower, getting rid of the come and bits of dried blood but failing to remove the bruises and shame.

It was a moment of weakness, he told himself. Everyone was guilty of it once or twice. He wouldn't allow himself to have another one.

Fuck Eames!

…well, no, that probably wasn't the right way to say it…

Forget Eames.

That was better.

They were in the middle of tuning up when his French teacher and assistant music professor, Mallorie Cobb fluttered in, graceful and dazzling like she always was. "Good morning," she greeted with a perfect smile, and Arthur was reminded again that he had thought he might have been able to fall in love with her if he had had the time.

"Good morning, Mrs. Cobb," the orchestra of students said in unison.

Arthur couldn't help but flash a smile at her when she was smiling like that, and he very rarely smiled at anyone. There was a reason Mal was his favorite teacher.

"Now," she said, climbing up the steps onto the stage, trailing her hand along the lid of the grand piano being tinkered on by Robert Fischer, "I have an announcement to make."

Arthur lowered his violin from his chin, looking away from his music stand to listen. He was grateful Mal had come in and taken his attention away from the thoughts weighing on his mind and the dull pain still throbbing through his body. He never felt as tired or pathetic when she was around because she just warmed the room.

"It might sound like bad news," she continued, just beaming, "but it isn't, so hang in there with me, all right?" There were mumbles of agreement all around. Arthur felt a tiny stir of excitement and nerves bloom in his chest. "Okay," she said, "I regret to inform all of you that the recital two weeks from now has been cancelled."

Arthur was shocked and appalled, and everyone else seemed to be of similar sentiments. They'd been practicing for weeks for that recital.

"Now, now, don't get upset because that's only the first part," she explained, pushing a curl of brown hair behind her ear. "The recital is cancelled, but you'll still be playing a concert. As some of you may know, there is an organization that was started a couple of years ago called 'Save Our Songs' or 'S.O.S.' for short. It was started by a few very well-known musicians to help fund money for music programs around the United States and overseas. In a couple of weeks, they will be holding a benefit concert to raise money for their program… and I've gotten the go-ahead to let all of you perform in it."

Momentarily the entire room was stunned into silence. After that, the cheering began.

Arthur normally didn't get all that excited about things, choosing to keep himself composed and save his glee for the performance (after all, there was always the chance someone could fuck it all up), but this time he couldn't help but break into a face hurting smile because this was big. S.O.S.'s benefit concerts were usually filmed live, and they played for unbelievably large crowds.

This was incredible.

So many prestigious musicians watched or even attended these events, and there was a definite possibility that Arthur could walk away from the performance with an invitation to join up with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra.

His toes curled just thinking about it.

He just needed to practice, get the 'okay' to play a solo performance (which wouldn't be hard considering how fond Mal already was of him and his playing), and then he'd need to practice some more, and then maybe his dreams would come true.

Oh, fuck yes, this was almost as good as that orgasm the night before!

…and he'd told himself he wasn't going to think about that anymore because it made his dick do things he didn't want it to do…

He could barely focus through the rest of his classes and rushed home to practice as soon as school let out, and he didn't think about Eames again.

…at least not until the next day.

It was Saturday, so Arthur had plenty of free time to just refine his technique to perfection, but he'd just started wiping down the strings when there was a knocking at his door.

Arthur groaned, setting the violin down in the case to go find out what Ariadne wanted to bitch about, but… well, it wasn't Ariadne.

It was a man.

It was a man in baggy jeans and sneakers, a gray hooded sweatshirt (hood up), a navy ball cap, and aviators. His hands were shoved into the front pocket of his sweatshirt, and he was looking nervously over his shoulder, moving a toothpick from one side of his mouth to another and back again.

"Can I… help you?" Arthur asked awkwardly.

"Ah, yeah," the man said, and his voice sounded terribly familiar. In fact, that mouth of his looked pretty familiar too. "I wanted to return this to you. Arthur." He removed his hand from the pocket to show Arthur his own wallet. He'd been so distracted that he hadn't even noticed it had gone missing. "Everything's in there, I assure you, and I thought that I should personally return it to you being that you and I ah…"

Arthur's eyes widened as realization dawned on him.

It was Eames.

"Fuck!" Arthur shouted, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him inside, slamming the door behind the two of them. "Are you out of your mind? What the fuck are you doing here? Do you have any idea what would happen if someone saw you here like this with me?" he whispered, pulling the curtains shut.

Eames laughed. "Why are you whispering?"

Arthur's nostrils flared, frown deepening on his face, but he didn't exactly have an answer. He'd just panicked was all…

…and that was embarrassing because he'd said he wasn't going to panic anymore.

