Just A Little Longer (4/4)
Apr. 7th, 2011 08:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ofvanityInfo @ MASTERPOST
PART I
PART II
PART III
They get to the dance a half hour later than they intended. As it turns out, Ariadne and Mal get easily distracted when they’re getting dressed. Cobb ruined the tie of his knot within the first four minutes of putting it on, anyway, so Arthur let’s it go. The gym is decorated with cheap streamers and color coordinated balloons. There’s the blue/white glow of a spotlight and a disco ball hanging from the ceiling.
Eleven minutes after they get there, Arthur feels a hand on his shoulder and turns to find Cobb. He raises an eyebrow and Cobb leans into his ear to talk over the music, “Do you have--” a condom?, Arthur almost finishes, “--change for a fifty? I meant to ask you earlier.”
Arthur swallows the thoughts of condoms and shakes his head at Cobb. “No, why?”
He shakes his head, shrugging, “Nevermind. Mal and I are heading out,” he claps Arthur on the back, winking, “Don’t wait up.”
With that, he’s gone, leading Mal by the elbow and pushing through the crowd. He throws Eames a waves on his way out.
Eames reaches Arthur and hands him a drink that smells suspiciously like tequila. he sniffs the contents and then frowns at him. Eames grins, “It’s my civic duty, Arthur. I couldn’t not do it. Punch spiking is like a right of passage. How long have we been here, by the way?”
“I dunno, something like twelve minutes.”
Eames grins, waving over Yusuf and Ariadne who were dancing to something that sounded strangely like Footloose. Yusuf’s breathing is light like he’s over the moon, “Alright?”
“They’ve left already,” Eames prompts.
“How long has it been?” Yusuf laughs, reaching into his pockets. He glances at his phone, “Ahaha, only twelve minutes? Those kids. Ari wins this one, boys.”
They all pass her ten dollars each and Ariadne beams with joy all the way to the dance floor. Once she and Yusuf are gone, Eames leans over and announces, “Y’know that was a utterly biased ruling.”
“I know, “Arthur laughs, “But at least, Yusuf will get laid tonight.”
Eames laughs and leads him to their table. They sit and talk about the test Arthur took in AP Chem and Arthur’s new topic in debate over Dollar Diplomacy during the turn of the century, which turns into a bit of a debate itself. Eames offers the fact that he’s training more often now for indoors water polo and all the smoking they’ve been doing has thoroughly fucked up his lungs. They have about an hour inside before Arthur’s had enough tequila to have had enough small talk. He leans into Eames’ space, breathing lightly against his mouth. “Let’s get out of here.”
“I beg your pardon?” Eames’ eyebrows shoot into his fringe.
Arthur shakes off a wave of self-doubt and what might the rejection or nausea, “C’mon, let’s go back to the cabin and get shitfaced and make out.”
“Just snogging,” Eames smirks, “or will it lead to something more?”
“More is definitely within the realm of possibility.”
Eames leans in and brushes a brisk kiss to Arthur’s mouth, then moves to his ear to talk over the music, “As tempting as that is, you’re pissed--again--and I want to stay.”
“You want to stay here? Instead of making out with me?” Arthur pouts. Maybe he’s had more tequila than he thought.
Eames presses a swift kiss to his cheek, “You’re not sober, pet. Frankly, neither am I. That’s never a good idea--who will maintain your virtue?”
“What virtue?” Arthur snorts. “If anything, it’s more reason for you to get me out of here.”
Closing his eyes, Eames fists his hands on his knees, visibly restraining himself. His argument wasn’t terribly thought through. He’s about to tell Arthur that he’s right and they should forget about this bullshit dance when Ariadne hops over. She throws her arm around Arthur from behind and pulls him away from Eames’ space.
“Arthur,” she starts, “come dance with me! I think Yusuf needs a break.”
Arthur glances up at her and then pointedly watches Eames’ face, replying, “Yeah, I will. There’s nothing here for me anyway.”
Ariadne beams, not noticing the frown Eames’ is shooting at them, and leads him to the floor by the hand. Yusuf takes Arthur’s seat and as they leave, he strikes up a conversation with Eames.
Ariadne dances sweetly, and instead of responding in the same fashion, Arthur slips her body closer to him. She furrows her brow at him. “What are you up to?”
Arthur shrugs, pulling her closer under the guise of talking over the music, “Eames is being a bitch. I want to go already and he wants to stay.”
Ariadne narrows her eyes at him then leans in to smell his breath. Then she laughs, like finally understand a joke. “Oh, I get it. You’re drunk and you want to make Eames jealous.”
Arthur scowls at her suddenly realizing he’s acting like a fourteen year-old girl, and doesn’t understand why. He’s never acted like this before. And all of a sudden, his head is a whole lot clearer than it was four minutes ago. He shrugs it off, switching strategies. “Alright, nevermind, actually. Let’s just dance.”
“No, if you want to, I’ll play along. Yusuf isn’t tired, he’s got a deal to make and that kind of pisses me off. You’d think they’d wait ten fucking minutes so he could dance with his girlfriend,” Ariadne rolls her eyes, exasperated. Then tacks on, “Motherfuckers.”
Arthur smiles at her and shakes his head, “They’d have a fit. Let’s just have fun without them.”
Grinning conspiratorially, Ariadne agrees. It only takes three songs in their over zealous dancing and spinning for Yusuf to appear again. Only now, he’s got a wicked grin on his lips and Eames is at his side. Feeling less like a petulant asshole, Arthur lets Ariadne kiss his cheek before asking to switch. He hands a slightly dizzy Ariadne off to Yusuf and then turns to regard Eames with a raised eyebrow, “To what do I owe this pleasure? Or nuisance, really.”
Eames shrugs, gesturing to the dance floor, “Let’s bust some moves.”
“No, thanks, 1994,” Arthur scolds without bite.
Eames grins, “Come on, let’s dance.”
Arthur leans in to talk over the music. “This is really like a theme for you, isn’t it--the dancing? Have you run out of ideas?”
Eames noses the shell of Arthur’s ear, breathing into and soliciting shivers from Arthur. “Oh, I dunno. You're giving me plenty of idea now, love.”
Arthur hums nonchalantly, “Too bad you wanted to stay here. The cabin offer has expired, it appears I’ve come into my right mind again,” he pulls back and heads back to their table, when a strong hand wraps around his wrist and stops him in his tracks.
His feet manage to stay mostly composed but he bumps into Eames’ shoulder where it meets the blade of his shoulder. Then there’s that revving in his ear, “I have an offer for you, then.”
Arthur turns to meet him and nods in askance. Eames’ mouth turns into a full, lecherous grin, like he’s already won. “There’s a health classroom just down the hallway outside this gym. It’s locked, but I’m certain we can unlock it.”
Before Arthur can answer, Ariadne and Yusuf pop up and separate them. Ariadne is buzzing with excitement as she deters Arthur, “Hey, look, they’re announcing the King and Queen of Love!”
“What on Earth is that?” He mutters, disgusted just at the sound of it.
Ariadne points to a stage at the end of the gym where a faculty member known affectionately as Mr. Asscrack is squinting in the glare of a spotlight. He taps the mic in examination and beams at the loud rustle it emits. “Hello, students! Are we all having a good time?”
The crowd roars in a mix of the affirmative and the negative.
Arthur shuffles, feeling oddly pedestrian but before he can turn and takes Eames’ up on his offer, Eames appears with a hand on his elbow. “Have you spoken to Mal?”
Arthur shrugs, “Not since last Monday, not really.”
“Alright.”
On stage, Mr. Asscrack continues, “Can I get a drum roll, please?” the crowd complies, “The King of this year’s Valentine’s Celebration--”
Ariadne squeals with delight when Asscrack calls Eames’ name. Arthur’s eye widen comically and Eames huffs at his side, “Bugger, I didn’t even run this year.”
The spotlight finds them as laughter bubbles out of Arthur’s throat. It’s a shocked, disbelieving laughter and Eames passes him a full grin, only slightly sarcastic, “I’m glad you find this so amusing.”
Mr. Asscrack booms something else over the mic and it takes him a register it but, then, all the humor falls from Arthur’s face. Ariadne and Yusuf fall over each other in hysterics. In another second of disbelief, Arthur grasps the lapels of Eames’ jacket, fingers digging in and speaking his threat for him. And he knows what just happened, he’s not a fucking moron, but he’d like to hear it from the horse’s mouth, “Eames. Why did he just call my name.”
Eames’ grin turns mischievous, but he glances between the stage and Arthur like he’s trying to comprehend the development too. The crowd is cheering and wolf whistling deafeningly, but Arthur can still hear him crystal fucking clear. “I do believe you’ve been named the Queen of Love. Isn’t that lovely?”
“Well! This school is nothing if not open-minded! As long as nobody sues!” he laughs at his own joke, no one is listening, “You two kids come up here and collect your crowns!”
The spotlight has found them and with a wink, Eames grabs Arthur’s hand, unlatches it from his lapel and pushes them through the crowd. They part for them and Arthur is too shocked to even be pissed or excited. Just, the fucking audacity. On the stage, Eames pushes the glittering tiara into Arthur’s gelled hair.
Arthur nearly splits his lip, holding down the string of swear words that are threatening to come up. He passes Mr. Asscrack a forced smile before they are shuffled offstage. The crowd dies down but there are already people approaching to clap Eames on the shoulder. (Apparently, he wins every year.)
As soon as he’s within reach of her, Ariadne jumps on Arthur, hugging him and laughing in delightful ways that make the shock in his throat uncoil.
“--was harmless. Jeez, Eames, how did you do it?”
Arthur turns to him now with something like amusement and incredulous curiosity, “What the fuck did you even--?”
Eames raises an eyebrow in rebuttal, like You really didn’t catch that?, and it all slides into place. Arthur almost slaps his forehead with his palm before he catches himself, he should have seen it. Then he’s laughing, because he’s got to hand it to Eames, this was unprecedented. Ariadne glances between them, “I don’t get it.”
“He bribed Mal into switching the ballots.”
Cobb wouldn’t carry big bills without having an alternative. He doesn’t like getting caught unprepared. And Mal wouldn’t approach him herself, for fear of wrecking the whole thing. Any other time, Arthur might be furious for not putting these together, but this was harmless. He exchanges a look with Eames and laughs again.
Yusuf claps a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, “You have to admit, Arthur, you do look dashing in a tiara.”
Arthur’s shoulders shake with laughter and he takes Yusuf’s cup that smells suspiciously like vodka. Without wondering how many punches Eames spiked, he polished off the drink and feels light reaching out of his mouth from his feet, something aching to fall out. Arthur doesn’t think this is the vodka--maybe the tequila--bu this is something else. When he turns back to Eames’ there’s a sloppy grin spilling his slurs. “So, about the cabin.”
