Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1266130.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Inception_(2010)
  Relationship:
      Arthur/Eames_(Inception)
  Character:
      Arthur_(Inception), Eames_(Inception), Nash_(Inception), Peter_Browning
  Additional Tags:
      Homelessness, Underage_Prostitution, Underage_Drug_Use, Drug_Addiction,
      Sexually_Transmitted_Diseases, Angst_and_Hurt/Comfort, Age_Difference,
      Developing_Relationship, Soulmates
  Series:
      Part 2 of Cigar_Box
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-03-04 Words: 5550
****** Sternum ******
by grizzly_bear_bane
Summary
     Eames wants to go to the beach so he and Arthur can get away from the
     stresses of the city.
     He has no idea what Nash makes Arthur do to get them there.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
++
+
 
Arthur can't quite figured out if it’s the cocaine that makes him so nervous,
or if it’s just the thought of Eames losing his shit and breaking Nash’s jaw
that makes Arthur scared as hell to be this high around him.
Eames had already threatened to kick Arthur’s ass for stealing a tiny bag from
Yusuf’s sale supply—which he can’t even fucking remember where he hid it—and
Arthur’s not comforted at all by the fact that Eames might not ever follow
through if he finds out he’s still using from someone else. There are plenty of
words that Arthur likes, but ‘might’ is not one of them when it comes to Eames.
But Eames has dreamed of going to a beach for a long time, and it’ll be good to
get out of the city, for both of them. Although, this can’t be the way Eames
has envisioned it, Arthur’s sure. Eames had wanted to go because Arthur had
never been and there were no grimy johns to think about out there either. He
and Arthur could relax. Ha! Eames must not have considered Nash to be as much
of a rat as Arthur did, he guessed, because Eames had no idea that Nash
stealing a car, that Nash putting gas in that car, and Nash driving them for
hours would actually cost them something.
+
 
Arthur squirms in the backseat as Nash pulls over at a roadside gas station.
Eames startles awake beside him, but when he peers out the window and sees no
beach, he quickly nods off again.
Arthur takes a deep breath, wishing he’d pretended to sleep on Eames, but it
doesn’t matter now. He gets out of the backseat quietly, careful not to wake
Eames again, but Nash is rambling loudly about conspiracy theories thanks to
that boring NPR story he’d been listening to and he slams the car door when he
gets out. Arthur rolls his eyes but doesn’t comment. He just follows him around
to the back of the building to meet Nash’s contact.
He’s not the best looking man, but he’s not the worst. Arthur still wishes that
he’d worn more clothes so that older man would have less of him to touch with
those oil-stained, greasy hands.
Nash takes Arthur’s arm, as if Arthur would run away into the field or
something. He’s never seen Nash look so cocky before and it gives him a little
comfort to imagine how quick that smirk would disappear if Eames found out
about Nash’s arrangement.
The older man’s grinning when he looks Arthur over. “You said he’s how old?”
“He had a birthday last month. Sixteen.”
“Looks a lot younger than we’d agreed. I’m not a kiddie fucker, Nash.”
Arthur tries to glance behind them, thinking he really will see Eames wake up
and get out of the car to find him, but Nash pushes him forward, laughing.
“Bullshit, Pete. I’ve seen your record.”
Everything is okay until Nash has them all locked in the small bathroom. Arthur
crosses his arms when his hands begin to shake.
Nash waves the little bag in front of Arthur’s face. “You want it now, or
after?”
Arthur snorts, glancing at the older man unbuckling his pants. “Are you kidding
me?” He shouldn’t do this. He’ll be in big, big trouble the second Eames finds
out, but his soul is on Nash's little pocket mirror getting chopped and crushed
into tinier and tinier pieces, and his need is telling him that there’s no way
Eames will know, not if he just snorts a very little.
“Wait,” the man tells Nash, watching Arthur intently. “Make him strip first.”
Nash shrugs. “You heard the man, Artie. Do it.”
Arthur sighs, more pissed off than afraid at this point. He just wants to be
back in the car. He pushes his shorts and tanktop at Nash and rolls his eyes
when the man takes his underwear and stuffs it in his own pocket.
