Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/893192.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Inception_(2010)
  Relationship:
      Arthur/Eames_(Inception)
  Character:
      Arthur_(Inception), Eames_(Inception), Ariadne_(Inception)
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Sibling_Incest, First_Time, There
      isn't_exactly_any_child_abuse_going_on, But_be_warned_that_the_parents
      are_utter_bastards
  Series:
      Part 1 of the_undone_and_the_divine
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-07-22 Words: 6391
****** This is as good a place to fall as any ******
by redluna
Summary
     It can be hard for Eames when his parents see his whole life as one
     big mistake. Still, that's what Arthur is there for. He's the one
     dependable thing Eames has in his life and the best big brother
     anyone could ask for.
     Which is why it's really not okay for Eames to be falling for him.
Notes
     Written for this_prompt over at perverse bang.
     You can count on a sequel coming out for this eventually. In the
     meantime thanks go out to solutionforreality for being such a
     brilliant beta! And the title comes from Bedroom Hymns by Florence
     and the Machine.
No one ever believes Eames when he says that Arthur is his brother. They think
he must mean stepbrothers instead or, after he shakes his head to that, that
they have to be half siblings somehow. That would account, in their eyes, for
how someone as stocky as Eames, with the gray eyes that can never stay one
color and lips that should belong to a girl, can be related to the willowy,
dark haired Arthur.
Whenever Arthur heard such conversations going on, however, he would always be
the first to interject. He would point out how Eames’ eyes came from some great
uncle or someone that neither of them had ever met (a family joke that has long
stopped being funny). His hair—shades lighter than Arthur’s own—and mouth can
all be traced back to their mom.
Only then do people begin to nod, as though they’ve reached some deep
understanding that only Arthur could have brought them to.
Eames doesn’t really blame anyone for having such a reaction, though. It’s not
like Arthur and him are all that similar, after all, even without their
differences in looks.
Arthur had always been the golden child, the apple of their parent’s eyes. He
had a good year and a half on Eames, already heading towards the end of his
senior year of high school. And to say that he was doing so with some
impressive credentials would be an understatement. He was one of the star
players on the soccer team along with his best friend Dominic—“Call me
Dom.”—Cobb. Then there was the student council where he was the vice-president
(Dom claimed the president title) and he was the head of the debate team.
Everyone at school—hell—everyone in town, knew who Arthur was. He practically
ruled over the high school class system with Dom and Mal, Dom’s dazzling French
girlfriend.
Eames, on the other hand, had been an accident. His parents weren’t afraid to
say that, although it was always couched as some sort of joke. When going over
the story of his birth at parties he was always “the one they hadn’t expected”.
It would be said with a laugh, but there was just enough edge to it to make
Eames squirm.
He knew he had let his parents down. The only thing that had made his arrival a
little less unpleasant in their eyes was the hope that this child would be as
dazzling as the first. But Eames was, as his parents said, the “normal” one.
Arthur had launched straight from talking to walking all in the blink of an
eye. Eames, on the other hand, had dawdled, finding ways to express himself
through a sound or gesture. His parents had dragged him to the doctor,
convinced that something must be wrong, but apparently it was just that there
was no real motivation for him to speak. Arthur was always there to serve as
his translator after all, giving him just what he needed (something that never
really changed).
He had a chance to redeem himself once he went to school, but even that was a
failure. Eames’ gangly limbs had no place in more coordinated sports and,
although he had the build for football, he had no real interest in it.
Instead he gravitated towards the arts as though by instinct. His parents
turned up their noses since it could hardly help him in the “real world” but,
for once, Eames didn’t care what they thought. He had finally found something
that he was really good at and it wasn’t anything that anyone could point at to
say, “That’s great! But, of course, when your brother did it…”
It wasn’t like he was jealous of Arthur, not really. Arthur deserved whatever
it was he got. Eames had seen him hunched over his desk until near dawn or
pulling hours of practice in the field too many times to think otherwise.
