Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/162353.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Inception_(2010)
  Relationship:
      Arthur/Eames_(Inception)
  Character:
      Arthur_(Inception), Eames_(Inception)
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-02-14 Words: 4978
****** been saving it all for you ******
by cherryvanilla
Summary
     "...until I found you." AU in which Arthur meets Eames on a New York
     City street corner. Originally written as commentfic for cherrybina,
     who prompted Jailbait!Eames
Notes
     Eames is nearly 17, Arthur is 25.
Arthur’s bored with his job. He’s 25-year-old Paralegal living in New York
City. He’s the most reliable Para at his firm, and most likely the best if his
latest Christmas bonus is anything to go on. He can speed write a brief in no
time, whip up an appeal and actually argue that the Dream Sharing account (the
firm’s largest and most important) isn’t a violation of basic human and civil
rights.
Arthur’s good at what he does and he makes good money but that doesn’t mean he
isn’t bored to death. Or something else, perhaps – a voice in his head whispers
lonely but he rallies against it and stands to exit the subway train. Arthur
takes the steps up to the street slowly. His bones ache and he feels double his
age. It’s snowing slightly and Arthur nearly rolls his eyes at himself while
mentally cataloguing the rest of his evening: a stop at the health food store
near his apartment for his standard chopped salad (no variation in the
ingredients), a layout of his suit for the next day (complete with color
coordinated tie and matching dress socks), and finally plopping on his
comfortable sofa with his laptop and a Sam Adams while assessing the latest
porn sites and deciding which hot young men will be the two to bring him off
that evening before he passes out (usually still on the couch, with only his
tie undone and his shoes off) and does it all over again tomorrow.
He loosens his tie a little from beneath his coat and walks, eyes unfocused,
not landing on anyone in particular he passes. He always notices the tables off
to the side of the street though, and will glance casually for any latest
knock-offs. He rarely buys, as he prefers the real thing when he can afford it
– but he’s also a habitual browser. Tonight, there’s something new set up along
his normal path – mostly wallets and a few money clips splayed out against
black cloth. What’s behind the table is far more interesting, however: a kid,
wearing dark jeans, a navy T-shirt and far too light of a leather jacket for
this weather. His hair is brown with specs of blonde and it falls across his
eyes in thick strands. Arthur wonders if it feels as soft as it looks, and
finds himself wanting to brush away the random snowflakes caught within. He
stops in front of the table and starts looking at the wallets, more pretense
than anything else. One does catch his interest, however, and he takes it
between his gloved hands, hoisting his leather messenger bag higher onto his
shoulder in the process. He opens the folds and can feel the kid staring at
him. He keeps repeating the word kidkidkid in his mind, willing his feet to
start moving before --
“That’s a good match for you,” the kid says. Arthur startles, not expecting the
words nor the accent. He feels his throat close and forces himself to look up.
Upon his blank stare, the kid nods toward the wallet, his mouth curving into a
sly grin.
Arthur makes a non-committal noise and tries not to think of what those curve
of lips just did to his dick. “How much?”
“Normally 20, but for you – 10.”
Arthur’s mouth quirks up and he allows himself to meet the kid’s gaze. “Hope
you don’t do all your business that way.” He’s also thinking about how he’d
like to wrap himself up in this kid’s accent and set up shop there.
“Nah, discounts only for the devastatingly attractive.” The little bastard has
the audacity to wink and his face is so open, as though he doesn’t have a care
in the world which Arthur knows can’t be true.
“That’s a risky move,” Arthur says, eyes narrowing.
The kid leans his hands on the table and itches forward. “Not really, again –
only do it when it’s a sure bet,” he responds, voice lowering a fraction of an
inch, and Arthur may be spending a lot with his own hand lately but he still
knows flirting when he hears it.
“And what makes you so sure I am?”
The kid shrugs and straightens. “I’m good at reading people. S’gift.”
Arthur nods and looks down at the wallet, feigning interest in the item. “So,
how old are you?” It comes out far less offhanded than he’d hoped and he can
nearly feel the kid’s smirk penetrating his skin.
When the kid doesn’t respond, Arthur forces himself to look up. The boy is
staring at him in a way that takes his breath away. He leans forward again.
“However old you want me to be,” he replies, without irony. Arthur barks out a
laugh and a second later the kid is joining him.
“Oh, I cannot believe you just said that.”
The kid just grins wider and Arthur feels his mouth go dry. They stare at each
other for long seconds before Arthur clears his throat and looks at the boy
pointedly.
