Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/608243.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Sheriff_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      First_Time, Shower_Sex, Rimming
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-12-25 Words: 3207
****** Alone Time ******
by Robespierre
Summary
     Stiles is alone in the house and decides to spend some quality time
     with himself. He is interrupted. Twice.
Notes
     Happy holidays to my Teen Wolf friends and everybody (far too many
     people to list) who provided a listening ear as I struggled with this
     semester. Love you all.
     Also, I know that this was supposed to be PWP, but their feelings got
     all involved. You know how I am about Derek and Stiles and their "I
     love you"s.
Having the house to himself was the greatest thing ever. 
No, wait.  The freedom to make as much noise as he wanted to while jerking off
was the greatest thing ever.   
Stiles had started on the bed, still clothed, with some of his favorite porn
clips playing on his laptop.  The knowledge that he could take as long as he
wanted had him just squeezing himself through his pants, intent on teasing
himself as he watched other men get what he had just started to want: to be
fucked. 
He’d only opened his zipper and slid his hand into his boxers when it became
too much to take, so ready to come that he felt as though it would only take a
few strokes to get himself off.
Wrong. 
Two minutes in, he needed lube or he was going to have some serious chafing
issues.  Five minutes in, he was gritting his teeth in annoyance.  After nearly
ten minutes of increasingly ineffective stroking, writhing on his bed and
hissing curses at his traitorous cock, he was ready to call it quits. 
Unless…
Why the hell didn’t this occur to him sooner?  With nobody in the house, nobody
to hear the noises he made (because he always made a lot of noise), this was
the perfect opportunity for him to indulge in a little of his recently-
discovered favorite thing in the world. 
So he grabbed his lube and a towel and headed for the bathroom, shedding his
clothing as he went.  It was easier to do this in the shower; that way he
wouldn’t destroy his sheets with the amount of
lube that he was inevitably going to use. 
He started the shower and stroked himself with renewed enthusiasm as he waited
for the water to warm up.  The room quickly filled with steam – that was
another great thing about being alone in the house.  His dad was always
bitching about making sure the exhaust fan was running when the shower was on,
but Stiles preferred his showers steamy. 
When the water was finally the perfect temperature, he stepped in, bottle of
lube in hand, and wasted no time in slicking up the fingers of his left hand. 
Spreading his legs and bracing one forearm against the shower wall, he leaned
forward slightly and stretched his other hand back to slide his fingers down
the cleft of his ass.
Just the thought of what was to come was enough to quicken his breath and draw
a quiet moan from him.  He couldn’t help but think back to the first time that
he had discovered just how much pleasure could be found in parts of body that
he’d never even imagined touching.
Well, technically speaking, he hadn’t really discovered it.  Instead, it had
been showed to him one rainy evening when Derek had snuck in through his
bedroom window and into his bed.  Stiles had bit his lower lip an effort to
keep quiet as Derek’s fingers slithered behind his balls, a light tickling
pressure that had him squirming against his comforter.  He had blushed so much
that his skin felt like it might catch fire when Derek pressed the pad of one
finger against his hole, not really pushing, just resting it there.  Derek had
asked him over and over if he was all right, whispering that he would stop
whenever Stiles wanted him to.  Stiles hadn’t said anything, just let out a
breathy “Derek, please,” unsure of what he was asking for but trusting Derek to
make him feel good.
He’d needed to sink his teeth into the meat of his palm to hold back his gasp
as one of Derek’s fingers breached him, slipping slowly inside.  The slight
burn was uncomfortable, but it was nothing compared to the raw intimacy of
having part of Derek inside him.  As if determined to destroy him completely,
Derek chose that moment to lean down and take Stiles’ cock in his mouth, the
hot, wet slide of his tongue combined with the slight in-and-out of his finger
sending Stiles arching up into Derek’s mouth, white light exploding behind his
eyelids as he came.
Since then, Stiles had practically begged for Derek’s fingers every time they
were together.  And as he came to enjoy it more and more each time, he started
thinking about how it would feel to have Derek pinning him to the mattress,
filling him up with more than just his fingers.    
“Oh, Derek,” he breathed, just a heartbeat away from the penetration that he so
desperately craved.   
“Yes?”
“Holy shit!” he gasped, spinning around to face his boyfriend.  “What the hell
are you doing here?” 
Stiles had been so lost inside his own head that he apparently hadn’t noticed
the bathroom door opening, Derek removing his clothing, or even the shower
curtain moving as Derek stepped in behind him.
“Well, I knew you had the house all to yourself, so I thought I’d – ” 
Stiles didn’t let him finish, just threw himself at Derek, flinging his arms
around his neck and crashing their mouths together.  Derek pushed him away,
laughing.    
“It’s been too long, Stiles.  I missed you.”
“Me too!  So why aren’t we making out right now?  Let’s go!”
Stiles’ attempt to reattach himself to Derek was thwarted when Derek
effortlessly grabbed his shoulders and turned him around to face the
showerhead. 
“Derek,” he whined, “what the hell?  We’re naked together in a shower and
you’re not even going to – oh, fuck,” he breathed as Derek sank to his knees
behind him.  “You’re going to – ”
Derek just growled, “Stiles, shut up,” before leaning in to nip at Stiles’ left
asscheek. 
They had definitely not done this before – god, he hadn’t really even thought
about it before, but he instantly knew that nothing bad could come of Derek
Hale’s unbelievable mouth being anywhere near his ass.  In fact, it was
probably going to be amazing.    
Derek’s hands came up to cup and spread his cheeks, and he could feel the
breath blowing warmly across his exposed skin.  Even though the hot water was
still pouring down around him, he felt himself blushing, the pinkness spreading
from his face down his body.  Sure, Derek had been playing with his hole for a
few weeks now, but he’d never had his face pressed right up against – holy
fuck. 
The first swipe of his tongue was such a ticklish and weird feeling that he
instinctively pulled away from the sensation, attempting to squirm out of
Derek’s reach.  But Derek trapped his hips in an iron grasp and, rubbing his
stubbled chin against Stiles’ skin, whispered, “Shh…just relax.  You’ll love
it.”
He tried to relax.  After all, Derek would never do anything that he didn’t
think Stiles would love, so he forced himself to release the tension in his
muscles and stop straining away from Derek.  Derek gave him a few moments
respite before leaning back in to lick, this time increasing the pressure so
that instead of ticklish, it felt – wow, it felt kind of good. 
Wait, scratch that.  Really good.  Derek’s tongue was rough against his skin,
rougher than he would have imagined.  But as the broad strokes of his tongue
turned into smaller and more forceful pushes against his hole, he practically
mewled, bringing all sort of ridiculous kitten imagery to mind for a second
(rough tongues and little cat sounds and all that) before he realized that
Derek Hale had his tongue on his ass and that thinking about cats was not the
best use of his brain power. 
It was at that moment – the moment he realized that he should be focusing on
what Derek was doing and not remembering what the tongue of that kitten he and
Scott had found in fifth grade felt like – that Derek ceased licking all
together and wriggled his tongue inside of him.
Oh.  He gasped, his body jerking as though thousands of volts of electricity
were coursing through his veins. 
And Derek – Derek fucking stopped.
“Are you all right?”
Stiles turned to stare down at him. 
“Derek, I swear, if you don’t keep going right now, I will end you.”
Derek’s eyes flashed red for just a second, and he spun Stiles back around, his
tongue back inside of him before Stiles even realized he was moving. 
After what was probably just a few minutes but felt more like an eternity,
Derek’s tongue was joined by one of his fingers.  At first, he just prodded the
edge of Stiles’ hole as his tongue stabbed in and out, but soon his finger was
inside, working in tandem with his tongue to make Stiles crazy. 