Besides, Arthur actually supported what he was doing, actually going so far as
to boast about how Eames’ teacher was calling him a young prodigy. Eames had
blushed all the way to the tips of his ears when Arthur had tugged him into his
group of friends to do just that.
Most of the people had just stood there with polite smiles, nodding, but Dom
had clapped him on the shoulder while Mal gushed about his work even further.
And, really, since their opinions were the only ones Arthur cared about it was
all that mattered.
The whole acting thing hadn’t come up until his sophomore year when Ariadne—his
best friend since kindergarten—had come running into their homeroom,
brandishing a poster for A Streetcar Named Desire. It had been (and still was)
her favorite play, which meant she had to audition for it and Eames had to do
the same so she wouldn’t stand alone.
Eames had tried to turn her down at first because, honestly, nothing seemed
more nerve-wracking than standing up in front of a bunch of strangers. He
already had enough self-confidence issues to begin with, thank you very much.
But, of course, as his best friend Ariadne knew his one fatal flaw. Which was
why she had made sure to bring up her plan to Arthur, who had backed her up,
saying that it would be a good way for Eames to build confidence.
And, surprisingly enough, it actually was. Eames wasn’t really himself when he
was up on stage, after all. He could completely disappear into whatever
character he was supposed to be playing, pick them apart until he understood
and could become them. He had never experienced anything so freeing as being
able to just slip from one person to another. He didn’t have to be normal,
boring Eames when he was acting—he could be anyone he wanted.
It was enough to ensure him the lead in A Streetcar Named Desire and the never-
ending devotion of the theatre teacher. He probably would have earned more than
a few enemies among the theatre kids if it weren’t for the fact that he didn’t
steal every lead role for himself. Eames didn’t care so much about being the
“star” as he did about playing roles that interested him.
It gave him a certain amount of acclaim at school, even if it was just the
title of “that theatre kid”. At home, though, nothing had really changed.
“Oh, Macbeth?” His mom was home, for once, having finished her case early. It
had been the same for his dad, but he had just locked himself up in his office
to get started on another case.
His mom was curled up on the couch with a book in her hands. She didn’t even
bother to look up from it as she spoke to him, her eyes still darting across
the words on the page. “Is that what you’re doing now?”
“Yeah,” Eames said. “I told you a few months back when rehearsals started up.
Remember?”
“No,” his mom said. “I suppose I wasn’t paying attention.” The words weren’t
meant to be cruel, not really. She was just stating what, in her mind, was a
fact. “You won’t mind if your father and I don’t go, will you?” She wasn’t
actually looking for an answer; Eames had been through this enough to be able
to tell. “It’s just that we’ve already seen Macbeth so many times there
wouldn’t really be any point in it.”
“Of course.” Years of practice assured that Eames’ voice was perfectly neutral.
“I’ll just ask Arthur if he can go.”
“Don’t be silly.” There was a bit of sharpness in his mom’s tone now, as there
always was when it came to any perceived threats on her perfect child. “Arthur
has enough to take care of without having what little free time he has gobbled
up by something so foolish.”
Eames could feel the heat rising up the back of his neck, but Arthur poked his
head out from the kitchen before he could say anything that might embarrass
himself further.
“It’s fine, Mom,” he said. “I go to all of Eames’ plays, it’s part of our
tradition.”
Or, more accurately, it was because their parents never went to any of them.
Their mom raised her head from her book to look back at him. “Which is very
sweet,” she said, “but can your schedule really afford it?”
“Yeah, of course,” Arthur said. “I made sure to keep that day clear as soon as
I found out when the opening day was.”
Their mom favored Arthur with one of her genuine smiles, or at least as close
to one as it could get. “Such a sweet boy.” She lowered her gaze back to her
book. “I’m sure you’ll have fun at the after party at least.”
Arthur chose that moment to roll his eyes dramatically, gesturing for Eames to
come join him in the kitchen. Eames forgot all about how his heart had been
sinking earlier, having to bite back a laugh as he headed off towards the
kitchen.
His parents might not be real parents at all, but Eames could deal with that so
long as he had Arthur. His older brother slotted into all the places in Eames
that would have otherwise been left empty and wanting. He was all Eames needed
and more.
