On the Wings of an Angel (Coda)
On the Wings of an Angel (Coda)
Back to Part Three
Disclaimer and author's note, etc., back in the Master Post
On the Wings of an Angel
text by phoenix.writing
illustrations by creepylicious
~ CODA ~
Eames opened his eyes. He and Arthur had gone under on opposite ends of the couch with the PASIV between them since they had barely been speaking to one another when they had entered the dream.
Now, though, they were both awake, and when Eames smiled happily, Arthur smiled back seemingly without reservation.
"I think we've made it to the next order of business. What do you say, Darling?"
Arthur slipped the needle out from under his skin and began re-coiling the line to the PASIV.
"Honestly? I'm surprised you waited this long."
Eames tackled Arthur into the cushions. The PASIV slid off and hit the floor with a bang. To his pleasure, Arthur made no immediate move to see if it was broken.
Eames was still too thin, but he'd started to fill out again. It made him feel a little uncomfortable, but Arthur didn't seem to be complaining. In fact, it was a heated mash-up on the couch, movements that were really too hurried to be as coordinated and skilled as they should be, but neither of them seemed to mind.
Arthur looked at him sometimes as though he couldn't quite believe that Eames was here, and Eames didn't really understand how the other man hadn't worked out that Eames was the lucky one.
"Come to bed," Arthur invited in a low voice.
Eames beamed.
There had been a time when he had not been able to imagine Arthur issuing those sorts of invitations. Well, he could imagine it, but he honestly hadn't thought that it would ever be reality. He hadn't met very many other people whom he had thrown himself at quite so assiduously who were interested-Eames had been pretty sure that he had been interested-but who had steadfastly refused to have anything to do with him.
Yet here he was in the man's home-one of them, at least, and one that he'd hidden in from the universe, to boot-and Arthur had just invited Eames to bed.
They scrambled up off the couch, but the movement to the bedroom was hampered by the extremely audible rumble of Eames's stomach.
Arthur looked at him pointedly, and Eames made a face and would have continued to the bedroom, only Arthur stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"When's the last time you ate?"
The tone of voice was reminiscent of their time in hospital, and Eames realized that while there was a chance that he would be able to throw the man off, this really wasn't Arthur just teasing him for being ridiculous.
He sighed.
"I don't exactly remember?"
Arthur breathed out through his nose.
"Idiot. What do you want to eat?"
"You?"
Arthur laughed, grabbing up Eames's hand and changing directions.
"Salutary as that desire is, I'd rather get some food into you first-in the entirely regular sort of way, so don't even go there."
Eames opened his mouth to protest.
"You're still recovering," Arthur pointed out sternly.
Eames sighed and stopped trying to argue. Arthur had come out of a coma at the age of eight; he knew exactly what Eames was going through. Now that his stomach had been noticed, the gurgle was repeating with some viciousness. Better, likely, to eat now than to be continually interrupted-not to mention the fact that lowering as it was to admit, Eames was not as strong as he normally was. If he did something fatally embarrassing like collapse in the middle of sex with Arthur, he wasn't sure that he would survive it.
So into the kitchen they went, and Eames discovered that the pantry was surprisingly well-stocked.
"I had a lot of time here," Arthur answered his unspoken question. "What would you like to eat?"
"Something fast?" Eames tried this time.
Arthur's lips tipped up.
"Preferably something that won't be destroyed if we get a little distracted at the same time."
Arthur laughed. "You're incorrigible."
"You're only just now working that out about me? Darling, that's pretty poor work for a point man."
"Are you aiming to make your own food?"
"You mean you'll only cook for me if I don't insult you?" Eames considered this. "Can I delay the decision until I've had a taste test?"
Arthur laughed again. On top of all the other reasons that Eames was happy that he and Arthur had got this sorted, the fact that Arthur was openly displaying genuine amusement in front of him was enough to make Eames feel as though it had all been worthwhile.
It reminded Eames of their time in limbo, and while plenty of it embarrassed him, it seemed as though more of it had been genuine on Arthur's part than Eames had suspected in those first horrible moments when he thought that Arthur had played him completely.
Arthur finally banished him over to the tiny kitchen table since he was getting in the way as Arthur prepared everything.
Though the longer Eames knew Arthur, the more he realised that the man was capable of absolutely anything, it was still surprising to see a new skill blossom out of seemingly nowhere.
Surely there was a cap on talent?
But despite the fact that it felt like it should be incongruous, Eames saw Arthur deftly chop, mix, stir, sauté, and pan fry until, in less time than Eames had expected-though possibly that was partly because it had been so much fun to watch-there were two steaming plates of salmon steak with mushrooms and onions, potatoes, and a salad with a homemade vinaigrette dressing.
Eames burned his mouth a little on the first mouthful, ignoring Arthur's admonition that it was hot.
"Shit, Darling," he moaned, "do you know how hard it's going to be not to insult you?"
Arthur rolled his eyes. "It'll be a good challenge."
Eames pouted, but this didn't have nearly the effect that he wanted.
"Nice try. Eat your dinner."
It wasn't as though there was any chance of his not eating his dinner when it was this good and he was starving. Arthur looked bemused but didn't offer any objections to his accelerated inhalation of the meal-beyond an observation that if he choked, it was harder to have sex.
Eames slowed down a little.
"Is there anything you can't do?" he queried.