He doesn’t know or care where the straw comes from. What’s important is that
the lines of white powder aren't on the mirror anymore. He licks what he
couldn’t get up his nose off the mirror, hearing both the older man and Nash
groan at the sight, to numb his mouth so he can barely feel the man’s cock when
it slides over his tongue.
+
 
By the time the man finishes and lets go of his hips, the condom tied and
flushed, Arthur’s reached the tiptop of his high. He feels fucking fantastic
now, even without the addition of his prostate getting tickled anymore. He
feels so proud of himself for getting through this that he doesn't even care
that the forty dollars the man pays for his ass goes straight into Nash's hand.
He feels like he ought to be worth more than a tank of gas in a stolen car. He
also feels like he wants more coke.
“Holy shit,” Nash is laughing almost before the man can leave the bathroom.
“Fucking quickest two minutes of your life, right?”
A moan is all Arthur can respond with. He’s still clinging to the old, rusty
sink, his head resting on the cool surface. Even over how loud his heart is
pounding, he can hear the stolen keys rattle in Nash’s pocket as the junky no
doubt looks for a second bag of coke.
He’s not too far-gone to realize when Nash starts fucking him bare. Arthur
groans, really unhappy about this.
“I’ll pull out,” is all Nash manages to grunt and he doesn’t. He just keeps on
fucking Arthur against the sink mirror like a jackhammer until he's done.
Arthur’s laughing at him now, as Nash gets him cleaned and dressed. It makes no
sense! This whole thing with the gas station clerk happened because Nash needed
money for gas, but here he is now, giving away another expensive hit of coke
and destined for a trip to the clinic and the pharmacy with one of those slips
for pills when his tests don’t come back negative. And Arthur’s pretty sure
Eames saw him put on underwear that morning and he’s sure they didn’t fuck
before they’d left the city, so if Eames finds out, Nash might not ever even
make it that far. 
Arthur wipes his nose once he's inhaled all the powder again. He sways a little
on his feet as he stands on tiptoes to give Nash’s cheek a kiss. He hopes Nash
forgoing a condom, that this entire ego trip of his, was worth it.
But Arthur’s got his own problems to deal with once they’re on the road again.
This will be the ninth time he’s lied to Eames—or tried to. He feels incredibly
stupid.
Still…he sits snuggled tight to Eames’ side when the man wakes enough to wrap
an arm around him before he dozes again. Eames’ heavy arm across his skinny
back is too comforting to move away from when his second high rolls in. His
head is pleasantly floating in the clouds now, but that doesn’t stop him from
noticing that Nash’s eyes keep drifting from the road to the rearview mirror to
look at Arthur’s legs before looking at the road again, over and over.
Arthur hopes he won’t have to fuck him or anybody else again before the day is
done. If he can just avoid Eames’ wrath too, he’ll be set.
+
 
“Hey,” he whispers once Nash is out of the car and lighting a cigarette. “Get
up, Mr. Eames. We’re here.” He tries to duck out of the car before Eames can
see his eyes, but Eames’ arm snakes around his middle, hoisting him back
effortlessly. He gets the cheap, black sunglasses he stole out of the gas
station on his face just in the nick of time.
Eames sighs, rumbling like a happy bear when he stretches. His sleepy grin is
infectious. “Hm. I like these, pet. Where’d you get them?”
Arthur's sudden sob gets mistaken for a strange laugh. He kisses Eames deeply
with no idea why he’s suddenly crying, but he’s glad no tears come out. “I
pulled one of your moves,” he teases, sliding down Eames’ chest, making the
Brit laugh.
He just mentally shrugs his random emotional trip up away, and dips under
Eames’ t-shirt when the sunglasses get taken from his face.
“What are you doing down there, kitty cat?” Eames pulls his shirt up, watching
Arthur nibble a trail down his furry abs. He pets Arthur's wild hair, bucking
his hips when Arthur pulls the string on Eames' sweatpants loose and pulls his
swelling cock out.
“Oh come on, you guys, really?” Nash leans on the side of the car, pretending
not to look.
“Fuck off, you whiny cunt,” Eames growls, his eyes still on Arthur until his
cock head touches the soft, wet roof of Arthur’s mouth. “Go trap some of these
rich kids out here with your little baggies so we can buy dinner tonight—Fuck,
Arthur, you god damned tease.”