Which was why the way Eames’ eyes fixed on Arthur’s ass as he bent to snatch up
a dishtowel and the surge of want that came with it was entirely not okay.
                                      ---
Arthur didn’t hate his parents. That would suggest too passionate a response
and things had never been like that between him and his parents. He was fawned
over, to be sure, but his parents had never been warm people. They loved him in
the way that you can love a beautiful painting hanging on your wall, the kind
that everyone always remarks over.
It was the attention he brought to them that they adored, not him.
So, no, he didn’t hate his parents. Most of the time, he just found them to be
really irritating. The only times he actually managed to get worked up over
them was when it came to Eames.
Their parents’ attitude didn’t matter much to Arthur, but Eames should be able
to have better. Arthur could maneuver around the coldness just fine, push off
the awkward feelings that permeated the house and find what he needed
elsewhere. It wasn’t so easy for Eames, though, who seemed to think that he had
to prove himself to their parents.
At least he had Ariadne, who had claimed Eames after her family moved into
their neighborhood and she found out that they would be going to the same
kindergarten. She was a petite girl with a tongue that could cut like a razor
and a spitfire intelligence. Arthur liked her and even admired her a little,
despite her tendency to look down her nose at him for occupying the upper half
of the social system at school.
The two of them reached a mutual understanding through Eames, anyway, getting
that that each of them provided for him in separate ways.
And, besides, even though he knew it was a selfish way of thinking, Arthur
always knew that Eames would come back to him in the end. It was part of why he
was already over by the stage by the time that Eames, fresh out of his costume,
burst out from backstage and into his arms.
“Whoa there, Macbeth.” Arthur spun Eames around just to hear the other boy
laugh before settling him back down. “You were brilliant, just like always.”
Eames ducked his head, although it did nothing to hide the bright red flush
that had come over his cheeks. “Do you really think so? I thought there was a
line I messed up on a little in Act Two. It sounded too much like me and not
enough like—”
“Oh, come on, Eames.” Ariadne popped up on the tips of her toes so that she
could sling her arm across Eames’ shoulders. It still surprised Arthur just how
fast his little brother seemed to be growing lately. “Just take the compliment
and let it go. I bet you were the only one who noticed the whatever it is
you’re talking about anyway.”
“Mind your lady, Macbeth,” Arthur said. “I get the feeling she speaks the
truth.”
Ariadne swatted Arthur on the arm with a roll of her eyes. “Can it with your
flattery, mister,” she said. “You’re already invited to the after party so
there’s no need to suck up.”
“It depends on which after party I’m being invited to.” Arthur cracked a grin
when Ariadne raised her eyebrows. “It’s either the one the whole drama group
goes to or where you eventually ditch that for your absent minded parents’
alcohol supply.”
“The latter,” Ariadne said solemnly. “Totally the latter.” She jerked her thumb
towards Eames. “I need someone who can hold their liquor to come along with me
and take care of this one when he gets sloshed.” She giggled when Eames
squawked indignantly, nudging him in the side with her elbow. “Come on, you
know I’m right. Now let’s clear out of here before anyone can guilt trip us
into going to the other party.”
“I take it I’m doing the driving?” Arthur said.
“Does anyone else here have a license?” Ariadne whapped her hand against
Arthur’s shoulder. “Lead on, MacDuff!”
                                      ---
Arthur wasn’t surprised that Ariadne’s house was empty once they got there. Her
parents were artists who Arthur’s own parents only found tolerable because of
the success they’d managed to accumulate.
Ariadne had been raised under the belief that freedom was crucial for a child’s
upbringing. It certainly gave her parents an excuse to go off on as many
artistic retreats as they wanted.
Ariadne brought life into the house as soon as they entered it anyway, twirling
around the place and flicking on almost every light. She insisted on fetching
the wine herself since apparently neither of the boys could be trusted to
select the “good” kind.
It was the way things had always went, so Arthur and Eames just got straight to
work on their side of things. By the time Ariadne had returned, wine bottles
cradled in her arms, they had already created a nest of blankets and pillows on
the floor.