-
By the time they reach the open night air, Arthur is convinced he doesn’t even care about the cabin anymore. At least twenty people have cockblocked him in the last forty-five minutes, trying to congratulate him on becoming the Queen of Love, and really, Eames, was that necessary? (Yep, yep it was.) There’s more vodka guzzling in his veins than he remembers drinking and he’s not going to make it to the fucking cabin. It’s on the opposite side of the fucking campus and Arthur doesn’t want to wait, anymore, fuck that; actually, fuck Eames. They’re better off just heading back to Arthur’s room and trading messy, slow, spit-slick blowjobs before he passes out.
Arthur leads Eames through his dorm at a pretty obvious pace, and fires off a text to Yusuf when he can be bothered for just a tic, I have to take this call.(Getting laid. Stay gone.) (Cheers, mate.)
Arthur only gives Eames enough time to shut the door behind them before he pushes him against the frame. He curls his fingers into Eames’ hair and draws him in for a messy kiss. Arthur licks his way into Eames’ mouth reaching a second hand to pull the tails of his shirt out. He can only hear the dim patter when their crowns hit the floor, forgotten. The kiss darkens into a fight of raspy tongues, and before Arthur can realize it, he’s canting his hips against Eames.
His knees are pushed between Eames’ as he rubs himself against his hip. Eames is breathing in hitched gasps, suddenly. Arthur’s too hard to think straight and the world is spinning, or rocking back and forth like hips. He blazes a wet trail of open mouthed kisses on Eames’ collarbone, sucking obscenely and rubbing their groins together. Every roll of his body is sending a pulsing heat into his belly and Arthur is going insane because of it. There is tequila burning in his throat and his mouth but he wants it to be Eames. Burning through his skin and his body. He needs to come, right fucking now, touch his body and his length to Eames’, he needs to feel skin and sweat and come. “God, Eames, suck me off, already. Your fucking mouth--”
Then there’s a pressure on his body, the heat of Eames’ hands on his body and he moans, he’s thinking of Eames’ hands everywhere--scratching and rubbing and jacking him--but the pressure become insistent and then Arthur is across the room and --is gone and the door is slamming.
The heat is suddenly cool and sending shocks up and down his body, goose-flesh rising all over his skin. Arthur is winded and dizzy and he sits on the bed to steady himself and he’s only minimized his breathing to fast gasps before he’s speed dialing on his phone. Eames answers after it rings too many times or not enough times, Arthur’s head is swimming. “Eames,” he breathes. If it can be called breathing.
Eames grunts or hums between his quick breathing. Arthur hears him swallow dry saliva and Arthur has to stop himself at the thought of Eames’ mouth--on him, in his mouth, wet tongue sliding--but it’s particularly distracting. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe, “Come back.”
There’s the rustle of wind whipping into the receiver. Eames make a low sound of contemplation. Arthur wonders how far Eames has gotten and how much time has passed with him trying to clear his head. Finally, Eames agrees, “Alright.”
Arthur tosses the phone away from him and toes off his shoes. Everything is starting to slow down and Arthur pulls off his tie and his dress shirt, leaving the undershirt. He lies back on the bed and touches the cold sheets with his fingertips. The goose flesh on his arms is settling when the door opens and Eames shuts it softly behind him. Eames takes one look at Arthur in his undershirt and too tight slacks and sucks his bottom lip into his mouth.
Arthur looks up through his eyelashes at him and has to suppress a shiver. Eames is a mess, lips swollen and red, shirt tails everywhere, and a sexy little bruise has formed on his collar bone. The one from yesterday pales in comparison, this one is private and can be hidden but Eames is baring it for him right now and Arthur wants to suck it more, make it darker and dirtier.
He forces all those thoughts away and scoots over, patting the bed space beside him. “Why did you leave?”
Eames sits on the bed, his back to Arthur, silently chewing his lip and Arthur wonders what he’s doing, with such fuzzy edges. Eames lays back after a minute, wrapping himself around and in between Arthur and noses his cheek, placing chaste kisses wherever his mouth can reach. Yet, his touch is hesitant. Or resistant. Arthur inhales deeply and Eames doesn’t smell like tequila or vodka. He though they were drunk together.
Arthur opens his eyes to find Eames watching him with an alarmingly curious gaze. “How come you only get randy like that when you’re pissed?”
Arthur’s eyes cross and he looks past Eames to steady them. It doesn’t even occur to him to lie. “It’s the only time I don’t care that I don’t know you.”
Eames looks startled for a split second and then it softens. Arthur can feel something heavy in his throat but he doesn’t have the presence of mind to distinguish it from the alcohol. Not with Eames looking at him so closely. Too closely. Arthur rolls onto his back and lets everything fade to black.
-
Eames watches the steady rise and fall of Arthur’s chest for a few minutes and then unwraps himself. Eames prides himself on being honest, especially when it comes to people like Arthur. But there’s something disturbing about the calm dissociative voice he used and Eames can’t stand being there anymore. Eames grabs his crown from the floor and sets it on the bed next to Arthur.
When Arthur wakes up in the next morning, he turns and through his pounding headache, finds a handful of Poker chips and the King’s crown next to them. He picks the Post-It note off it and reads:
I’m all in.
A few hours later, Arthur actually looks for the stupid tiara he got last night and when he can’t find it, realizes Eames has traded crowns with him. He doesn’t think about what that means.
-
Cobb doesn’t show his mug until sometime after six in the evening. His tie is loose around his neck and there is a blissed out haze in his eyes. He struts right in--even though Arthur knows he locked the door--and throws himself around the room. Then he hugs Arthur like he used to when they were kids, all loose and clingy with affection. “I didn’t think you’d come back.”
Cobb smiles, toeing off his shoes and laying back. “I didn’t either. But Nash can’t work until the day after tomorrow and I figured it wouldn’t hurt to stay another day. I would’ve stayed at Mal’s, but I think I need a break from her. I am exhausted. We were all over the city up until a few hours ago, then we were just lounging for a bit and then I decided I’d better get some sleep before I crashed. I am sprinting to keep up with her, man.” Cobb smiles, utterly besotted, “Why are the beautiful ones always crazy?”
Arthur snorts, thumbing through his Calculus book, “You know how to pick ‘em.”
Cobb pillows his head with his hands. “Fuck off. How was your date with Eames? Is he still as creepy as he looks? Bordering on pervert?”
Arthur shoots him a warning glare but still offers, “He had me named the Queen of Love at the dance last night.”
“Oh, yeah, Mal told me about that,” Cobb doubles over with laughter. “I almost warned you but I figured it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle. He does like you, though. Mal says she’s never seen him as happy as he looks when he’s with you, which, y’know, I think that’s good enough for me.”
“Wow,” Arthur is genuinely shocked.
“I know.” Cobb smiles that crooked, rare smile but it gets swallowed into a yawn. “I know, man.”
He falls asleep in his clothes and Arthur crawls in after him later on. They sleep comfortably, like old times and in the morning, Arthur sees him out downstairs. There are dark circles under his eyes, but when he kisses Mal goodbye, his entire face lights up. They watch the car drive away for a minute and Mal wraps her arms around herself and leans against Arthur. She murmurs something in French and he understands what she’s said, but she repeats it in English anyway, like she’d forgotten her tongue for a second. “Does he ever overstay his welcome?”
Arthur looks at the floor, scuffing pavement uncomfortably. “No.”
“I didn’t think so.” She presses a ghost of a kiss to his cheek and walks away, sweater flapping in the wind around her waist.
Arthur watches her walk and feels a sudden kinship to Mal. The slope of her shoulders disappears past the horizon of trees in the forest and Arthur finally feels the cold when she’s gone. He heads upstairs in silent ministrations. In his room, there’s a black bag hanging behind the door. When he opens it, there’s a DKNY suit inside and note attached to the lapel.
Joyeux anniversaire, Arthur.
Arthur’s birthday isn’t for seven months and Cobb really needs to learn how to just say “Thank you.” But when Arthur tries the suit on, he decides to forgive Cobb’s incorrigible materialism.
-
That Monday, Arthur passes through his routine with a glee that is becoming increasingly difficult to suppress. He goes to YEA and chats with Mal about her dates with Cobb in the near future. He has a long discussion with Ariadne about any stones they have yet to turn in regards to their research. First period is bearable and Arthur isn’t sure why--granted, he doesn’t really want to know--but Fischer keeps his mouth shut throughout most of the periods they have together. The stitches at his eye look fresh, like they were busted. Arthur doesn’t ask what Cobb does when he’s off alone for a reason.
At lunch, on Wednesday, he stalks behind the school and finds Eames. They split some apple juice and cigarettes and graham crackers. Eames drinks the apple juice every thirty seconds until Arthur brings out a second bottle and tells him to relax, it’s only juice, not fucking Pinot or something. He’s thumbing the new bottle’s cap when his phone rings.
“Hello?” Eames answers, “Ah, good morning, sir... I am well, thank you, how are you?... Is something the matter?... Oh, that’s not too difficult... Yes, of course, I’ll take care of that, personally... No worries at all... Yes, I’ll be attending, as per usual... See you Saturday, then. ‘Course, goodbye.”
He hangs up and Arthur raises a half-interested eyebrow. Eames shakes his head but starts explaining anyway, “It’s nothing, just--I have a dinner I have to attend, well, more of a conference but a not. It’s all very posh. Saito likes to play the Yakuza image too much. If you’re not busy next Saturday, you don’t have to, but I’d like you to accompany me.”
“Will there be dancing?” Arthur asks between the cigarette dangling at his mouth.
Eames shoots a self-deprecating grin at him, “Probably. I usually take Mal, so you don’t have to go if you don’t want to. It’s rather dry, really. Although--”
“Eames,” Arthur cuts off with a fond smile, thoroughly charmed, “Shut up. I’ll go.”
Eames’ smile turns up a notch. “I’ll be round to pick you up at seven.”
The bell rings and Eames kisses Arthur full and slow before he backs off, breathing quick. Arthur smiles and heads off, tossing his cigarette out. He’s not sure what’s gotten into Eames since Saturday night--his kisses are slower, he speaks with careful precision, moves with a new found self-awareness, and when he looks at him, Arthur feels a phantom tingle of nerves down his neck--but he’s starting to think it’s too adorable for his own good.
-
Arthur isn’t really worried about the dinner--having just gotten a haircut and a new DKNY suit--but on Friday night, after a week of having being relatively stoic, Eames drunk dials him at four in the morning. They have a sloppy fight over the merits of REM sleep and then Arthur yawns and turns over. He falls asleep on the phone and doesn’t dream. When he wakes up, he plugs his phone in to charge and sifts through his alerts. He finds a new text message that Eames sent at 5:03 a.m.
im starting to think ur the one thats irrecavable
Arthur wishes people would stop leaving him notes while he’s asleep.
