Inception - I've Got a Rock n' Roll Life (3/16)
Title: I've Got a Rock n' Roll Life (3/16)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Word count: 5,535
Pairings/Characters: ArthurxEames, Ariadne, Cobb
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 Three: Every You Every Me
They fucked three times before Arthur was completely spent, sprawled out on one side of the bed, his own seed smeared across his chest, beads of it in Eames's chest hair as well. It was absolutely nasty and Arthur didn't care. He felt like he didn't have any bones left.
Eames dug a cigarette out of his sweatshirt and lit it, and Arthur thought it was so stereotypical that he started to laugh. He didn't notice the look of surprise on Eames face when the sound escaped from his lips.
"You haven't lost your mind have you?" Eames chuckled. "I never expected to hear you laugh."
"The cigarette thing is so predictable, isn't it?" Arthur asked because how could Eames not find it as funny as he did?
Eames chuckled a little and passed it to Arthur. Arthur had tried smoking once in high school and quit immediately after his parents had caught him doing it, but here he was taking another cigarette from this guy he barely knew (and yet knew intimately). This was quickly spiraling toward disaster, but he was so blissed out that he didn't even think about it. He took the cigarette from him and pulled a long drag off of it, smiling as smoke escaped his mouth and nostrils, and apparently Eames thought that was incredibly attractive so he kissed him again.
When Eames pulled away, taking back his cigarette, Arthur was almost asleep, but he blinked himself back to life and asked, "What the fuck are you even still doing in town anyway? Don't you have concerts to play and floozies to bang?"
"That could quite possibly be the least dignified thing you've ever said," Eames said, smirking, "Well, actually no-this was the last city on our tour. The next thing we're doing is the S.O.S. benefit that's going on here in a few weeks, so I just decided to stick around. Nash went home to his folks and Yusuf went home to his many cats and since I didn't have anyone to go home to, I rented a hotel room. Cobb's sticking around since he's a frontrunner in the whole S.O.S. foundation, so I thought maybe I'd try and help him out if he needed it."
"You're performing in S.O.S.?" Arthur asked, finding the strength to rise up on one elbow.
"We do every year," Eames replied. "Oh, fuck, I need an ashtray."
Arthur rolled out of the bed and padded across the room and into the living room, and he may have been limping if the way Eames was chuckling was any indication. He dug a plastic cup out from the kitchen and started back toward the bedroom when his cell phone started buzzing from where he'd left it on the coffee table.
"H-hello?" he asked, fumbling with it as he pressed it to his ear.
"Arthur," Ariadne said on the other end of the line. "Hey."
"Hey…" he said, returning to the room and handing Eames the cup. "What's going on?"
"I was just calling to check up on you. I really feel awful about what happened after the concert…"
"Yeah, you've made that pretty clear," Arthur replied flatly, sitting on the edge of the mattress. "I told you to stop worrying about it. I'm fine, okay? Just don't make me go to any more rock concerts."
"Aw, I'm offended," Eames whispered against the skin of Arthur's back and then sinking his teeth into his shoulder.
Arthur restrained a yelp and elbowed Eames in the ribs.
"So, I heard about the orchestra getting to perform at S.O.S.," Ariadne said. "That's so cool, Arthur. You'd better get me inside. Did you know that that the lead singer of Radical Notion is a frontrunner in that organization?"
"Ah, yeah, I think someone mentioned that," Arthur said, tilting his head back as Eames, apparently not subdued by the sharp blow to his ribs, started running his hands down Arthur's ribs and abdomen. "I'm sure I can get you an autograph at least-" he clamped his mouth shut when Eames's hand found his prick.
"Ugh, if you get to meet them and I don't, I'll be so pissed, Arthur. You have no idea. I mean, that's not even fair because you don't even like them and I love them."
"It's not the worst music I've ever heard," Arthur said, and he was already having trouble catching his breath. "I'm conceding only that much."
"I knew you'd like it. It really grows on you after a while-"
Arthur wasn't sure about their music growing on him, but, "Ohh," he groaned and caught himself, "I wouldn't go that far." His head fell back against Eames's shoulder, his cock already half-hard from Eames's strokes.
"Hey, you okay? You sound kind of weird-"
"I'm fine, I'm fine, just-I'm fine," Arthur decided explaining was fruitless being in the state he was in.
"Are you sure? You sound out of breath. You're not having an asthma attack, are you? You haven't had one of those since you were eleven."
His cock was standing at full attention now, apparently making up for lost time in the sex department, and Eames was still stroking him, the bastard. "A-ahh-Ariadne, l-let me call you back. I'm in the middle o-of something-"
"Well, hey, I was planning on getting some dinner in a bit, and I don't want you to get so caught up in practice that you forget to eat again, so I'm going to come get you in a while, okay?"
"Yeah, sure, whatever," Arthur gasped quickly. Eames was mouthing at his neck with abandon. How could he be so fucking horny all the time? "C-call me when you're on your way-ah-okay-all right, bye."
He hung up and then turned to tackle Eames. "You son of a bitch!" he shouted and Eames shut him up by kissing him and rolling so that he was on top of him instead.
"You're the dirty little cockslut, not me," Eames teased and ducked down to wrap his lips around the head of Arthur's prick.
Arthur moaned, bucking into the hot heat of Eames's mouth, and Eames took it like a trooper, never gagging even a little as he took him down, bobbing up and down, hollowing out his cheeks, until his nose was buried in Arthur's dark pubic hair. Eames had already proved to Arthur how talented he was with his tongue, but suddenly he was gaining a whole new level of respect for the muscle. He could definitely deal with Eames's little smirk and critique if it was going to end up like this.
"Oh, fuck-oh, fuck-I'm-ah-"
Eames placed a hand on Arthur's lower abdomen and pushed, and he was spilling into Eames's mouth, making a high-pitched noise he would normally be embarrassed by. It seemed to take hours for him to settle down, even though it couldn't have even been minutes, and when he finally did he watched a drip of his own come dribble out of the corner of Eames's mouth. He swallowed, and Arthur licked the extra off before collapsing into the bed.
"Dirty little boy," Eames teased, and that was the last thing Arthur heard.
When Arthur woke up, he was alone and curled up in the middle of the bed with blankets tugged over his shoulders. "Eames?" he called out sleepily, rubbing at his eyes. The guitarist was nowhere to be found, but Arthur realized that someone was knocking at his front door.
"Sh-shit," Arthur mumbled, stumbling out of bed to find that someone had cleaned him up. He tugged on his boxer shorts, vaguely aware of the fact that Eames's clothes were no longer on the floor, and then pulled his pants on over them, throwing his shirt on and buttoning it as he went to the door.