It was like nothing he had ever felt before.  Derek’s one finger gradually
became two and then three, his tongue chasing away the slight burn of the
penetration.  It was so good, so fucking good – he was so close to coming but
was being tormented by that not-quite-enough pressure and wetness and heat.
“Derek, c’mon,” he practically sobbed.  “Please!”
Derek made a small noise of satisfaction and reached around to grab Stiles’
cock; three quick pulls all it took before Stiles tipped over the edge, his
vision narrowing as his come practically rocketed out of him and splashed
against the shower wall.
“You okay in there, kid?”
Fuck!  It was his dad!  What was he doing home?  Stiles jerked away from
Derek. 
“Dad?  I’m fine!  Everything is fine!”
“Are you sure?  You sound funny.”
“I’m sure!  What are you doing home?  You were supposed to be out all night.”
Stiles didn’t hear his dad’s answer, too busy hissing, “Did you lock the door?”
at Derek. 
Derek nodded, his body shaking with silent laughter. 
Stiles glared at him. 
“You think this is funny?  Do you have any idea how much trouble I’m going to
be in?  How much trouble you’re going to be in?  Holy shit, dude – you’re
dead.”
His dad had obviously finished explaining why he was home early, because now he
was asking, “Want to tell me about your day?”
Definitely not. 
“Um, nothing exciting really happened.  Why don’t you tell me about yours?”
“Well, first I had to help one of the deputies do a transfer to county prison. 
Then we were stuck in traffic for so long that…”
Tuning his father out, Stiles considered his predicament.  He was naked in the
shower with an older man whose tongue and fingers had just been in his ass and
though it was one of the most glorious experiences of his life, he was
currently so embarrassed that he didn’t know what to do.
“…can you believe that?”
“Wow, Dad.  That’s crazy.”
He really, reallyhoped that was the right response. 
“I know!  I couldn’t understand how anybody could think that…”
Stiles had always known that Derek was bad news.  That he was like chocolate
cake, a decadent indulgence but something that was not actually very good for
you.  But he still loved him.  He knew what Scott thought of their
relationship, but he didn’t care because he believed in Derek.  He would never
do anything to hurt Stiles. 
But apparently Derek Hale didn’t play by the rules that the rest of the human
race did, because he didn’t seem to consider death by embarrassment as a
serious crime, judging by the way his slick fingers were working their way up
Stiles’ leg and pressing back inside him. 
He swatted at Derek’s arm, trying to force his boyfriend to knock it off, but
he was stopped dead when Derek’s fingers twisted just so and his cock went from
terrified to ready for business in just a heartbeat. 
“Oh,” he whispered as he allowed Derek to turn him around, vaguely aware of his
dad still talking.  Derek’s fingers were really well-lubed – he was almost
dripping with it.  And he kept spreading his fingers, filling Stiles up in a
way he had never been before.  He pulled all of his fingers out, only to tease
Stiles’ hole with them, rubbing against his entrance in a silken glide of skin
on skin that seemed so much smoother than his fingers ever had –
Holy shit, it wasn’t his fingers. 
Stiles was a romantic at heart, but he had come to realize that from the moment
Peter bit Scott, nothing would ever be normal again.  He fully expected to lose
his virginity in the abandoned train station or the burnt-out wreckage of
Derek’s house, and he was surprisingly okay with that.  But here, with his dad
blabbing away about work on the other side of the door?  This was nobody’s
ideal first time. 
Derek stopped, probably reacting to Stiles’ sudden tenseness.  He stood behind
Stiles, his breath warm in his ear as he whispered, “Are you okay with this?  I
can stop.”
“…and then their new deputy couldn’t figure out how to work the computer
system.  I told him that it was simple, but he just couldn’t understand how…”
If ever there was a time to bow out gracefully, this was it.  Derek would
totally understand him saying no right now. 
And yet – he couldn’t.  He wantedthis.  Wanted to feel Derek inside him, wanted
to strengthen the connection between the two of them, wanted to prove to Derek
that Stiles was his now, that he was a part of Derek’s pack, werewolf or not. 
It came out as a whisper. 
“Please.”
Derek guided him into position, bracing his hands on the front wall of the
shower and spreading his legs, forcing him to lean slightly forward.  He
dropped a brief, open-mouthed kiss on the back of Stiles’ neck before bending
to pick up the lube. 
Stiles knew that the water was still pounding around him (and how was the water
heater even keeping up with this?) and that his dad was still talking, but all
he could focus on were the slick sound of Derek wetting his cock and Derek’s
harsh breathing as he molded his body to Stiles’. 
Then everything narrowed to that single point of contact – that shocking
sensation of his body being breached by something so much bigger than it had
ever before experienced.  Derek talked him through the burn, whispering that he
knew it hurt and he was sorry and it would get so much better if he could just
hold on and that he loved Stiles, that he loved him so much –
It did hurt.  It hurt as Derek slid in a half an inch at a time, stopping every
time Stiles let out a little pained whimper.  The rigid length of Derek’s cock
felt so much bigger than his spread fingers.  For a moment, Stiles worried that
he couldn’t go through with it.  It was only Derek’s hand slipping around to
gently stroke Stiles’ softening dick that allowed him to slip all the way in. 
He froze there, his balls pressed against Stiles’, their quickened breathing
the only sound either of them was paying attention to. 
“Okay,” he whispered.  “I’m okay.  You can move.”
Derek’s first pull out was almost enough to make Stiles decide to quit.  The
weird burning that had somewhat subsided as they waited was back, but before he
could even open his mouth to ask Derek to stop, Derek had thrust back in and
Stiles felt – well, something.  Something shimmering through the discomfort
that he knew would turn into pleasure if he could just last that long. 
Each slow thrust hurt less and less, to the point where Stiles finally pushed
back against Derek, urging him to speed up.  Derek growled behind him and
wrapped his arms around Stiles’ chest so that they were as close together as
they could possibly be, every point of their bodies from their knees to their
shoulders touching. 
Something about the change of position had Derek stimulating him in a
completely new way.  Neither of them was touching his cock, but Stiles felt as
though he could come just from the friction of Derek’s dick inside him. 
Derek’s sinuously rolling thrusts changed to quick snaps of his hips, each one
striking that place inside Stiles that had lightning flickering behind his
closed eyelids. 
And he knew he had to be quiet, knew he couldn’t let his dad know what was
going on, but the feeling of Derek inside him was too much to take.  Half-
formed words forced their way through his tightly-pressed lips:
“Der…fu…shi…oh…” came out as the pleasure rose and rose throughout his body,
feeling like Derek was the only thing anchoring him to the earth.  He was so
hot – his blood was boiling in his veins and every fiber of his being strained
for the release that he knew Derek was going to give him –
“Oh!  I – ”
Shit, that was way too loud.  He stiffened, afraid of being caught, but Derek
didn’t stop for a moment. 
“Are you sure you’re okay in there?”
He had just enough brain power left to squeak out, “Yeah, just pulled a muscle
at practice today.”
God, he’d never felt like this before.  How had he lived this long – how had he
been dating Derek this long – without ever experiencing this?  It was too
good.  He was sure that his heart was going to give out any minute.  And he was
okay with that.  Being sexed to death by Derek Hale wasn’t a bad way to go.
Derek was whispering, his voiced wrecked, as he increased the speed and force
of his hips.     
“Stiles.  So good.  Fuckin’ love you.  Gonna come.  Want you to come with me. 
Please.”          
Oh, here it was.  He was right there – so close to the edge that it was only
going to be seconds before he came, screaming Derek’s name so that everyone
would know who Stiles belonged to –
“All right.  There’s Icy-Hot under the sink.  Hey, I’m going to make dinner. 