"Any number of things, I imagine," Arthur answered. "But I try to have a certain competency with those that impact my day-to-day life."
Ri-ight.
Arthur's lips tipped up. "Still can't throw a dart to save my life."
This surprised a laugh out of Eames. "Or understand cricket?"
Arthur nodded.
Eames smiled at yet one more example of honesty from their time in limbo-honesty, moreover, about subjects that Eames was quite sure under normal circumstances, Arthur wouldn't be bringing up.
"You can throw a knife."
It wasn't really a question because Eames had seen the skill in question.
"Of course."
"Yet you can't throw a dart?"
"Nope."
The quality of the reply said that he'd considered this before, and it hadn't helped.
"That's absurd, Darling."
Arthur rolled his eyes.
"Perhaps I can teach you."
"You're welcome to try."
Arthur sounded a little dubious, but the comment had nevertheless sounded open enough that Eames was pretty sure the offer was genuine.
It certainly seemed that Arthur was possessed of far more talents and abilities than Eames had realised. He'd be seriously concerned about what Arthur saw in him except that Arthur had actually done quite a decent job of sharing that. It was still surprising, but it was hard to doubt given the monumental efforts and confessions that Arthur had made.
If it was stuff that even Mal hadn't known, that Dom didn't know, then it meant that Arthur wanted a whole lot more than just sex with Eames.
But he seemed quite eager about the sex, too, and it was such a relief to have them both on the same page about that.
Since Eames had made a concerted effort to inhale his food to get to the sex sooner, Arthur wasn't half done by the time Eames had cleared his plate. He nevertheless rose without protest and moved both their plates to the sink, seeming altogether unsurprised when this resulted in his being pressed up against the counter so that Eames could nuzzle his neck and rub all over him.
Arthur twisted around with the moves of an eel so that he was facing Eames and could wrap his arms around him and tug them impossibly closer to kiss.
Eames was all for that.
They stumbled out of the kitchen and down the hallway, taking a lot more time than they would have if they'd detached long enough to simply walk the few necessary steps, but Eames couldn't help but note that the very logical point man wasn't making any such suggestion.
It came as no surprise that the first clothing to be shed was Eames's shirt. Arthur seemed to take it as a personal offence every time he saw Eames in a very loud article of clothing, and Eames wondered if the man realised that now that they had established that the way Arthur would deal with this was to remove the offending item-one way or the other-Eames was never going to stop wearing them.
Eames noticed very little about the bedroom apart from the fact that it had a very welcome king-sized bed-a fact which he noticed only because his knees hit the back of it and he fell, sprawling, with Arthur climbing on top of him, and there was a lot more room to manoeuvre than there had been in that ridiculously tiny hospital bed.
Arthur was straddling Eames now, kissing him hungrily, and Eames gave himself over wholeheartedly. The other man's fingers were ghosting all over Eames's chest and torso, seeming to delight in all the bare skin, and in retaliation, Eames got his hands under the back of the pullover that Arthur had on.
It wasn't quite the same as the suit-which Eames was going to fully enjoy peeling him out of later-but Eames understood the context a lot better than he had in the past.
Arthur barely paused in his ministrations as Eames tugged the shirt off and happily discarded it over the edge of the bed. Naked Arthur was something Eames hadn't gotten to see nearly enough of, and he was quite willing to spend as much time as necessary remedying this situation.
Arthur's mouth drifted off of Eames's, kisses pressed to the corner of his mouth, then his chin, tongue tracing a path down his neck, kisses pressed once more to the juncture of neck and shoulder. Lower still, nipping and kissing and laving with his tongue, and by the time Arthur reached his nipples, Eames was arching into the touch and urging him on.
Arthur, predictably, would not be rushed, and continued at his own pace no matter what Eames swore at him-but that was half the fun.
Eames helpfully arched his hips so that belt removal would be easier. Arthur did so but did not take the hint and offer any further stimulation to any of Eames's protruding bits.
He was equally hands off when he unbuttoned and un-zipped Eames's trousers, tugging them off and dropping them over the side of the bed so that Eames was finally completely naked.
"Darling, you're killing me," Eames whined.
A smile was all the warning he got before he was swallowed whole.
Eames bucked up into the wet heat with a strangled cry, no actual words making it out of his mouth.
At some point, Arthur had definitely learned to suck cock, and Eames was kicking himself for not cornering the man in a dream ages ago and convincing him to do something about all the UST.
It wasn't going to be unresolved for long if Arthur's expect ministrations were anything to go by, not given the amount of time it felt like it had been for Eames since he had had sex. Even just in reality, the number was scarily high, and if he added in all that limbo time-it still felt real to his brain, after all-then the number was truly scary.
Of course, that just meant that they had a lot of time that they needed to make up for, and he had the feeling that Arthur was going to be rather willing to get on board with this plan.
Arthur's fingers came into play, teasing his balls and twisting to stroke at the sensitive skin underneath.
Eames groaned. "Darling, I'm not going to last much longer."
Arthur just hummed and sucked harder, and Eames stopped trying to resist, arching more forcefully as he attempted to increase the stimulation, and Arthur skilfully rode out the motion, having apparently mastered breathing through his nose, sucking, blowing, and using his hands all at the same time.
"Arthur," Eames gasped as he came, but Arthur just swallowed him down, refusing to release him until Eames was shuddering with sensation and feeling blissfully shagged out.