Of course it was Ariadne, and she was staring at him like he'd sprouted a second head.
"Took you long enough… what happened to your hair and-why is your shirt buttoned like you did it in the dark?"
Arthur touched his hair to find it had been mussed out of place again, and sure enough he'd buttoned his shirt the wrong way, leaving one tail of his shirt longer than the other. "I ah… I was asleep," he admitted.
"Oh, well… good for you," Ariadne said smiling. "God knows you don't get enough sleep as it is."
Arthur stepped aside to allow her in, fixed the buttoning on his shirt, and then went to the sink in the kitchen to smooth his hair down with water.
"So, you were practicing and took a break for a nap? That doesn't sound like you," Ariadne said, following him into the kitchen and taking a seat at one of the stools at the counter.
"Ah… well, uh… I guess I was just exhausted. I didn't sleep too well. I was too excited about performing in the S.O.S. concert. I haven't even decided what I'm going to play yet."
He looked to Ariadne to find her grinning like an idiot.
"What?" he asked defensively.
"Something's different about you," she said, smile widening if it was possible. "You don't seem as… annoyed as you usually are."
"Really?" Arthur asked, raising his eyebrows. "I don't feel any different. Maybe that's all in your head. Does my hair look better?"
"Are you in love?" she asked.
If Arthur had been drinking something, he was sure he would have spat it out. Thankfully, he wasn't so that didn't happen, but he still stared at Ariadne incredulously. "Where the fuck did that come from?" he asked. "Are you out of your mind? Of course I'm not in love. Did you bang your head or something? Fuck."
"Sorry," she said, though clearly she wasn't sorry, "you're just all glowy, and that's how all my friends look when they're in love."
"I'm excited about the show and the possibility that I could get into a prestigious orchestra, Ariadne. That's all it is. Your friends don't know what love is. They fall in lust with other people, and that's not the same thing."
"Okay, so are you in lust with someone?"
"I don't have time to be lusting after anyone," Arthur replied irritably, smoothing at his hair more while he checked his reflection in the faucet. "Seriously, does my hair look okay? You wanted to go get dinner and I don't want to walk into a restaurant looking like a jackass."
"Fuck me, you jackass!"
Arthur smiled a little, unable to help himself.
"It looks fine," Ariadne sighed, hopping out of the stool. "Tell me what's going on. You're borderline chipper."
"I am not," Arthur said, rolling his eyes as he tucked his shirt in. His pants were loose enough on him that he could do it without unbuttoning them, and he decided he really did need to eat more. "You're mental."
She appeared to let it go after that, the both of them heading off to Starkey's for some beer and cheeseburgers (Ariadne got to choose because she drove). She didn't say anything else about it at least, but she kept sending looks in his direction every few minutes or so, and Arthur had to catch himself from getting lost in his thoughts for fear she might take a little grin the wrong way. He didn't smile too much a lot of the time, so he was sure she would think it meant something that it didn't.
He listened as she excitedly told him about how her design had been picked out as the best in her architecture class, and he told her about the different groups that were going to be at S.O.S. He didn't know who most of them were, but she only seemed to get more excited by every name. When they were joined by a couple of Ariadne's friends and Arthur didn't complain, he knew that she'd come to the conclusion that something was up, but he wasn't caving to her.
He wasn't any different just because he'd had his brains fucked out by a jackass who didn't even stick around after he fell asleep.
He wasn't different at all.
"Hey," Ariadne's friend Tony said, nudging Arthur with his elbow, "did you pull the stick out of your ass or what? I don't think you've said as many words to me in the whole time we've known each other that you've said tonight."
Arthur scoffed at him. "You were talking about the program I'm going to be playing in. Talk about something I can relate to and I can return conversation."
Tony shrugged and sucked on his cigarette and Arthur refrained from smiling at the way Eames's mouth had curled around a cigarette.
By the end of the night, Arthur dug out his wallet to pay for his meal and realized there was something else in his wallet. He waited until Ariadne and the rest of the group were distracted to look at it.
It was a hotel card key with a note wrapped around it.
Sugar, why don't you come and see me sometime? Room 1256-the Hilton
Arthur hid the note and the card away before anyone could see it, but he couldn't hide the blush that tipped his ears. He was just lucky they couldn't hear the way his heart skipped a beat.
Arthur had decided not to see Eames again.
He'd had plenty of mind-blowing sex, had enough of being weak and messy and pliant underneath someone else, and now he needed to sit back and practice and move on with his life and just forget the man.
The problem was that suddenly he was starting to hate the way he played. Every song he used to think was near perfection was suddenly robotic and boring. He tried to delve into his emotional reserves and play from his heart, but it was like there was another him inside stopping himself. It started to frustrate him to the point that he was tempted to throw the instrument against the wall…
On top of all of that, he was lonely. Ariadne had gone out with her friends to continue barhopping and partying because apparently she didn't have anything important to do (actually she probably did), but Arthur of course had opted out of such shenanigans. He'd always done so in the past and never regretted it for a second, but oddly enough he was starting to. It might have been fun to participate…
If he believed in God, he would have been asking him to send him a sign, to tell him what he was supposed to do, and that was when his cell phone started to ring.
"Arthur!" Ariadne shouted into the receiver. "Oh, my God! You're not going to fucking believe this!" She certainly sounded excited.
"What?" he asked, pulling the phone away from his ear slightly.
"It's Dominic Cobb! The lead singer of Radical Notion is at this fucking bar! Oh, my God! This is the best day of my life!"
She hung up, probably to record video with her phone, and…
…well, fuck, if that wasn't a sign, Arthur didn't know what was.
When Arthur arrived at the hotel, violin in tow, he was sure he was a bit overdressed. He'd changed into a three-piece suit because he'd gotten a grease stain on the shirt he'd been wearing, and he'd showered and slicked his hair until it was perfect, and he wasn't sure why he was working so hard.
This wasn't about sex though. He was just going to Eames for advice on how to get into those emotional reserves that he couldn't seem to find.
He was stopped on his way to the elevator by some tough looking guys in suits and searched.
"What's the big fucking deal?" he asked irritably. "Has there been some sort of terrorist threat on this hotel or something?"
"We've had eight people here looking for the lead guitarist of Radical Notion tonight," one of the men said.
"Who?" Arthur asked in annoyance, and as they closed his violin case they seemed sheepish. "Look, I've got things to do. Can I go to my room now?"
"O… of course, sir."
When Arthur was inside the glass elevator, he couldn't help but think that that was entirely too easy.
He was stopped again on the twelfth floor, and he was forced to claim he'd hit the wrong button, go down to the eleventh floor and sneak his way up the steps.