Arthur smiles against his thigh when he hears Nash spew curses under his breath
as he kicks rocks behind the car. Arthur's eyes are actually wet now, but he's
convince himself that it’s because of Eames’ cock at the back of his throat,
not guilt. He moans with the man, loving those great big hands in his hair,
behind his ears, rubbing his shoulders under his tank. Swallowing and gagging
around Eames is almost enough to make him feel even better than the coke is.
Eames is ten times bigger than Nash, ten times bigger than anyone, probably,
and he’s never needed to give Arthur drugs to make him want him. Arthur knows
Nash fucking hates that.
But that skinny rat has still won. Eames looks so hot in those sunglasses,
Arthur almost forgets to keep his eyes closed. He wants to climb into Eames’
lap and have that gas station clerk fucked off of him. He wants Eames so bad.
All he ever wants is just Eames and it’s so fucking unfair that he can’t have
him. Not to mention, Arthur’s still high. Nash fucking ruined everything today.
This is so fucking unfair. He’ll have to find some impossible way to distract
Eames. Get to the showers and get cleaned enough so he can have sex with him.
The cocaine tells him this part of the plan is bulletproof.
As for his dilated pupils? He licks the last of Eames’ come from his lips and
takes the glasses back while Eames’ eyes are still closed.
Eames stretches again. For a second, Arthur’s heart stops when Eames’ hands
come up to his face, thinking he’s going to lose his cover again, but Eames
just rubs his cheeks adoringly. He kisses Arthur’s lips, full of praise and
fondness.
“I have no idea what I did to deserve that, pet, but thank you. You just take
such good care of your Eamesie, don't you?” He kisses Arthur again. “That is
true love, that’s what that is. Absolutely.” He strokes his thumbs over
Arthur’s dimples.
Arthur hopes he doesn’t start crying again.
Eames growls when Nash raps on his window. “Yeah, yeah, we’re coming out, fuck
me.” He stretches one last time and keeps his arms around Arthur’s waist once
they've left the car. “You’re looking awfully smug, Nash. What did you do?”
Nash has a backpack on his arm. He whistles as they walk away from a family
busy pulling folded chairs and umbrellas from the back of their car. They have
no idea they’ve even been robbed. He finally spins around when they reach the
boardwalk. He digs inside and waves the Polaroid camera at them, proud as ever.
“There’s a wallet in here too. It’s fucking loaded.”
Eames nods. “Good work.” He sounds surprised.
“And,” Nash continues, snapping a picture of himself in the lady’s sunglasses,
“the pictures just come out of the bottom, somehow, so when we’re done with the
camera, I can hawk it.”
Eames’ brow rises in a way that only Arthur knows he’s mocking Nash more than
actually impressed. “You did well, Nash. That’s great.” He lifts Arthur’s
sunglasses so they’re propped in his hair when Nash starts taking pictures of
them.
The day goes by for a while without a hitch. The cocaine tells Arthur that he
can pull this off, that he can fool the one man who can always tell anyways
when he’s lying. He’s got everything under control.
They buy swim trunks and snow cones and Eames gets himself and Arthur covered
in sunscreen so Arthur can run Nash down to the waves once they find out the
junky’s terrified of seaweed.
Arthur’s soaking wet in his little trunks when he hikes back to Eames on the
towels, in the shade of their big umbrella.
Eames has Arthur’s sunglasses on. He doesn’t realize it until he’s crawled onto
the man's chest.
Eames pulls the shades off his face, his expression unreadable. “Arthur…"
Arthur purrs. "Yes, Mr. Eames?"
"What the fuck are you on?”
He’s smiling and still cleaning sand from the bottom of his feet. “What? Oh,
no.” He gets dumped from Eames’ lap when the man sits up and if Arthur could
run, he would have, but Eames’ grip is like handcuffs on his wrists.
“I said, what are you on?”
Arthur’s really scared now, because Eames won’t let go of him. His wrists feel
so weak in his hands and it takes Arthur to a very dark place. “I…” What can he
say? He’s speechless, and for a second, Eames looks almost more afraid than
Arthur is, because Eames knows what that dark place is.