His arms felt a bit like limp noodles, but he managed to tug effectively enough that Arthur knew what he wanted and moved up the bed so that Eames could lean up and kiss him, tasting himself on the other man's lips.
"Why the hell have we never done that before?" he asked when they drew back for air.
Arthur's lips were deliciously swollen, his hair dishevelled, and no one looking at him would be in any doubt as to what he had been doing.
"Because you have a questionable way of expressing yourself."
"Hey," Eames protested, "why is it my fault?"
Arthur's lips tipped up, but his eyes were very serious as he leaned in again to nip at Eames's bottom lip.
"You tried much harder than I did. We didn't do this sooner because I wasn't willing to take the risk."
Eames had sort of meant the question rhetorically, and he really hadn't meant to bring the mood down.
"From where I'm sitting, Darling, you took a hell of a lot of risks to get us here."
Arthur opened his mouth for what Eames was sure was a serious protest once more, so he wrapped his hand around the back of Arthur's neck and tugged him closer for a comprehensive kiss that would, with luck, at least pause the argument even if it didn't shut it down completely.
When Eames drew back, though, it was to find that Arthur's eyes were gratifyingly clouded with lust, and Eames congratulated himself on a job well done.
"You're wearing entirely too much clothing," Eames pointed out, palming Arthur through his trousers and making him hiss. "How 'bout you come put this to good use?"
Arthur was so a warm-blooded male-not that Eames had really been in any doubt of that fact at this point. No matter how matter-of-fact and robotic he acted when he was on a job, he was still out of the rest of his clothes in nought point two seconds when faced with the prospect of more sex.
Condom and lube were retrieved from the bedside cabinet, and when Eames raised an eyebrow in a very exaggerated manner, Arthur rolled his eyes.
"I said I had a lot of time here, and I'd just spent a lifetime with you not having sex. What do you think I was doing?"
Eames grinned, pleased.
"Then by all means, if you're so anxious, carry on."
Arthur eyed him for a long moment, and Eames realised he was actually hovering on the edge of not getting buggered, which had not been his intention at all.
Then Arthur's lips tipped up. "I'd say you'd better watch your tongue, but in this particular circumstance, I'd really prefer that you didn't."
This surprised a laugh out of Eames, who could be magnanimous when he was about to get what he wanted.
"C'mere and fuck me, then."
This had the salutary effect of one lubed finger and then two up Eames's arse, and he squirmed into the movement, trying to get the stretching over with much more quickly than Arthur seemed to think was advisable.
It didn't actually come as a surprise that Arthur was thorough and a gentleman, but Eames had been waiting for this for a very long time.
"Fuck me already, Darling."
Arthur's finger brushed across Eames's prostate again, and Eames sucked in a sharp breath.
"Maybe I'm enjoying this part."
Arthur's eyes were practically glowing, so Eames really couldn't doubt it. He was pretty impressed with the other man's patience and self-control, too, because Eames was on the other side of an orgasm, and he was still finding this unbearably stimulating. Arthur had to be dying.
On the other hand, Eames had always been well aware of the man's control; there were very few occasions where he'd seen Arthur lose it.
Eames was definitely going to have to work on that.
"Do you want me to beg?"
Arthur's eyes flashed, but when he leaned in to give Eames a kiss, it was surprisingly gentle.
He drew back and winked. "Not just now."
Oh, they were going to have so much fun.
Eames's question had had the desired effect, however, because Arthur's fingers were finally removed and replaced with something altogether larger. (The condom had been rolled on one-handed, but the hand had shaken a little, so Eames was sure that Arthur wasn't quite as in control as he was acting.)
Arthur had been the one to put the pillows under Eames's hips so they could face one another. He apparently still wanted to be in control of the encounter, however-or maybe he was just wise to Eames's tricks by now-because he had a very tight grip on Eames's hips to ensure that he buried himself inside of Eames on precisely his agenda.
Though Eames would never admit it, there was something about the torturously slow pace that made it all the more satisfying when Arthur finally bottomed out inside of Eames, as deeply buried inside of him as it was possible to be.
Arthur's eyes were burning.
"Darling," Eames couldn't help but repeat the question, "why haven't we done this before now?"
"I have no idea," Arthur admitted.
Eames could hear the strain in his voice, and he couldn't help but grin at both the answer and that sound of effort.
The burn from the penetration had eased, and Eames bucked up. Arthur sucked in a breath.
"Fuck me, Arthur."
Arthur leaned down to mash their lips together, and Eames kissed him back hungrily. He reached for Arthur's hips and wrapped his legs tightly around the other man, hooking his heels behind him. This gave him the leverage to really grind them together.
Eames beamed as Arthur swore at him, because you knew it had to be considered the beginnings of very good sex when the oh-so-controlled point man started getting mouthy like that.
Arthur pulled back and then thrust forward firmly, burying himself inside of Eames once more, and Eames let out a huff of breath at the sensation. Arthur repeated the movement, changing the angle slightly, again and again until-Eames let out an incoherent noise of half-imprecation, half-praise.
It was Arthur's turn to smile, a lazy, heavy-lidded smile of pleasure that Eames had never seen before and wished to see again at the earliest opportunity.
As in all things, Arthur was both dedicated and talented. Now that he'd found Eames's prostate, he was determined to hammer into it with each stroke, leaving Eames to hang on for the ride, try to get impossibly closer, and drown in the sensation.