He slipped the card into the door just as he heard the guard coming around the corner and got inside before he was seen.
"Fuck," he hissed, stepping away from the door and yet still watching it as if the guard would come barreling in to get him.
"Did you already miss me?"
Arthur turned around to find Eames lounged on the bed with a tumbler of alcohol on the bedside table and moleskin in his hand, a pencil's eraser being chewed on between his lips.
"Hello, darling," Eames greeted, looking back down to the moleskin. He was in nothing but a robe. "It's nice to see you dressed up for me. I would have done the same if I'd known."
"I'm not here for sex," Arthur huffed, frowning.
"I never said that you were," Eames said, sitting up and grabbing his guitar out of a case on the floor and strumming it. He winced when the top E string was out of tune and adjusted it accordingly before beginning to play. "Care to tell me why though? I'm not a bloody psychic after all."
"Well, I ah…" Arthur said, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, "I can't… I can't play anymore… I was hoping you could help me…"
Eames paused in his playing. "I thought that I didn't know anything about music."
Arthur should have expected that, but it made him angry all the same. "Look, maybe you were right about the emotional aspect of the music, okay? Fuck, if you were just going to throw that in my face, I don't know why I bothered to come here."
"Now, now, don't get your knickers in a twist," Eames chuckled, putting the guitar down on the bed and getting up to grab one of Arthur's hands, pulling him over to the bed. Arthur took in how nice and how fancy the hotel room was so that he didn't have to look at Eames. "I was just teasing you."
"Well, it's not funny," Arthur spat back, pulling his violin case up to his chest and hugging it there as he sat down on the mattress. "My music means everything to me, and I don't appreciate it when you shit all over it."
"Then, I kindly ask you to do the same for mine," Eames replied and Arthur could have cursed over the fact that Eames had caught him again. "Don't be such a bloody hypocrite, love."
"I told you to stop calling me those names," Arthur grumbled, protectively squeezing his violin case.
"I'm sorry. Arthur," Eames corrected himself, and the way the r's rolled off of his tongue made Arthur feel tingly. "So, what's the problem?"
"I… I can't… I don't know how to play any differently than I always have," Arthur mumbled. "I… I tried to tap into myself, but I just keep… not doing it, I guess."
"Are you that afraid to bare yourself to others?" Eames asked, and Arthur turned to him then, trying to come up with something to say, but as per typical with Eames, he was rendered speechless. Maybe he shouldn't have come after all. Clearly these things weren't going to stop after a couple of rounds of sex. Maybe Eames was just smarter than Arthur gave him credit, and he was constantly underestimating him.
"Play," Eames told him, getting up and going to the door. Arthur heard him send the guard away to go get him something to eat.
"Wh… what do you want me to play?" Arthur asked.
"Your heart," Eames replied, returning to his spot next to Arthur.
"I don't… I don't know that song…" Arthur said quietly.
"That's because you haven't been listening," Eames replied and poked him in the chest. "I'm talking about this, you twat."
"I-no, I don't play original pieces. I've never-"
"Just. Play."
Arthur sighed through his nose in frustration and opened the case, lifting the violin to his chin, pressing the bow to the strings and… hesitating.
What the fuck was he supposed to play?
"I don't know what to-" Arthur said, feeling frustration coiling up his spine.
Eames pressed his hands into Arthur's back, rubbed them on his biceps, wrapped them around his waist while balancing his chin on Arthur's unoccupied shoulder. "How are you feeling right now?" he asked.
"Frustrated," Arthur grumbled.
"Play frustration."
Arthur clenched his jaw and started violently rolling his bow across the strings, building the sound in speed and pitch until he's worried the strings might fray or snap and he stops, breathing heavily, eyes wide and wild.
"Well, that's not exactly a song, but it certainly sounded like frustration," Eames said.
"I don't write my own pieces, Eames!" Arthur shrieked, and he didn't realize how much it had built up until it was coming out of his mouth so desperately. "I don't know what you want me to do! Fuck!"
"All right, all right, no need to freak out," Eames said calmly, and that only made Arthur angrier.
"I don't freak out! It's not something that I do! Now, all of a sudden you show up in my life, and I can't stop freaking out!" Arthur shouted, jumping to his feet. "I never freaked out before then! I never panicked about anything!"
"All right," Eames said, taking over the spot where Arthur had been sitting and letting his forearms rest on his knees again, "how does that make you feel?"
"How does what make me feel?" Arthur yelled, and admittedly he was getting a little hysterical.
"The fact that you're freaking out, the loss of control, how does that make you feel?" Eames asked.
All of the anger and hysteria dripped away from Arthur, leaving him heavily breathing and feeling pathetic and lost and, "…scared…"
"It makes you feel scared?" Eames asked for confirmation.
Arthur nodded, grimacing at his own weakness, feeling tears trying to well in his eyes.
"Do you feel that?" Eames asked standing and pressing his hand to Arthur's chest. "Do you feel that turmoil in your chest?"
Arthur sniffed, wiping at his eye with the back of his wrist. "Y-yeah… I do…"
"Play it out. Let the music flow through you and heal you. Don't take control of the music. Let the music take control of you. It's all right."
"-but-"
"Just trust me," Eames said, stepping away from him. "You may come to find that freeing yourself of a little control is a good thing. Just play."
Arthur sighed and did as Eames asked. He didn't know what he was doing, but he played anyway, letting note after note cry out from his instrument, slow and soft and sad…
The violin wailed, and his fingers trailed up and down the strings, but soon enough it felt more like he was listening to someone else playing rather than himself as he lost awareness of his hands, of Eames, of the hotel room, of everything. The only thing that existed was this one slow, sad song and himself, and it was astounding how much the tune of it seemed to settle his nerves. It was beautiful, he thought, whatever it was, and it put him at ease, or at least he thought it did until the song came to an end and he realized he'd been crying onto his violin the way it had been crying out to him.
Eames pulled him into a slow embrace, and Arthur pressed his face against the warmth of his neck, and he still didn't know why he was so devastated, arms hanging limp with his instrument and bow by his sides, until Eames spoke.
"You're so sad on the inside," Eames mumbled. "Why are you so sad, darling?"
Arthur sobbed.
When Arthur recovered from his sobbing fit, his violin was back in its case, and he was curled up on the bed in Eames's arms, listening to him as he sang one of Radical Notion's songs that he recognized from the concert. It was the one that always made Ariadne cry.
He sniffed just as Eames finished the song, trying to signal that he was listening and that he was all right now because he wasn't sure if he could speak.
"That was such a lovely piece, Arthur," Eames said. "You really are so very talented."
"You're just saying that to make me feel better," Arthur whispered.