You hungry?”
Oh, fuck fuck fuck “Fuck yes!” he practically screamed as fireworks sparkled
and crackled behind his eyelids and his cock spurted, untouched.  The pleasure
washing over him was so much to take that he was pretty sure he would have
blacked out had Derek not been there to catch him and hiss, “Your dad!”
“Oh, sorry!”
Who did he think he was fooling?  His dad would know for sure that something
was up. 
“Yeah, I’m really hungry.  You go make something and I’ll be right down.” 
“Um…okay.  Sure thing, kiddo.”
The water was finally cooling when Derek pulled Stiles down onto his lap. 
Stiles could barely keep his head up, his energy drained almost completely, so
Derek took a few minutes to clean them both up, all the while pressing gentle
kisses to Stiles’ forehead. 
“Fuck, Stiles, that was perfect.”
And it really was.  Though he had never imagined losing his virginity with his
father an unknowing witness just five feet away, it had been pretty perfect. 
Maybe it was Derek – maybe it was just the way the two of them fit together,
but it had been amazing.    
He had just two things on his mind.  One:  Derek was his, just as he belonged
to Derek.  Werewolf or not, they belonged together.   
And two:  he had no idea how he was ever going to be able to look his father in
the eye again. 
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
en Eames curls his fingers again, all three of them, and brushes against
that spot, and it’s like an electric shock, or being punched, that kind of
jolt. Arthur’s whole body tenses up and he’s coming so hard that he cries out,
wordless and loud and he couldn’t care less.
Through the roar of white noise in his ears he can just about make out Eames
calling his name, calling him darling. Eames pulls Arthur into his lap, and
Arthur is so boneless and weak that he just goes where Eames wants him,
completely unable to resist even if he wanted to. But he does want; the comfort
of having Eames so close, of having his strong arms around him offsets how
shaken he feels, grounds him and makes him feel safe.
Burying his face in Eames’s neck, he listens without comprehending to Eames’s
murmurs, and hums softly as strong hands stroke his back. Piece by piece,
Arthur comes back to himself and he lifts his head to smile sheepishly at
Eames.
“Hi,” he whispers. It’s kind of dumb but he really did feel like he was
somewhere else for a minute; in orbit or deep underground, somewhere strange
and unknown, scary and exciting.
“Hello,” Eames says. He studies Arthur’s face carefully, and though Arthur has
no idea what he is looking for, it’s a good opportunity to enjoy how pretty
Eames’s eyes are, and how long his lashes. “How are you feeling? You okay?”
“Yeah,” Arthur says, snuggling closer to Eames.
“You seem a little out of it.” Eames strokes his fingers through Arthur’s hair
and Arthur sighs at the touch, leaning his head forward to rest against Eames’s
shoulder.
“It was... Awesome,” Arthur says again, and he knows he’s still spacey when he
doesn’t even care that he can’t come up with a better description.
Eames just chuckles, and Arthur feels it as well as hears it, a deep, rumbling
vibration in Eames’s chest like a cat’s purr.
“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it. I’ll keep in mind next time that you’re rather
sensitive.”
“’m not sensitive,” Arthur says, glaring up at Eames, who just smiles at him
and kisses the tip of his nose.
“Most men are sensitive when someone has their fingers in his arse,” Eames says
and gives Arthur a wink. “Especially when said someone keeps teasing your
prostate.”
Arthur blinks. He’s done research on sex – not just watching porn, though there
was a lot of that – and he read that prostate massage was intense, but he had
no idea that anything could feel like that.
“So that’s what it was,” Arthur says, and Eames nods.
“That’s what it was.”
“Wow,” Arthur says, and grins at Eames who touches his dimples softly.
“Oh, Arthur, you’re bloody marvellous, do you know that?”
Arthur blinks, then narrows his eyes, searching for any trace that Eames is
teasing him. From what Arthur can tell he’s not, not at all. Eames has this
smile, soft and crooked, warm and delighted. No-one’s ever looked at Arthur
like that before; like he’s special, like he’s something to cherish. It makes
something tingle in Arthur's chest, and he presses their lips together so that
Eames can’t see his face.
Though it started as a distraction, Arthur loses himself in the kiss. Eames’s
lips are so soft, and his mouth so wet and hot. Sitting in his lap is
surprisingly comfortable, and they kiss, and kiss, and Arthur thinks he could
do this forever.
Only when his thigh brushes against Eames’s dick does Arthur realise that Eames
is still hard. That makes him remember that he wanted Eames to fuck him
tonight, and he realises that it still sounds like a great idea.
Kicking his jeans and underwear off, Arthur straddles Eames. It takes a bit of
maneuvering, but the chair is big enough – and Arthur skinny enough – that he
can get his knees either side of Eames’s thighs. Eames raises an eyebrow at
him, and Arthur leans in for another kiss. He ups the tempo, licking eagerly
into Eames’s mouth. Eames gives a startled but pleased noise before wrapping
his arms around Arthur, scratching his nails lightly down Arthur’s back and
resting his hands on his waist.
Even though his dick’s only just starting to twitch in interest, Arthur wants
more, wants to give Eames more. Luckily he knows just how to bend Eames to his
will. It starts with letting every little noise escape, tiny whimpers to drawn-
out moans.
“God, Eames, yeah,” Arthur gasps, and is rewarded with Eames’s hands sliding
down to his ass and squeezing gently.
Eames gives an almost-growl, deep and rumbling, as his nails dig into the soft
skin of Arthur’s ass.
“You’re bloody insatiable,” Eames murmurs and Arthur nods.
“Yes,” Arthur says and leans in to bite Eames’s lips. Arthur’s a bit obsessed
with Eames’s lips and no wonder, really – how could he not be? So full and
perfect, this wonderful shade of pink that Arthur’s spent hours daydreaming
about… Then again, he’s obsessed with many different parts of Eames’s body
because they’re all fucking perfect.
“You’re not even hard yet,” Eames says, wrapping a hand gently around Arthur’s
dick. It’s too much so soon after coming – especially coming that hard – and he
whines, hands scrabbling at Eames’s shirt. It hurts but the pain is good,
somehow, and Arthur breathes hard as Eames continues his gentle strokes.
“I’ll get hard when you start fucking me,” Arthur says, but under Eames’
ministrations he’s already getting harder.
“Will you now,” Eames murmurs, and pulls off Arthur’s t-shirt. When Eames’s
hands go to his nipples, squeezing gently, Arthur is half-grateful that Eames
is leaving his sensitive dick alone, but at the same time he was enjoying that
exquisite pain. He soon starts enjoying having his nipples played with too,
especially when Eames lowers his head to suck and bite, and he forgets
everything but how good it feels. When one of Eames’s hands slide down Arthur’s
back to his ass, his fingers gently circling Arthur’s hole, the memory of
exactly what Arthur wants from tonight consumes his thoughts.
“Fuck me,” he whispers. “C’mon, Eames. Please, fuck me.” He tries to summon
some snark but all he manage is, “Please, please, c’mon, I need it.”
“You need it? What do you need?”
“Eames--”
“Come on, Arthur, tell me what you want.” Eames’s voice is so fucking deep and
rough, just hearing it makes Arthur shiver. Combined with those eyes fixed on
him, so intense and serious and beautiful, Arthur wants to do anything Eames
asks him, wants Eames to do everything to him.
“I want you to come inside me. I want you to make me come again, while you’re
fucking me.”
Eames sits back so that he can look at Arthur’s face and he grins at whatever
he sees there. As far as Arthur can tell, that’s red cheeks and watering eyes,
but whatever; if Eames is into that then fine.