Fuck, if Eames had known that it was this brilliant, he would have figured out a way to make Arthur an offer he couldn't possibly refuse ages ago.
Unfortunately, Eames wasn't superhuman, so his body hadn't recovered enough for him to have another orgasm yet. But the almost-too-much sensation was a form of delightful torture that he would willingly undergo to see Arthur braced above him, sweat dotting his skin, a look of utter concentration on his face as he buried himself repeatedly in Eames's body.
Eames was certain that he'd never seen Arthur focussed on something so intently before if it wasn't a job. The fact that he brought all of this intensity to shagging Eames was brilliant and such a turn on.
Eames began to rhythmically clench and unclench the muscles of his arse, urging Arthur closer and closer, watching and feeling with delight as his thrusts became more urgent and less coordinated.
Eames dug his heels into the small of Arthur's back, clutched at his forearms, digging his nails into skin, and met every thrust with a surge of his own, tightening his muscles as much as possible.
Once, twice, three times, and then Arthur broke apart on top of him.
Eames watched with awe, clutching reflexively at Arthur as he buried himself inside of Eames and rode out his orgasm.
He looked, Eames realised a moment later, the same way he had in limbo at the end before Eames had reminded him of himself and reality. He looked completely undone, blissful, and the fact that he had been able to recapture that feeling in this one moment with Eames was … unbelievable.
Eames was willing to devote the rest of his life to ensuring that Arthur experienced moments like these as often as possible.
Arthur had collapsed on top of Eames in a sweaty heap, which Eames relished altogether, but presently, he pushed himself up again on arms that looked a lot more shaky than they had a few minutes ago and tried to move away.
Eames tightened his grip.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"Somewhere that doesn't avoid squashing you," Arthur proposed.
"Maybe I like you squashing me."
Arthur snorted, eloquently expressing what he thought of Eames's reasoning. "To take care of the condom, then, before we might as well not have used it."
The look Arthur shot Eames now was one of challenge, and Eames sighed theatrically and released him; it really wouldn't do any good if everything dribbled where they'd been trying to keep it from to begin with.
Eames both pouted and winced a little as Arthur pulled out. Part of him wanted quite nonsensically to keep them connected like that forever, and the rest of him couldn't help but react to the purely physical.
Arthur had caught the wince, though, and started to frown in concern, so Eames tugged him back down sharply and kissed him very firmly. There was a moment of resistance, and then Arthur melted into him and kissed him back thoroughly. Harder to be upset when you were examining someone else's tonsils, and there was no way that Eames was going to let the man think that he was anything but pleased with how this encounter had gone.
Panting once more, Arthur finally drew back to actually dispose of the condom and wipe them both clean before he climbed back into bed and spooned at Eames's urging.
Eames had imagined, once upon a time, that this part was going to be a lot more of a battle, that he was going to have to fight Arthur every step of the way. He should have considered that once Arthur committed to something, he gave it his all.
It was like it had been at the hospital only ever so much better, all the warmth and comfort with the added knowledge that Arthur wanted him as much as Eames wanted Arthur.
Eames fell asleep to the soft sounds of Arthur's breathing.
~*~
In the morning, Arthur found that the world had not imploded. He and Eames had finally had sex, and not only had it been fantastic, it appeared to have been life-altering only in the good way. Ninjas had not broken down the door; harsh reality had not intruded to tell them that none of this was possible.
There was morning breath and limbs that had gone numb and some awkwardness about communal bathroom space, but it still all felt right, felt like work that would be pleasing to resolve, neither a chore nor unrealistically perfect.
Arthur was falling in love all over again, and while he didn't think that they were quite at the spot to talk about it yet-though maybe this was just his cowardice talking-he was pretty sure that Eames felt the same way.
It was kind of awe-inspiring, actually.
Eames made coffee, and Arthur made pancakes-and then sent Eames to snoop through the apartment, telling him that anything that wasn't locked was fair game since he was going to burn all of the food if they kept getting distracted like Eames seemed determined to do when he was in the kitchen with Arthur.
Eames returned a few minutes later, and Arthur was going to admonish him for having the attention span of a gnat when Eames held aloft what he had found.
"I thought this was a loaded die."
Arthur barely glanced at the small cube of red plastic which he gathered Eames had thought was odd to find in the small bowl of clutter on the hall table.
"No."
He could actually hear Eames frowning. "How can you tell when it's reality?"
Arthur hesitated for a moment, reminded himself that he had essentially told Eames everything already, and it was actually safe to keep telling the truth here. It was hard to change the habits of a lifetime, but Arthur was more sure than he had been in a long time that it would be worth it.
He turned away from the stove to face the other man properly. "You think I don't know every minute of every day? It's not home, and I can't feel Hope beneath my skin."
Eames stood staring for long enough that Arthur began to rethink his whole truth policy-only then he was suddenly being pressed up against the kitchen counter beside the stove and kissed with a surprising lack of lust and a whole lot of … affection.
Arthur couldn't help but smile when they parted to breathe, and since Eames was smiling as well, this was okay.
Eames's voice was a bit gruff but full of fondness and determination. "We'll just have to see if we can't give you a better definition of home."
For the first time since Arthur had woken in a broken world at the age of eight, he believed that it was possible.