"You didn't hear it like I did," Eames said.
"Yes, I did… I heard it…" Arthur said, pulling away from Eames's arms to look him in the eyes. "I did hear it. It's too sad. Nobody would like something like that."
"I liked it," Eames said. "Does my opinion count for nothing again?"
"That's not… I mean… why would anyone like something so sad and pathetic?..." Arthur asked hesitantly, and even he wasn't sure exactly what he was saying.
…but Eames knew… Of course he knew…
"You really weren't listening," Eames said, shaking his head and smiling. "The piece wasn't pathetic at all. It was beautiful and lonely. I could hear you calling out for someone in that song. I could hear you begging for someone to listen, and maybe you were trying to tell yourself that, I don't know, but I heard it. There is someone underneath this façade you've got trying to make a sound. You really should give him a chance too because he sounds bloody beautiful."
Arthur looked down at his lap, wiping at his eyes with his wrists. "Everyone thinks I'm this… unfeeling snob… and that I hate everyone… that I don't make time for anyone else because I think I'm better than them… Who's to say they're wrong about that? Ariadne's my only friend, and she tolerates me at best."
"You can't be afraid to open your heart to people, Arthur," Eames said, reaching up to touch Arthur's cheek. "You're afraid that if you bare yourself that people might not like you, so you shut them down before they have the chance to do it to you, and you shouldn't because people will most certainly not like you if you don't let them know who you are."
"What if I really am this person everyone thinks I am?" Arthur asked.
"Never be ashamed of who you are. Bollocks on everyone else. There will be people out there who like you."
"You're… you're not the person I thought that you were," Arthur said.
"I let you take the time to see me," Eames said smiling. "Now, I do believe I'm starting to see you." He leaned in close so that their lips were a hair's breadth away from each other and all Arthur could see was the flecks of colors in Eames's blue-gray eyes. "I don't hate what I see."
"Maybe you just need a little longer to get to know me," Arthur said uneasily.
"I do hope you'll give me the opportunity to find out then," Eames said and filled the distance between them.
Arthur had told himself that he was done with the sex, but really, he did at least owe Eames for helping him out, right?
Besides, the warmth of his mouth seemed to slide down Arthur's throat and blossom outward, filling up all of the emptiness Arthur felt inside.
His music had never failed him in the past…
…but when it did fail him, Eames hadn't…
That had to stand for something, right?
It didn't make Ariadne's claim that he was in love any less ridiculous of course.
Eames slowly undid the buttons on Arthur's waistcoat before starting on the buttons of his shirt. "Tell me, Arthur, why do you dress yourself up so prim and proper?"
"I like to look put-together," Arthur murmured, staring up at the ceiling.
"Is that so no one knows about how you feel inside?" Eames asked, untying an oxford and tugging it off of Arthur's foot.
Arthur chose not to answer, and Eames didn't push the question, pressing a kiss to Arthur's foot after removing the sock and then working off the other shoe and sock.
Well, fuck, Arthur thought as Eames undid his belt.
It was happening again.
He was weakly getting lost in Eames's touches again… but… well, he liked to be touched. It was a luxury he hadn't allowed himself in the past, and there was no guarantee that he'd ever be touched this way again after Eames was gone. He might as well get as much out of it as he could while he could. He could have this time in his life to get lost in someone else. Once Eames was gone, he could go back to normal because temptation wouldn't cloud his judgment. Ariadne and her friends would stop thinking there was something wrong, and he would finish out school and go onto a career in a symphony orchestra with Eames left behind in a distant memory. Eames would move on to other cities, states, countries, and continents and probably bang a bunch of other chicks or dudes and not give Arthur another passing thought.
After all, all this sappy stuff he'd been saying was just to get into his pants. Arthur wasn't so stupid that he didn't know that.
He knew who he was, and he knew he wasn't beautiful at all.
Eames spread Arthur open with his hands and knelt down to press his tongue against Arthur's entrance, and Arthur jolted and shuddered at the sudden contact. "What are you-" he gasped, but then Eames buried his tongue deeper inside and whatever Arthur was going to say was lost in a groan.
Eames licked into him and all Arthur could do was lie there whimpering as he did it. Eames had so many skills with his tongue, Arthur was positive now. It was like Eames wanted to go out of his way to prove just how good with his tongue he was, and Arthur was completely okay with that.
Eames coated Arthur's entrance with his own saliva, rolling his tongue around before pulling away, wiping at his lip with his arm, and Arthur should have found it disgusting but absolutely couldn't when he was already feeling so hot and pliant and Eames had done such a good job-
"Oh," Arthur grunted when Eames pushed in three lube-slicked fingers with no warning. The burn was absolutely sensational, and when he added his fourth finger, Arthur was writhing. For a long moment he couldn't think or see, body trembling from head to toe as Eames shoved in and out.
"This'll have to do, I'm afraid," Eames told him, voice rough. "I actually didn't expect you to come, so I didn't buy any more condoms. I can get more later, if you like."
"Why are you talking right now?" Arthur complained. "Are you always this talkative? Jeez!"
"Sorry," Eames said and kissed Arthur's inner thigh. "Keep copping an attitude with me, and I'll ram my whole fist up your pretty little arse."
Arthur made a strangled sound.
"Oh, you like that, do you?" Eames asked, and he needed to stop using that voice before Arthur came just off of that. "You like a little pain, don't you."
"Oh… God…" Arthur breathed, balling up the sheets in his hands, and he was so close.
He knew he should have been practicing, but damn, Eames was convincing.
"Does it burn, darling?" Eames asked, and he'd wriggled his thumb inside too. Arthur wasn't sure if he could take much more of the abuse, yelping and sobbing. His hole was already sore from all it had taken from the past couple of days, but fuck, it felt so good.
"Eames," Arthur whimpered.
Eames leaned over him so that he was breathing against the side of his face that wasn't being pressed into the mattress. "What, love, what?" he asked, and his voice was so sugar sweet that Arthur couldn't believe he was causing that kind of pain to his ass when he sounded like that.
Arthur couldn't answer, sloppily pressing his mouth to his and moaning as he came without ever laying a hand on himself. Eames swallowed Arthur's desperate sounds and then Arthur could feel him shudder as he came too in the boxer shorts underneath his robe.
They were both still lying there, Eames hovering over Arthur, when there was a knock on the door.
"Eames?" a voice said through the door. "It's Cobb. The guard said you were in there."
Arthur stared up at Eames and Eames stared down at Arthur and neither of them moved for a long moment.
"Ah… uh… just a moment!" Eames called out, swallowing heavily.