But that fear is gone in an instant once his hands move to Arthur's arms. Eames
surveys the people lounging around them, looking for the culprit, before his
focus is back on Arthur. “Who the bloody fuck gave you drugs out here?”
“Eames—”
“Tell me! Now,” he grits out, shaking Arthur. “Was it Nash? Tell me and I will
fucking kill him, I swear to god.”
“You told me not to be a snitch, remember, Mr. Eames?”
“Oh Jesus fucking Christ,” Eames groans. He lets go of Arthur and buries his
face in his hands.
The cocaine doesn’t have a response to give Arthur now, no plan as to how he’s
supposed to fix this. “Eames?” It's his turn to shake Eames’ shoulders now,
although when Arthur does it, Eames barely moves. “Eames, come on. It was just
a little bit.”
Eames rubs his eyes before letting Arthur pull his hands down so he can see his
face. Eames is furious, but he looks exhausted as well, as if he's the one who
fucked up.
He takes Arthur’s face in hand, making sure Arthur knows he’s not joking.
“Darling, don't you fucking understand that there are cops on this beach
everywhere? And the second one of them sees how fucking baked you are, we’re
fucked. They will take you away from me and there's nothing I can do about it.
Damn it, Arthur, you're smarter than this. I know you are. What were you
thinking?” Eames shakes him again, but not as hard. "What about your
medication? What if mixing this shit together fucking kills you or something?
Damn you, boy."
His burst of laughter doesn’t have one scrap of humor attached to it. He feels
like he's a child all over again the way tears fall from his eyes so easily
under Eames' heavy words. “I’d be the only idiot in the whole world to die from
something as stupid as chlamydia, or whatever the fuck it’s called. I didn’t
know, Eames, okay? I’m sorry.”
“You’re always sorry, Arthur, when you get caught. What’s it going to take for
you to just…fucking care about your life as much I care about it?”
Paranoia sets in. Eames is so right and Arthur can’t believe he’s been so
stupid. “I’m sorry, okay! Shit, I’m…” He wants to explain, but he can’t tell
Eames why he took it, or why he needed more, why he stills needs more. Eames
has no idea that Arthur’s even fucking for money right now. Arthur knows he’s
not supposed to, not until he’s off the medication, but he hates being so
helpless, he hates having to depend on Eames for everything, and if he has to
risk nosebleeds to protect his brain from the fact that he’s being raped all
over again every time someone other than Eames touches him…he’ll take Nash’s
little bags. He’ll do whatever it takes to never end up tied to a bed and
abused ever again. He would fucking eat that powder if it stopped him from so
much as simply remembering that he ever was tied down—
The cocaine makes him say all of this aloud. These words tumble out of his
mouth all at once before the drug totally abandons him. He's left empty and
miserable and knowing Eames has never ever been this disappointed in him.
“Arthur…”
“I’m sorry. I am,” Arthur chokes out, squeezing Eames’ hand. “It was stupid,
but…”
Eames’ shoulders sink. He shakes his head. “Darling, why didn’t you tell me
that…” He sighs. “Come here, boy.” And he doesn’t care if people are looking at
them. He pulls Arthur close and hugs him tight, daring any one of these people
to say something about it.
Arthur curls up to his chest, almost disappearing under Eames’ arms as he takes
deep inhales of the man’s scent. "Do you still love me, Eames?"
“Of course, pet. I'm just going to beat Nash until either his skull or my hands
break,” he hears Eames say and he knows he’s not kidding.
“Don’t. Please, Eames.”
Eames’ jaw twitches. His eyes are searching the beach for Nash. “Too late. I
should have never let him live anyways.” Something strikes Eames’ thoughts
then. “Arthur, when you were… Did he… Did he fucking touch you?”
Arthur would have to think back to that dark place and he’d rather not. He was
locked in that room and tied down for weeks. If Nash joined in with the
others…Arthur wouldn’t know anyways. “No.”
Eames stares at him for a long time and for once, he can’t tell if Arthur’s
lying. He nods once, finally satisfied. “Doesn’t change anything. He trapped
you, just when you were getting off this shit. He’s dead.”
“If you kill him, you’ll end up in jail and I won’t be able to do shit about
that. You’re not leaving me by myself, unless you want me to die too, so forget
it.”