With one hand behind Arthur’s neck to help him balance – and maybe also to
remind Arthur of how big and strong Eames’s hands are, like he needed a
reminder -- Eames pushes him backward so that Arthur can watch him unbutton his
fly and pull his dick out. It’s totally unconscious, the way that Arthur licks
his lips at the sight of Eames’s hard-on, but just seeing it is enough to get
Arthur hard most of the time. Eames wraps his hand around it and starts to jerk
off slowly, pulling his foreskin back with each stroke.
“You want this inside you?”
“Oh god yes,” Arthur whispers, staring down, mesmerised. Eames is still fully
clothed and Arthur’s naked, and there’s something so hot about that. With just
Eames’s dick peeking out from his jeans like that, it’s kind of… lewd, and it
just makes Arthur want it even more. “So much, come on, Eames, please.”
“Since you begged so nicely,” Eames says, and pulls Arthur in for a kiss. He
pulls away for a moment to pull on a condom and lube himself up. “You think you
can take me without being fingered again?” Eames asks, the slick head of his
dick pressing against Arthur’s ass.
“I can take anything you give me,” Arthur says, and Eames cocks an eyebrow.
“I’ll remember that,” he says, and presses into Arthur.
It hurts.
It’s more of a stretch than Arthur’s ever felt, since Eames usually fingers him
open slowly – but tonight Arthur is finding himself getting off on pain. He
makes a choked sound and clutches Eames’s shoulders.
“Jesus Christ, you’re tight,” Eames grunts.
A stab of uncertainty breaks through the storm of pain and pleasure, and Arthur
blurts out, “But it’s good, right?”
“Fucking hell, of course it is,” Eames says, and kisses Arthur again, wild and
wet, a complete contrast to how slowly and carefully he’s easing into Arthur’s
ass.
Arthur moans with every slow inch that Eames presses into him; all he can focus
on is how much the stretch hurts, how good the stretch feels, with nothing to
spare for what else is going on.
Later, he’ll realise that’s why he didn’t notice the sound of the front door
opening, or the footsteps downstairs, but the creak of the first stair does
break through his bliss-induced haze.
“Shit!”
Arthur pulls away from Eames’s kiss, and Eames blinks at him, as thoroughly
distracted as Arthur was.
“What-?”
“My mom!”
“Fuck!” Eames pulls out of Arthur as quickly but as gently as he can – which is
to say, not very – and Arthur can’t avoid the moan at how empty he suddenly
feels. He turns it into a cough and pushes Eames toward his closet.
Images of his mom finding them like this gives Arthur an extra burst of speed,
and as he pushes Eames into the closet, he grabs a baggy hoodie that covers his
hips – and his half hard-on – and picks up his jeans from the floor, hopping
into them as he makes his way back over to his desk.
Just as his mom knocks on his door he swipes the bottle of lube to the floor
and kicks it under the desk, wincing when his foot lands in the cold, sticky
pool of his own come from earlier.
Jesus fucking Christ, Arthur thinks, horrified, but calls out, “Yeah?” He’s
surprised by how cool and not almost-been-caught-with-my-boyfriend’s-dick-in-
my-ass he sounds.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Mom says, popping her head around the door. “I got out
earlier than expected; Janice wanted some overtime so she came in instead.”
“Oh, okay,” Arthur says, like all of his insides aren’t a massive fireball of
panic and horror.
“Dr Coleman gave me that book you were talking to him about,” she says,
stepping into the room with the anatomy manual in her hands, and it takes every
ounce of Arthur’s willpower not to look guiltily at the closet. As she walks
over, out of the corner of his eye he notices the condom wrapper on his desk,
bright blue and utterly unmistakable. His arm moves without input from his
brain and knocks over his pile of textbooks, hiding the wrapper.
“Careful!” His mom frowns, looking confused, as well she might.
“Yeah, sorry,” Arthur says, piling the books up again on top of the condom
wrapper. He turns to take the book she’s offering him, when she says something
that makes him feel cold.
“Arthur, what is this?”
His eyes go wide, wondering what she’s seen, and when she tugs at the neck of
his hoodie he has to think for a few seconds before he realises what she’s
talking about. When it clicks into place that she’s talking about the hickeys
Eames left earlier, he almost laughs in his relief.
“Um.”
“Arthur, you can’t just--” She stops herself, takes a deep breath and gently
pushes his jaw up so that she can see all the marks that Eames made. She sighs
and steps back, folding her arms.
“It’s just a hickey,” he says, shrugging. “It’s really not that big a deal.”
She fixes another stare on him, as though trying to understand her teenage son
– something that she’s said many times is impossible – then gives a wry smile.
“I guess I came home with a few hickeys of my own when I was your age.”
“TMI, Mom,” Arthur says, and when she laughs it breaks the tension.
“So-- Are you seeing someone?”
“Kind of.” Admitting that is going to make sneaking around more difficult, but
he can’t outright lie to her.
His mom cocks her head and raises an eyebrow. “Am I going to get to meet him?”
“Maybe. I-- We’re not quite there yet.” It’s not a matter of him not being
serious about Eames – he’s more serious about Eames than he has been about
anyone – but he’s not sure if he’ll ever be ready for his mom to meet Eames.
After a moment she nods and hands over the book. “Just tell him to ease off,
okay? No marks. And nothing you’re not comfortable with.”
“I know, Mom – he does anything I don’t like and doesn’t stop when I tell him
to, I knee him where it hurts.”
“Good to know that you’ve been listening to some of my advice,” she says,
laughing and patting his arm. “You finished your homework?”
“Sure,” Arthur says, because why not add another half-truth to the list?
“Then come help me move my files,” she says, waving him towards her study.
Arthur gives the closet a guilty look but follows his mom, unable to do
anything else.
As they rearrange the box files in the study, Arthur’s mind works overtime
trying to figure out how to get Eames out of here, and comes up blank.
“Thanks, Arthur,” Mom says, putting her hands on her hips and giving a
satisfied smile as she looks at her newly organised files. “I think I’m going
to finish up some paperwork and then have an early night.”
Arthur nods and then turns to go, hoping that early night means nine at the
latest, because he has a man in his closet for god’s sake.
The thought occurs to him that Eames is probably getting pretty pissed off, and
fuck, what if he’s thinking that Arthur’s not worth this hassle? Arthur
wouldn’t blame him – he wouldn’t have to deal with this shit if he wasn’t
dating a high schooler. And Eames is so gorgeous, he could have anyone he
wanted. Arthur knows he’s not bad looking – in fact he even sometimes thinks
he’s kinda hot, and Eames tells him that he is all the time – but this has to
knock some points off.
Shutting his door behind him, Arthur goes straight to the closet and has to
steel himself for opening the doors, sure that Eames is going to be angry.
Arthur blinks.
Eames is settled on the floor of Arthur’s closet, on a nest he’s made for
himself with the winter blanket, and is dicking around on his phone. His eyes
widen and his shoulder are tense when the door first opens, but he quickly
relaxes and grins when he sees that it’s Arthur.
“Hello, love. Do me a favour and throw this away, will you?” He hands Arthur a
tissue, and Arthur stares at him.
“What is it?”
“The condom. I’m afraid your mum showing up didn’t do much for my hard on.”
Arthur’s mouth works, but he can’t think of a single thing to say to that. He
drops the tissue in the trash and then returns to the closet, dropping to his
knees by Eames’s side.
“You’re awfully calm for someone who nearly got caught fucking someone ten
years younger than him.”
“You’re nine years younger than me,” Eames murmurs, leaning over to kiss
Arthur. “Don’t make me sound like even more of a pervert than I am.”