OMG THERE ARE FEELINGS EVERYWHERE
WHY MUST FEELINGS WORK THEIR WAY INTO EVERYTHING
Author: osaki_nana_707
Word count: 5,535
Pairings/Characters: ArthurxEames, Ariadne, Cobb
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 Three: Every You Every Me
They fucked three times before Arthur was completely spent, sprawled out on one side of the bed, his own seed smeared across his chest, beads of it in Eames's chest hair as well. It was absolutely nasty and Arthur didn't care. He felt like he didn't have any bones left.
Eames dug a cigarette out of his sweatshirt and lit it, and Arthur thought it was so stereotypical that he started to laugh. He didn't notice the look of surprise on Eames face when the sound escaped from his lips.
"You haven't lost your mind have you?" Eames chuckled. "I never expected to hear you laugh."
"The cigarette thing is so predictable, isn't it?" Arthur asked because how could Eames not find it as funny as he did?
Eames chuckled a little and passed it to Arthur. Arthur had tried smoking once in high school and quit immediately after his parents had caught him doing it, but here he was taking another cigarette from this guy he barely knew (and yet knew intimately). This was quickly spiraling toward disaster, but he was so blissed out that he didn't even think about it. He took the cigarette from him and pulled a long drag off of it, smiling as smoke escaped his mouth and nostrils, and apparently Eames thought that was incredibly attractive so he kissed him again.
When Eames pulled away, taking back his cigarette, Arthur was almost asleep, but he blinked himself back to life and asked, "What the fuck are you even still doing in town anyway? Don't you have concerts to play and floozies to bang?"
"That could quite possibly be the least dignified thing you've ever said," Eames said, smirking, "Well, actually no-this was the last city on our tour. The next thing we're doing is the S.O.S. benefit that's going on here in a few weeks, so I just decided to stick around. Nash went home to his folks and Yusuf went home to his many cats and since I didn't have anyone to go home to, I rented a hotel room. Cobb's sticking around since he's a frontrunner in the whole S.O.S. foundation, so I thought maybe I'd try and help him out if he needed it."
"You're performing in S.O.S.?" Arthur asked, finding the strength to rise up on one elbow.
"We do every year," Eames replied. "Oh, fuck, I need an ashtray."
Arthur rolled out of the bed and padded across the room and into the living room, and he may have been limping if the way Eames was chuckling was any indication. He dug a plastic cup out from the kitchen and started back toward the bedroom when his cell phone started buzzing from where he'd left it on the coffee table.
"H-hello?" he asked, fumbling with it as he pressed it to his ear.
"Arthur," Ariadne said on the other end of the line. "Hey."
"Hey…" he said, returning to the room and handing Eames the cup. "What's going on?"
"I was just calling to check up on you. I really feel awful about what happened after the concert…"
"Yeah, you've made that pretty clear," Arthur replied flatly, sitting on the edge of the mattress. "I told you to stop worrying about it. I'm fine, okay? Just don't make me go to any more rock concerts."
"Aw, I'm offended," Eames whispered against the skin of Arthur's back and then sinking his teeth into his shoulder.
Arthur restrained a yelp and elbowed Eames in the ribs.
"So, I heard about the orchestra getting to perform at S.O.S.," Ariadne said. "That's so cool, Arthur. You'd better get me inside. Did you know that that the lead singer of Radical Notion is a frontrunner in that organization?"
"Ah, yeah, I think someone mentioned that," Arthur said, tilting his head back as Eames, apparently not subdued by the sharp blow to his ribs, started running his hands down Arthur's ribs and abdomen. "I'm sure I can get you an autograph at least-" he clamped his mouth shut when Eames's hand found his prick.
"Ugh, if you get to meet them and I don't, I'll be so pissed, Arthur. You have no idea. I mean, that's not even fair because you don't even like them and I love them."
"It's not the worst music I've ever heard," Arthur said, and he was already having trouble catching his breath. "I'm conceding only that much."
"I knew you'd like it. It really grows on you after a while-"
Arthur wasn't sure about their music growing on him, but, "Ohh," he groaned and caught himself, "I wouldn't go that far." His head fell back against Eames's shoulder, his cock already half-hard from Eames's strokes.
"Hey, you okay? You sound kind of weird-"
"I'm fine, I'm fine, just-I'm fine," Arthur decided explaining was fruitless being in the state he was in.
"Are you sure? You sound out of breath. You're not having an asthma attack, are you? You haven't had one of those since you were eleven."
His cock was standing at full attention now, apparently making up for lost time in the sex department, and Eames was still stroking him, the bastard. "A-ahh-Ariadne, l-let me call you back. I'm in the middle o-of something-"
"Well, hey, I was planning on getting some dinner in a bit, and I don't want you to get so caught up in practice that you forget to eat again, so I'm going to come get you in a while, okay?"
"Yeah, sure, whatever," Arthur gasped quickly. Eames was mouthing at his neck with abandon. How could he be so fucking horny all the time? "C-call me when you're on your way-ah-okay-all right, bye."
He hung up and then turned to tackle Eames. "You son of a bitch!" he shouted and Eames shut him up by kissing him and rolling so that he was on top of him instead.
"You're the dirty little cockslut, not me," Eames teased and ducked down to wrap his lips around the head of Arthur's prick.
Arthur moaned, bucking into the hot heat of Eames's mouth, and Eames took it like a trooper, never gagging even a little as he took him down, bobbing up and down, hollowing out his cheeks, until his nose was buried in Arthur's dark pubic hair. Eames had already proved to Arthur how talented he was with his tongue, but suddenly he was gaining a whole new level of respect for the muscle. He could definitely deal with Eames's little smirk and critique if it was going to end up like this.
"Oh, fuck-oh, fuck-I'm-ah-"
Eames placed a hand on Arthur's lower abdomen and pushed, and he was spilling into Eames's mouth, making a high-pitched noise he would normally be embarrassed by. It seemed to take hours for him to settle down, even though it couldn't have even been minutes, and when he finally did he watched a drip of his own come dribble out of the corner of Eames's mouth. He swallowed, and Arthur licked the extra off before collapsing into the bed.
"Dirty little boy," Eames teased, and that was the last thing Arthur heard.
When Arthur woke up, he was alone and curled up in the middle of the bed with blankets tugged over his shoulders. "Eames?" he called out sleepily, rubbing at his eyes. The guitarist was nowhere to be found, but Arthur realized that someone was knocking at his front door.
"Sh-shit," Arthur mumbled, stumbling out of bed to find that someone had cleaned him up. He tugged on his boxer shorts, vaguely aware of the fact that Eames's clothes were no longer on the floor, and then pulled his pants on over them, throwing his shirt on and buttoning it as he went to the door.