Ariadne liked to make the claim that the only way to drink wine was out of the
elegant stem glasses her parents collected. By the time they had moved on to
the second bottle, however, even she was drinking the wine straight from the
bottle. She giggled when Eames tried to reach for it, clutching it to her
chest. “Nu-uh,” she said. “You can’t have it until you tell me your secret.”
“My secret?” Eames almost fell over when he tried to reach for the bottle
again, making Arthur have to grab onto his shirt and tug him back. “I don’t
have a secret, Ari.”
“Yes you do,” Ariadne sing-songed. She thrust her bottom lip out into a pout,
but the
mischievous spark in her eyes gave her away. “I’m your best friend, Eames.
We’re supposed to share all our secrets. It’s a part of the code!”
“The code? What the hell, Ariadne?” Eames glanced over at Arthur, laughing and
plainly expecting his brother to join in. The expression froze on his face,
however, when Arthur just stared back at him and his eyes skittered away,
embarrassed.
Arthur hated to have caused that, but he didn’t know how to respond. All he
knew was that he couldn’t laugh about this. Not when Eames supposedly had this
“secret”.
It was ridiculous, he knew it was, but the idea that Eames had been trying to
keep something hidden, something that Ariadne had noticed when Arthur
hadn’t...it hurt.
Maybe he could blame it on the alcohol.
“Fine, I’ll spell it out for you then.” Ariadne leaned forward with a sly grin.
“You have a crush, Eames!”
“What?” Eames shook his head. “I do not!”
“No, no, don’t even try!” Ariadne said. “I know the signs.”
“There are signs?” Arthur asked. He didn’t know why he spoke up. He just wanted
this conversation to be over.
“Of course!” Ariadne jabbed her finger at Arthur. “You must have seen them
too.” She rolled her eyes towards the ceiling when Arthur only raised his
eyebrows. “Ugh, men.” She began to gesture in the over the top way she only did
when drunk. It was a good thing that the bottle she held was mostly empty or
the wine would have sloshed out all over the place. “He’s even more spacey than
usual. He’ll just slip right off into a daydream all the time, even if
someone’s already talking to him. And he won’t say what it is he’s thinking
about either. Just says it’s ‘nothing’.”
“Because it is nothing.” The back of Eames’ neck had turned bright red, though,
and the flush of color was starting to sneak up to his ears. It was as clear a
sign as any that he was lying.
Ariadne must have realized the same thing since she started to swing the bottle
back and forth, shaking her head. “Oh, come on, Eames, you can trust us. It’s
not like we’re gonna run around screaming it to the world or something.” The
bottle thudded down on the floor as she hunched herself down around it. “So...
Who is it?”
Eames voice was far too small when he replied. “No one, Ariadne. It’s...” He
turned his head away. “I’m going to get over it. I have to.”
“What?” Ariadne squawked. Her mouth hung open for close to half a minute before
she returned to her wild gesturing, this time without the bottle in her hand.
“How can you say that? I mean, I get it, you have the crap self-esteem, but
that doesn’t mean you have to just throw this away. Whoever it is would be
lucky to have you!”
Eames turned back towards Ariadne, although he still wouldn’t look her in the
eyes.
“No, look, it has nothing to do with that, alright? This is something I just
need to get over because it seriously isn’t anything that could ever happen.”
Ariadne snorted. “Because you insist on seeing it that way. If you would just—”
Eames slammed his fist down on the floor, hard enough for the bottle of wine to
tip over. “I said no, Ariadne!”
Ariadne jerked back so fast that she fell back onto the pillows, her eyes wide.
Even Arthur couldn’t stop himself from lurching back from Eames. He had seen
Eames lose his temper before, but it was always a rare thing and never directed
at Ariadne, of all people.
It would seem like this was something much bigger than what Ariadne and him had
originally thought.
“Christ.” Eames ran a hand through his hair, head lowered. “I’m sorry, Ariadne,
I really didn’t mean to do that.”