-
“Y’know,” Arthur starts when he answers the door Saturday night, “drunk texting is not one of your strong suits. You ought to try knitting.”
Eames chuckles, “Didn’t embarrass myself too badly, did I?”
Arthur shrugs on his jacket, adjusting the sleeves and smoothing out wrinkles. “You said that I’m ‘irrecavable’, although I’m almost positive you meant ‘irrevocable.’”
“Yeah, that was probably it.” Eames nods.
“Why did you tell me that anyways?” Arthur stuffs his phone, wallet, and keys into their appropriate pockets. “The night at the the cabin, I remember you saying that that you were irrevocable. What is that even supposed to mean?”
“It’s, uh,” Eames looks away, smiling fondly, as if in remembrance. “When I was young, my dad, well, he took off. And his brother came over from the continent to care for me. I was too young to tie my own bloody shoelaces. My mum... she was a nutter, really. But my uncle came over and he took me in. I always looked up to him as a kid, he was my idol. And when I was growing up I asked him what I had to do to be a man like him. He always said that a man’s actions are what defined him and I had to chose what that meant for me, I had to be my own man.” He looks at Arthur, catching his gaze will full force, “and I chose to do only irrevocable things--to be completely sure of something before I did it, and completely sure I wanted something before I chased it.”
Arthur, stunned to silence, feels a sudden wave of affection for this adorable, albeit slightly disconcerting version of Eames and shuffles forward, grabbing Eames’ jaw and bringing their mouths together. When they pull apart, Eames grins lopsidedly and leads Arthur downstairs.
-
Eames drives to the outer reaches of town, gripping the steering wheel fiercely and driving with more precision than usual. It’s started to worry Arthur a little with the nerves and careful demeanor. He lets it slide, though, because when they get there, Eames comes around and holds him against the car by the lapels. Arthur was in the middle of being thoroughly impressed by the villa they stopped in front of when Eames slid up to him and kissed Arthur until his head was spinning.
They part and Eames is gone in an instant, chatting amicably with someone who approaches him. Arthur clears his throat and hands the cars Eames left in his hand to the valet. The valet looks stunned for a minute before excusing himself. Arthur straightens his jacket and joins Eames. He introduces Arthur as his partner to these strangers and then leads him into the villa, one hand pressing into the small of his back. Eames only grins when Arthur mentions that everyone is staring at him.
The room he’s lead to is like a grand ballroom with high curtains curled over larges, frosted windows. Chandeliers hang from several points in the ceiling, lighting up the granite of the room quite nicely. There are people everywhere, dancing in expensive suits and Italian loafers. At the end of the room, though, stands a single man, talking casually. There are people surrounding him, talking and leaning in to listen to his words, like he is a leader. Everyone stands slouched around him. Or perhaps he stands taller than them.
“Isn’t that the guy that bought us champagne? Mr. Saito?”
Eames glances at Arthur as they stride towards Saito, Eames’ arm looped casually through Arthur’s. When they approach, the people part for Eames and fall silent. Mr. Saito opens his arms and Eames leaves Arthur to embrace him in effortless grace, like a practiced dance. They share silent grins and then talk in rapid fire Japanese, which Arthur knows almost none of, but catches his name in the conversation.
Finally, Saito turns to greet him, “Ah, the infamous Arthur. Good evening, young man.”
“Not too infamous, I hope,” Arthur laughs, nervously. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“Please, just Saito will be fine,” he smiles politely, “Would you care to join a few of us for a private dinner?”
Arthur smiles, graciously accepting. Saito gathers a few people and they are led out of the main room and towards a quieter section of the estate. In some mahogany hallway, Eames bumps his shoulder and says, “He likes you. He’s only ever invited Mal into his private company before. As far as my dates go.”
Looping their arms again, Arthur hushes his voice for Eames only, “Why do you care if your boss likes me?”
Eames grins sheepishly, but shrugs, “I like bragging. You’re something to brag about.”
Arthur snorts and sits next to Eames at the table, holding his hand on Eames’ leg, just above his knee, for the hell of it.
There is only a handful of people at the table, all immaculately dressed. Saito sits at the head of the table, with a young couple at his left and Eames sitting on his right. At the end of the table sits another young man, alone. Arthur watches curiously as the four of them converse in smooth Japanese, the woman sitting across from him speaking up occasionally. Arthur doesn’t know Japanese and he imagines a man like Saito would expect as much, so Arthur doesn’t let it get to him. He’s not particularly interested in Eames’ business anyway. Money is money and bills are bills.
Instead, he busies himself with eating while they talk, experimenting with the Japanese courses laid out before him. It’s an interesting meal, at the very least. When the conversation dwindles, it returns to English and the woman before him addresses him, “You are Arthur, yes?”
Arthur wipes his mouth with a napkin before speaking, “Yes, I am. I didn’t catch your name, sorry.”
Her eyes shimmer with mischief, her grin turning up into something Arthur has seen countless times before, only on Eames. He wonders, distantly, if they are related. She ignores his question and says, “You are very handsome.”
“Hisako,” Saito warns sharply.
Her gaze drops back to the food before her, with a poorly hidden smile. The two other men jostle their food uninterestedly. Eames tenses underneath his hand but relaxes when Saito picks up the conversation between the awkward pause. “Arthur is Eames’ new boyfriend.”
The young man at the end of the table speaks up this time, in a hushed, feral accented whisper, like claws ripping through paper, “Is that so?”
Very pointedly, Arthur glances at Eames before answering. “I do believe it is.”
At this point, there’s no one to kid with anymore. Eames and Arthur have spent every weekday in lunch together, every Saturday, they’ve made out a handful of times, gone on three official dates and were declared the King and Queen of Love. Besides, they hold hands more times than Arthur remembers strictly refusing. Come the fuck on, man.
Saito nods, then continues, “What do you plan on doing after high school?”
Arthur answers without hesitation. His father wanted him to join the military before he got PTSD and Arthur never fully opposed the idea. The military has always felt like the right direction. There was ROTC at his last school and the recruiter always spoke with the careful ease of knowing she’d hooked him. Which, he didn’t mind as long as she kept letting him feel her breasts under the bleachers, after school.
But people like hearing he’ll be a war hero because of his father, not because of the last conversation he had with Cobb before coming to the Academy (What do you know about dreams, Arthur?), not because of Dreamshare. And Arthur’s always been good about rolling with the punches.
“I am joining the Marines after graduation, and then using the money for college. I plan on becoming a psychologist, focusing on clinical psychology and the treatment of war veterans.”
Eames chews his food very quietly as Saito murmurs in approval. “Are you sure of such decision? The American government tends to be a tad trigger happy when it comes to stationing soldiers in other countries.”
Arthur forces down a grin, taking the comment in stride. “Yes, the military has always presented the right opportunities for me, regardless of their trigger fingers. And after watching my own father suffer from PTSD, I have always vowed to help where I can.”
“I see,” Saito looks unimpressed, “You are following your father’s dreams, then?’
“No, not at all.” Eames tenses under his hand again, so Arthur folds his hands on the table. “My father was a medic then a doctor. I think I am taking inspiration from his example and curving it to my own interests and potential."
“You sound confident of your decisions,” Saito is watching him with a glint in his eyes like he’s found Arthur’s flaw.
“I am as confident as anyone can be about the future. To assume that my plan would shape up perfectly is naive, but I am confident that is the direction I want my life to head in.”
Saito watches him for a moment, using the excuse of eating before speaking again. “Your graduation is in less than four months. What do you plan to do of your relationship with my nephew in such a short time span, when you plan on joining the military?”
Before Arthur can open his mouth to lay out a smooth reply, Eames cuts him off, and Arthur realizes what he just skipped over. Eames talks in a hurried tone, “That is hardly a fair question, Uncle. We have not been together long enough to set up long term ideas for the future. You know that, so come off it.”
Saito brings his hands up in playful defensiveness--he seems to have a soft spot for Eames--but drops them and returns his face back into a stoic mask. An attendant approaches him and whispers in his ear, nobody takes notice. Arthur watches his hands flex at his knees, suddenly hit with an overpowering dread. This time, Eames reaches out to take his hand but doesn’t fight back when Arthur pulls away.
-
The car ride home is tense and silent, with the radio on the oldies station. They’re playing really shit songs from the eighties, but Eames is focused on driving and Arthur can’t hear the music over the sound of his thoughts. They pull up to the school and Eames parks outside of Smithe Hall, where his room is. The dorms are dark and Eames picks his way in. No alarms ring, but even if they did, Arthur knows Eames would take care of it.
Unsurprisingly, Eames has a single. They get to his room and Arthur can’t find himself to care about the elaborate bed sheets or the canvas covered walls. It has the same basic layout of his room: bed, closet, bathroom, and dresser and space enough for two teenage boys to move around. Eames closes the door behind them and swings the closet door open.
He tosses his jacket on a hangar, haphazardly and then pulls both of his shirts off in one motion, not bothering to unbutton the dress shirt. Arthur watches him rummage through the dresser, with a twist of forced humor on his lips, “Do you want to borrow some clothes, Arthur? I’ll be happy to lend them to you, though you may sleep in the nude if you so wish.”
Arthur pulls off his jacket in the silence, tossing it over the dresser before he announces, “You should have told me.” There is something to be said about preamble, but Arthur couldn’t give a fuck.
“It’s not that serious.” Eames sets the shirts down on the dresser but doesn’t look up at him.
“Eames, a few hours ago you told me that he was your idol. You told me he taught you how to be a man. You said he was your mentor and that he cared for you like his own son. That’s a pretty big fucking deal.”
“Arthur--” Eames turns to face him.
“What if I had snapped at him? He was cutting it pretty close at dinner. What if I had snapped, huh?”
“I didn’t think you would do that.
“Why the hell not? Don’t you think anything through?”
Eames winces, “You’re exceedingly clever, Arthur. I sincerely doubt you would ever be daft enough to disrespect a Yakuza. I figured you would hold any sarcasm for me, later. Most probably about the Japanese, which I realize I should have told you I speak, but that’s beside the point. ”
“What if I did something inappropriate?”
“You don’t have an inappropriate bone in your body,” Eames scoffs. He turns back to the dresser and continues, picking out pajamas and setting them aside. He closes the dresser and turns back to Arthur. He opens to his mouth to speak but then stops, “But I should have told you.”
Arthur’s shoulders slump forward and he sighs quietly, “So why didn’t you?”
“I didn’t know how you would react to you inviting you to meet my uncle.” Eames crosses his legs at the ankle, nervous.
“Probably better than this.” Arthur rationalizes.
“I know,” Eames frowns. “But, I mean, I told you already. I’m all in.”
Arthur stops his next accusing sentence and watches Eames nervously shifting his weight for a moment. There’s a harsh cut in his brow, like he can’t stand being here and the silence is making Arthur’s stomach heavy. “Did you think I wasn’t?”