Of course it was Ariadne, and she was staring at him like he'd sprouted a second head.
"Took you long enough… what happened to your hair and-why is your shirt buttoned like you did it in the dark?"
Arthur touched his hair to find it had been mussed out of place again, and sure enough he'd buttoned his shirt the wrong way, leaving one tail of his shirt longer than the other. "I ah… I was asleep," he admitted.
"Oh, well… good for you," Ariadne said smiling. "God knows you don't get enough sleep as it is."
Arthur stepped aside to allow her in, fixed the buttoning on his shirt, and then went to the sink in the kitchen to smooth his hair down with water.
"So, you were practicing and took a break for a nap? That doesn't sound like you," Ariadne said, following him into the kitchen and taking a seat at one of the stools at the counter.
"Ah… well, uh… I guess I was just exhausted. I didn't sleep too well. I was too excited about performing in the S.O.S. concert. I haven't even decided what I'm going to play yet."
He looked to Ariadne to find her grinning like an idiot.
"What?" he asked defensively.
"Something's different about you," she said, smile widening if it was possible. "You don't seem as… annoyed as you usually are."
"Really?" Arthur asked, raising his eyebrows. "I don't feel any different. Maybe that's all in your head. Does my hair look better?"
"Are you in love?" she asked.
If Arthur had been drinking something, he was sure he would have spat it out. Thankfully, he wasn't so that didn't happen, but he still stared at Ariadne incredulously. "Where the fuck did that come from?" he asked. "Are you out of your mind? Of course I'm not in love. Did you bang your head or something? Fuck."
"Sorry," she said, though clearly she wasn't sorry, "you're just all glowy, and that's how all my friends look when they're in love."
"I'm excited about the show and the possibility that I could get into a prestigious orchestra, Ariadne. That's all it is. Your friends don't know what love is. They fall in lust with other people, and that's not the same thing."
"Okay, so are you in lust with someone?"
"I don't have time to be lusting after anyone," Arthur replied irritably, smoothing at his hair more while he checked his reflection in the faucet. "Seriously, does my hair look okay? You wanted to go get dinner and I don't want to walk into a restaurant looking like a jackass."
"Fuck me, you jackass!"
Arthur smiled a little, unable to help himself.
"It looks fine," Ariadne sighed, hopping out of the stool. "Tell me what's going on. You're borderline chipper."
"I am not," Arthur said, rolling his eyes as he tucked his shirt in. His pants were loose enough on him that he could do it without unbuttoning them, and he decided he really did need to eat more. "You're mental."
She appeared to let it go after that, the both of them heading off to Starkey's for some beer and cheeseburgers (Ariadne got to choose because she drove). She didn't say anything else about it at least, but she kept sending looks in his direction every few minutes or so, and Arthur had to catch himself from getting lost in his thoughts for fear she might take a little grin the wrong way. He didn't smile too much a lot of the time, so he was sure she would think it meant something that it didn't.
He listened as she excitedly told him about how her design had been picked out as the best in her architecture class, and he told her about the different groups that were going to be at S.O.S. He didn't know who most of them were, but she only seemed to get more excited by every name. When they were joined by a couple of Ariadne's friends and Arthur didn't complain, he knew that she'd come to the conclusion that something was up, but he wasn't caving to her.
He wasn't any different just because he'd had his brains fucked out by a jackass who didn't even stick around after he fell asleep.
He wasn't different at all.
"Hey," Ariadne's friend Tony said, nudging Arthur with his elbow, "did you pull the stick out of your ass or what? I don't think you've said as many words to me in the whole time we've known each other that you've said tonight."
Arthur scoffed at him. "You were talking about the program I'm going to be playing in. Talk about something I can relate to and I can return conversation."
Tony shrugged and sucked on his cigarette and Arthur refrained from smiling at the way Eames's mouth had curled around a cigarette.
By the end of the night, Arthur dug out his wallet to pay for his meal and realized there was something else in his wallet. He waited until Ariadne and the rest of the group were distracted to look at it.
It was a hotel card key with a note wrapped around it.
Sugar, why don't you come and see me sometime? Room 1256-the Hilton
Arthur hid the note and the card away before anyone could see it, but he couldn't hide the blush that tipped his ears. He was just lucky they couldn't hear the way his heart skipped a beat.
Arthur had decided not to see Eames again.
He'd had plenty of mind-blowing sex, had enough of being weak and messy and pliant underneath someone else, and now he needed to sit back and practice and move on with his life and just forget the man.
The problem was that suddenly he was starting to hate the way he played. Every song he used to think was near perfection was suddenly robotic and boring. He tried to delve into his emotional reserves and play from his heart, but it was like there was another him inside stopping himself. It started to frustrate him to the point that he was tempted to throw the instrument against the wall…
On top of all of that, he was lonely. Ariadne had gone out with her friends to continue barhopping and partying because apparently she didn't have anything important to do (actually she probably did), but Arthur of course had opted out of such shenanigans. He'd always done so in the past and never regretted it for a second, but oddly enough he was starting to. It might have been fun to participate…
If he believed in God, he would have been asking him to send him a sign, to tell him what he was supposed to do, and that was when his cell phone started to ring.
"Arthur!" Ariadne shouted into the receiver. "Oh, my God! You're not going to fucking believe this!" She certainly sounded excited.
"What?" he asked, pulling the phone away from his ear slightly.
"It's Dominic Cobb! The lead singer of Radical Notion is at this fucking bar! Oh, my God! This is the best day of my life!"
She hung up, probably to record video with her phone, and…
…well, fuck, if that wasn't a sign, Arthur didn't know what was.
When Arthur arrived at the hotel, violin in tow, he was sure he was a bit overdressed. He'd changed into a three-piece suit because he'd gotten a grease stain on the shirt he'd been wearing, and he'd showered and slicked his hair until it was perfect, and he wasn't sure why he was working so hard.
This wasn't about sex though. He was just going to Eames for advice on how to get into those emotional reserves that he couldn't seem to find.
He was stopped on his way to the elevator by some tough looking guys in suits and searched.
"What's the big fucking deal?" he asked irritably. "Has there been some sort of terrorist threat on this hotel or something?"
"We've had eight people here looking for the lead guitarist of Radical Notion tonight," one of the men said.
"Who?" Arthur asked in annoyance, and as they closed his violin case they seemed sheepish. "Look, I've got things to do. Can I go to my room now?"
"O… of course, sir."
When Arthur was inside the glass elevator, he couldn't help but think that that was entirely too easy.
He was stopped again on the twelfth floor, and he was forced to claim he'd hit the wrong button, go down to the eleventh floor and sneak his way up the steps.
He slipped the card into the door just as he heard the guard coming around the corner and got inside before he was seen.