“Not sure that’s possible,” Arthur says, then wraps his arms around Eames in a
tight hug, smothered by relief that Eames isn’t going to dump him or yell at
him. “I thought you were going to be mad at me.”
“I was kind of pissed off – and more than a bit worried that your mum was going
to find me. I have no idea what I would have done if she did.” He pauses,
tapping his fingers on the floor and frowning. But then the cloud of worry
breaks and he grins. “But you’ve been gone half an hour. It’s awfully boring,
being angry while locked in a closet.”
The grin chips away a little of Arthur’s fear, but he knows Eames too well to
think that his expression can be taken at face value. Even when he’s at his
most pissed off – like when that asshole bad-mouthed his exhibit in the local
paper last week – Eames puts up a deceptively calm front. “Sorry--”
Eames shakes his head and squeezes Arthur’s waist. “I wasn’t pissed off at you,
love – I know it’s not your fault.”
“Still-- This wouldn’t happen if you weren’t-- If I wasn’t just a kid.” Arthur
doesn’t want to say any of that – if Eames had somehow missed that point Arthur
sure as hell doesn’t want to clue him in – but the words come out anyway.
“You’re a lot more than ‘just a kid’, and half the time you’re more mature than
I am.”
“More than half the time,” Arthur says automatically, and the comforting hands
on his waist pinch him in retaliation. Arthur only just manages to swallow down
his yelp.
“Besides,” Eames says, hands sneaking under Arthur’s t-shirt to roam his skin,
“you’re ridiculously hot and you let me fuck you. That’s good enough for me.”
“Good enough, huh?” Arthur’s about to say something like I seem to remember you
saying it was more than just ‘good’ when you were fucking my mouth last weekend
when he hears his name being called.
Despite his posturing, Eames pales at the reminder of his predicament – as if
sitting on the floor of a closet wasn’t enough of a reminder – and Arthur jumps
to his feet, hurrying to his mom’s office to see what she wants. She’s just
asking him to proofread her blog post, and the relief makes his head swim so
much that he has to read the first line four times before he actually takes it
in. Once he’s done, Arthur offers to make cocoa because goddamn it, anything to
get her to go to bed earlier so that Eames can get out of here.
“That’s sweet of you,” she says and grins. “Do I need to go and check my good
china? Have you broken one of my Tiki mugs?”
“Ha ha,” Arthur says, injecting just enough snark to make it sound like sarcasm
instead of relief. “Can’t a guy just make cocoa for his mom without there being
an ulterior motive? Jeez.”
She chuckles and pats his arm. “You know I’m teasing. I’m going to head off to
bed after I’ve finished this, so that would be great. You’ve got good timing.”
“Sure,” Arthur says, thinking she has terrible timing – tonight would have been
much improved if she’d gone out for a drink after work, or caught her late yoga
class like she normally does on Wednesdays.
He runs downstairs, jumping the last few steps. Instead of half-assing it like
he normally does, he heats the milk up in a pan, hoping it’ll win him some
brownie points – like having enough of those will make any difference if his
mom finds Eames.
Jesus. He’s fucking lucky that Eames is so understanding. While Eames is right
and the situation isn’t Arthur’s fault, that doesn’t change the fact that this
wouldn’t have happened if Arthur were older. Guilt and self-pity settle on
Arthur’s shoulders for a moment, but he shrugs them off with a scowl. If Eames
doesn’t blame him, then why should he blame himself?
Ignoring the lingering doubts, he pours the cocoa into three mugs, putting two
on his desk before taking one to his mom.
“This smells lovely,” Mom says, breathing in and smiling. Arthur feels a twinge
of guilt that he’s only doing something nice for her for selfish reasons, and
promises himself that he’ll be a better son from now on. It’s not like it’s
hard to make cocoa properly. Just as soon as Eames gets out of here without
anyone noticing, he’ll be a better son – and he’ll make more of an effort to
not get caught.
He mumbles something about reading and retreats to his room. This time when he
opens the door to his closet, Eames doesn’t even look worried.
“I could’ve been my mom,” Arthur says, handing Eames a mug of cocoa and
settling onto the blanket next to him.
“I recognised your footsteps.”
“My footsteps…? What are you, James Bond?”
Eames chuckles and then leans over to kiss Arthur, taking him by surprise. But
hell; if hiding in a closet isn’t affecting Eames’s spirits, why should it
affect Arthur’s? Putting his mug down he twists, putting one leg over Eames’s
thigh to get a better angle. Their teeth knock together as Arthur returns to
the kiss, then he gets into the rhythm of it, sliding their lips together.
Eames’s tongue presses into his mouth, and when Eames’s hands squeeze his ass
he can’t stop a whimper escaping.
Both of them freeze, listening carefully for any indication that Arthur’s mom
heard them; but after long seconds pass without event Arthur relaxes, letting
his head fall forward onto Eames’s shoulder.
“Fucking hell.”
“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Eames says, and gently pushes Arthur off
him so that they’re sitting side by side. “I need to find a way to become
immune to your charms.”
“Good luck,” Arthur says, giving a grin full of cockiness that he doesn’t
really feel.
“I’ve certainly not found anything so far,” Eames agrees, and Arthur could say
the same thing.
They sit in silence, drinking their cocoa, until Eames says, “Did you really
think I’d break up with you because of this?”
“I dunno,” Arthur says. The seriousness in Eames’s eyes makes him uncomfortable
so he stares at his cocoa instead. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”
There’s a long stretch of silence, and eventually Arthur looks up to see
Eames’s expression, to try and figure out what he’s thinking. He looks kind of
like he does when he wants to ravish Arthur, but it’s softer; there’s a sweet
little smile there too. Eames lifts a hand and strokes his fingers down
Arthur’s cheek, and even though they’re warm from holding the mug, the touch
makes Arthur shiver.
“I couldn’t do that,” Eames says quietly. “I like you far too much.”
For all that Arthur feels frustratingly young and inexperienced sometimes, he
can tell that this means something, something serious.
It makes him feel a little breathless, excited and scared and happy; little
pieces of so many emotions that he feels like he’s in a snowglobe that’s been
shaken, and these emotions are swirling around him. “I like you too,” Arthur
whispers, meaning it so much more than when he said it to his last boyfriend.
Reaching for Eames’s hand, he slots their fingers together.
They stare at each other, but the moment’s broken when Eames bites his lip and
chuckles. “But from now on we do this at my place, okay?”
A snort of laughter escapes before Arthur can rein it in. “I don’t know about
only your place. What about your car? Or when I sucked you off in the park -
- that was pretty hot.”
Eames’s mouth works wordlessly for a moment, and then he shakes his head with a
light breath of laughter. “Let’s just say that we’ll be more careful.”
“Deal.”
They stay sitting in the closet for half an hour, before Arthur’s mom finally
knocks on his door to say goodnight, and then they stay in there for another
half an hour just to be sure.
“I once thought it might be funny to have to hide in a closet from some bloke’s
wife,” Eames says. “You know – as a metaphor and all that.”
“Hilarious.”
“Yeah. When you’re actually doing it…. Not so fun.”
Arthur turns to look at Eames, feeling an undercurrent of panic and needing
reassurance. “Worth it, though?”
“Every second. Preferred the bit before she came home though.”
Biting down on his laughter, Arthur creeps out to the hallway to check that his
mom’s light is off. Fortunately her room is at the other end of the house and
across the hall so there shouldn’t be any problem with Eames getting out.