“You said the only reason you want me when you’re drunk is because it’s when you don’t care.”
Arthur racks his brain, trying to follow a single train of thought with Eames so raw and open in front of him and this ill ache worming into his hands. “Did you think I was in my right mind when I said that?”
“I can’t presume to know what your right mind is,” Eames looks down at his hands, knuckles white.
“Eames. God, fuck this,” Arthur shuffles, reaching into his pocket. Eames looks up at him and Arthur removes his hand, curled around a familiar red cube. He shows it to Eames, it’s been in his pocket all afternoon and with a flick of his wrist, throws the die on the floor, in the space between them. “Five.” Arthur announces before the die even stops rolling.
Eames’ brow furrows, “It’s a loaded die, Arthur. I cheated you that time.”
Arthur curls a finger around the knot of his tie and pulls it loose. He undoes a few buttons, bearing his throat. “I know.”
He undoes the buttons of his shirt then tugs out the tails. It hangs open around him and against his pale skin, chest flushing with a new found self-consciousness. He toes off his shoes and socks and is reaching for his belt before Eames--because he finally got the fucking memo--closes the spaces between them. He grabs at Arthur’s skin, clenching his fingers around the spaces between his ribs to pull them together. Arthur almost doesn’t expect it when Eames kisses him, trembling at first, slow. A beat skips and then Arthur tugs on the hair of Eames’ neck, pursing his lips to kiss back.
-
They fall asleep, too tired to do anything else but lay together and converse about their respective families. Arthur is an only child with an absent father and an overbearing mother, and Cobb. Cobb’s mom is awesome and loves Arthur and always brings him lemonade, even if she’s known Arthur for thirteen years. Cobb’s dad is really into extreme sports, like mountain biking and rock climbing but on weekdays, he sells life insurance. Teresa is the youngest member of the Cobb household, and coincidentally the most demanding. Arthur and Cobb has spent a small fortune spoiling her to no end.
Eames’ only has vague memories of his dad, and he visits his mum whenever he can. They moved to the States for no good reason but to start fresh, Eames supposes. He does whatever Saito asks of him. Saito has kept a roof under his head for years and he is eternally indebted. Hisako is his cousin and she was just messing about with Arthur. The others at the table where faceless associates, they won’t be there the next time they dine.
It almost doesn’t happen. But, God, Arthur wanted it to happen. He wakes up sometime past four and Eames’ chest is pressed hot against his back, breathing slowly and steadily. Arthur’s got a hard-on and Eames’ breath is tickling the nape of his neck. He thinks about it, though. About whether or not he wants to do this, to be with Eames like this. It’s only been a couple of minutes of contemplation when Eames’ fingers flex subconsciously, around his belly button and Arthur does want it.
He turns around and pulls his shirt over his head. Eames gave him a tee shirt and pajama bottoms to wear but chose to sleep shirtless. There’s a moment where he considers how to wake Eames up but it passes when Eames’ eyes flutter open. He smiles sleepily at Arthur. “Morning already?”
Arthur brings his hands up to run along Eames’ back and shoulder blades, awarded with a small sigh of contentment. “No, but I think you should wake up.”
“What for?” Eames murmurs.
Instead of replying, Arthur aligns their hips and yes, Eames is hard against him, too. Arthur can feel the heat and he rolls his hips experimentally. Eames’ hand, around his waist, tenses into a fist and Eames gives a choked gasp of breath. His eyes shoot open and then Arthur kisses him, dirty and slow. They haven’t been asleep long enough t have morning breath so Arthur tastes only the mint toothpaste. He strokes Eames’ tongue against his own. He feels Eames’ arm rush up his back all rough and calloused fingers.
There’s a spark of heat in Arthur’s belly as Eames pulls him closer. Their lips smack as they break apart to breathe and Arthur rocks his hips again. Eames moans into his open mouth, and Arthur loves that gruff noise, cutting through his chest. He takes Arthur’s mouth again, palming the flushed skin of Arthur’s chest. He stops when he reaches the bottom of Arthur’s bellybutton, where the line of hair disappears into his boxers. Eames isn’t sure where Arthur's pants have gone--not that he’s complaining--but this thin layer of cotton suddenly isn’t enough of a barrier. There is something crawling up his body, like need. “Arthur.”
Arthur pulls back to look at Eames through the shards of light coming in through the blinds. His eyes are dark and wide like he’s been searching for something and now he doesn’t want to miss it. Whatever it is, a beat passes between them and then Eames closes the distance, breathing quietly though his nose, like relief.
Arthur’s fingers curl into his shoulder, scratching lightly and Eames’ palm finds itself sliding into his briefs. He rests on Arthur’s hip then decides better of it and slides his boxers down the curve of his thighs, touching every piece of skin he finds. They slink off his feet and pool at the floor with a silent whoosh. Eames’ clothes follow quickly and then Arthur can feel the bare press of his muscled thighs. They twitch lightly and it sends a tremor through Arthur’s body.
He guides Eames over him and kisses him again, mouth opening in invitation. Eames looms over him with wide eyes, fluttering closed at the feel of their bare cocks against each other. Arthur lets his legs fall open to gives Eames space and kisses his lips, flicking tongue over the ridges of his teeth.
Eames brackets Arthur’s head with his forearms, pushing his bare chest against Arthur’s, arching for friction. Arthur can hardly feel his weight, it’s so hesitant. But Eames’ chest rushes against his and the pressure there is making him wild. Arthur runs his fingertips down the ripple of muscle over Eames’ back and down the curve. He pulls Eames closer by the small of his back, keeping one hand there to guide him and wraps another around both of their cocks.
Eames shudders against him, groaning thickly into the curve of Arthur’s neck. Arthur stretches and flexes his palm around the head, pumping the two of them tighter together. Eames’ groans are harsh and deep, the sounds of buildings as they crumble. Arthur slides his other hand to hold Eames’ steady as he thumbs the slits, spreading precome.
The slide turns wet and loud, Eames making these rough noises in Arthur’s ear, panting for more. He moves to Arthur’s neck, sucking and licking and leaving all kinds of marks all over his collarbone. Arthur bites his lip, breathing in huffs, stroking them faster, from head to base. He’s not going to last much longer, not with Eames biting down his neck, with that beautiful mouth, open wide and wanton. Arthur never used to be a biter.
Arthur brings the hand at his hip to feel the muscle at Eames’ stomach, clenching and rippling as Eames ruts and thrusts into his hand. He ducks his head further to lick at Arthur’s nipples with broad strokes of his tongue. Arthur jacks faster, whining and aching for it. Sweat and saliva slick his chest, Eames is sucking on his nipples greedily, and they stand erect for his mouth. Eames’ biceps are trembling and he pulls off to pant his name, “Arthur, Arthur, Christ, Yes.”
Arthur braces his feet against the mattress, lifting his hips and holding tighter and jacking frantically. Arthur comes with a quiet gasp from the bottom of his throat, vision white and body shaking out his release against Eames. Arthur doesn’t hear it when Eames comes, he feels the rush of wet heat and the twitch of muscles against his own, thighs tense. Arthur strokes them through the aftershocks, breathing in long pants.
Eames picks his head up and kisses Arthur, taking away any illusion of composure Arthur was trying to gather. Their teeth clack lightly and Arthur stops his hand, letting it drop slack against his hip. Eames breaks the kiss, breathing heavy against his lips, foreheads stacked. Arthur kisses Eames with his eyelashes as they flutter close, lips brushing over each other when he talks, “Let’s go to sleep.”
Eames mutters something about hygiene and gets up, returning with a towel. He cleans himself up and Arthur watches, boneless, as he cleans him up, too. Arthur turns to face the wall, pulling the comforter back up over his stomach and Eames curls up behind him.
He kisses the back of his neck, damp with sweat, until his breathing evens out. Arthur blinks, listening to the own roar of his heart, and falls asleep.
-
Arthur wakes with the dig of blunt teeth, gnawing softly into his shoulder. He breathes deeply and looks over his shoulder to find Eames, grinning coyly. The room smells delightfully like citrus and coffee, like Eames has been up for a while, but he’s nude under the blanket. Arthur turns over and the sheets fall low on his hips. Eames presses his thigh between Arthur’s knees, spreading his legs. “Where are my pants?” Arthur musses absently.
“I sold them. And all your clothes.”
Arthur snorts, “What do you propose I do now?”
“I was hoping you would become a nudist,” Eames smiles.
“Oh, you’re right. I’ll start now. Do you get the paper?”
He moves to stand up and Eames’ arm reaches over and pushes him back down. “Never mind, forgive it, I will buy back your clothes.”
Arthur laughs and it tumbles down his chest, swallowed by Eames’ kiss. Arthur sighs against his mouth, happy. “Let’s shower.”
Eames wrinkles his nose, “No, let’s have sex again.”
“That’s what I meant. In the shower.”
Eames smiles fondly and it turns lewd, rapidly. “C’mon, then, no time to waste.”
Eames shrugs off the blanket and stands, and Arthur feels all the blood in his body rush to his brain. The sun is coming in orange and gold, just rising through the window and Eames is glowing in it, grey eyes bright and muscled body smooth and endless. Arthur sits up, utterly mesmerized by the spin of color in Eames’ smile, teeth white against his red mouth. He holds Eames in place where he’s standing and runs his hands through the glow, scraping his nails against the muscles. He kisses Eames’ bellybutton, and his hip and then rests his head on his thigh.
He presses ghost kisses here, too. Eames cards his fingers through his hair, “Come on, save it for the shower, love.”
Arthur glances up and sees a mirror of affection, “Go turn on the water, I’ll be there in a minute.”
Eames bends to his knees and kisses Arthur, again, closemouthed and warm. He doesn’t want this to stop but he needs to breathe. They part and Eames looks hesitant but walks off to do as he’s been told.
Arthur takes a minute to right himself and level his heartbeat. There’s dizziness in his chest and it’s scaring him a little. The water runs in the next room and an unstoppable warmth spreads in his body. Eames calls him over and Arthur’s eyes catch a flash of red as he stands up. The dizziness is forgotten as he reaches of the die, jostling it between his fingers. He hears the call of Eames’ voice over the roar of water, a thought strikes him.
An insurmountable thought that gets his heart to hammer in his chest with panic and exhilaration. The sun is warm on his bare back, calm, like mercy, and the water will be cool in the shower, Eames is calling him to it, all he has to do it jump, and if he were to roll the die, right now, it would land on five. He can stand in the sun or the shore and the cliff, with its jagged edges, can’t touch it, and it will land on five. It will always land on five.
PART I
PART II
PART III
They get to the dance a half hour later than they intended. As it turns out, Ariadne and Mal get easily distracted when they’re getting dressed. Cobb ruined the tie of his knot within the first four minutes of putting it on, anyway, so Arthur let’s it go. The gym is decorated with cheap streamers and color coordinated balloons. There’s the blue/white glow of a spotlight and a disco ball hanging from the ceiling.