“I’ll be 17 next week.”
Arthur raises his eyebrows in disbelief.
The kid holds up his hands. “Honestly, my birthday is next week. Here,” and
then he’s fishing into his back pocket, retrieving his wallet. “Have a look,”
he says and flings a card at Arthur which turns out to be his green card with a
name and yep… a birthday next week.
“So, your name’s..” handing back the card.
“Just call me Eames,” he says, pocketing it blindly. “Everyone does.”
“Okay... I’m Arthur.”
Eames shakes his hand and in the moment between their palms touching and their
fingers releasing, Arthur loses any resolve he had. Because even through the
thin cloth of his gloves he could feel how Eames had stroked his palm with
intent – could feel the strength in his grip. Now Arthur was left shifting his
weight and sticking his hands into his coat pockets just so he could do
something with them because whatever he was thinking was wrong, regardless of
Eames’ consent and he forced himself to remember that.
“Where are your parents?”
Eames rolls his eyes. “My dad’s back in London, just me and Mum right now till
he can transfer over.”
Arthur takes this in, wondering if it’s a lie, still not fully convinced that
Eames isn’t really Oliver Twist.
And Eames must not have been kidding about those people reading skills because
he throws Arthur a terribly patient look and says, “I go to school here in the
city. I just want to make a few bucks – one of my mates knows a guy who gets
all this shit – so he’s letting us man the booth. I’m actually off in a few, my
mate will be back.”
Arthur’s brain is still wheeling from all of this when, true to his word,
Eames’ ‘mate’ arrives. Arthur tries not to eavesdrop, busying himself with the
money clips and then he hears ‘cheers’ and in a blink Eames is standing right
beside him, their arms pressed together.
“We leaving?” Eames asks, low and breathy, and Arthur’s mouth can’t work, his
brain a complete haze of confusion and blinding want.
Arthur nods once and turns on heel, walking briskly. Eames keeps his pace and
their arms brush again. When Eames slides a finger down Arthur’s coat sleeve,
Arthur snaps and pulls Eames under the awning of a cell phone shop.
“Are you sure?” Arthur asks, breathing heavy, because he has to know, he has
to.
Eames just smiles openly at him again. “Yeah, more than anything.” His eyes are
shining under the store lights and Arthur gives into temptation then: tucks a
strand of Eames’ hair behind his ear. He can hear Eames’ breath catch.
“I’m 25, just so you know. And I don’t.. I never do this.”
Eames grins and does up one of Arthur’s coat buttons; it’s the sexiest things
Arthur has experienced in month. “Men or random hook-ups?”
Arthur nudges at Eames and they start walking again. “Uh, more like: gorgeous
boys on street corners who could get me thrown in jail.”
“Mmm. So you are into random hook-ups then?” Eames says, amused.
They’re three blocks from Arthur’s apartment now and he tries to think how to
answer that. “Not.. sometimes at bars but.” He doesn’t know how to say that
he’d gladly have seen the person again in the day time – for more sex but also
to talk a little bit, except it doesn’t happen. Since his last serious
boyfriend three years ago there’s been a string of one night stands, but not
for lack of trying on Arthur’s part. “Let’s just say it’s not really my thing,”
Arthur finally decides on. Although this kid probably knows all of his secrets
just by looking at him.
With two blocks to go, Arthur forces himself to ask, “And do you? Do this a
lot?” He doesn’t really want to know the answer; doesn’t exactly want to just a
string of conquests this teenage Casanova undoubtedly has. And honestly, it’s
only his own lack of sexual self-confidence as of late that is making Arthur
feel this way; that’ll happen when you haven’t been laid in three months. In
the light of day, in his professional life, he could chew this kid up and spit
him out.
“Nah,” the kid says vaguely, and the unspoken words there gives Arthur pause.
Something tightens in his stomach but he pushes it away until they reach his
apartment because this isn’t something to do on the street.
Arthur unlocks the outer door and ascends the stairs first, with Eames on his
heels. Once inside, Arthur sheds his coat and gestures for Eames to grab a
drink if he wants. Arthur’s blood is pounding as he hangs up his coat and moves
to remove his tie. Thinking better of it he decides to let it hang loose, and
instead unbuttons his shirt collar.
Arthur pads to the bathroom and throws some water on his face. Staring at his
reflection he takes a deep breathe and steps into the other room. Eames is
standing in his kitchen, drinking a coke. His jacket is resting on the counter
as Arthur doesn’t have a kitchen table or chairs.
There’s no point ignoring it any longer. “Am I your first?”