“Okay,” Arthur says, going back to the closet. “I think she’s asleep. Just be
careful of the bottom step, it creaks, and--”
Before Arthur can quite compute what’s happening, Eames is kissing him, pushing
him up against the wall and boxing him in. Arthur’s mind flails for a couple of
seconds as he tries to catch up – a minute ago he was planning Eames’s escape
and now Eames is kissing him, biting at his lips and grinding their hips
together like he doesn’t have any intention of going anywhere. One coherent
thought manages to form in Arthur’s mind: after almost being caught Eames still
wants to fuck him?
One last thought follows before Arthur’s lost to his raging hormones: that’s
more than okay with him.
Wrapping his arms around Eames’s waist and feeling how solid he is always
manages to get Arthur’s dick interested. Even after the intense orgasm earlier
and the boner-killer that was his mom’s unexpected presence, it still works.
After a few minutes of kissing and grinding Arthur is hard and whimpering,
grasping at Eames’s shoulders and feeling how strong they are, digging his
nails into the thin material of his t-shirt.
“So bloody gorgeous,” Eames murmurs as he alternates between kisses and
nibbling on Arthur’s jawline.
“I know,” Arthur whispers, giving a breathy laugh and grinning at him. “So’re
you. We’re pretty well suited, huh?”
Eames’s smile softens, every bit as sexy but with a hint of sweetness that
makes Arthur’s heart flutter pathetically. “I think we are, yeah.” He leans in
again and kisses Arthur, sliding his tongue between Arthur’s lips and making
him rein in a moan. He pushes at Eames, herding him toward the bed while trying
to keep kissing him, not entirely successfully. But when Eames pushes him down
to the mattress he makes up for it, ravishing his mouth until Arthur is
breathing heavily, biting at Eames’s lips to give himself a chance to catch his
breath.
“And you’re--” Eames stops abruptly and drops to a faint whisper. “Is your mum
going to hear us?”
“We can talk as long as we’re quiet,” Arthur says, experience gained from late-
night calls with Ariadne about how awful/awesome boys are.
“Wonderful,” Eames says, and leans back in for a kiss. “It’s testament to how
gorgeous you are that you look so good even though you’re wearing this awful
hoodie,” Eames says as he pulls back enough to whip it off. “Much better,” he
adds as he presses his thumb to one of Arthur’s nipples, moving in little
circles that make Arthur gasp. He throws his head back, pushing his chest into
Eames’s hands, making him chuckle and bend his head down to lap at each nipple
in turn. Arthur covers his mouth with a hand to muffle the whines that keep
trying to escape from him.
After the amazing orgasm earlier and the stress of nearly being found out, he’s
a strange mix of tired and horny, and he melts into Eames’s touch without even
the pretence of snark or squabbling.
“Eames,” he whispers, and when Eames looks up Arthur’s hit by how gorgeous he
is, like a physical slap; and a fresh wave of amazement that Eames wants him.
Seeing that Arthur isn’t asking him to stop, Eames kisses his way down Arthur’s
body and unbuttons his jeans.
“As nice as they make your arse look, these jeans are a bloody pain to get
off,” he mutters as Arthur lifts his hips to wriggle out of them.
“Oh? Would you prefer it if I wore sweatpants with no underwear like you do?
Easy access but looking like a slob?”
“From the way that you got down on your knees the instant you saw me in those
sweatpants, they can’t’ve looked that bad.”
Arthur bites his lip and looks thoughtful. “The way that they showed off your
hard-on was pretty hot.”
“Exactly,” Eames says, and ducks his head to lap at Arthur’s dick. The
unexpected contact makes Arthur start to cry out, but one of Eames’s hands
covers Arthur’s mouth before he gives them away. He doesn’t even bother pulling
back to tease Arthur about it, just gets on with business. Something about
having Eames’s big, strong hand over his mouth is ridiculously hot, almost as
hot as having those lips wrapped around his dick. There’s something –
controlling – about it, but in a good way; a way Arthur likes a lot.
“You’re noisy tonight,” Eames says when he pulls both his mouth and his hand
away, leaving Arthur making embarrassing little mewling sounds. “And much as I
love that, tonight really isn’t a good time for it.” Eames taps a finger
against the mattress. “Do you think you can be quieter? Because we can’t risk
your mum coming in, wondering what’s wrong with you.”
“I can be quiet,” Arthur sits up, grabbing Eames’s t-shirt. “Don’t even think
about leaving me like this! You’ve fucked me and now you’ve sucked me, and
you’re going to leave without making me come? No fucking way!”
“But I have made you come,” Eames says, looking amused. “And darling, I can
assure you that I’m not happy about the idea of giving myself blue balls
either, but it’s better than being caught.”
“I can be quiet,” Arthur says again, hands tightening in Eames’s t-shirt. “I
can. You could do me from behind and any noises I make’ll be muffled by the
pillow.”
Eames chuckles, but any offence Arthur might have taken is softened by the fire
in his eyes. “You’re a horny little bugger, aren’t you?”
“You know I am,” Arthur says, grabbing Eames’s hand and guiding it to his dick,
humming when Eames strokes him gently; for all his words about stopping, it’s
proof that he wants this every bit as much as Arthur does. “Come on; finish
what you started.”
For a moment Eames doesn’t answer, but the fact that he continues to jerk
Arthur off can only be a good sign. “Alright,” Eames says eventually and Arthur
only just suppresses the desire to fist pump. “You’ve not done it this way
before, have you?”
“No,” Arthur says, feeling a flash of frustration at his own lack of
experience, “Since you’re the only one I’ve been with you know I haven’t.”
“Alright, love,” Eames says softly, and leans in to kiss Arthur gently. “It
might be a bit different, is all; I’ll be deeper inside you than you’ve felt
before, so if it hurts you have to tell me.”
Arthur nods, but the idea of Eames as deep inside him as possible sounds
fucking awesome. “I will.”
Eames gets up off the bed to strip and grab the lube. Once he’s topless Arthur
gawks at him, eyes skimming over his tattoos and muscles. He itches to touch -
- and then thinks what the hell, why not? Eames is his boyfriend and he can
touch all he wants. He stands and runs his fingers over Eames’s arms, feels how
hard and strong they are, and the thought that Eames is all his makes him so
hard. He feels a trickle of precome slide down his dick and he needs Eames
inside him, deeper than he’s ever felt before, claiming him.
He watches as Eames kicks off his jeans and rolls on a new condom, then drops
to his knees and starts to lick at him. The taste of the latex makes him wince
slightly but mostly he’s just hungry for Eames’s dick. Yes, he wants to be very
thoroughly fucked but he wants Eames in his mouth, too: he wants everything.
“Christ,” Eames gasps, and pulls at Arthur’s hair. “You need to stop that or
any notion of fucking you is going out the window.”
“Yeah?” Arthur looks up at him with his best cocky grin. “I’m that good?”
“There’s nothing good about you, you’re pure evil,” Eames whispers and pulls
Arthur to his feet. “Sent to tempt and torment me.”
“Funny, ‘cause I’m fairly sure it was me that was innocent and virginal at the
start of this.”
“You might have been a virgin but there was nothing innocent about you.”
That sounds like a challenge; one that gives Arthur an idea. He takes the lube
from Eames and goes to the bed, getting on all fours and smearing some lube
onto his fingers. Reaching back, he presses one into his ass. It’s easier than
usual – he guesses he’s still stretched out from earlier – but it’s kind of
awkward and it never feels as good when he does this to himself. It’s worth it
though for the expression on Eames’s face as he watches, rapt. It gives Arthur
the confidence to slip in another finger, feeling a stretch and letting his
eyes fall shut.
“Bloody hell,” Eames whispers, and Arthur feels the bed dip. Looking over his
shoulder he sees Eames kneeling behind him, picking up the lube. He drips a
little onto his own finger and slides it in alongside Arthur’s. He can
definitely feel the stretch now and it’s so good.