"Fuck," he hissed, stepping away from the door and yet still watching it as if the guard would come barreling in to get him.
"Did you already miss me?"
Arthur turned around to find Eames lounged on the bed with a tumbler of alcohol on the bedside table and moleskin in his hand, a pencil's eraser being chewed on between his lips.
"Hello, darling," Eames greeted, looking back down to the moleskin. He was in nothing but a robe. "It's nice to see you dressed up for me. I would have done the same if I'd known."
"I'm not here for sex," Arthur huffed, frowning.
"I never said that you were," Eames said, sitting up and grabbing his guitar out of a case on the floor and strumming it. He winced when the top E string was out of tune and adjusted it accordingly before beginning to play. "Care to tell me why though? I'm not a bloody psychic after all."
"Well, I ah…" Arthur said, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, "I can't… I can't play anymore… I was hoping you could help me…"
Eames paused in his playing. "I thought that I didn't know anything about music."
Arthur should have expected that, but it made him angry all the same. "Look, maybe you were right about the emotional aspect of the music, okay? Fuck, if you were just going to throw that in my face, I don't know why I bothered to come here."
"Now, now, don't get your knickers in a twist," Eames chuckled, putting the guitar down on the bed and getting up to grab one of Arthur's hands, pulling him over to the bed. Arthur took in how nice and how fancy the hotel room was so that he didn't have to look at Eames. "I was just teasing you."
"Well, it's not funny," Arthur spat back, pulling his violin case up to his chest and hugging it there as he sat down on the mattress. "My music means everything to me, and I don't appreciate it when you shit all over it."
"Then, I kindly ask you to do the same for mine," Eames replied and Arthur could have cursed over the fact that Eames had caught him again. "Don't be such a bloody hypocrite, love."
"I told you to stop calling me those names," Arthur grumbled, protectively squeezing his violin case.
"I'm sorry. Arthur," Eames corrected himself, and the way the r's rolled off of his tongue made Arthur feel tingly. "So, what's the problem?"
"I… I can't… I don't know how to play any differently than I always have," Arthur mumbled. "I… I tried to tap into myself, but I just keep… not doing it, I guess."
"Are you that afraid to bare yourself to others?" Eames asked, and Arthur turned to him then, trying to come up with something to say, but as per typical with Eames, he was rendered speechless. Maybe he shouldn't have come after all. Clearly these things weren't going to stop after a couple of rounds of sex. Maybe Eames was just smarter than Arthur gave him credit, and he was constantly underestimating him.
"Play," Eames told him, getting up and going to the door. Arthur heard him send the guard away to go get him something to eat.
"Wh… what do you want me to play?" Arthur asked.
"Your heart," Eames replied, returning to his spot next to Arthur.
"I don't… I don't know that song…" Arthur said quietly.
"That's because you haven't been listening," Eames replied and poked him in the chest. "I'm talking about this, you twat."
"I-no, I don't play original pieces. I've never-"
"Just. Play."
Arthur sighed through his nose in frustration and opened the case, lifting the violin to his chin, pressing the bow to the strings and… hesitating.
What the fuck was he supposed to play?
"I don't know what to-" Arthur said, feeling frustration coiling up his spine.
Eames pressed his hands into Arthur's back, rubbed them on his biceps, wrapped them around his waist while balancing his chin on Arthur's unoccupied shoulder. "How are you feeling right now?" he asked.
"Frustrated," Arthur grumbled.
"Play frustration."
Arthur clenched his jaw and started violently rolling his bow across the strings, building the sound in speed and pitch until he's worried the strings might fray or snap and he stops, breathing heavily, eyes wide and wild.
"Well, that's not exactly a song, but it certainly sounded like frustration," Eames said.
"I don't write my own pieces, Eames!" Arthur shrieked, and he didn't realize how much it had built up until it was coming out of his mouth so desperately. "I don't know what you want me to do! Fuck!"
"All right, all right, no need to freak out," Eames said calmly, and that only made Arthur angrier.
"I don't freak out! It's not something that I do! Now, all of a sudden you show up in my life, and I can't stop freaking out!" Arthur shouted, jumping to his feet. "I never freaked out before then! I never panicked about anything!"
"All right," Eames said, taking over the spot where Arthur had been sitting and letting his forearms rest on his knees again, "how does that make you feel?"
"How does what make me feel?" Arthur yelled, and admittedly he was getting a little hysterical.
"The fact that you're freaking out, the loss of control, how does that make you feel?" Eames asked.
All of the anger and hysteria dripped away from Arthur, leaving him heavily breathing and feeling pathetic and lost and, "…scared…"
"It makes you feel scared?" Eames asked for confirmation.
Arthur nodded, grimacing at his own weakness, feeling tears trying to well in his eyes.
"Do you feel that?" Eames asked standing and pressing his hand to Arthur's chest. "Do you feel that turmoil in your chest?"
Arthur sniffed, wiping at his eye with the back of his wrist. "Y-yeah… I do…"
"Play it out. Let the music flow through you and heal you. Don't take control of the music. Let the music take control of you. It's all right."
"-but-"
"Just trust me," Eames said, stepping away from him. "You may come to find that freeing yourself of a little control is a good thing. Just play."
Arthur sighed and did as Eames asked. He didn't know what he was doing, but he played anyway, letting note after note cry out from his instrument, slow and soft and sad…
The violin wailed, and his fingers trailed up and down the strings, but soon enough it felt more like he was listening to someone else playing rather than himself as he lost awareness of his hands, of Eames, of the hotel room, of everything. The only thing that existed was this one slow, sad song and himself, and it was astounding how much the tune of it seemed to settle his nerves. It was beautiful, he thought, whatever it was, and it put him at ease, or at least he thought it did until the song came to an end and he realized he'd been crying onto his violin the way it had been crying out to him.
Eames pulled him into a slow embrace, and Arthur pressed his face against the warmth of his neck, and he still didn't know why he was so devastated, arms hanging limp with his instrument and bow by his sides, until Eames spoke.
"You're so sad on the inside," Eames mumbled. "Why are you so sad, darling?"
Arthur sobbed.
When Arthur recovered from his sobbing fit, his violin was back in its case, and he was curled up on the bed in Eames's arms, listening to him as he sang one of Radical Notion's songs that he recognized from the concert. It was the one that always made Ariadne cry.
He sniffed just as Eames finished the song, trying to signal that he was listening and that he was all right now because he wasn't sure if he could speak.
"That was such a lovely piece, Arthur," Eames said. "You really are so very talented."
"You're just saying that to make me feel better," Arthur whispered.
"You didn't hear it like I did," Eames said.