Eames sighs like a mad bull, eyes like a caged bear’s, looking for something to
maul. He stares out at the crashing waves for a while before he speaks again,
low and rough. “We can’t stay with Yusuf anymore. It’s too risky for you.”
Damn. “Where are we going to go, then?”
“We’ll figure it out. We always do. But you can’t be around trappers anymore.
And when we get back, I don’t want Nash anywhere near you. He’s dead if I catch
him.”
Arthur leans back enough to press his forehead to Eames’. “Just… give me one
more chance? Until Yusuf kicks us out, I can…I’ll try to stay clean. I know I
can do it. I’ll do it for us. Please?” He peppers Eames’ jaw and neck with
kisses until the man relents with something mumbled under his breath.
“Mhm.” Eames finally articulates. He nods slowly. “You’d better try hard. I’ll
kick your ass if I catch you high again.”
Arthur can relax a little bit now. It’s going to hurt, like that cartoon coyote
getting an anvil dropped on his head over and over. It would be easier to peal
off his own skin than try to retrieve his soul from where it’s been welded onto
every little speck of that white powder. He just has to remember that being
back on the streets is worse. Just thinking about it has him shaking.
“Where the hell is that snake anyways?”
“Do you think he’d ditch us here?”
Eames laughs, cocky, in a way that makes Arthur hot for him all over again. “If
he does, he’d be a damned fool, and if he doesn’t, he's still a fool.”
“Why? He has the car. He's the only one of the three of us who can drive, too.”
“Because I got this.” Eames kisses the stolen wallet he plucked from Nash’s
backpack. “And since I have this and all it’s glorious contents, I say let me
show you how your Eamesie likes to spend a day at the beach, huh baby? Our
first proper date." He grins. "Sound good?”
Anything Eames could recommend in the world is fine with Arthur. All he cares
about is that Eames still hasn’t given up on him. All of this other stuff is
extra. “That sounds perfect.”
Eames gets him standing and puts the glasses back on Arthur. “Oi!” When he gets
the attention of the Hispanic woman and her grandkids nearby, he nods at the
big umbrella he and Arthur are about to leave behind. “It’s all yours, sugar.”
He leads Arthur back to the boardwalk.
+
 
By the time the sun is setting, Arthur has a small backpack of his own now, to
replace the worn out one he’s got back in Yusuf's flat. This is his favorite
possession in the world, partly because Eames bought it for him and mostly
because they’ve stuffed it with cheeseburgers from one of the fast food places
on the boardwalk. Between the two of them, they’ll eat like kings for two weeks
off of these.
Arthur’s swimming in the hoodie with the beach’s name plastered on the front.
He’s beaming. Eames won it for him. Eames would have made a killing at baseball
with that hook.
Neither of them care that people are staring at them for holding hands.
Arthur’s almost bouncing around Eames, skipping and chatting through his very
first sugar high from all the pop, cookies, and a cotton candy he’s stuffed in
his mouth.
Eames takes Arthur to see a movie.
Eames stands outside the theater afterward, having a smoke while he waits for
Arthur.
Arthur's holed himself up in the bathroom. No one, not even Eames, would ever
understand why Arthur’s in here crying. It was just a movie, they’d say, and
that’s true for them. But to Arthur, it's so much more than that. The first
half of the day, Arthur is used to, it’s his life. He knows sex and drugs and
stolen things, but the second half and where they are right now…
He sobs into his hands. He’s sixteen years old! He should be going to the
beach, to the movies, eating three meals a day, all the time! Why can’t he have
that? How many kids did he and Eames pass today that were his age? They had
friends and parents and…nothing they ate came out of a dumpster, nothing they
wore had been picked over at a shelter. Why were they so lucky and not him? He
wants to scream in this little stall.
Instead, he washes his face, taking advantage of hot water while he can, and
cannot believe he has to refuse the man he’d seen earlier buying popcorn for
his daughters when the man tries to offer him something in exchange for
something else. Even if Arthur grew two heads taller and got plastic surgery,
it seems like people would still know who and what he is.
“You okay, kitty cat?” Eames’ eyes are searching the crowd once he sees that
Arthur’s eyes are red. He’s looking to curb stomp whoever made Arthur unhappy.