Eames laughs. The sound lacks the openness from before, edging into guarded
territory. “If that’s what gets you off, yeah, sure.”
And Arthur may have just met this kid, but he also works with enough attorneys
to know deflection when he hears it.
Arthur moves forward and crowds Eames against the kitchen. He’s hoping for a
flare of fear the kid’s eyes; it would prove his point and moreover, it would
cause Arthur to stop this immediately. Instead, Eames’ eyes go dark with
arousal and he fingers the fabric of Arthur’s tie. Arthur ignores the shiver
that runs up his spine, refuses to think about how they’re both the same height
and how if he presses just an inch closer he’ll find the heat of an erection
stiff against his thigh.
“Eames,” he warns, and fixes him with a penetrating stare. He’s rewarded about
20 seconds later.
“Bloody hell. Alright, sort of,” Eames groans in frustration and rests his head
back against the fridge, rolling it to one side and not quite meeting Arthur’s
gaze. It’s the most vulnerable he’s seen him since their brief acquaintance.
“I’ve messed around with blokes a school, you know.. snoggin’, wanks, the lot,
but I’ve never.. and not with … you know, a man,” Eames admits, and his hands
were flailing a little while he talked and he’s biting his lip and jesus
christ, Arthur should not be this turned on.
Arthur raises a hand and cups Eames’ jaw, gently turning his face. As their
eyes meet, Arthur watches the last traces of uncertainty fade from Eames’ face,
replaced again with blinding want.
Arthur drags his thumb over the fullness of Eames’ bottom lip, feels it tremble
beneath his hand. “You want me to show you how good it can be?” Arthur
whispers, and then groans at the brief tease of Eames’ tongue against the pad
of his thumb.
“You’re fucking gorgeous,” says Arthur, and he slides his fingers down Eames’
neck, curving around his shoulder and cupping the hard muscle, forcing Eames’
head to arch back against the fridge and his body to surge upward toward
Arthur’s own. Arthur gives in and presses their bodies together, letting Eames
feel exactly what he’s doing to him.
Eames’ eyes fall closed and he lets out a stuttering breath. “Oh, my god,” he
moans, and rocks up against Arthur, his hand reaching around to rest on the
small of Arthur’s back. Arthur lets out a choked moan and leans forward,
slowly, his fingers curling into long hair (soft, yes) at the back of Eames’
neck, his eyes trained on Eames’ as he darts his tongue out to swipe between
the seam of Eames’ lips.
Arthur’s tongue retreats immediately. Eames watches him through half-lidded
eyes. “Please,” he gasps, and rolls his hips insistently against Arthur’s.
Arthur has to will himself not to come. It’s been three fucking months and it’s
sensation overload between Eames’ hard cock pressing oh god, right there, there
against his own, straining against his dress pants, and Eames’ left hand moving
in small circles on the small of his back, willing Arthur not to move, the heat
of his palm lighting Arthur’s insides on fire.
And then there’s Eames’ right hand which is still fingering his tie, sliding
the fabric against the now sweaty skin of Arthur’s neck. As if Eames is reading
his mind, he takes that moment to slowly tug the material from his body,
letting it fall casually to the floor. Then Eames is pressing hot fingers to
the bare skin at Arthur’s collarbone and good fucking christ, Arthur can’t
anymore.
He takes Eames’ lips in a hard, brutal kiss, working his lips open with his
tongue and slotting their mouths together. Eames gasps into the contact and
wraps both of his arms around Arthur’s back, his fingers fumbling in a
desperate manner that Arthur can feel – it’s thrumming through Eames’ entire
body. He tugs Arthur’s shirt out of his pants, runs his hands over the bare
expanse of Arthur’s back like he has to touch him everywhere. Arthur moans his
appreciation into the kiss and deepens it, thrusting his cock hard against
Eames’. Eames makes a noise and all of a sudden Arthur finds himself supporting
Eames’ weight, the boy having levered himself up against the fridge to wrap his
legs around Arthur’s waist, his fingernails scraping up and down Arthur’s back.
“Jesus Christ,” Arthur pants, breaking the seal of their lips and bending his
head to suck on Eames’ neck. They don’t even have their clothes off yet. Eames
pants harshly against his ear and Arthur can feel the race of his pulse beneath
his lips. He makes sure not to leave any marks, licking at Eames’ skin. He
smells like ivory soap and tastes salty and perfect. “Fuck, I want you,” Arthur
gasps when Eames’ fingers dip lower, beneath the waist of his pants and against
the curve of his ass.