"Yes, I did… I heard it…" Arthur said, pulling away from Eames's arms to look him in the eyes. "I did hear it. It's too sad. Nobody would like something like that."
"I liked it," Eames said. "Does my opinion count for nothing again?"
"That's not… I mean… why would anyone like something so sad and pathetic?..." Arthur asked hesitantly, and even he wasn't sure exactly what he was saying.
…but Eames knew… Of course he knew…
"You really weren't listening," Eames said, shaking his head and smiling. "The piece wasn't pathetic at all. It was beautiful and lonely. I could hear you calling out for someone in that song. I could hear you begging for someone to listen, and maybe you were trying to tell yourself that, I don't know, but I heard it. There is someone underneath this façade you've got trying to make a sound. You really should give him a chance too because he sounds bloody beautiful."
Arthur looked down at his lap, wiping at his eyes with his wrists. "Everyone thinks I'm this… unfeeling snob… and that I hate everyone… that I don't make time for anyone else because I think I'm better than them… Who's to say they're wrong about that? Ariadne's my only friend, and she tolerates me at best."
"You can't be afraid to open your heart to people, Arthur," Eames said, reaching up to touch Arthur's cheek. "You're afraid that if you bare yourself that people might not like you, so you shut them down before they have the chance to do it to you, and you shouldn't because people will most certainly not like you if you don't let them know who you are."
"What if I really am this person everyone thinks I am?" Arthur asked.
"Never be ashamed of who you are. Bollocks on everyone else. There will be people out there who like you."
"You're… you're not the person I thought that you were," Arthur said.
"I let you take the time to see me," Eames said smiling. "Now, I do believe I'm starting to see you." He leaned in close so that their lips were a hair's breadth away from each other and all Arthur could see was the flecks of colors in Eames's blue-gray eyes. "I don't hate what I see."
"Maybe you just need a little longer to get to know me," Arthur said uneasily.
"I do hope you'll give me the opportunity to find out then," Eames said and filled the distance between them.
Arthur had told himself that he was done with the sex, but really, he did at least owe Eames for helping him out, right?
Besides, the warmth of his mouth seemed to slide down Arthur's throat and blossom outward, filling up all of the emptiness Arthur felt inside.
His music had never failed him in the past…
…but when it did fail him, Eames hadn't…
That had to stand for something, right?
It didn't make Ariadne's claim that he was in love any less ridiculous of course.
Eames slowly undid the buttons on Arthur's waistcoat before starting on the buttons of his shirt. "Tell me, Arthur, why do you dress yourself up so prim and proper?"
"I like to look put-together," Arthur murmured, staring up at the ceiling.
"Is that so no one knows about how you feel inside?" Eames asked, untying an oxford and tugging it off of Arthur's foot.
Arthur chose not to answer, and Eames didn't push the question, pressing a kiss to Arthur's foot after removing the sock and then working off the other shoe and sock.
Well, fuck, Arthur thought as Eames undid his belt.
It was happening again.
He was weakly getting lost in Eames's touches again… but… well, he liked to be touched. It was a luxury he hadn't allowed himself in the past, and there was no guarantee that he'd ever be touched this way again after Eames was gone. He might as well get as much out of it as he could while he could. He could have this time in his life to get lost in someone else. Once Eames was gone, he could go back to normal because temptation wouldn't cloud his judgment. Ariadne and her friends would stop thinking there was something wrong, and he would finish out school and go onto a career in a symphony orchestra with Eames left behind in a distant memory. Eames would move on to other cities, states, countries, and continents and probably bang a bunch of other chicks or dudes and not give Arthur another passing thought.
After all, all this sappy stuff he'd been saying was just to get into his pants. Arthur wasn't so stupid that he didn't know that.
He knew who he was, and he knew he wasn't beautiful at all.
Eames spread Arthur open with his hands and knelt down to press his tongue against Arthur's entrance, and Arthur jolted and shuddered at the sudden contact. "What are you-" he gasped, but then Eames buried his tongue deeper inside and whatever Arthur was going to say was lost in a groan.
Eames licked into him and all Arthur could do was lie there whimpering as he did it. Eames had so many skills with his tongue, Arthur was positive now. It was like Eames wanted to go out of his way to prove just how good with his tongue he was, and Arthur was completely okay with that.
Eames coated Arthur's entrance with his own saliva, rolling his tongue around before pulling away, wiping at his lip with his arm, and Arthur should have found it disgusting but absolutely couldn't when he was already feeling so hot and pliant and Eames had done such a good job-
"Oh," Arthur grunted when Eames pushed in three lube-slicked fingers with no warning. The burn was absolutely sensational, and when he added his fourth finger, Arthur was writhing. For a long moment he couldn't think or see, body trembling from head to toe as Eames shoved in and out.
"This'll have to do, I'm afraid," Eames told him, voice rough. "I actually didn't expect you to come, so I didn't buy any more condoms. I can get more later, if you like."
"Why are you talking right now?" Arthur complained. "Are you always this talkative? Jeez!"
"Sorry," Eames said and kissed Arthur's inner thigh. "Keep copping an attitude with me, and I'll ram my whole fist up your pretty little arse."
Arthur made a strangled sound.
"Oh, you like that, do you?" Eames asked, and he needed to stop using that voice before Arthur came just off of that. "You like a little pain, don't you."
"Oh… God…" Arthur breathed, balling up the sheets in his hands, and he was so close.
He knew he should have been practicing, but damn, Eames was convincing.
"Does it burn, darling?" Eames asked, and he'd wriggled his thumb inside too. Arthur wasn't sure if he could take much more of the abuse, yelping and sobbing. His hole was already sore from all it had taken from the past couple of days, but fuck, it felt so good.
"Eames," Arthur whimpered.
Eames leaned over him so that he was breathing against the side of his face that wasn't being pressed into the mattress. "What, love, what?" he asked, and his voice was so sugar sweet that Arthur couldn't believe he was causing that kind of pain to his ass when he sounded like that.
Arthur couldn't answer, sloppily pressing his mouth to his and moaning as he came without ever laying a hand on himself. Eames swallowed Arthur's desperate sounds and then Arthur could feel him shudder as he came too in the boxer shorts underneath his robe.
They were both still lying there, Eames hovering over Arthur, when there was a knock on the door.
"Eames?" a voice said through the door. "It's Cobb. The guard said you were in there."
Arthur stared up at Eames and Eames stared down at Arthur and neither of them moved for a long moment.
"Ah… uh… just a moment!" Eames called out, swallowing heavily.
OMG THERE ARE FEELINGS EVERYWHERE
WHY MUST FEELINGS WORK THEIR WAY INTO EVERYTHING