Eleven minutes after they get there, Arthur feels a hand on his shoulder and turns to find Cobb. He raises an eyebrow and Cobb leans into his ear to talk over the music, “Do you have--” a condom?, Arthur almost finishes, “--change for a fifty? I meant to ask you earlier.”
Arthur swallows the thoughts of condoms and shakes his head at Cobb. “No, why?”
He shakes his head, shrugging, “Nevermind. Mal and I are heading out,” he claps Arthur on the back, winking, “Don’t wait up.”
With that, he’s gone, leading Mal by the elbow and pushing through the crowd. He throws Eames a waves on his way out.
Eames reaches Arthur and hands him a drink that smells suspiciously like tequila. he sniffs the contents and then frowns at him. Eames grins, “It’s my civic duty, Arthur. I couldn’t not do it. Punch spiking is like a right of passage. How long have we been here, by the way?”
“I dunno, something like twelve minutes.”
Eames grins, waving over Yusuf and Ariadne who were dancing to something that sounded strangely like Footloose. Yusuf’s breathing is light like he’s over the moon, “Alright?”
“They’ve left already,” Eames prompts.
“How long has it been?” Yusuf laughs, reaching into his pockets. He glances at his phone, “Ahaha, only twelve minutes? Those kids. Ari wins this one, boys.”
They all pass her ten dollars each and Ariadne beams with joy all the way to the dance floor. Once she and Yusuf are gone, Eames leans over and announces, “Y’know that was a utterly biased ruling.”
“I know, “Arthur laughs, “But at least, Yusuf will get laid tonight.”
Eames laughs and leads him to their table. They sit and talk about the test Arthur took in AP Chem and Arthur’s new topic in debate over Dollar Diplomacy during the turn of the century, which turns into a bit of a debate itself. Eames offers the fact that he’s training more often now for indoors water polo and all the smoking they’ve been doing has thoroughly fucked up his lungs. They have about an hour inside before Arthur’s had enough tequila to have had enough small talk. He leans into Eames’ space, breathing lightly against his mouth. “Let’s get out of here.”
“I beg your pardon?” Eames’ eyebrows shoot into his fringe.
Arthur shakes off a wave of self-doubt and what might the rejection or nausea, “C’mon, let’s go back to the cabin and get shitfaced and make out.”
“Just snogging,” Eames smirks, “or will it lead to something more?”
“More is definitely within the realm of possibility.”
Eames leans in and brushes a brisk kiss to Arthur’s mouth, then moves to his ear to talk over the music, “As tempting as that is, you’re pissed--again--and I want to stay.”
“You want to stay here? Instead of making out with me?” Arthur pouts. Maybe he’s had more tequila than he thought.
Eames presses a swift kiss to his cheek, “You’re not sober, pet. Frankly, neither am I. That’s never a good idea--who will maintain your virtue?”
“What virtue?” Arthur snorts. “If anything, it’s more reason for you to get me out of here.”
Closing his eyes, Eames fists his hands on his knees, visibly restraining himself. His argument wasn’t terribly thought through. He’s about to tell Arthur that he’s right and they should forget about this bullshit dance when Ariadne hops over. She throws her arm around Arthur from behind and pulls him away from Eames’ space.
“Arthur,” she starts, “come dance with me! I think Yusuf needs a break.”
Arthur glances up at her and then pointedly watches Eames’ face, replying, “Yeah, I will. There’s nothing here for me anyway.”
Ariadne beams, not noticing the frown Eames’ is shooting at them, and leads him to the floor by the hand. Yusuf takes Arthur’s seat and as they leave, he strikes up a conversation with Eames.
Ariadne dances sweetly, and instead of responding in the same fashion, Arthur slips her body closer to him. She furrows her brow at him. “What are you up to?”
Arthur shrugs, pulling her closer under the guise of talking over the music, “Eames is being a bitch. I want to go already and he wants to stay.”
Ariadne narrows her eyes at him then leans in to smell his breath. Then she laughs, like finally understand a joke. “Oh, I get it. You’re drunk and you want to make Eames jealous.”
Arthur scowls at her suddenly realizing he’s acting like a fourteen year-old girl, and doesn’t understand why. He’s never acted like this before. And all of a sudden, his head is a whole lot clearer than it was four minutes ago. He shrugs it off, switching strategies. “Alright, nevermind, actually. Let’s just dance.”
“No, if you want to, I’ll play along. Yusuf isn’t tired, he’s got a deal to make and that kind of pisses me off. You’d think they’d wait ten fucking minutes so he could dance with his girlfriend,” Ariadne rolls her eyes, exasperated. Then tacks on, “Motherfuckers.”
Arthur smiles at her and shakes his head, “They’d have a fit. Let’s just have fun without them.”
Grinning conspiratorially, Ariadne agrees. It only takes three songs in their over zealous dancing and spinning for Yusuf to appear again. Only now, he’s got a wicked grin on his lips and Eames is at his side. Feeling less like a petulant asshole, Arthur lets Ariadne kiss his cheek before asking to switch. He hands a slightly dizzy Ariadne off to Yusuf and then turns to regard Eames with a raised eyebrow, “To what do I owe this pleasure? Or nuisance, really.”
Eames shrugs, gesturing to the dance floor, “Let’s bust some moves.”
“No, thanks, 1994,” Arthur scolds without bite.
Eames grins, “Come on, let’s dance.”
Arthur leans in to talk over the music. “This is really like a theme for you, isn’t it--the dancing? Have you run out of ideas?”
Eames noses the shell of Arthur’s ear, breathing into and soliciting shivers from Arthur. “Oh, I dunno. You're giving me plenty of idea now, love.”
Arthur hums nonchalantly, “Too bad you wanted to stay here. The cabin offer has expired, it appears I’ve come into my right mind again,” he pulls back and heads back to their table, when a strong hand wraps around his wrist and stops him in his tracks.
His feet manage to stay mostly composed but he bumps into Eames’ shoulder where it meets the blade of his shoulder. Then there’s that revving in his ear, “I have an offer for you, then.”
Arthur turns to meet him and nods in askance. Eames’ mouth turns into a full, lecherous grin, like he’s already won. “There’s a health classroom just down the hallway outside this gym. It’s locked, but I’m certain we can unlock it.”
Before Arthur can answer, Ariadne and Yusuf pop up and separate them. Ariadne is buzzing with excitement as she deters Arthur, “Hey, look, they’re announcing the King and Queen of Love!”
“What on Earth is that?” He mutters, disgusted just at the sound of it.
Ariadne points to a stage at the end of the gym where a faculty member known affectionately as Mr. Asscrack is squinting in the glare of a spotlight. He taps the mic in examination and beams at the loud rustle it emits. “Hello, students! Are we all having a good time?”
The crowd roars in a mix of the affirmative and the negative.
Arthur shuffles, feeling oddly pedestrian but before he can turn and takes Eames’ up on his offer, Eames appears with a hand on his elbow. “Have you spoken to Mal?”
Arthur shrugs, “Not since last Monday, not really.”
“Alright.”
On stage, Mr. Asscrack continues, “Can I get a drum roll, please?” the crowd complies, “The King of this year’s Valentine’s Celebration--”
Ariadne squeals with delight when Asscrack calls Eames’ name. Arthur’s eye widen comically and Eames huffs at his side, “Bugger, I didn’t even run this year.”
The spotlight finds them as laughter bubbles out of Arthur’s throat. It’s a shocked, disbelieving laughter and Eames passes him a full grin, only slightly sarcastic, “I’m glad you find this so amusing.”
Mr. Asscrack booms something else over the mic and it takes him a register it but, then, all the humor falls from Arthur’s face. Ariadne and Yusuf fall over each other in hysterics. In another second of disbelief, Arthur grasps the lapels of Eames’ jacket, fingers digging in and speaking his threat for him. And he knows what just happened, he’s not a fucking moron, but he’d like to hear it from the horse’s mouth, “Eames. Why did he just call my name.”
Eames’ grin turns mischievous, but he glances between the stage and Arthur like he’s trying to comprehend the development too. The crowd is cheering and wolf whistling deafeningly, but Arthur can still hear him crystal fucking clear. “I do believe you’ve been named the Queen of Love. Isn’t that lovely?”
“Well! This school is nothing if not open-minded! As long as nobody sues!” he laughs at his own joke, no one is listening, “You two kids come up here and collect your crowns!”
The spotlight has found them and with a wink, Eames grabs Arthur’s hand, unlatches it from his lapel and pushes them through the crowd. They part for them and Arthur is too shocked to even be pissed or excited. Just, the fucking audacity. On the stage, Eames pushes the glittering tiara into Arthur’s gelled hair.
Arthur nearly splits his lip, holding down the string of swear words that are threatening to come up. He passes Mr. Asscrack a forced smile before they are shuffled offstage. The crowd dies down but there are already people approaching to clap Eames on the shoulder. (Apparently, he wins every year.)
As soon as he’s within reach of her, Ariadne jumps on Arthur, hugging him and laughing in delightful ways that make the shock in his throat uncoil.
“--was harmless. Jeez, Eames, how did you do it?”
Arthur turns to him now with something like amusement and incredulous curiosity, “What the fuck did you even--?”
Eames raises an eyebrow in rebuttal, like You really didn’t catch that?, and it all slides into place. Arthur almost slaps his forehead with his palm before he catches himself, he should have seen it. Then he’s laughing, because he’s got to hand it to Eames, this was unprecedented. Ariadne glances between them, “I don’t get it.”
“He bribed Mal into switching the ballots.”
Cobb wouldn’t carry big bills without having an alternative. He doesn’t like getting caught unprepared. And Mal wouldn’t approach him herself, for fear of wrecking the whole thing. Any other time, Arthur might be furious for not putting these together, but this was harmless. He exchanges a look with Eames and laughs again.
Yusuf claps a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, “You have to admit, Arthur, you do look dashing in a tiara.”
Arthur’s shoulders shake with laughter and he takes Yusuf’s cup that smells suspiciously like vodka. Without wondering how many punches Eames spiked, he polished off the drink and feels light reaching out of his mouth from his feet, something aching to fall out. Arthur doesn’t think this is the vodka--maybe the tequila--bu this is something else. When he turns back to Eames’ there’s a sloppy grin spilling his slurs. “So, about the cabin.”
-
By the time they reach the open night air, Arthur is convinced he doesn’t even care about the cabin anymore. At least twenty people have cockblocked him in the last forty-five minutes, trying to congratulate him on becoming the Queen of Love, and really, Eames, was that necessary? (Yep, yep it was.) There’s more vodka guzzling in his veins than he remembers drinking and he’s not going to make it to the fucking cabin. It’s on the opposite side of the fucking campus and Arthur doesn’t want to wait, anymore, fuck that; actually, fuck Eames. They’re better off just heading back to Arthur’s room and trading messy, slow, spit-slick blowjobs before he passes out.