“Take me,” Eames says in response. Arthur’s cock twitches painfully and he
steps back, letting Eames’ legs fall to the floor. He runs a hand through his
now thoroughly un-gelled hair and takes a gulping breath. Eames’ face is
flushed, patches of red painting his cheekbones. His pupils are blown wide,
eyes round. He has strands of hair sticking to his forehead and his lips are
bitten blood red.
I did that, Arthur thinks, and he feels his dick twitch again. “Do you have to
call your mom?” Arthur asks, forces himself to because this has to happen now.
“No, she doesn’t expect me till later.” Eames’ voice is rough and uneven.
Arthur nods. “Good.” He takes a step closer and relishes in the way it makes
Eames’ eyes flare. Arthur licks at Eames’ lips with his tongue, lewdly, until
he coaxes Eames’ out and pulls back until it’s just their tongues touching, hot
and dirty. “Because I want you in my bed,” Arthur says, breaking the contact
and pulling Eames toward the bedroom.
They make-out against the hallway wall. It’s Eames’ fault entirely, palming
Arthur’s ass and whispering how hot he is. “You’re gonna make me come,” Eames
moans from where Arthur has him pressed against the wall, Eames’ hands over his
head while Arthur ruts against him like he’s the teenager of the two.
“Not until I destroy you with my tongue,” Arthur promises and he feels Eames’
dick leap beneath his hips.
Arthur allows himself to at least rid Eames of his shirt, pulling the soft
fabric up and off in one slick motion. He runs his hands over Eames’ chest,
hard and muscular but not overly so. He lets his fingers brush against the
light hair he finds, traces it down Eames’ belly and then runs his palm over
the outline of Eames’ cock through his jeans.
“Arttthhur,” Eames whines, his head falling back with a loud thunk.
Arthur shakes himself and bites his lip. “Bedroom, seriously,” Arthur chokes
out and walks ahead of Eames until he knows he’s made it to safety. Arthur
turns on the bedside light, because fuck he wants to see this, and starts to
undo the buttons on his shirt. He feels Eames come up behind him, strong arms
reaching around to cup his erection. Arthur leans back, letting his head fall
against his shoulder for a second before gathering his bearings.
Arthur attacks Eames’ mouth, and lifts his hands until Eames’ gets the hint.
Eames slowly peels Arthur out of his shirt, and then rids him of his white
undershirt in an instant whirl. Arthur maneuvers Eames so his back is to the
bed and then he sinks to his knees, his eyes never leaving Eames’ face. Arthur
smirks when Eames’ eyes grow wide and his mouth falls slightly open.
He deftly undoes Eames’ jeans and nuzzles his cheek against his yellow boxers,
feeling the heat against his skin. Arthur slides them down Eames’ muscular
thighs, pressing his fingers into Eames’ hipbones. Eames gasps and Arthur can
feel the expectation radiating through his body.
Eames is thick and large and fucking gorgeous. Arthur holds him at the base and
licks one long swipe from bottom to tip. He’s rewarded with pre-cum and laps it
up gratefully, reveling in the way Eames’ thighs are shaking beneath his hands.
Arthur stands then. “What--?” Eames’ face is beautiful open mix of frustration
and desire and Arthur has to kiss him. Eames grabs him close and then Arthur
feels fumbling hands at his pants. Eames manages to get his button undone but
nearly catches Arthur’s dick in the zipper. Arthur hisses and steps back. “Slow
down,” he soothes. He steps out of his pants and underwear and watches Eames do
the same. They stare openly at one another, not bothering to hide it. Arthur
watches Eames lick his lips as his gaze trails down to Arthur’s cock and he
feels heat coil at the base of his spine.
Arthur moves into Eames’ space and laces their fingers together. He kisses
Eames slow and wet, mouth barely moving, just pressure and heat. Arthur bites
at corner of Eames’ mouth, “Get on your hands and knees for me, baby,” it’s
nearly a question, conveying Eames has every chance to say no.
Eames growls and kisses Arthur roughly, biting into his mouth and fucking him
with his tongue, christ that tongue…
“Fuck, yes,” Eames says when he breaks away. He scoots onto the bed, up to the
pillows and rests his face against his folded hands. Arthur takes in sight of
his ass, round and hard and up in the air just for him. He inhales sharply and
squeezes his dick hard at the base before kneeling behind Eames.