“No, I... I shouldn’t have pushed, not when we’re all in such a state.” Ariadne
pushed herself up, grabbing the bottle and wrinkling her nose when she saw that
what was rest of the wine had spilled out over one of the blankets. “Fuck, now
I’m gonna have to wash this.”
“Ariadne...” Eames said, weakly.
“No.” Ariadne stood up, taking a moment to steady herself on her wobbly legs as
she tugged the blanket up. “No, we’re all really drunk right now, so that’s why
we’re acting so out of it. In the morning, after Arthur makes us all coffee for
our hangovers, then you can apologize and I’ll whap you on the arm and it will
all be good.”
“After I make coffee?” Arthur said. “Does that mean we’re spending the night?”
“Hell yeah you are,” Ariadne replied. “Your house might be just a few down, but
your parents would pitch a fit if you came home like this.” She bundled the
blanket up in arms. “So just make yourself at home on the couch. Well, Eames
can take the couch—Arthur can have the floor.”
“Your blatant favoritism is showing again,” Arthur said.
Ariadne stuck her tongue out at him. “The floor is a mess of blankets and
pillows right now, so stop your griping. Now, I’ll see you two in the morning.”
And with that she toddled off up the stairs, probably bound for the laundry
room.
“Do you think we should go help her?” Arthur asked. “With the laundry, I mean,
because I’m not sure if she’ll just explode the washing machine right now.”
That probably seemed a bit far fetched when she was only dealing with one
sheet, but this was Ariadne, if anyone could manage it, it would be her.
“You can go if you want.” Eames was picking at the beaded tassels that hung off
one of the pillows. “She probably doesn’t want to deal with me right now.”
Arthur sighed, shifting closer to Eames. “Hey, you know that’s not true. The
two of you will patch things up no problem come morning.” Ariadne had seemed
more startled than angry, so it probably would just end up with her whomping on
Eames until he apologized to her satisfaction. The two of them were too close
to be broken apart by something so small.
Except that it wasn’t a small thing, not in all ways.
Arthur knew he really should let it rest, especially after how Eames had lashed
out at Ariadne over it, but he couldn’t help it. There had never been secrets
between the two of them before and knowing that Eames was trying to keep
something hidden from him now left him with an odd, unsettled feeling.
“Eames?” He waited until his brother had looked up at him to speak. “Who
exactly do you have to get over?”
All the blood rushed up into Eames’ face in an instant, his eyes darting away
again. “N—No one. It’s not important, Arthur, I swear.”
“Then why won’t you tell me about it?” Arthur asked. “You know I won’t judge
you, no matter what it is.”
“No,” Eames said, “trust me, this you’d judge.”
“Well I won’t know unless you tell me, now will I?” Arthur reached out to touch
Eames’ shoulder only for the boy to flinch away from him. It made his heart
twist around in his chest before starting to sink. “Eames?”
“Arthur, please, don’t make me tell you,” Eames said. He was starting to curl
in on himself, his voice becoming smaller. “You’re gonna think it’s
disgusting.”
“What? Eames, no.” Arthur reached out to grab hold of Eames’ shoulders,
refusing to let his brother squirm away as he pulled the boy back against his
chest. “I could never be disgusted with you.”
“Yes, you would!” Eames was still struggling against Arthur’s hold, his voice
ragged. “Because the one I want is you!”
Wait a second, what?
The words Eames had spoken refused to compute in Arthur’s mind, leaving him to
blink in confusion. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed silent for, but
everything snapped back into focus when he realized that Eames was shaking in
his arms. He looked down to find that Eames was sobbing so hard that he was
literally choking. And in that moment nothing mattered except for the fact that
his baby brother was hurting.
“Oh, Eames.” He tightened his grip around Eames, burying his face in the boy’s
hair. “It’s fine, okay? Really, it is.”
“No, it’s not!” Arthur wasn’t sure where Eames was even getting the breath to
be able to talk. It certainly sounded like he was being strangled. “It’s sick!
I know you think it’s sick!”