~oOo~
Thanks for reading! Please consider leaving a review in the comments for me, and if you enjoyed the art, please go to the art master post here and leave a comment for creepylicious.
Back to Master Post
Back to Inception Big Bang
Back to Part Three
Disclaimer and author's note, etc., back in the Master Post
On the Wings of an Angel
text by phoenix.writing
illustrations by creepylicious
~ CODA ~
Eames opened his eyes. He and Arthur had gone under on opposite ends of the couch with the PASIV between them since they had barely been speaking to one another when they had entered the dream.
Now, though, they were both awake, and when Eames smiled happily, Arthur smiled back seemingly without reservation.
"I think we've made it to the next order of business. What do you say, Darling?"
Arthur slipped the needle out from under his skin and began re-coiling the line to the PASIV.
"Honestly? I'm surprised you waited this long."
Eames tackled Arthur into the cushions. The PASIV slid off and hit the floor with a bang. To his pleasure, Arthur made no immediate move to see if it was broken.
Eames was still too thin, but he'd started to fill out again. It made him feel a little uncomfortable, but Arthur didn't seem to be complaining. In fact, it was a heated mash-up on the couch, movements that were really too hurried to be as coordinated and skilled as they should be, but neither of them seemed to mind.
Arthur looked at him sometimes as though he couldn't quite believe that Eames was here, and Eames didn't really understand how the other man hadn't worked out that Eames was the lucky one.
"Come to bed," Arthur invited in a low voice.
Eames beamed.
There had been a time when he had not been able to imagine Arthur issuing those sorts of invitations. Well, he could imagine it, but he honestly hadn't thought that it would ever be reality. He hadn't met very many other people whom he had thrown himself at quite so assiduously who were interested-Eames had been pretty sure that he had been interested-but who had steadfastly refused to have anything to do with him.
Yet here he was in the man's home-one of them, at least, and one that he'd hidden in from the universe, to boot-and Arthur had just invited Eames to bed.
They scrambled up off the couch, but the movement to the bedroom was hampered by the extremely audible rumble of Eames's stomach.
Arthur looked at him pointedly, and Eames made a face and would have continued to the bedroom, only Arthur stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"When's the last time you ate?"
The tone of voice was reminiscent of their time in hospital, and Eames realized that while there was a chance that he would be able to throw the man off, this really wasn't Arthur just teasing him for being ridiculous.
He sighed.
"I don't exactly remember?"
Arthur breathed out through his nose.
"Idiot. What do you want to eat?"
"You?"
Arthur laughed, grabbing up Eames's hand and changing directions.
"Salutary as that desire is, I'd rather get some food into you first-in the entirely regular sort of way, so don't even go there."
Eames opened his mouth to protest.
"You're still recovering," Arthur pointed out sternly.
Eames sighed and stopped trying to argue. Arthur had come out of a coma at the age of eight; he knew exactly what Eames was going through. Now that his stomach had been noticed, the gurgle was repeating with some viciousness. Better, likely, to eat now than to be continually interrupted-not to mention the fact that lowering as it was to admit, Eames was not as strong as he normally was. If he did something fatally embarrassing like collapse in the middle of sex with Arthur, he wasn't sure that he would survive it.
So into the kitchen they went, and Eames discovered that the pantry was surprisingly well-stocked.
"I had a lot of time here," Arthur answered his unspoken question. "What would you like to eat?"
"Something fast?" Eames tried this time.
Arthur's lips tipped up.
"Preferably something that won't be destroyed if we get a little distracted at the same time."
Arthur laughed. "You're incorrigible."
"You're only just now working that out about me? Darling, that's pretty poor work for a point man."
"Are you aiming to make your own food?"
"You mean you'll only cook for me if I don't insult you?" Eames considered this. "Can I delay the decision until I've had a taste test?"
Arthur laughed again. On top of all the other reasons that Eames was happy that he and Arthur had got this sorted, the fact that Arthur was openly displaying genuine amusement in front of him was enough to make Eames feel as though it had all been worthwhile.
It reminded Eames of their time in limbo, and while plenty of it embarrassed him, it seemed as though more of it had been genuine on Arthur's part than Eames had suspected in those first horrible moments when he thought that Arthur had played him completely.
Arthur finally banished him over to the tiny kitchen table since he was getting in the way as Arthur prepared everything.
Though the longer Eames knew Arthur, the more he realised that the man was capable of absolutely anything, it was still surprising to see a new skill blossom out of seemingly nowhere.
Surely there was a cap on talent?
But despite the fact that it felt like it should be incongruous, Eames saw Arthur deftly chop, mix, stir, sauté, and pan fry until, in less time than Eames had expected-though possibly that was partly because it had been so much fun to watch-there were two steaming plates of salmon steak with mushrooms and onions, potatoes, and a salad with a homemade vinaigrette dressing.
Eames burned his mouth a little on the first mouthful, ignoring Arthur's admonition that it was hot.
"Shit, Darling," he moaned, "do you know how hard it's going to be not to insult you?"
Arthur rolled his eyes. "It'll be a good challenge."
Eames pouted, but this didn't have nearly the effect that he wanted.
"Nice try. Eat your dinner."
It wasn't as though there was any chance of his not eating his dinner when it was this good and he was starving. Arthur looked bemused but didn't offer any objections to his accelerated inhalation of the meal-beyond an observation that if he choked, it was harder to have sex.
Eames slowed down a little.