Arthur leads Eames through his dorm at a pretty obvious pace, and fires off a text to Yusuf when he can be bothered for just a tic, I have to take this call.(Getting laid. Stay gone.) (Cheers, mate.)
Arthur only gives Eames enough time to shut the door behind them before he pushes him against the frame. He curls his fingers into Eames’ hair and draws him in for a messy kiss. Arthur licks his way into Eames’ mouth reaching a second hand to pull the tails of his shirt out. He can only hear the dim patter when their crowns hit the floor, forgotten. The kiss darkens into a fight of raspy tongues, and before Arthur can realize it, he’s canting his hips against Eames.
His knees are pushed between Eames’ as he rubs himself against his hip. Eames is breathing in hitched gasps, suddenly. Arthur’s too hard to think straight and the world is spinning, or rocking back and forth like hips. He blazes a wet trail of open mouthed kisses on Eames’ collarbone, sucking obscenely and rubbing their groins together. Every roll of his body is sending a pulsing heat into his belly and Arthur is going insane because of it. There is tequila burning in his throat and his mouth but he wants it to be Eames. Burning through his skin and his body. He needs to come, right fucking now, touch his body and his length to Eames’, he needs to feel skin and sweat and come. “God, Eames, suck me off, already. Your fucking mouth--”
Then there’s a pressure on his body, the heat of Eames’ hands on his body and he moans, he’s thinking of Eames’ hands everywhere--scratching and rubbing and jacking him--but the pressure become insistent and then Arthur is across the room and --is gone and the door is slamming.
The heat is suddenly cool and sending shocks up and down his body, goose-flesh rising all over his skin. Arthur is winded and dizzy and he sits on the bed to steady himself and he’s only minimized his breathing to fast gasps before he’s speed dialing on his phone. Eames answers after it rings too many times or not enough times, Arthur’s head is swimming. “Eames,” he breathes. If it can be called breathing.
Eames grunts or hums between his quick breathing. Arthur hears him swallow dry saliva and Arthur has to stop himself at the thought of Eames’ mouth--on him, in his mouth, wet tongue sliding--but it’s particularly distracting. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe, “Come back.”
There’s the rustle of wind whipping into the receiver. Eames make a low sound of contemplation. Arthur wonders how far Eames has gotten and how much time has passed with him trying to clear his head. Finally, Eames agrees, “Alright.”
Arthur tosses the phone away from him and toes off his shoes. Everything is starting to slow down and Arthur pulls off his tie and his dress shirt, leaving the undershirt. He lies back on the bed and touches the cold sheets with his fingertips. The goose flesh on his arms is settling when the door opens and Eames shuts it softly behind him. Eames takes one look at Arthur in his undershirt and too tight slacks and sucks his bottom lip into his mouth.
Arthur looks up through his eyelashes at him and has to suppress a shiver. Eames is a mess, lips swollen and red, shirt tails everywhere, and a sexy little bruise has formed on his collar bone. The one from yesterday pales in comparison, this one is private and can be hidden but Eames is baring it for him right now and Arthur wants to suck it more, make it darker and dirtier.
He forces all those thoughts away and scoots over, patting the bed space beside him. “Why did you leave?”
Eames sits on the bed, his back to Arthur, silently chewing his lip and Arthur wonders what he’s doing, with such fuzzy edges. Eames lays back after a minute, wrapping himself around and in between Arthur and noses his cheek, placing chaste kisses wherever his mouth can reach. Yet, his touch is hesitant. Or resistant. Arthur inhales deeply and Eames doesn’t smell like tequila or vodka. He though they were drunk together.
Arthur opens his eyes to find Eames watching him with an alarmingly curious gaze. “How come you only get randy like that when you’re pissed?”
Arthur’s eyes cross and he looks past Eames to steady them. It doesn’t even occur to him to lie. “It’s the only time I don’t care that I don’t know you.”
Eames looks startled for a split second and then it softens. Arthur can feel something heavy in his throat but he doesn’t have the presence of mind to distinguish it from the alcohol. Not with Eames looking at him so closely. Too closely. Arthur rolls onto his back and lets everything fade to black.
-
Eames watches the steady rise and fall of Arthur’s chest for a few minutes and then unwraps himself. Eames prides himself on being honest, especially when it comes to people like Arthur. But there’s something disturbing about the calm dissociative voice he used and Eames can’t stand being there anymore. Eames grabs his crown from the floor and sets it on the bed next to Arthur.
When Arthur wakes up in the next morning, he turns and through his pounding headache, finds a handful of Poker chips and the King’s crown next to them. He picks the Post-It note off it and reads:
I’m all in.
A few hours later, Arthur actually looks for the stupid tiara he got last night and when he can’t find it, realizes Eames has traded crowns with him. He doesn’t think about what that means.
-
Cobb doesn’t show his mug until sometime after six in the evening. His tie is loose around his neck and there is a blissed out haze in his eyes. He struts right in--even though Arthur knows he locked the door--and throws himself around the room. Then he hugs Arthur like he used to when they were kids, all loose and clingy with affection. “I didn’t think you’d come back.”
Cobb smiles, toeing off his shoes and laying back. “I didn’t either. But Nash can’t work until the day after tomorrow and I figured it wouldn’t hurt to stay another day. I would’ve stayed at Mal’s, but I think I need a break from her. I am exhausted. We were all over the city up until a few hours ago, then we were just lounging for a bit and then I decided I’d better get some sleep before I crashed. I am sprinting to keep up with her, man.” Cobb smiles, utterly besotted, “Why are the beautiful ones always crazy?”
Arthur snorts, thumbing through his Calculus book, “You know how to pick ‘em.”
Cobb pillows his head with his hands. “Fuck off. How was your date with Eames? Is he still as creepy as he looks? Bordering on pervert?”
Arthur shoots him a warning glare but still offers, “He had me named the Queen of Love at the dance last night.”
“Oh, yeah, Mal told me about that,” Cobb doubles over with laughter. “I almost warned you but I figured it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle. He does like you, though. Mal says she’s never seen him as happy as he looks when he’s with you, which, y’know, I think that’s good enough for me.”
“Wow,” Arthur is genuinely shocked.
“I know.” Cobb smiles that crooked, rare smile but it gets swallowed into a yawn. “I know, man.”
He falls asleep in his clothes and Arthur crawls in after him later on. They sleep comfortably, like old times and in the morning, Arthur sees him out downstairs. There are dark circles under his eyes, but when he kisses Mal goodbye, his entire face lights up. They watch the car drive away for a minute and Mal wraps her arms around herself and leans against Arthur. She murmurs something in French and he understands what she’s said, but she repeats it in English anyway, like she’d forgotten her tongue for a second. “Does he ever overstay his welcome?”
Arthur looks at the floor, scuffing pavement uncomfortably. “No.”
“I didn’t think so.” She presses a ghost of a kiss to his cheek and walks away, sweater flapping in the wind around her waist.
Arthur watches her walk and feels a sudden kinship to Mal. The slope of her shoulders disappears past the horizon of trees in the forest and Arthur finally feels the cold when she’s gone. He heads upstairs in silent ministrations. In his room, there’s a black bag hanging behind the door. When he opens it, there’s a DKNY suit inside and note attached to the lapel.
Joyeux anniversaire, Arthur.
Arthur’s birthday isn’t for seven months and Cobb really needs to learn how to just say “Thank you.” But when Arthur tries the suit on, he decides to forgive Cobb’s incorrigible materialism.
-
That Monday, Arthur passes through his routine with a glee that is becoming increasingly difficult to suppress. He goes to YEA and chats with Mal about her dates with Cobb in the near future. He has a long discussion with Ariadne about any stones they have yet to turn in regards to their research. First period is bearable and Arthur isn’t sure why--granted, he doesn’t really want to know--but Fischer keeps his mouth shut throughout most of the periods they have together. The stitches at his eye look fresh, like they were busted. Arthur doesn’t ask what Cobb does when he’s off alone for a reason.
At lunch, on Wednesday, he stalks behind the school and finds Eames. They split some apple juice and cigarettes and graham crackers. Eames drinks the apple juice every thirty seconds until Arthur brings out a second bottle and tells him to relax, it’s only juice, not fucking Pinot or something. He’s thumbing the new bottle’s cap when his phone rings.
“Hello?” Eames answers, “Ah, good morning, sir... I am well, thank you, how are you?... Is something the matter?... Oh, that’s not too difficult... Yes, of course, I’ll take care of that, personally... No worries at all... Yes, I’ll be attending, as per usual... See you Saturday, then. ‘Course, goodbye.”
He hangs up and Arthur raises a half-interested eyebrow. Eames shakes his head but starts explaining anyway, “It’s nothing, just--I have a dinner I have to attend, well, more of a conference but a not. It’s all very posh. Saito likes to play the Yakuza image too much. If you’re not busy next Saturday, you don’t have to, but I’d like you to accompany me.”
“Will there be dancing?” Arthur asks between the cigarette dangling at his mouth.
Eames shoots a self-deprecating grin at him, “Probably. I usually take Mal, so you don’t have to go if you don’t want to. It’s rather dry, really. Although--”
“Eames,” Arthur cuts off with a fond smile, thoroughly charmed, “Shut up. I’ll go.”
Eames’ smile turns up a notch. “I’ll be round to pick you up at seven.”
The bell rings and Eames kisses Arthur full and slow before he backs off, breathing quick. Arthur smiles and heads off, tossing his cigarette out. He’s not sure what’s gotten into Eames since Saturday night--his kisses are slower, he speaks with careful precision, moves with a new found self-awareness, and when he looks at him, Arthur feels a phantom tingle of nerves down his neck--but he’s starting to think it’s too adorable for his own good.
-
Arthur isn’t really worried about the dinner--having just gotten a haircut and a new DKNY suit--but on Friday night, after a week of having being relatively stoic, Eames drunk dials him at four in the morning. They have a sloppy fight over the merits of REM sleep and then Arthur yawns and turns over. He falls asleep on the phone and doesn’t dream. When he wakes up, he plugs his phone in to charge and sifts through his alerts. He finds a new text message that Eames sent at 5:03 a.m.
im starting to think ur the one thats irrecavable
Arthur wishes people would stop leaving him notes while he’s asleep.
-
“Y’know,” Arthur starts when he answers the door Saturday night, “drunk texting is not one of your strong suits. You ought to try knitting.”
Eames chuckles, “Didn’t embarrass myself too badly, did I?”
Arthur shrugs on his jacket, adjusting the sleeves and smoothing out wrinkles. “You said that I’m ‘irrecavable’, although I’m almost positive you meant ‘irrevocable.’”
“Yeah, that was probably it.” Eames nods.