"Yeah, I know what would happen if someone saw me, thus why I wore a disguise," Eames replied, removing the sunglasses, and his eyes should not have still been absolutely gorgeous when Arthur was sober.

"With an outfit like that, you would have been less obvious running around screaming 'hey! I'm a rock star in disguise!' Seriously…" he snatched his wallet from Eames and shoved it into his back pocket and didn't look at him directly.

"Well, no one spotted me, so you're safe, I assure you. I'm not out to get my face all over TMZ either, you know. I don't want to sully my band's reputation."

"Then why did you even come here?" Arthur grumbled, plopping down into his chair and picking up his violin so that he could focus on something other than the still-surprisingly-fuckable man lounging on his sofa.

"I felt bad, so I decided to return your wallet. You left in such a rush."

"Why'd you feel bad exactly?" Arthur asked, lifting the violin to his eye level to get a closer look for any kind of dust. "You felt guilty for taking advantage of a drunken guy?"

"Well… yeah, sort of, except for the fact of course that you came onto me," Eames shrugged. "That's a lovely instrument you've got there, darling."

"I was drunk, I feel I must repeat. What you did could be constituted as rape, you know," Arthur bit back.

Eames sighed through his nose. "I'm sorry, all right? Do you want some money or something? I can write you a check if-"

"I don't… I don't want your money," Arthur mumbled. "I'm not a whore… I'd never even had sex before last night, and I'm not going to be paid for my first experience..."

Eames leaned forward then, forearms falling onto his knees, and he looked as stunned as he had the night before when he'd discovered specifically what Arthur's problem had been. "Wh-I… I popped your cherry? I… what?"

"I didn't expect for it to happen either, okay?" Arthur replied tightly. "Look… just… just forget it happened, okay?"

"Wh-no, I… fuck, really? Bloody hell, Arthur I'm sorry… I mean, I knew you were tight but I didn't expect-"

"Please!" Arthur yelped before regaining his composure. "Please… let's not talk about my asshole, all right? It's over. It was just a… a moment of weakness. It won't happen again."

To confirm his point, he leaned his chin onto his violin, pressed the bow to the strings, and started to play Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake Pas de Deux to warm himself up.

Momentarily, he forgot that Eames was there, sighing into the song. The song was one of his favorites to play, even though he'd known it for years and years. He never tired of it.

The song ended after a few minutes, and he lingered on that final note before letting his eyes open and lowering his instrument.

Eames was still there, so he wasn't a figment of Arthur's imagination. "You play quite beautifully," he said quietly, and it sounded so strange coming out of the mouth of a rock star.

"I-well, thank you," Arthur stammered, unsure what to do with the information. "It's not that difficult a song to play."

"Don't you like playing it though?" Eames asked then, and Arthur gave him a look.

"What the fuck to you mean by that?" Arthur asked, huffing.

"What I mean is… you look like a bloody robot when you play… I mean… that's Swan Lake. That's the part where the prince and the black swan dance together, show how much the love each other. It's supposed to be a bit more dramatic, don't you think? It needs passion. It's an absolutely beautiful piece, but if you play it like that, that's all it's going to be. No one is going to connect with you that way, and that way no one will remember your song."

Arthur wanted to shout at him, but instead what came out was, "You know Swan Lake?"

"I saw it with my mum when I was a boy," Eames said simply. "Believe it or not, we rock stars do more than drink and party all the time. We weren't coming out of the womb with guitars in our hands and a disdain for society in our minds. We were normal children just like you, and as a normal child, I liked ballet. My mother was a ballerina when she was teenager actually. She played that part, the part of the black swan."

"…Oh… well, uh…"

Eames stood, rubbing his palms together and said, "Play it again… this time though, I want you to completely lose yourself to it. I don't care if you fuck it up. Play it with your soul and not with your hands. Play it for someone besides yourself. If you only play it for you, you're going to be the only one to listen. Linger on the notes if it feels good. Don't focus so intently on the sheet music. In the end, all that is is a guideline."

Arthur snorted again, agitated but brought the violin back up to his chin and shut his eyes.

What the fuck was he supposed to think about when he was playing besides the music? Love? He didn't know anything about love. His parents had never been romantic towards one another, and Ariadne's relationships with her boyfriends were ridiculously superficial (thus why they always failed). Him? He'd never been in love. He'd never had time for that, clearly…

…but what if Eames was right?

That was a horrifying thought… It was so horrifying that he could hardly believe he'd even allowed himself to have it. Damn, his control was just pathetic when Eames was around, wasn't it? He didn't even have alcohol to blame now.