Arthur runs his hand along Eames’ side and across his lower back; Eames shivers
at the touch of his hands. Arthur spares a thought for what Eames thinks is
about to happen and what actually is – he hopes it will be appreciated. Arthur
slides the tip of his index finger along Eames’ crack and murmurs, “you’re
going to love this.” Without giving Eames a chance to respond, he spreads
Eames’ cheeks wide and lowers his head. Eames cries out instantly, the sound
sharp and surprised.
Arthur teases his tongue along Eames’ hole, feeling the muscle clench at his
inquiry. Arthur moans lightly and dips his tongue deeper; Eames spasms against
him. Arthur listens to the rough pant of his breathing and moans encouragingly
when Eames begins to thrust back against his tongue. Arthur licks a long strip
up his crack, then bites lightly at his cheek. “You like this, baby?”
“Oh my god,” Eames breathes, ragged.
“Fuck my mouth,” Arthur mutters and goes back to his task, not holding back
now, his tongue pointed and hard, thrusting in and out of Eames’ hole without
rhythm, just sloppy abandon that Arthur rarely affords himself. He loves
rimming; loves the feel and taste and can’t get enough of making someone fall
apart here with just his tongue.
Arthur pulls Eames’ cheeks apart as wide as he can and laps him up, until their
both a wet, dripping mess. Eames is babbling nonsense like ‘oh bloody hell’,
‘so fucking hot’, ‘your fucking tongue, Arthur, oh my god’ while he jerks his
hips back repeatedly. And then Arthur has himself pressed against Eames’ back
and he’s jerking him from behind, spreading pre-cum up an down Eames’ cock and
honestly, he can’t believe Eames has lasted this long.
“You’ve got stamina,” Arthur groans against the back of Eames’ neck, shivering
at how much of a turn-out that actually is.
“Mm,” says Eames and twists out from under Arthur until they’re facing one
another. “It’s you yanks who don’t,” he grins. Arthur swats at his shoulder
playfully and they wrestle until Arthur is straddling his hips. Arthur takes
them both in his hand and Eames’ eyes fall closed, his back arching to expose
the beautiful long line of his neck.
“You want my mouth on you again?”
Eames reaches up and runs his hands down Arthur’s arms. “Please.”
Arthur thumbs Eames’ lips. “So pretty when you beg,” and then he’s sliding down
Eames’ body, pulling at his nipples and paying loving attention to every single
patch of skin, taking his time like he knows no one ever has with the body
beneath him. Arthur’s said things to Eames tonight that he’s never said to
anyone. The second he found out Eames was mostly a virgin it’s like a switch
flipped in his brain: he could be what this kid needed – he could be fucking
incredible and not have to worry about living up to any kind of expectation.
Arthur takes Eames’ dick in his mouth unhurriedly; he licks at him, feeling the
vein bulge beneath his tongue. Eames thrashes above him, and rests his hand on
the side of Arthur’s head, as if wondering if he could. Arthur grasps it in his
own, pulling it toward his hair while swallowing Eames to the base.
Automatically, Eames’ fingers pull at Arthur’s hair and his hips jerk shallowly
upward. Arthur gladly takes both.
Arthur rolls Eames’ balls beneath his fingers, and feels them rise and tighten.
He knows he isn’t going to last and so he makes this good, hollowing his cheeks
and driving down faster, harder, while Eames fucks his mouth; his lips feel raw
and stretched around Eames’ thick cock, ramming his own hips over and over
again into the sheets, leaving them slick.
“Oh fuck, I’m gonna, I’m. Arthur!” Eames says before exploding in his mouth.
Arthur sucks him all the way down, feeling Eames’ cum hit the back of his
throat in a rush.
Arthur vibrates a moan around Eames’ dick, lets him feel the hum of it. Eames’
hands clench and unclench in Arthur’s hair, hips faltering in their rhythm
until Arthur finally releases him, licking idly at the sensitive skin until
Eames’ shifts away.
“Oh bloody hell,” Eames pants, and then he’s reaching for Arthur. Arthur shifts
above him, angling so he’s not in contact with Eames’ cock before rolling Eames
onto his side and kissing him everywhere he can reach.
“What do you want?” Eames asks and he sounds so earnest that Arthur can hardly
breathe. What does he want? Christ, everything.
Arthur pulls tugs at Eames until he’s on top of Arthur, so he can feel his
strong thighs. He thinks of those thighs wrapped around him, squeezing the life
out of his back while he fucks into the heat of Eames’ ass. He shakes his head
visibly and licks at Eames’ bottom lips. “Want your mouth. That okay?”