"Is there anything you can't do?" he queried.
"Any number of things, I imagine," Arthur answered. "But I try to have a certain competency with those that impact my day-to-day life."
Ri-ight.
Arthur's lips tipped up. "Still can't throw a dart to save my life."
This surprised a laugh out of Eames. "Or understand cricket?"
Arthur nodded.
Eames smiled at yet one more example of honesty from their time in limbo-honesty, moreover, about subjects that Eames was quite sure under normal circumstances, Arthur wouldn't be bringing up.
"You can throw a knife."
It wasn't really a question because Eames had seen the skill in question.
"Of course."
"Yet you can't throw a dart?"
"Nope."
The quality of the reply said that he'd considered this before, and it hadn't helped.
"That's absurd, Darling."
Arthur rolled his eyes.
"Perhaps I can teach you."
"You're welcome to try."
Arthur sounded a little dubious, but the comment had nevertheless sounded open enough that Eames was pretty sure the offer was genuine.
It certainly seemed that Arthur was possessed of far more talents and abilities than Eames had realised. He'd be seriously concerned about what Arthur saw in him except that Arthur had actually done quite a decent job of sharing that. It was still surprising, but it was hard to doubt given the monumental efforts and confessions that Arthur had made.
If it was stuff that even Mal hadn't known, that Dom didn't know, then it meant that Arthur wanted a whole lot more than just sex with Eames.
But he seemed quite eager about the sex, too, and it was such a relief to have them both on the same page about that.
Since Eames had made a concerted effort to inhale his food to get to the sex sooner, Arthur wasn't half done by the time Eames had cleared his plate. He nevertheless rose without protest and moved both their plates to the sink, seeming altogether unsurprised when this resulted in his being pressed up against the counter so that Eames could nuzzle his neck and rub all over him.
Arthur twisted around with the moves of an eel so that he was facing Eames and could wrap his arms around him and tug them impossibly closer to kiss.
Eames was all for that.
They stumbled out of the kitchen and down the hallway, taking a lot more time than they would have if they'd detached long enough to simply walk the few necessary steps, but Eames couldn't help but note that the very logical point man wasn't making any such suggestion.
It came as no surprise that the first clothing to be shed was Eames's shirt. Arthur seemed to take it as a personal offence every time he saw Eames in a very loud article of clothing, and Eames wondered if the man realised that now that they had established that the way Arthur would deal with this was to remove the offending item-one way or the other-Eames was never going to stop wearing them.
Eames noticed very little about the bedroom apart from the fact that it had a very welcome king-sized bed-a fact which he noticed only because his knees hit the back of it and he fell, sprawling, with Arthur climbing on top of him, and there was a lot more room to manoeuvre than there had been in that ridiculously tiny hospital bed.
Arthur was straddling Eames now, kissing him hungrily, and Eames gave himself over wholeheartedly. The other man's fingers were ghosting all over Eames's chest and torso, seeming to delight in all the bare skin, and in retaliation, Eames got his hands under the back of the pullover that Arthur had on.
It wasn't quite the same as the suit-which Eames was going to fully enjoy peeling him out of later-but Eames understood the context a lot better than he had in the past.
Arthur barely paused in his ministrations as Eames tugged the shirt off and happily discarded it over the edge of the bed. Naked Arthur was something Eames hadn't gotten to see nearly enough of, and he was quite willing to spend as much time as necessary remedying this situation.
Arthur's mouth drifted off of Eames's, kisses pressed to the corner of his mouth, then his chin, tongue tracing a path down his neck, kisses pressed once more to the juncture of neck and shoulder. Lower still, nipping and kissing and laving with his tongue, and by the time Arthur reached his nipples, Eames was arching into the touch and urging him on.
Arthur, predictably, would not be rushed, and continued at his own pace no matter what Eames swore at him-but that was half the fun.
Eames helpfully arched his hips so that belt removal would be easier. Arthur did so but did not take the hint and offer any further stimulation to any of Eames's protruding bits.
He was equally hands off when he unbuttoned and un-zipped Eames's trousers, tugging them off and dropping them over the side of the bed so that Eames was finally completely naked.
"Darling, you're killing me," Eames whined.
A smile was all the warning he got before he was swallowed whole.
Eames bucked up into the wet heat with a strangled cry, no actual words making it out of his mouth.
At some point, Arthur had definitely learned to suck cock, and Eames was kicking himself for not cornering the man in a dream ages ago and convincing him to do something about all the UST.
It wasn't going to be unresolved for long if Arthur's expect ministrations were anything to go by, not given the amount of time it felt like it had been for Eames since he had had sex. Even just in reality, the number was scarily high, and if he added in all that limbo time-it still felt real to his brain, after all-then the number was truly scary.
Of course, that just meant that they had a lot of time that they needed to make up for, and he had the feeling that Arthur was going to be rather willing to get on board with this plan.
Arthur's fingers came into play, teasing his balls and twisting to stroke at the sensitive skin underneath.
Eames groaned. "Darling, I'm not going to last much longer."
Arthur just hummed and sucked harder, and Eames stopped trying to resist, arching more forcefully as he attempted to increase the stimulation, and Arthur skilfully rode out the motion, having apparently mastered breathing through his nose, sucking, blowing, and using his hands all at the same time.
"Arthur," Eames gasped as he came, but Arthur just swallowed him down, refusing to release him until Eames was shuddering with sensation and feeling blissfully shagged out.
