Suddenly, Eames is beside him, as if he's been there all along. "Where's your admirer?" It's incredible how filthy Eames can make that word sound.
"Left," Arthur says, because he does not fucking feel like getting into details right now.
"Did he, now." Eames' voice is dark, rich with promise, and Arthur's instincts should have been telling him to run by now.
Instead, all he feels is an impulse to say, "Come home with me," and he doesn't realize he'd said it until Eames says, "Of course."
The rest of that night is a jumbled mess of memories. Clinging to Eames through the ride back. Kissing and kissing for what feels like hours in Arthur's hotel room, until Arthur loses all semblance of dignity and begs Eames to fuck him.
Eames' fingers inside him, pushing hard and relentless until Arthur comes all over both of them, while Eames' other hand pushes the hair back from Arthur's forehead. Eames' voice as Arthur comes, close and intimate: "Just like that, darling, yes," as Arthur struggles to put himself back together and fails miserably.
He doesn't remember Eames getting his turn, but he supposes it ended up all right because when he wakes up, Eames is making him pancakes.
That seems to seal something between them. Eames stays at Arthur's hotel room for the rest of the job, and when it's done and he's leaving for his own apartment in New York it doesn't even occur to him not to order a ticket for Eames, too. He panics about that, briefly, on the way to the airport, but Eames shuts him up with a kiss because apparently he's allowed to do that now.
~~
It's perfect. Or it would be, except for the smallest possible details. Nobody in his right mind would even notice them, but Arthur is a dreamsharer and not in his right mind by definition. Nitpicking is part of his fucking job. Arthur notices things.
Things like how Eames initiates sex often, eagerly, but his cock never comes into the equation unless Arthur reaches for it. Even then – it took Arthur weeks to realize this, for which he's furious with himself – Eames does his level best to evade Arthur. Without, of course, Arthur noticing.
He never meant to give Eames a hard time for, well, not getting hard all the time – they're both guys and equipment failure, sad as it is, is a fact of life. But it happens with an alarming frequency, and even when Eames does get hard it takes him eons to get off.
Arthur finds himself watching Eames from the corner of his eye, anxious. This, he can tell, makes Eames snappish, bordering on downright belligerent at times. Arthur can't exactly have a problem with confrontations, given his line of work, but it's something he prefers to keep out of personal relationships.
If that's what this even is.
"Are we in a relationship?" Arthur asks one morning as he's flipping his eggs over.
"No," Eames says, not looking up from his newspaper. "Which is why I'm in London spending my last paycheck and not here where you're making me breakfast. Except – oh wait! - here I am." He looks up. Arthur notes with relief that he mainly looks amused. "There's a contradiction somewhere in there, I'm sure."
Arthur snorts.
After a minute, Eames asks, "Are you trying to pick a fight?" He sounds curious, almost careful.
"Me? No." Arthur turns his full attention to the eggs, because it's easier. "Just making sure."
Re: Allowed [inception, Arthur/Eames, 3/?, nc-17]
"Left," Arthur says, because he does not fucking feel like getting into details right now.
"Did he, now." Eames' voice is dark, rich with promise, and Arthur's instincts should have been telling him to run by now.
Instead, all he feels is an impulse to say, "Come home with me," and he doesn't realize he'd said it until Eames says, "Of course."
The rest of that night is a jumbled mess of memories. Clinging to Eames through the ride back. Kissing and kissing for what feels like hours in Arthur's hotel room, until Arthur loses all semblance of dignity and begs Eames to fuck him.
Eames' fingers inside him, pushing hard and relentless until Arthur comes all over both of them, while Eames' other hand pushes the hair back from Arthur's forehead. Eames' voice as Arthur comes, close and intimate: "Just like that, darling, yes," as Arthur struggles to put himself back together and fails miserably.
He doesn't remember Eames getting his turn, but he supposes it ended up all right because when he wakes up, Eames is making him pancakes.
That seems to seal something between them. Eames stays at Arthur's hotel room for the rest of the job, and when it's done and he's leaving for his own apartment in New York it doesn't even occur to him not to order a ticket for Eames, too. He panics about that, briefly, on the way to the airport, but Eames shuts him up with a kiss because apparently he's allowed to do that now.
~~
It's perfect. Or it would be, except for the smallest possible details. Nobody in his right mind would even notice them, but Arthur is a dreamsharer and not in his right mind by definition. Nitpicking is part of his fucking job. Arthur notices things.
Things like how Eames initiates sex often, eagerly, but his cock never comes into the equation unless Arthur reaches for it. Even then – it took Arthur weeks to realize this, for which he's furious with himself – Eames does his level best to evade Arthur. Without, of course, Arthur noticing.
He never meant to give Eames a hard time for, well, not getting hard all the time – they're both guys and equipment failure, sad as it is, is a fact of life. But it happens with an alarming frequency, and even when Eames does get hard it takes him eons to get off.
Arthur finds himself watching Eames from the corner of his eye, anxious. This, he can tell, makes Eames snappish, bordering on downright belligerent at times. Arthur can't exactly have a problem with confrontations, given his line of work, but it's something he prefers to keep out of personal relationships.
If that's what this even is.
"Are we in a relationship?" Arthur asks one morning as he's flipping his eggs over.
"No," Eames says, not looking up from his newspaper. "Which is why I'm in London spending my last paycheck and not here where you're making me breakfast. Except – oh wait! - here I am." He looks up. Arthur notes with relief that he mainly looks amused. "There's a contradiction somewhere in there, I'm sure."
Arthur snorts.
After a minute, Eames asks, "Are you trying to pick a fight?" He sounds curious, almost careful.
"Me? No." Arthur turns his full attention to the eggs, because it's easier. "Just making sure."