“Why did you tell me that anyways?” Arthur stuffs his phone, wallet, and keys into their appropriate pockets. “The night at the the cabin, I remember you saying that that you were irrevocable. What is that even supposed to mean?”
“It’s, uh,” Eames looks away, smiling fondly, as if in remembrance. “When I was young, my dad, well, he took off. And his brother came over from the continent to care for me. I was too young to tie my own bloody shoelaces. My mum... she was a nutter, really. But my uncle came over and he took me in. I always looked up to him as a kid, he was my idol. And when I was growing up I asked him what I had to do to be a man like him. He always said that a man’s actions are what defined him and I had to chose what that meant for me, I had to be my own man.” He looks at Arthur, catching his gaze will full force, “and I chose to do only irrevocable things--to be completely sure of something before I did it, and completely sure I wanted something before I chased it.”
Arthur, stunned to silence, feels a sudden wave of affection for this adorable, albeit slightly disconcerting version of Eames and shuffles forward, grabbing Eames’ jaw and bringing their mouths together. When they pull apart, Eames grins lopsidedly and leads Arthur downstairs.
-
Eames drives to the outer reaches of town, gripping the steering wheel fiercely and driving with more precision than usual. It’s started to worry Arthur a little with the nerves and careful demeanor. He lets it slide, though, because when they get there, Eames comes around and holds him against the car by the lapels. Arthur was in the middle of being thoroughly impressed by the villa they stopped in front of when Eames slid up to him and kissed Arthur until his head was spinning.
They part and Eames is gone in an instant, chatting amicably with someone who approaches him. Arthur clears his throat and hands the cars Eames left in his hand to the valet. The valet looks stunned for a minute before excusing himself. Arthur straightens his jacket and joins Eames. He introduces Arthur as his partner to these strangers and then leads him into the villa, one hand pressing into the small of his back. Eames only grins when Arthur mentions that everyone is staring at him.
The room he’s lead to is like a grand ballroom with high curtains curled over larges, frosted windows. Chandeliers hang from several points in the ceiling, lighting up the granite of the room quite nicely. There are people everywhere, dancing in expensive suits and Italian loafers. At the end of the room, though, stands a single man, talking casually. There are people surrounding him, talking and leaning in to listen to his words, like he is a leader. Everyone stands slouched around him. Or perhaps he stands taller than them.
“Isn’t that the guy that bought us champagne? Mr. Saito?”
Eames glances at Arthur as they stride towards Saito, Eames’ arm looped casually through Arthur’s. When they approach, the people part for Eames and fall silent. Mr. Saito opens his arms and Eames leaves Arthur to embrace him in effortless grace, like a practiced dance. They share silent grins and then talk in rapid fire Japanese, which Arthur knows almost none of, but catches his name in the conversation.
Finally, Saito turns to greet him, “Ah, the infamous Arthur. Good evening, young man.”
“Not too infamous, I hope,” Arthur laughs, nervously. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“Please, just Saito will be fine,” he smiles politely, “Would you care to join a few of us for a private dinner?”
Arthur smiles, graciously accepting. Saito gathers a few people and they are led out of the main room and towards a quieter section of the estate. In some mahogany hallway, Eames bumps his shoulder and says, “He likes you. He’s only ever invited Mal into his private company before. As far as my dates go.”
Looping their arms again, Arthur hushes his voice for Eames only, “Why do you care if your boss likes me?”
Eames grins sheepishly, but shrugs, “I like bragging. You’re something to brag about.”
Arthur snorts and sits next to Eames at the table, holding his hand on Eames’ leg, just above his knee, for the hell of it.
There is only a handful of people at the table, all immaculately dressed. Saito sits at the head of the table, with a young couple at his left and Eames sitting on his right. At the end of the table sits another young man, alone. Arthur watches curiously as the four of them converse in smooth Japanese, the woman sitting across from him speaking up occasionally. Arthur doesn’t know Japanese and he imagines a man like Saito would expect as much, so Arthur doesn’t let it get to him. He’s not particularly interested in Eames’ business anyway. Money is money and bills are bills.
Instead, he busies himself with eating while they talk, experimenting with the Japanese courses laid out before him. It’s an interesting meal, at the very least. When the conversation dwindles, it returns to English and the woman before him addresses him, “You are Arthur, yes?”
Arthur wipes his mouth with a napkin before speaking, “Yes, I am. I didn’t catch your name, sorry.”
Her eyes shimmer with mischief, her grin turning up into something Arthur has seen countless times before, only on Eames. He wonders, distantly, if they are related. She ignores his question and says, “You are very handsome.”
“Hisako,” Saito warns sharply.
Her gaze drops back to the food before her, with a poorly hidden smile. The two other men jostle their food uninterestedly. Eames tenses underneath his hand but relaxes when Saito picks up the conversation between the awkward pause. “Arthur is Eames’ new boyfriend.”
The young man at the end of the table speaks up this time, in a hushed, feral accented whisper, like claws ripping through paper, “Is that so?”
Very pointedly, Arthur glances at Eames before answering. “I do believe it is.”
At this point, there’s no one to kid with anymore. Eames and Arthur have spent every weekday in lunch together, every Saturday, they’ve made out a handful of times, gone on three official dates and were declared the King and Queen of Love. Besides, they hold hands more times than Arthur remembers strictly refusing. Come the fuck on, man.
Saito nods, then continues, “What do you plan on doing after high school?”
Arthur answers without hesitation. His father wanted him to join the military before he got PTSD and Arthur never fully opposed the idea. The military has always felt like the right direction. There was ROTC at his last school and the recruiter always spoke with the careful ease of knowing she’d hooked him. Which, he didn’t mind as long as she kept letting him feel her breasts under the bleachers, after school.
But people like hearing he’ll be a war hero because of his father, not because of the last conversation he had with Cobb before coming to the Academy (What do you know about dreams, Arthur?), not because of Dreamshare. And Arthur’s always been good about rolling with the punches.
“I am joining the Marines after graduation, and then using the money for college. I plan on becoming a psychologist, focusing on clinical psychology and the treatment of war veterans.”
Eames chews his food very quietly as Saito murmurs in approval. “Are you sure of such decision? The American government tends to be a tad trigger happy when it comes to stationing soldiers in other countries.”
Arthur forces down a grin, taking the comment in stride. “Yes, the military has always presented the right opportunities for me, regardless of their trigger fingers. And after watching my own father suffer from PTSD, I have always vowed to help where I can.”
“I see,” Saito looks unimpressed, “You are following your father’s dreams, then?’
“No, not at all.” Eames tenses under his hand again, so Arthur folds his hands on the table. “My father was a medic then a doctor. I think I am taking inspiration from his example and curving it to my own interests and potential."
“You sound confident of your decisions,” Saito is watching him with a glint in his eyes like he’s found Arthur’s flaw.
“I am as confident as anyone can be about the future. To assume that my plan would shape up perfectly is naive, but I am confident that is the direction I want my life to head in.”
Saito watches him for a moment, using the excuse of eating before speaking again. “Your graduation is in less than four months. What do you plan to do of your relationship with my nephew in such a short time span, when you plan on joining the military?”
Before Arthur can open his mouth to lay out a smooth reply, Eames cuts him off, and Arthur realizes what he just skipped over. Eames talks in a hurried tone, “That is hardly a fair question, Uncle. We have not been together long enough to set up long term ideas for the future. You know that, so come off it.”
Saito brings his hands up in playful defensiveness--he seems to have a soft spot for Eames--but drops them and returns his face back into a stoic mask. An attendant approaches him and whispers in his ear, nobody takes notice. Arthur watches his hands flex at his knees, suddenly hit with an overpowering dread. This time, Eames reaches out to take his hand but doesn’t fight back when Arthur pulls away.
-
The car ride home is tense and silent, with the radio on the oldies station. They’re playing really shit songs from the eighties, but Eames is focused on driving and Arthur can’t hear the music over the sound of his thoughts. They pull up to the school and Eames parks outside of Smithe Hall, where his room is. The dorms are dark and Eames picks his way in. No alarms ring, but even if they did, Arthur knows Eames would take care of it.
Unsurprisingly, Eames has a single. They get to his room and Arthur can’t find himself to care about the elaborate bed sheets or the canvas covered walls. It has the same basic layout of his room: bed, closet, bathroom, and dresser and space enough for two teenage boys to move around. Eames closes the door behind them and swings the closet door open.
He tosses his jacket on a hangar, haphazardly and then pulls both of his shirts off in one motion, not bothering to unbutton the dress shirt. Arthur watches him rummage through the dresser, with a twist of forced humor on his lips, “Do you want to borrow some clothes, Arthur? I’ll be happy to lend them to you, though you may sleep in the nude if you so wish.”
Arthur pulls off his jacket in the silence, tossing it over the dresser before he announces, “You should have told me.” There is something to be said about preamble, but Arthur couldn’t give a fuck.
“It’s not that serious.” Eames sets the shirts down on the dresser but doesn’t look up at him.
“Eames, a few hours ago you told me that he was your idol. You told me he taught you how to be a man. You said he was your mentor and that he cared for you like his own son. That’s a pretty big fucking deal.”
“Arthur--” Eames turns to face him.
“What if I had snapped at him? He was cutting it pretty close at dinner. What if I had snapped, huh?”
“I didn’t think you would do that.
“Why the hell not? Don’t you think anything through?”
Eames winces, “You’re exceedingly clever, Arthur. I sincerely doubt you would ever be daft enough to disrespect a Yakuza. I figured you would hold any sarcasm for me, later. Most probably about the Japanese, which I realize I should have told you I speak, but that’s beside the point. ”
“What if I did something inappropriate?”
“You don’t have an inappropriate bone in your body,” Eames scoffs. He turns back to the dresser and continues, picking out pajamas and setting them aside. He closes the dresser and turns back to Arthur. He opens to his mouth to speak but then stops, “But I should have told you.”
Arthur’s shoulders slump forward and he sighs quietly, “So why didn’t you?”
“I didn’t know how you would react to you inviting you to meet my uncle.” Eames crosses his legs at the ankle, nervous.
“Probably better than this.” Arthur rationalizes.
“I know,” Eames frowns. “But, I mean, I told you already. I’m all in.”
Arthur stops his next accusing sentence and watches Eames nervously shifting his weight for a moment. There’s a harsh cut in his brow, like he can’t stand being here and the silence is making Arthur’s stomach heavy. “Did you think I wasn’t?”
“You said the only reason you want me when you’re drunk is because it’s when you don’t care.”
Arthur racks his brain, trying to follow a single train of thought with Eames so raw and open in front of him and this ill ache worming into his hands. “Did you think I was in my right mind when I said that?”
“I can’t presume to know what your right mind is,” Eames looks down at his hands, knuckles white.