Arthur hugs him for a long time, soaking in his warmth and listening to the
waves crash on the shore. “I’m okay. Thank you for today. It's the best I’ve
ever had.”
“We’ll have more trips like this, someday. Someday we might even be able to
stay in one of these fancy hotels. Or rent a little house here. Who knows?”
He nods against Eames’ chest. They watch the last of the sun disappear beyond
the water in a comfortable silence, neither of them wanting to leave this
place.
 
Nash is dozing on the hood of the car when they make their way back to the
parking lot.
He snorts. “Took you guys long enough.” He’s so stoned it doesn’t even occur to
him that Eames took the wallet.
Arthur has finally come down from all his highs. He’s barely conscious, his
head pillowed on Eames’ shoulder and his legs wrapped around Eames’ waist as
he’s carried. A little teddy bear is tucked under his arm between his and
Eames' chests.
He wants to stay awake so he can enjoy the ride back to the city, but Eames
keeps him in his arms in the backseat. He’s asleep before Nash can get the car
started.
+
 
They ditch the car just outside the city limits. Arthur and Eames take the bus
back to Yusuf’s flat.
Arthur rocks in Eames’ arms for a brief moment as the lukewarm shower washes
away the soap, sand…the gas station clerk, and Nash. His eyes are closed still
when Eames reaches behind him to turn off the water. He doesn’t have to see the
water circle the drain to know that once again, he’s Eames’. He’s clean.
They put on shirts and underwear before getting into the sleeping bag on the
floor just so they can warm up after that cold water. Once Eames knows that
Arthur’s not going to stop kissing his face, though, Arthur’s t-shirt gets
pulled up around his chest and his little briefs get pulled down and forgotten
along with Eames’ somewhere at the bottom of the sleeping bag.
It sends shivers across Arthur’s whole body, to feel Eames’ big hand sweep over
his skin.
Eames stops kissing Arthur’s neck to chuckle at his soft moans. “Someone’s
eager,” he whispers in a rumble, squeezing Arthur's waist.
It makes Arthur shiver again. “Well, someone already got theirs in the car
earlier and someone else has been waiting since then, hm?”
“Darling!” Eames teases, getting the lube capsule unscrewed to wet his fingers.
“How could I have forgotten that? My goodness, pet, you’re right. I still need
to thank you proper, don’t I?”
“Please.” He keens, and it makes Eames moan into his neck when Eames brushes
the leaking tip of his cock and begins to finger fuck into him slowly.
“Please.” He keeps Eames’ hand in place as he rocks into it. This is all he’s
wanted all day. He’s shaking for totally different reasons now.
“It’s alright, darling,” Eames soothes, lying more on top of his leg. “I got
you, I got you. You sing so pretty for me.” He listens to Arthur’s moans grow
higher and higher pitched.
But before he can settle between Arthur’s legs, Arthur rolls over. He needs
Eames to cover his back, and Eames does, without protest, letting his weight
crush Arthur down. Arthur still raises his hips as much as he can, twisting a
little to catch Eames’ lips once more, for proof and to remember whose hands
are squeezing his ass, whose cock is stretching him open.
Eames’ hairy chest at his back, those hands covering his, it’s overwhelming in
a good way. Eames truly is the only thing better than cocaine. Arthur knows
this in all the things Eames says and does, but it’s moments like this, when
Eames envelops him in the strength of his arms, covers him, whispers Arthur’s
name over and over, that Arthur doesn’t need that white powder. It’s moments
like this that Arthur doesn’t feel that painful scar tissue inside him from
being tied down to that bed. He doesn’t feel used, he doesn’t feel worthless.
Eames rocks into him slowly, fully until all Arthur knows is that he belongs to
Eames, that Eames is good, safe, home.
Arthur hooks his feet over Eames’ calves as he pushes back to meet his hips.
Eames rises up, his hands splayed over Arthur's shoulder blades. He growls,
picking up the pace until Arthur has to reach back for him, unable to breathe.
He moans weakly when Eames' hands moved under his arms, reaching for his neck.
With anyone else, Arthur would be terrified, but Eames has got him.  
When he’s not singing Eames’ praise into the pillow, he's twisting back again
for one more kiss, then another. They’ll have to spend a few quarters tomorrow
at the laundry mat with Arthur’s cock rubbing a wet spot into the sleeping bag.