“No, I don’t!” Arthur couldn’t help raising his voice to match Eames’. Really,
it was a miracle Ariadne hadn’t come downstairs to see what the hell was going
on. She must have fallen asleep already. “Eames, this... We can figure this
out.”
“Oh, really?” Eames’ laugh was short and humorless. “And how exactly do you
think we can do that? It’s not like you’re going to just forget how disgusting
I am.”
“Eames, I don’t think you’re... Oh, fuck it.” Arthur lifted his head until he
was staring down into Eames’ face. He hesitated for just a moment before
dipping his head down and pressing his mouth to Eames’.
It wasn’t the best kiss in the world, mostly because Arthur was technically
trying to kiss his brother upside down. Except he couldn’t really focus on the
term “his brother” too much without feeling a sudden surge of panic in his gut.
Yet that still had nothing to do with the fact that he was actually doing these
things to his brother. He just didn’t want to get caught at it. No one else
would understand what they were doing. Not when Arthur didn’t even understand
it himself.
Eames jerked away before long, but not before Arthur was able to feel him
starting to kiss back. “Arthur... You... We can’t.”
“Says who?” Arthur really didn’t know what he was doing by this point, but for
some reason he couldn’t bring himself to stop. “Eames, this isn’t as bad as you
think it is.” He spread out his hands. “Haven’t I always taken care of you?”
“Yeah, but...” Eames started to fiddle with the bottom of his shirt. “This is
different.”
“Not really,” Arthur said. “It’s just a little more...hands on.” Eames’
laughter sounded a bit more real this time and that made Arthur smile a little.
“Just let me try this, okay? And if you start feeling uncomfortable you can
tell me stop.”
“Fine,” Eames said, “but you have to tell me if you get uncomfortable too. I
don’t want you to do this just because you feel like you have to.”
“That’s not why I’m doing it.” Arthur rolled his eyes when Eames just continued
to stare at him. “Alright, I promise. Happy?”
“Yes.” Eames firm expression slipped away after that to be replaced by a
nervous one that Arthur couldn’t help finding adorable. “So, um, what exactly
should I do?”
“Just lay down,” Arthur said. “I’ll take care of the rest.”
It took a few moments for Eames to do as he was told, eyes locked warily on
Arthur. He tensed up the moment Arthur reached for his pants as well.
“Hey now.” Arthur smoothed one of his hands over Eames’ chest. “I won’t do
anything you don’t like, promise.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Eames said. “It’s just...” He turned his
head away from Arthur, almost pressing it into a nearby pillow. “I know you
must have done this before, alright? And I haven’t even... I’ve never even...”
Arthur had to bite down on the inside of his mouth so not to laugh. He wasn’t
laughing at Eames, not really. It was just that his brother was entirely too
adorable sometimes.
“Eames, you don’t have to worry about anything like that.” He reached up to
ruffle Eames’ hair. “There a lot worst things in life than being a seventeen
year old virgin.”
Eames snorted. “Yeah?” he said. “Try telling that to about half the female
population of our school.”
Arthur had to laugh at that because, yes, this was his Eames to be sure. Eames
had started to relax now too, laughing along with him. “There you go.” He
shifted his hands down to rest around Eames’ hips again. “Just let me take care
of you.”
That seemed to put Eames at ease more than anything, his muscles relaxing
underneath
Arthur’s hands. Still, it seemed to cause another sort of reaction as well
because the flush gathering high on Eames’ cheekbones had nothing to do with
embarrassment now, not when combined with the widening of his pupils.
And Arthur really wasn’t prepared for how much he would like that.
He slid the button of Eames’ pants free, tugging down the zipper before pushing
the jeans down around the other boy’s thighs. Eames’ boxers were pulled down
next, making him shiver, but Arthur was quick to soothe that away with a kiss
to his cheek.
It was hard to look anywhere else but down after that, though.
“God, you’re already hard,” Arthur said.
“Yeah, thanks to you,” Eames snorted. He squirmed when Arthur wrapped his hand
around his cock, breath hitching as he spoke. “Arthur...”