“Eames. God, fuck this,” Arthur shuffles, reaching into his pocket. Eames looks up at him and Arthur removes his hand, curled around a familiar red cube. He shows it to Eames, it’s been in his pocket all afternoon and with a flick of his wrist, throws the die on the floor, in the space between them. “Five.” Arthur announces before the die even stops rolling.
Eames’ brow furrows, “It’s a loaded die, Arthur. I cheated you that time.”
Arthur curls a finger around the knot of his tie and pulls it loose. He undoes a few buttons, bearing his throat. “I know.”
He undoes the buttons of his shirt then tugs out the tails. It hangs open around him and against his pale skin, chest flushing with a new found self-consciousness. He toes off his shoes and socks and is reaching for his belt before Eames--because he finally got the fucking memo--closes the spaces between them. He grabs at Arthur’s skin, clenching his fingers around the spaces between his ribs to pull them together. Arthur almost doesn’t expect it when Eames kisses him, trembling at first, slow. A beat skips and then Arthur tugs on the hair of Eames’ neck, pursing his lips to kiss back.
-
They fall asleep, too tired to do anything else but lay together and converse about their respective families. Arthur is an only child with an absent father and an overbearing mother, and Cobb. Cobb’s mom is awesome and loves Arthur and always brings him lemonade, even if she’s known Arthur for thirteen years. Cobb’s dad is really into extreme sports, like mountain biking and rock climbing but on weekdays, he sells life insurance. Teresa is the youngest member of the Cobb household, and coincidentally the most demanding. Arthur and Cobb has spent a small fortune spoiling her to no end.
Eames’ only has vague memories of his dad, and he visits his mum whenever he can. They moved to the States for no good reason but to start fresh, Eames supposes. He does whatever Saito asks of him. Saito has kept a roof under his head for years and he is eternally indebted. Hisako is his cousin and she was just messing about with Arthur. The others at the table where faceless associates, they won’t be there the next time they dine.
It almost doesn’t happen. But, God, Arthur wanted it to happen. He wakes up sometime past four and Eames’ chest is pressed hot against his back, breathing slowly and steadily. Arthur’s got a hard-on and Eames’ breath is tickling the nape of his neck. He thinks about it, though. About whether or not he wants to do this, to be with Eames like this. It’s only been a couple of minutes of contemplation when Eames’ fingers flex subconsciously, around his belly button and Arthur does want it.
He turns around and pulls his shirt over his head. Eames gave him a tee shirt and pajama bottoms to wear but chose to sleep shirtless. There’s a moment where he considers how to wake Eames up but it passes when Eames’ eyes flutter open. He smiles sleepily at Arthur. “Morning already?”
Arthur brings his hands up to run along Eames’ back and shoulder blades, awarded with a small sigh of contentment. “No, but I think you should wake up.”
“What for?” Eames murmurs.
Instead of replying, Arthur aligns their hips and yes, Eames is hard against him, too. Arthur can feel the heat and he rolls his hips experimentally. Eames’ hand, around his waist, tenses into a fist and Eames gives a choked gasp of breath. His eyes shoot open and then Arthur kisses him, dirty and slow. They haven’t been asleep long enough t have morning breath so Arthur tastes only the mint toothpaste. He strokes Eames’ tongue against his own. He feels Eames’ arm rush up his back all rough and calloused fingers.
There’s a spark of heat in Arthur’s belly as Eames pulls him closer. Their lips smack as they break apart to breathe and Arthur rocks his hips again. Eames moans into his open mouth, and Arthur loves that gruff noise, cutting through his chest. He takes Arthur’s mouth again, palming the flushed skin of Arthur’s chest. He stops when he reaches the bottom of Arthur’s bellybutton, where the line of hair disappears into his boxers. Eames isn’t sure where Arthur's pants have gone--not that he’s complaining--but this thin layer of cotton suddenly isn’t enough of a barrier. There is something crawling up his body, like need. “Arthur.”
Arthur pulls back to look at Eames through the shards of light coming in through the blinds. His eyes are dark and wide like he’s been searching for something and now he doesn’t want to miss it. Whatever it is, a beat passes between them and then Eames closes the distance, breathing quietly though his nose, like relief.
Arthur’s fingers curl into his shoulder, scratching lightly and Eames’ palm finds itself sliding into his briefs. He rests on Arthur’s hip then decides better of it and slides his boxers down the curve of his thighs, touching every piece of skin he finds. They slink off his feet and pool at the floor with a silent whoosh. Eames’ clothes follow quickly and then Arthur can feel the bare press of his muscled thighs. They twitch lightly and it sends a tremor through Arthur’s body.
He guides Eames over him and kisses him again, mouth opening in invitation. Eames looms over him with wide eyes, fluttering closed at the feel of their bare cocks against each other. Arthur lets his legs fall open to gives Eames space and kisses his lips, flicking tongue over the ridges of his teeth.
Eames brackets Arthur’s head with his forearms, pushing his bare chest against Arthur’s, arching for friction. Arthur can hardly feel his weight, it’s so hesitant. But Eames’ chest rushes against his and the pressure there is making him wild. Arthur runs his fingertips down the ripple of muscle over Eames’ back and down the curve. He pulls Eames closer by the small of his back, keeping one hand there to guide him and wraps another around both of their cocks.
Eames shudders against him, groaning thickly into the curve of Arthur’s neck. Arthur stretches and flexes his palm around the head, pumping the two of them tighter together. Eames’ groans are harsh and deep, the sounds of buildings as they crumble. Arthur slides his other hand to hold Eames’ steady as he thumbs the slits, spreading precome.
The slide turns wet and loud, Eames making these rough noises in Arthur’s ear, panting for more. He moves to Arthur’s neck, sucking and licking and leaving all kinds of marks all over his collarbone. Arthur bites his lip, breathing in huffs, stroking them faster, from head to base. He’s not going to last much longer, not with Eames biting down his neck, with that beautiful mouth, open wide and wanton. Arthur never used to be a biter.
Arthur brings the hand at his hip to feel the muscle at Eames’ stomach, clenching and rippling as Eames ruts and thrusts into his hand. He ducks his head further to lick at Arthur’s nipples with broad strokes of his tongue. Arthur jacks faster, whining and aching for it. Sweat and saliva slick his chest, Eames is sucking on his nipples greedily, and they stand erect for his mouth. Eames’ biceps are trembling and he pulls off to pant his name, “Arthur, Arthur, Christ, Yes.”
Arthur braces his feet against the mattress, lifting his hips and holding tighter and jacking frantically. Arthur comes with a quiet gasp from the bottom of his throat, vision white and body shaking out his release against Eames. Arthur doesn’t hear it when Eames comes, he feels the rush of wet heat and the twitch of muscles against his own, thighs tense. Arthur strokes them through the aftershocks, breathing in long pants.
Eames picks his head up and kisses Arthur, taking away any illusion of composure Arthur was trying to gather. Their teeth clack lightly and Arthur stops his hand, letting it drop slack against his hip. Eames breaks the kiss, breathing heavy against his lips, foreheads stacked. Arthur kisses Eames with his eyelashes as they flutter close, lips brushing over each other when he talks, “Let’s go to sleep.”
Eames mutters something about hygiene and gets up, returning with a towel. He cleans himself up and Arthur watches, boneless, as he cleans him up, too. Arthur turns to face the wall, pulling the comforter back up over his stomach and Eames curls up behind him.
He kisses the back of his neck, damp with sweat, until his breathing evens out. Arthur blinks, listening to the own roar of his heart, and falls asleep.
-
Arthur wakes with the dig of blunt teeth, gnawing softly into his shoulder. He breathes deeply and looks over his shoulder to find Eames, grinning coyly. The room smells delightfully like citrus and coffee, like Eames has been up for a while, but he’s nude under the blanket. Arthur turns over and the sheets fall low on his hips. Eames presses his thigh between Arthur’s knees, spreading his legs. “Where are my pants?” Arthur musses absently.
“I sold them. And all your clothes.”
Arthur snorts, “What do you propose I do now?”
“I was hoping you would become a nudist,” Eames smiles.
“Oh, you’re right. I’ll start now. Do you get the paper?”
He moves to stand up and Eames’ arm reaches over and pushes him back down. “Never mind, forgive it, I will buy back your clothes.”
Arthur laughs and it tumbles down his chest, swallowed by Eames’ kiss. Arthur sighs against his mouth, happy. “Let’s shower.”
Eames wrinkles his nose, “No, let’s have sex again.”
“That’s what I meant. In the shower.”
Eames smiles fondly and it turns lewd, rapidly. “C’mon, then, no time to waste.”
Eames shrugs off the blanket and stands, and Arthur feels all the blood in his body rush to his brain. The sun is coming in orange and gold, just rising through the window and Eames is glowing in it, grey eyes bright and muscled body smooth and endless. Arthur sits up, utterly mesmerized by the spin of color in Eames’ smile, teeth white against his red mouth. He holds Eames in place where he’s standing and runs his hands through the glow, scraping his nails against the muscles. He kisses Eames’ bellybutton, and his hip and then rests his head on his thigh.
He presses ghost kisses here, too. Eames cards his fingers through his hair, “Come on, save it for the shower, love.”
Arthur glances up and sees a mirror of affection, “Go turn on the water, I’ll be there in a minute.”
Eames bends to his knees and kisses Arthur, again, closemouthed and warm. He doesn’t want this to stop but he needs to breathe. They part and Eames looks hesitant but walks off to do as he’s been told.
Arthur takes a minute to right himself and level his heartbeat. There’s dizziness in his chest and it’s scaring him a little. The water runs in the next room and an unstoppable warmth spreads in his body. Eames calls him over and Arthur’s eyes catch a flash of red as he stands up. The dizziness is forgotten as he reaches of the die, jostling it between his fingers. He hears the call of Eames’ voice over the roar of water, a thought strikes him.
An insurmountable thought that gets his heart to hammer in his chest with panic and exhilaration. The sun is warm on his bare back, calm, like mercy, and the water will be cool in the shower, Eames is calling him to it, all he has to do it jump, and if he were to roll the die, right now, it would land on five. He can stand in the sun or the shore and the cliff, with its jagged edges, can’t touch it, and it will land on five. It will always land on five.
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Date: 2011-04-09 02:46 pm (UTC)I found the Arthur/Eames dynamic so interesting because I do see them as the type of pairing that will fight their way into each other's hearts. Since they are both such strong and willful men it would never be an easy ride, but a totally worthwhile one.
Loved it!
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Date: 2011-04-09 08:43 pm (UTC)You are incredible and I am glad you read it and liked it and thank you. ♥
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Date: 2011-04-13 12:46 pm (UTC)(And btw, how much do I love that there was no big ANGST! and DRAMA! in their relationship? Because, while during rocky/interesting times, the thing they have developed almost quietly and steadily and naturally. It was absolutely lovely to read about. <333333)
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