Eames matches his speed to Arthur’s, and their fingers slide in and out of
Arthur’s body, making him whimper and bury his face in the cushion before he
can make any more embarrassing noises.
“Every time I think you can’t get any more wonderful, you manage it,” Eames
whispers, leaning over Arthur and kissing his shoulder blades.
Arthur would love to come up with something smart or snarky but right now he
can’t think of a single thing other than how good he feels.
Turning his head to the side, he whispers, “Please fuck me.”
“Delighted to,” Eames says, his voice strained and hoarse. Another kiss is
planted on Arthur’s back and then Eames pulls away, his finger sliding out of
Arthur. Despite his moan, Arthur doesn’t feel too empty, not with his own
fingers still in his ass; but they don’t fill him nearly as much as Eames’s
dick is going to.
The bed shifts as Eames gets in position and Arthur turns his head to the
pillow, wanting to feel instead of see, wanting what comes next to be
experienced, completely out of his control and entirely in Eames’s.
Gently, Eames’s fingers wrap around Arthur’s wrist and pull his hand away.
Arthur gasps at the sudden emptiness, but almost immediately his fingers are
replaced by the tip of Eames’s cock nudging at his ass.
“You want this?”
“God, yes, so much, please,” Arthur gasps, and then Eames starts to push in and
Arthur is glad that the pillow is there to muffle his whine. In one smooth
motion, Eames pushes all the way in, something he’s never done before, and
fuck. Not quite pain but it’s different, it’s a whole new kind of stretch, one
that makes Arthur shiver and mewl.
“Feels so good, Christ, Arthur, you’re perfect,” Eames says as he slowly starts
thrusting. Arthur’s hands curl into fists in the bedsheets, and he lets the
pillow smother all of the whimpers and cries that spill out of him.
Arthur can tell that Eames is trying to stay in control, take this slow and let
Arthur get used to the new sensations. Whispered curses and stuttering thrusts
suggest that he’s not having an easy time of it, and Arthur gives of a soft
breath of laughter, half amazed at the idea that he can make Eames lose
control. Eames, with his beautiful eyes and ridiculously sexy lips, that body,
that wonderful, inventive mind... God. It makes Arthur’s heart twist in his
chest, and then Eames thrusts so deep, so fucking deep that Arthur cries out,
biting down on his lip to stop himself.
The pleasure-pain overloads Arthur’s mind and all he can do is take what Eames
is giving to him. All semblance of control seems to have abandoned Eames as
well, and he thrusts so hard that Arthur’s forced down onto the bed, so that
his chest and stomach are pressed against the mattress, his thighs splayed wide
enough to hurt. Not that Arthur gives a damn about that, not when Eames’s
movements are making his dick rub against the sheets, the friction threatening
to overload his already fried brain.
One of Eames’s hands goes to Arthur’s shoulders and somehow he fucks into
Arthur even deeper, leaving Arthur a shaking, whimpering wreck. Tears leak from
his eyes as Eames keeps up the pace, fucking deep, deeper into Arthur with
every thrust. He didn’t even know it was possible to be fucked this deep, and
it does hurt but it hurts like nothing Arthur’s felt before, hurts in a way
that makes him want to come, kind of feels like coming.
He knows that if Eames hadn’t already made him come tonight he’d be long gone
already; even now, he’s not far off. He wants Eames to come in him first, if he
can hold off that long. The thought makes him whimper even more, and vaguely he
notices that the pillow is wet, a combination of tears and saliva. He has
barely a second to digest that before he’s captured on another wave of intense
pleasure, pulling him away from the realm of intelligent thought and to a place
where there’s nothing but Eames thrusting into him and the starlight that
flashes behind his eyes with each slide of his dick against the sheets.
His orgasm screams through him, a wave taking everything with it and leaving
him utterly weak, happy and content. He feels like he’s glowing, and he smiles
as Eames’s last, increasingly erratic thrusts rock his body.
“Fuck, Arthur, I’m coming,” Eames groans, and with one last, deep thrust, he
gives a muffled cry and his fingernails dig deep into Arthur’s skin at his
shoulder and hip. Arthur hums, shivering, finding something deeply satisfying
about Eames coming deep inside him. He wishes they weren’t using a condom,
wants to feel the come dripping out of his ass.
Eames goes still and then collapses onto Arthur, breathing ragged in Arthur’s
ear. And then the endearments start, each one making Arthur smile a little
wider, until he’s grinning so wide it hurts.
“I love you,” Eames whispers.
It draws Arthur out of his daze and he turns to look over his shoulder just in
time to see the panic splash onto Eames’s face.
“I--” he starts, and Arthur doesn’t want to hear any excuses, doesn’t want to
hear Eames take it back.
“I love you too,” Arthur whispers, and after a moment where Eames looks
conflicted, he smiles; half relief and half something Arthur can’t identify.
Eames pulls away just enough so that he can manoeuvre Arthur onto his back and
kiss him thoroughly. Arthur manages to throw an arm around Eames’s neck and
kiss back, breathing his air and feeling like the glow he felt after coming is
expanding, consuming them both. Never in his life has Arthur felt this happy.
It’s more than happy. Arthur doesn’t know how to describe it and doesn’t really
care. Eames loves him and right now, that’s all that matters.
They kiss, and they kiss, and when they eventually have to breathe Eames holds
Arthur in the cage of his arms, like he never wants to let him go.
“Stay,” Arthur whispers.
“You know I can’t,” Eames says, pulling back to look down at him with the
softest, most beautiful smile Arthur has ever seen. “But I want to. Fucking
hell, I want to.”
“You tell me you love me and then leave me? Harsh.”
“Oh yes, terribly. But I’m pretty sure that your mum’s reaction to seeing me at
the breakfast table would be far worse.”
Arthur thinks about that and accepts that Eames is probably right. “I still
don’t want you to go.”
“I don’t want to go either.” Eames kisses him, soft little butterfly kisses
that tickle, and then pulls back. “Maybe you could stay at my place this
weekend. Convince your mum you’re staying with a friend.”
With a laugh that is warm and relaxed, Arthur says, “You’re asking me to lie to
my mom?” and then kisses the frown that appears on Eames’s face. “I’m joking.”
“Well don’t,” Eames says, and leans in to kiss Arthur again. “I feel bad enough
about corrupting a minor already.”
They lie there until Arthur’s cooling come is kind of disgusting, and Eames
cleans him up as well as he can with a towel dipped into a glass of water.
After disposing of the condom, Eames gets dressed but it’s slow because he
can’t seem to stop looking at Arthur.
“I think I’d better put some clothes on, or you’re never going to get out of
here,” Arthur says, and puts on his pyjama pants slowly, amused by the way that
Eames follows his every move.
“Bloody hell, Arthur, you’re so fucking distracting,” Eames says and pulls
Arthur into a tight hug. “You okay?”
“I’m awesome,” Arthur says, snuggling into Eames’s hug. “You’re awesome. We’re
awesome.”
Eames grins down at him and then steps back, somewhat exaggerated. “I really
have to get out of here before you seduce me again.”
Eventually they get downstairs, avoiding the creaky bottom step, and Arthur
opens the door silently, a technique he developed while sneaking out to watch
R-rated movies.
“You’re coming to the late night at the museum on Thursday?” Eames whispers,
pressing a kiss to Arthur’s cheek.
“You know I am,” Arthur promises, and grabs Eames’s t-shirt to pull him in for
one last kiss. The golden glow of his orgasm, of hearing Eames say he loves
him, is still warm in his belly, and his smile is still uncontrollable.