"We don't have all day, love," Eames taunted, and Arthur felt his shoulder burn when Eames put his hot hand there.

"I'm just-" he squeaked and then cleared his throat, "I'm just getting in the zone. Jeez. Don't be so goddamned impatient."

…and don't let go of my shoulder…

Fuck, why was he thinking like that?

Arthur closed his eyes and decided to think of Mal because the woman always looked like she was in love, and he thought that perhaps she'd make quite a lovely ballerina…

…and he started to play…

…but his thoughts of Mal soon started to leave him as the song took over his fingers, and suddenly he was starting to think of not love but of… loneliness…

The song was almost a mockery to someone so alone, so lonely, so sad and longing for a touch or a hint of affection and warmth, for someone to smile at him the way Mal smiled at whoever she loved, the way Ariadne smiled at whoever she loved, the way Eames smiled at whoever he loved. Arthur had never had anyone to smile at… and he'd never seen love as a happy place of roses and romance. Every relationship he'd ever witnessed had crumbled into disaster, and it was just so sad that two dancers could set foot on stage to such beautiful music and fake it so well, make people believe that such a love could exist where passion and the entwining of two bodies was all that mattered… that one kiss could solve any of life's discretions…

His fingers fumbled a little, but he recovered without even noticing, because really, when did this song become a reflection on how lonely he was? He wasn't lonely… he had Ariadne, except for when she was mad at him… and he had his music. He didn't need anyone or anything else. He was in control of his situation, and that was all he needed.

Love was so meaningless and disastrous. Relationships with anyone could be equally so…

Ariadne would probably leave him eventually too because of it, and that would be fine because he didn't need anybody in his life-so what if he got lonely sometimes? So what? So…

His hand fumbled again on the last few notes, but this time he didn't recover, nearly dropping the violin and definitely dropping his bow into his lap. He brought his now free hand up to his face, touching where his cheeks had gone… wet…

"I… I don't understand…" he said, voice shaky. He turned to Eames for some kind of explanation, but he just felt his hand squeeze his shoulder and saw his eyes brighter than any pair of eyes he'd ever seen on someone who listened to him play.

"That was bloody brilliant," Eames said, and his voice was thick, like he'd been holding back tears. "I… I'd definitely remember you after that performance."

"…but I… I messed it up," Arthur stammered.

"I mess up all the time," Eames said with a shrug, "but it's my heart and soul that matters. That's what matters in all music… that's why it's in everything that is beautiful…"

The fool had a lot of nerve saying such sappy ridiculous things to him like that, especially when he was in the middle of his second breakdown in the past two days.

No moments of weakness, he'd told himself.

Arthur grabbed Eames by the neck with his freehand and pulled him down to smash his lips against his.

Just one more weak moment couldn't hurt, right?

Arthur kissed him and kissed him until he was sure Eames was groaning into his mouth, and somehow the other man had pulled free his violin and maneuvered it into the case without damaging it, and both of Arthur's hands were around his neck, desperately holding on.

Eames pulled himself away but only just barely, breathing into his mouth hot and needy. "That's not what I expected," he gasped. "Perhaps I should go before you accuse me of rape again."

"Please," Arthur panted, and that was apparently all Eames needed because he was kissing him again, and Arthur was clawing at his hair as Eames lifted him into his arms bridal style and carried him across the room to the nearest door.

"Door number one-survey says-" Eames said between kisses and kicked it open. "Bedroom. First try. I'm a genius."

"Shut up," Arthur said and licked into his mouth and dear God what was he doing? He didn't even believe in God, and he was wondering.

Eames dropped him onto the bed and their teeth clacked together, and fuck it should have hurt but it felt so goddamned good. He remembered now why he'd gone through with it the night before. Eames was annoying but fucking gorgeous and he was damned good with his hands and Arthur generally didn't allow himself to feel anything when Eames let him feel everything.

He needed it. He needed someone to let him be a mess, and if it was someone he just saw all the time, he wouldn't be able to manage to work it into his life. Eames was basically a stranger… the fact that he happened to be a famous rock star had nothing to do with it. The fact of the matter was, he was available, and he was willing.

Eames pulled away to pull his sweatshirt off, and it sent his hat and sunglasses to the floor with it, and Arthur stuck his nose into Eames's chest hair and lapped at his peaked nipple. Eames made a pleased sound and pushed Arthur back down onto the mattress, smothering him wonderfully with his whole body.

"Last chance to back out," Eames growled into his neck.

"I don't remember you saying that last night-Fuck-" Arthur snarled through gritted teeth, and Eames immediately ducked down to unbutton Arthur's shirt.