Eames gives him that put upon patient look again. “Fuck yeah, it is,” and then
he mimics Arthur’s prior actions, paying careful attention to his nipples and
stomach, licking across his ribcage and it makes Arthur smile between gasps;
this kid is already on his way to being one hell of a lover.
Eames buries his nose in the hair at Arthur’s groin and Arthur can feel him
inhale. Then his tongue is licking at the crease of Arthur’s thigh and those
lips, those fucking lips, are rubbing at the head, letting it slip in between
and then pulling back again to tease the slit with his tongue. “Eames,” Arthur
moans because Christ, he’s a tease. Arthur brings his hands to Eames’ hair,
combs it back affectionately, then ruffles it and lets his fingers slide
against his scalp. Arthur just holds him there, not pushing, while Eames sinks
lower, trying to deep throat him and nearly managing. Arthur sighs and watches
the scene before him, groaning at the sight of himself disappearing between
dark red flesh.
Eames sucks him harder and with more intent. He fingers Arthur’s balls and runs
a flat palm up and down Arthur’s thigh, pushing between to push almost
curiously at his hole. Arthur spreads his legs wider and Eames readjusts his
position, probing at Arthur dryly but fails to seek entrance.
Arthur moans and bucks his hips, just barely, thrusting minutely into the
glorious heat of Eames’ mouth, feeling Eames’ tongue drag across his cock in
long, sure licks. Eames stretches his lips wider, takes Arthur deeper and then
Arthur feels it at the base of his spine and in his balls and he tugs at Eames’
hair, a little too hard and says, “Eames, let me, I’m gonna come,” and tries to
pull him off but Eames refuses, just sucks Arthur harder and Arthur groans and
gasps, his mouth dropping open on a gasp and his hips rocking as white heat
exploding behind his eyes.
Arthur’s still panting shallowly while Eames gradually licks him clean then
wipes at his own mouth, his tongue darting to catch the fluid that hit his
chin. It’s the hottest thing Arthur’s ever seen.
Arthur pulls Eames up by his arms, whispering, “jesus, come here,” and they lay
for long minutes just breathing and kissing lazily. They lay there, not
talking, until Eames says, “I guess I should be going,” and Arthur flashes back
to every single one of his bar one night stands with fake excuses except this
time he knows the reason: Eames has to get home to his mother, good fucking
god.
Arthur gets them each a wet cloth and pulls on some sweatpants. When he returns
he finds Eames in the hallway gathering up his shirt and follows him to the
kitchen, watching him shrug on his jacket. Arthur doesn’t know what to say; the
sudden reality of this slamming into him.
He walks Eames to the door and they stand there in uncomfortable silence. Eames
looks slightly embarrassed yet utterly debauched.
“This was..” Eames starts, his eyes searching over Arthur’s face.
“Yeah, it was,” says Arthur with feeling.
Eames stares at him for long seconds and then appears to come to some sort of
decision. “So, I uh.. turn 17 next week.”
Arthur feels himself straighten. “I’m aware.”
Eames steps closer and trails a finger down the center of Arthur’s chest. “And
I know what I want as my present.’
Arthur, against his better judgment, licks his lips. “Oh yeah?”
Eames curves his hand around Arthur’s hip and pulls their bodies together,
turning his head to say directly into Arthur’s ear, “I want you to fuck me.”
Arthur fails to suppress a shudder of pleasure.
“Eames, I don’t think..”
Eames tongue flicks at the shell of his ear. “Stop thinking, Arthur. Doesn’t
that get tiresome after a while?”
Arthur laughs, bemused, and palms Eames’ ass, absently. “You’re a cocky
bastard, you know that?”
Eames leans into the touch. “Perhaps, but you know I’m right.”
Arthur doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then he looks at Eames and says, “I
usually pass by where your booth is around 5:30.”
Eames nods, a small smile forming, but his mouth looks awkward as if he’s
biting back a larger reaction. “I’ll be sure to switch my shift with Davey.”
They smile at one another, a little shyly, and Arthur leans forward to kiss him
because he can’t get enough of those lips. He leaves Eames shaking and
breathless.
“Fuck, Arthur, you drive me crazy,” Eames breathes, resting their foreheads
together.
“Ditto,” Arthur gives his ass a final squeeze and opens the door.
“Bye,” Eames says with a little wave and Arthur feels his stomach flip.
“Bye.” Arthur closes the door and leans against it. He runs his tongue over his
lips; he can still taste Eames. It’s then he realizes just what deep shit he’s
in yet he can’t bring himself to care.
[end]
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