“Good night, darling,” Eames says, stroking a finger down Arthur’s cheek, and
Arthur realises that he’s delaying his leaving; that he wants to stay as much
as Arthur wants him to. A selfish urge rushes through Arthur, to ask Eames to
stay – it wouldn’t take much, he thinks, to break Eames’s willpower on this
matter. But if he did – if they got caught – Eames has a lot more to lose than
Arthur does.
“Go,” Arthur says. “I’ll see you on Thursday.”
“And in your dreams,” Eames says with a wink. With one last kiss, this time
pressed to the back of Arthur’s hand, Eames turns and jogs over to his car.
As he watches Eames pull away and turn out of the street, Arthur thinks that
while dreams are all well and good – and they are good, very good – having
Eames in reality is so much better because Eames can make all Arthur’s dreams
come true.
Even the one about being tied down to the bed, blindfolded and made to come
again and again until he just can’t any more.
Especially that one.
===
Epilogue
The museum’s Late Night Thursdays have become a lot more popular since Eames
became the curator. Arthur used to come once a month and he was usually one of
about five people. Now the place is on the verge of being crowded: kids
Arthur’s age, younger kids with their parents, couples on dates. The museum’s
become an important place in town, and that’s because of Eames. Arthur is
ridiculously proud of him.
As always, for the first part of the evening Eames does a walk-around, chatting
to people and explaining the exhibits. Arthur goes with him, demonstrating the
hands-on displays. He also gets glared at by the girls who’ve been coming every
week since Eames started, and Arthur always smiles widely at them. He tries to
make it look innocent but he’s sure that some smugness creeps in. Well, they
are staring at his boyfriend. They’re lucky he’s not the jealous type.
The second part of the evening is Arthur’s favourite, since they spend it alone
in Eames’s office. Right now Eames is bending over, examining the model of his
new exhibit. Thoughts of anything museum-related are swept from Arthur’s mind
at the magnificent sight of Eames’s ass. As soon as Eames sits down, Arthur
immediately sits on his knee.
“I’m supposed to be working,” Eames says, but his voice has gone deep and
playful.
“You’re due a break,” Arthur counters, leaning in for a kiss.
“You’re a bad boy,” Eames says between kisses. “You deserve a spanking.”
The image of Eames’s hand coming down on his ass hard enough to bruise make
Arthur’s dick jerk in his jeans, halfway to hard in an instant, and he kisses
Eames harder this time, forcing his tongue into Eames’s mouth.
“We could try that this weekend,” Arthur says, grabbing Eames’s hand and
putting it to his hard-on. Feeling it, Eames gives a low little growl and
squeezes.
“Yeah? You’d like that?”
“I’d like to try,” Arthur says. “I want to try everything with you.”
They kiss and kiss, losing themselves in each other. Arthur shifts so that he’s
straddling Eames and rubs up against him until they’re both breathless and
hard. So far they haven’t fucked in Eames’s office, and Arthur thinks it’s
about time they christened it.
Eames whispers his name and unbuttons Arthur’s jeans, sliding his hand in to
brush against Arthur’s dick. Arthur has to bite down on a cry, and kisses Eames
again to muffle the noise. Eames tugs Arthur out of his boxers, and the feel of
the cool air over the sensitive skin of his dick makes him shiver, followed by
a gasp when Eames starts to stroke him.
“Does that feel good, darling?”
“You know it does,” Arthur whispers. “You know how much I fucking love--”
A knock at the door is so out of place that both of them freeze, and it takes a
moment for either of them to move. Arthur scrambles to his feet, zips himself
up and sits on the other side of Eames’s desk. Eames grabs a tissue and wipes
his hand clean of pre-come, opens a book in front of Arthur and calls out,
“Yes?”
Arthur looks studiously at the book, trying to will his hard-on away. As the
door swings open, Arthur glances up at Eames to see horror flash across his
face, just for a millisecond, before he settles into an easy smile.
“Hello there,” he says. “Can I help?”
“Sorry to interrupt,” says Arthur’s mom’s voice and Oh my god, seriously?
Turning around, Arthur sees that it is indeed his mom, smiling at the two of
them.
“Mom,” Arthur says, his voice strangled despite his attempts to keep it steady.
“What are you doing here?”
“The nice young gentleman out in the museum said it would be okay to come
through,” she says, squeezing his shoulder. “I just wanted to make sure you
weren’t being a nuisance to Mr Eames.”
“God, Mom,” Arthur says, and after glancing at Eames and seeing that the smile
is still in place, still looking as perfectly natural, decides he hates him,
just a little bit.
“From Arthur’s outburst, I think I’m right in guessing you’re his mother?”
She laughs, charmed – of course she is. “I’m Sarah,” she says, and offers a
hand, which Eames takes without getting up, since getting up would show that he
has an erection while in the same room as her son. It’s slightly awkward, and
Arthur smirks. At least Eames isn’t cool about everything.
“I’m delighted to meet you,” he says. “And you don’t need to worry about Arthur
being a nuisance. He’s a great help. Just now he’s helping me plan my new
exhibition.”
Mom looks over Arthur’s shoulder at the coffee table book of Dali paintings. “I
really appreciate you taking the time out to help Arthur. It’s a great
extracurricular activity and it’ll look great on his college applications.”
“No worries at all. I’d be happy to write a reference for him.”
“That would be wonderful,” Mom says, and smiles at him in a way that Arthur has
seen her smile at her boyfriends. Which on the one hand, yes, Eames is gorgeous
and of course everyone wants him. On the other hand, he’s Arthur’s.
“Anyway, we really need to get this finished,” Arthur says quickly, tapping at
the book. “I promised Eames I’d have it done tonight.”
“Alright, Arthur,” she says, chuckling. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you in
front of Mr Eames.”
“Well you are,” Arthur says, meaning to sound authoritative but sounding whiny,
which only makes them both chuckle at him.
“I’m very pleased to meet you,” she says to Eames. “Maybe I’ll see you around
sometime.”
“Oh, certainly,” Eames says. “I’ll send you a VIP invitation to the exhibit
Arthur’s helping me with.”
“Wonderful,” she says, and eventually after even more small talk, she’s gone.
Arthur and Eames look at each other, then burst into laughter.
“Jesus, your mum has the worst timing in the world.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Arthur says, a last giggle escaping before he
can smother it. They smile at each other and fondness uncurls in Arthur’s
chest. He stands and turns to lock Eames’s door. “Now, weren’t we in the middle
of something?”
“Something that I should probably reconsider,” Eames agrees, but he doesn’t
stop Arthur from scrambling onto his lap again. They smile at each other, the
fondness that Arthur feels reflected in Eames’s eyes. Their kiss is softer this
time, less desperate, and Arthur sinks into it with a sigh. He can sense that
that Eames isn’t quite with him and he pulls back to see if he can read
anything in his expression. He can’t, of course; Eames is too good at keeping
his thoughts hidden.
In the end, he settles for asking, “What’s wrong?”
Eames smiles wryly, like he knows he’s been caught out. “I was just thinking
about what your mum said, about you going to college.”
“Well don’t,” Arthur says, frowning. “It’s a long time off. Anything could
happen between now and then – you might even decide to come with me and finish
your PhD,” he adds in a moment of inspiration.
That makes Eames laugh, and Arthur relaxes. As long as he can make Eames laugh,
things will work out.
“Maybe I will,” Eames says. “And you’re right. It is ages off. We should just
enjoy the moments we have. Especially the ones where your mum isn’t walking in
on us.”
“Especially those,” Arthur agrees, giggling and leaning in for a kiss.
Whatever’s going to happen in the future, neither of them can tell. But for
right now they have each other, and they have smoking hot kisses, and that’s
more than enough.
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