He’s got a mouthful of the blanket between his teeth as well when the pillow
gets pushed out of reach.
Eames doesn’t tell Arthur when he's close. Arthur always knows. His head falls
back over Eames’ shoulder, his lips let slip the most desperate moans. His
fingers lace with Eames’ and it’s all enough to send Eames over the cliff.
“Oh fuck me, Arthur,” Eames pants into his hair, his cock still throbbing
inside him. He’s exhausted, but when he pulls out, he rolls Arthur onto his
back and dips into the sleeping bag.
Arthur gets pushed a little onto the hardwood floor, but he doesn’t care. He
sucks Eames’ fingers into his mouth as Eames hums around his cock, fucking him
and stroking his prostate with his other hand. Arthur’s legs move of their own
accord, squeezing around Eames’ head until Arthur’s nearly rolled on top of
him, cutting off his air supply.
His head thumps on the floor and he certain he’s knocked himself out as he
spills down Eames’ throat, his back arching, his voice rising. He's probably
woken up the whole flat, the entire building, but it's Eames' fault. He can't
help what this man makes his body do.
Eames’ hand is covered in his own come when he withdraws from Arthur’s
tightened hole. Arthur’s nearly vibrating, his nerves on fire, but Eames won’t
stop sucking on his cock until Arthur begs him to stop.
He’s pulled back into the sleeping bag and smothered again by Eames’ weight.
Eames’ after-sex hugs never cease to confuse and charm Arthur, so he laughs
breathlessly like he always does and rubs Eames’ back under his shirt.
Arthur’s foot is now tangled in either his or Eames’ underwear. He watches
Eames roll onto his back and light a cigarette. Eames turns his head away when
he exhales to keep the smoke from Arthur’s face.
Eames is…beautiful, perfect, and words Arthur doesn’t know, and he can’t figure
out why Eames is still here. This man had already taken bullets for him, he had
a home, with a real bed, and status, before Arthur. And all Arthur's given him
in return, apart from what others have given Eames for keeping Arthur, is that
scar through his eyebrow when he’d smashed a lamp over Eames’ face, after Eames
had saved his life, no less. He’s given Eames lice, two STIs, and now…he can
only guess that he's going to get them both kicked out again, eventually.
Probably sooner than that. But he knows for a fact that Eames will still be
right here with him. Why?
He’s already asked Eames a hundred times if he loves him or not. Arthur in
truth has no idea exactly what that is, or what Eames’ ‘yes’ responses really
mean. To him, love has only ever been a word grunted near his ear when some guy
got to come inside him because Arthur was too young to know what a condom was.
He’s heard people walk by him on the streets with their bags of fast food
proclaiming how much they love bacon on their cheeseburgers, and in the movie
they saw, the two leads had proclaimed their love for each other and their
guns, but…
He nudges Eames' side under the blanket. “Eames?”
“Mhm?”
“Do you think…I’m sexy?”
“Hm.” Eames tilts his head and studies him, as if he’s never actually looked at
Arthur before. Maybe he never really has, not the way most men look at Arthur,
anyways. “Couple more years and some meat on your bones and yeah, you’ll be
very, very sexy, pet.”
Arthur’s afraid to ask if that’s a yes or no, so he doesn’t say anything when
he nestles closer to Eames’ side.
But then, “Eames?”
“Hm?”
He doesn’t know where his fear comes from, so he ignores it. “I… I love you?”
It doesn't sound right when he says it, so he says it again. "I love you."
He doesn’t breath until Eames’ arm pulls him even closer so that he can kiss
Arthur’s forehead.
Eames sighs as if he’s been holding his breath too. “I love you, too, kitty
cat.”
"Good." Arthur's not sure what's just happened, but he feels different
somehow. 
He likes this new feeling. It brings a little smile to his face that draws
Eames to trace a finger over his dimple. That careful hand pets the curve of
his jaw, his ear and the back of his neck. Arthur's skin tingles even as that
hand strokes across his shoulders through his t-shirt.
He really, really likes this new feeling.
++
+
 
End.
 
End Notes
     For more drabble requests, questions, inspiration pics, and updates
     for this fic series, go to grizzly-bear-bane.tumblr.com/
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!