His arms felt a bit like limp noodles, but he managed to tug effectively enough that Arthur knew what he wanted and moved up the bed so that Eames could lean up and kiss him, tasting himself on the other man's lips.
"Why the hell have we never done that before?" he asked when they drew back for air.
Arthur's lips were deliciously swollen, his hair dishevelled, and no one looking at him would be in any doubt as to what he had been doing.
"Because you have a questionable way of expressing yourself."
"Hey," Eames protested, "why is it my fault?"
Arthur's lips tipped up, but his eyes were very serious as he leaned in again to nip at Eames's bottom lip.
"You tried much harder than I did. We didn't do this sooner because I wasn't willing to take the risk."
Eames had sort of meant the question rhetorically, and he really hadn't meant to bring the mood down.
"From where I'm sitting, Darling, you took a hell of a lot of risks to get us here."
Arthur opened his mouth for what Eames was sure was a serious protest once more, so he wrapped his hand around the back of Arthur's neck and tugged him closer for a comprehensive kiss that would, with luck, at least pause the argument even if it didn't shut it down completely.
When Eames drew back, though, it was to find that Arthur's eyes were gratifyingly clouded with lust, and Eames congratulated himself on a job well done.
"You're wearing entirely too much clothing," Eames pointed out, palming Arthur through his trousers and making him hiss. "How 'bout you come put this to good use?"
Arthur was so a warm-blooded male-not that Eames had really been in any doubt of that fact at this point. No matter how matter-of-fact and robotic he acted when he was on a job, he was still out of the rest of his clothes in nought point two seconds when faced with the prospect of more sex.
Condom and lube were retrieved from the bedside cabinet, and when Eames raised an eyebrow in a very exaggerated manner, Arthur rolled his eyes.
"I said I had a lot of time here, and I'd just spent a lifetime with you not having sex. What do you think I was doing?"
Eames grinned, pleased.
"Then by all means, if you're so anxious, carry on."
Arthur eyed him for a long moment, and Eames realised he was actually hovering on the edge of not getting buggered, which had not been his intention at all.
Then Arthur's lips tipped up. "I'd say you'd better watch your tongue, but in this particular circumstance, I'd really prefer that you didn't."
This surprised a laugh out of Eames, who could be magnanimous when he was about to get what he wanted.
"C'mere and fuck me, then."
This had the salutary effect of one lubed finger and then two up Eames's arse, and he squirmed into the movement, trying to get the stretching over with much more quickly than Arthur seemed to think was advisable.
It didn't actually come as a surprise that Arthur was thorough and a gentleman, but Eames had been waiting for this for a very long time.
"Fuck me already, Darling."
Arthur's finger brushed across Eames's prostate again, and Eames sucked in a sharp breath.
"Maybe I'm enjoying this part."
Arthur's eyes were practically glowing, so Eames really couldn't doubt it. He was pretty impressed with the other man's patience and self-control, too, because Eames was on the other side of an orgasm, and he was still finding this unbearably stimulating. Arthur had to be dying.
On the other hand, Eames had always been well aware of the man's control; there were very few occasions where he'd seen Arthur lose it.
Eames was definitely going to have to work on that.
"Do you want me to beg?"
Arthur's eyes flashed, but when he leaned in to give Eames a kiss, it was surprisingly gentle.
He drew back and winked. "Not just now."
Oh, they were going to have so much fun.
Eames's question had had the desired effect, however, because Arthur's fingers were finally removed and replaced with something altogether larger. (The condom had been rolled on one-handed, but the hand had shaken a little, so Eames was sure that Arthur wasn't quite as in control as he was acting.)
Arthur had been the one to put the pillows under Eames's hips so they could face one another. He apparently still wanted to be in control of the encounter, however-or maybe he was just wise to Eames's tricks by now-because he had a very tight grip on Eames's hips to ensure that he buried himself inside of Eames on precisely his agenda.
Though Eames would never admit it, there was something about the torturously slow pace that made it all the more satisfying when Arthur finally bottomed out inside of Eames, as deeply buried inside of him as it was possible to be.
Arthur's eyes were burning.
"Darling," Eames couldn't help but repeat the question, "why haven't we done this before now?"
"I have no idea," Arthur admitted.
Eames could hear the strain in his voice, and he couldn't help but grin at both the answer and that sound of effort.
The burn from the penetration had eased, and Eames bucked up. Arthur sucked in a breath.
"Fuck me, Arthur."
Arthur leaned down to mash their lips together, and Eames kissed him back hungrily. He reached for Arthur's hips and wrapped his legs tightly around the other man, hooking his heels behind him. This gave him the leverage to really grind them together.
Eames beamed as Arthur swore at him, because you knew it had to be considered the beginnings of very good sex when the oh-so-controlled point man started getting mouthy like that.
Arthur pulled back and then thrust forward firmly, burying himself inside of Eames once more, and Eames let out a huff of breath at the sensation. Arthur repeated the movement, changing the angle slightly, again and again until-Eames let out an incoherent noise of half-imprecation, half-praise.
It was Arthur's turn to smile, a lazy, heavy-lidded smile of pleasure that Eames had never seen before and wished to see again at the earliest opportunity.
As in all things, Arthur was both dedicated and talented. Now that he'd found Eames's prostate, he was determined to hammer into it with each stroke, leaving Eames to hang on for the ride, try to get impossibly closer, and drown in the sensation.