Arthur made a soft shushing noise, shaking his head. “Just let me...” He didn’t
get to finish that sentence, couldn’t finish it, when Eames started to arch up
into his hand with a low groan. And, well fuck, if that wasn’t motivation than
Arthur didn’t
know what was.
Eames was right about him having done this before (at least slightly). He had
known for quite some time now that boys held the same appeal for him that girls
did. It had lead to a rather disastrous night where he had decided to kiss Dom
when he was drunk off his ass. Mal still liked to tease him about it and he
only let her get away with it since she had helped hook him up with a guy that
lead to his first hand job in the back of a car.
He had still gotten to more bases with girls than with guys, but he knew how to
do this. And if the way Eames began to squirm underneath him, breath coming
shorter, was any indication, he was doing a good job of it too.
“Fucking hell...” Eames’ breath hitched around a louder moan when he began to
roll his hips up into Arthur’s hand. He raised his own hand so that he could
bite down on it. Arthur knew he was doing it so that Ariadne wouldn’t hear
(although she was probably doing the sleep of the dead right now) but he still
missed being able to hear Eames. Next time this happened he would have to make
sure they were alone so Eames could be as loud as he wanted.
He probably should have been startled that he was already plotting out
arrangements for a second time, yet it just seemed like the natural thing to
do. Perhaps that was what he should be fretting over.
At the moment, however, he was far too preoccupied with the way that Eames was
squirming beneath him, hand having fallen free from his mouth.
“Arthur.” Eames actually whined when Arthur ran his thumb across the head of
his cock. “I’m going to come.”
Arthur huffed out a laugh. “You say that like it’s such a bad thing,” he said.
“N—No, that’s not...” Eames shook his head. “I just don’t want to make a mess.
Ariadne will... She’ll ask questions.”
“Oh, right.” Arthur hadn’t thought about that, but he realized that Eames was
probably right. And it’d be especially problematic since the washing machine
was already occupied. Still, it wasn’t like he wanted to stop this. He would
just have to come up with a way around making a mess.
It took Arthur a second or two, but once the idea came to him a wicked grin
stretched its way across his face. It was about all the warning Eames got
before Arthur bent his head down to take his brother’s cock into his mouth.
He had only done this twice now, so it wasn’t something that he was all that
good at.
Still he managed to get at least half of Eames’ cock into his mouth and
evidently that was all that needed since Eames shuddered, muffling his shout in
a nearby pillow as he came.
Arthur tried to swallow, but he still wound up with some of it dribbling out
onto his chin. He raised a hand to brush it away, only to have Eames do it for
him. He wasn’t able to focus much on the flare of pleasure that brought him
since Eames’ hand dropped to his pants barely a second after.
“Whoa there!” Arthur caught Eames’ hand by the wrist, stilling his movements.
“What are you doing?”
“Returning the favor.” Eames’ face was scrunched up in earnest confusion.
“Isn’t that how this works?”
“No, I mean...” Arthur shook his head. “You don’t have to do that for me,
Eames.”
“Why not?” Eames’ eyes widened for a moment then darted away, his body going
tense again. “So that’s how it works, huh.” It wasn’t even a question.
“How what works?” Arthur asked.
“You know what.” Eames’ eyes shifted back towards Arthur, although it seemed to
take a bit of effort on his part. “It’s fine for you to do it, but for me to do
it isn’t right.”
It took far too long for Arthur’s mind to catch up to what Eames was talking
about, but then it all turned into a scramble to put things to rights. “No, God
dammnit, Eames. That’s not what I meant. I just didn’t want you to feel like
that’s something you have to do.”
Arthur wasn’t sure what he had been expecting in response to that, but it
certainly wasn’t Eames sputtering out a laugh. “What?” He prodded Eames in the
stomach, which only made him laugh even harder. “Come on, man, what is it?”
“Nothing, it’s just...” Eames strained to get his own laughter under control.
“Don’t you realize that I basically said the same thing too at the start?”
“Oh.” Arthur let Eames’ wrist drop so that he could slap his hand to his face.