"Look at you, dressed up like a toff," Eames grinned and threw open Arthur's shirt, sloppily kissing him all down the chest and stomach until he was at his belt, and then he was undoing that too which Arthur was thankful for because his pants were painfully tight already. "How dare you dress like you're going to work on the weekend?"

"Are you gonna talk, or are you gonna take your dick out? Asshole!" Arthur shouted. Eames decided to interrupt him by licking a wet stripe up the underside of his cock and all Arthur could do then was shiver.

"I'm getting to it, my darling little wanker," Eames replied, "but you do have something I can use, correct?"

Arthur whined. "I don't know what you mean."

"You have lube, right?"

Arthur shook his head, biting down hard on his bottom lip. If it was possible, his dick was harder than it had been the night before.

"How do you not-"

"I don't…" he gasped. "I don't masturbate…"

Eames raised both eyebrows in shock, and then he laughed, "No wonder you're such a sexually frustrated little cunt! Bleeding Christ!"

Arthur mewled, arching for some sort of friction.

"I suppose we'll have to deal," Eames said and pressed himself down on Arthur again, kissing him sloppily before hoisting him into his lap. "You don't use lotion or something, do you? Vaseline?"

"Fuck, I don't know!" Arthur complained, pressing his cock against Eames's abdomen. "Just-ahh-do something!"

"Well, all right then," Eames said and tossed Arthur back on the bed and then shoving his fingers into Arthur's mouth, coating them in his saliva. "Thankfully, I have it on good authority you've been well fucked rather recently, so…"

Arthur took in a sharp breath when Eames buried two spit-slicked fingers into his still bruised hole, and then he was adding a third, crooking them and separating them, and Arthur had to squeeze his eyes shut as white hot pain ricocheted through him, followed by a similar pleasure. He stretched him until he was sure he was about to explode and then removed his hand completely, leaving Arthur a writhing mess on the blankets, clawing at nothing, beads of sweat getting caught on his eyelashes.

Eames found his jeans on the floor and dug out his wallet and produced a condom from the inside pocket. It shouldn't have been so hot to watch Eames rip it open with his teeth, but it was. Fuck, it was.

This is the last time, Arthur told himself. You'll be fine as soon as this is over.

When that thought had subsided Eames was spitting on his hand (and that should have been disgusting), coating his cock in said spit, and shoving himself inside. When the head of his cock was inside, he grunted, gripping to Arthur's thighs.

Arthur's toes curled from their spots over Eames's shoulders. "More…" he begged, shoving himself up with his elbows so that he could kiss him again and Eames kissed him back all the way down onto the mattress again, pushing himself in deeper.

He didn't care how undignified or wrong or messed up it was. Arthur wanted to be filled up, to be fucked nastily and with no mercy, to feel someone else there in his life that made him feel something. The pain and the pleasure were perfect, and he needed to get it out of his system.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you," Eames mocked. "Tell me what you want."

Arthur head rolled backwards. "Fuck… fuck me…"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Fuck me!" he groaned. "Fuck me, you jackass!"

Eames slammed into him then and Arthur yelled out a whole slew of curse words he didn't even know he knew, and he didn't care that he had neighbors on either side of his apartment.

"Fuck-fuck-" Arthur spluttered, and his eyes were watering. He clenched around Eames, and then Eames made a sound, and that sound was enough nearly push Arthur over the edge. "Ah-ahh-"

Eames pulled back and slammed in again and again, and it took only that much before Arthur was crashing over the edge, sparks lighting up behind his eyelids as Eames brushed his prostate again and again. He was folding Arthur in fucking half, and Arthur was riding wave after wave of pleasure and it was better than anything he'd ever felt, and he realized that all those jocks who had teased him in high school about not knowing what he was missing when it came to sex had actually been right.

The rocking of Eames's hips lost their rhythm as Arthur clenched around him again, and he was groaning obscenely as he climaxed inside of him, and then he was falling on top of Arthur, freeing himself from his abused hole.

Eames rolled off of Arthur after a moment, and they both just laid there for a moment, sideways on the mattress with their legs hanging off, breathless.

"Well…" Eames said when he seemed to find his voice. "That was…"

"Awesome," Arthur finished for him, and normally he'd never use such a common word, but his brain had been overloaded and had started hibernating.

"You might be emotionally constipated, but you are a damned good fuck," Eames said. "It's the little surprises in life that make life worth living, yeah?"

"Fuck you," Arthur said and rolled on top of him to kiss him again.

Just one more moment of weakness couldn't hurt.