Fuck, if Eames had known that it was this brilliant, he would have figured out a way to make Arthur an offer he couldn't possibly refuse ages ago.
Unfortunately, Eames wasn't superhuman, so his body hadn't recovered enough for him to have another orgasm yet. But the almost-too-much sensation was a form of delightful torture that he would willingly undergo to see Arthur braced above him, sweat dotting his skin, a look of utter concentration on his face as he buried himself repeatedly in Eames's body.
Eames was certain that he'd never seen Arthur focussed on something so intently before if it wasn't a job. The fact that he brought all of this intensity to shagging Eames was brilliant and such a turn on.
Eames began to rhythmically clench and unclench the muscles of his arse, urging Arthur closer and closer, watching and feeling with delight as his thrusts became more urgent and less coordinated.
Eames dug his heels into the small of Arthur's back, clutched at his forearms, digging his nails into skin, and met every thrust with a surge of his own, tightening his muscles as much as possible.
Once, twice, three times, and then Arthur broke apart on top of him.
Eames watched with awe, clutching reflexively at Arthur as he buried himself inside of Eames and rode out his orgasm.
He looked, Eames realised a moment later, the same way he had in limbo at the end before Eames had reminded him of himself and reality. He looked completely undone, blissful, and the fact that he had been able to recapture that feeling in this one moment with Eames was … unbelievable.
Eames was willing to devote the rest of his life to ensuring that Arthur experienced moments like these as often as possible.
Arthur had collapsed on top of Eames in a sweaty heap, which Eames relished altogether, but presently, he pushed himself up again on arms that looked a lot more shaky than they had a few minutes ago and tried to move away.
Eames tightened his grip.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"Somewhere that doesn't avoid squashing you," Arthur proposed.
"Maybe I like you squashing me."
Arthur snorted, eloquently expressing what he thought of Eames's reasoning. "To take care of the condom, then, before we might as well not have used it."
The look Arthur shot Eames now was one of challenge, and Eames sighed theatrically and released him; it really wouldn't do any good if everything dribbled where they'd been trying to keep it from to begin with.
Eames both pouted and winced a little as Arthur pulled out. Part of him wanted quite nonsensically to keep them connected like that forever, and the rest of him couldn't help but react to the purely physical.
Arthur had caught the wince, though, and started to frown in concern, so Eames tugged him back down sharply and kissed him very firmly. There was a moment of resistance, and then Arthur melted into him and kissed him back thoroughly. Harder to be upset when you were examining someone else's tonsils, and there was no way that Eames was going to let the man think that he was anything but pleased with how this encounter had gone.
Panting once more, Arthur finally drew back to actually dispose of the condom and wipe them both clean before he climbed back into bed and spooned at Eames's urging.
Eames had imagined, once upon a time, that this part was going to be a lot more of a battle, that he was going to have to fight Arthur every step of the way. He should have considered that once Arthur committed to something, he gave it his all.
It was like it had been at the hospital only ever so much better, all the warmth and comfort with the added knowledge that Arthur wanted him as much as Eames wanted Arthur.
Eames fell asleep to the soft sounds of Arthur's breathing.
~*~
In the morning, Arthur found that the world had not imploded. He and Eames had finally had sex, and not only had it been fantastic, it appeared to have been life-altering only in the good way. Ninjas had not broken down the door; harsh reality had not intruded to tell them that none of this was possible.
There was morning breath and limbs that had gone numb and some awkwardness about communal bathroom space, but it still all felt right, felt like work that would be pleasing to resolve, neither a chore nor unrealistically perfect.
Arthur was falling in love all over again, and while he didn't think that they were quite at the spot to talk about it yet-though maybe this was just his cowardice talking-he was pretty sure that Eames felt the same way.
It was kind of awe-inspiring, actually.
Eames made coffee, and Arthur made pancakes-and then sent Eames to snoop through the apartment, telling him that anything that wasn't locked was fair game since he was going to burn all of the food if they kept getting distracted like Eames seemed determined to do when he was in the kitchen with Arthur.
Eames returned a few minutes later, and Arthur was going to admonish him for having the attention span of a gnat when Eames held aloft what he had found.
"I thought this was a loaded die."
Arthur barely glanced at the small cube of red plastic which he gathered Eames had thought was odd to find in the small bowl of clutter on the hall table.
"No."
He could actually hear Eames frowning. "How can you tell when it's reality?"
Arthur hesitated for a moment, reminded himself that he had essentially told Eames everything already, and it was actually safe to keep telling the truth here. It was hard to change the habits of a lifetime, but Arthur was more sure than he had been in a long time that it would be worth it.
He turned away from the stove to face the other man properly. "You think I don't know every minute of every day? It's not home, and I can't feel Hope beneath my skin."
Eames stood staring for long enough that Arthur began to rethink his whole truth policy-only then he was suddenly being pressed up against the kitchen counter beside the stove and kissed with a surprising lack of lust and a whole lot of … affection.
Arthur couldn't help but smile when they parted to breathe, and since Eames was smiling as well, this was okay.
Eames's voice was a bit gruff but full of fondness and determination. "We'll just have to see if we can't give you a better definition of home."
For the first time since Arthur had woken in a broken world at the age of eight, he believed that it was possible.
~oOo~
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