“I am such a fucking idiot.”
“Only sometimes.” Eames’ hands had begun to work at his pants again, popping
the button free. “Don’t worry, I promise not to tell anyone.”
“Thanks for protecting my integrity,” Arthur chuckled. He waited until Eames
had managed to tug down his zipper to flop down next to his brother on the pile
of pillows. He was about to wiggle his jeans down when he realized that Eames
was watching his movements, hungrily. The boy probably didn’t even realize he
was doing it, but Arthur still slowed his movements down, giving a hint of more
skin each time.
It came as a bit of a surprise when Eames reached over and pulled his boxers
the rest of the way down. “Stop being a tease, you ass,” he said.
“Not when it gets you to act like this,” Arthur said. He laughed when Eames’
gaze threatened to skitter away. “Hey, really, haven’t I always supported
anything that can make you feel more confident?”
There were flashes of humor in Eames’ eyes even if he wasn’t laughing yet. “And
you think this is one of those things?” he said.
“Of course.” Arthur spread his legs as best he could with his pants tangled up
around them. He was unable to keep a smug look off his face when he saw how
Eames’ eyes tracked the movement. “Now come on before I start begging.”
“I think I’d like that,” Eames said, voice low.
Arthur wasn’t sure whether to feel disappointed or not that Eames’ hand curled
around his cock afterwards. “Next time,” he said.
“Next time?” Eames echoed. “You mean—“
“Eames, can we talk about this later?” Arthur asked. “Because right now you
have my cock in your hand and I’m really, really turned on.” He huffed a laugh
when Eames swallowed hard in response. “Just do what you usually do when you...
Just do what feels good.”
Eames hesitated for a second longer before starting to move his hand. It
started out almost painfully slow at first, making Arthur have to grit his
teeth together. He didn’t want to force Eames to go faster, not when it was his
first time. Still, he really hadn’t been lying when he’d said that he was far
too turned on. Mostly through watching Eames come undone because how was he not
supposed to find that lovely?
Because he’s your brother, a voice in the back of his mind whispered. It wasn’t
one that Arthur was able to pay attention to for long, though, since Eames
seemed to choose that moment to pick up his pace.
In the end, Arthur probably should have been embarrassed about how ridiculously
easy it was for him to come, but it was hard to feel anything other than
happily stated in his post orgasmatic state. Especially when he saw how pleased
Eames looked with himself.
He nearly tried to stop Eames from leaving (after his pants were pulled back
up, of course) but then he realized that the other boy was just going to get a
wet washcloth.
“So much for not making a mess,” he realized as Eames cleaned him off.
Eames rolled his shoulders into a shrug. “It didn’t turn out so bad, after
all,” he said. “You didn’t even manage to make a mess of the pillows.”
“Aw,” Arthur said, “I’m kinda disappointed.”
“You are ridiculous,” Eames chuckled. He helped Arthur tug up his pants and
boxers before flopping down next to him. “Arthur...”
Arthur cut that off at the past, however, already knowing what his brother
wanted to say. He reached down to pull the covers up around them. “Nothing is
going to change come morning, Eames. I’m still going to be just as fine with
all this as I was before.” He shifted until his legs were tangling up with
Eames’ under the blankets. “We’ll just deal with it in the morning.”
“If you say so,” Eames said. He let one of his arms wrap around Arthur all the
same, however. “Goodnight Arthur.”
Arthur bent down to press a kiss to the top of Eames’ head. “Goodnight Eames,”
he said.
Neither of them said, “I love you,” but it seemed to go without saying.
                                      ---
Ariadne served as their alarm clock the next morning, actually singing as she
shifted around downstairs. Arthur had no idea how she managed to when she was
by far one of the drunkest last night. Still, she managed to soothe away their
grumblings with the promise of fresh coffee.
Arthur waited until she had pranced back into the kitchen to roll back under
the covers, pressing a quick kiss to Eames’ lips. He knew he’d done the right
thing when the pinched expression on Eames’ face was chased away by a grin.
Yeah, everything should be just fine.
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