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Eames knows that it’s terribly bad manners to break into your possibly-sometimes-boyfriend-partner’s house, but he’s trying to lose a tail and Arthur’s place is very convenient. He makes sure everything’s clear before he gets in through the back window. He’s been in this house before, briefly, when he picked Arthur up to take him to dinner one time a few months ago, but he never saw much of the interior. It’s expectedly neat and unexpectedly homey, with plush-looking couches and fleecy blankets draped around the place, tasteful warm landscape pieces hung on the walls. Eames closes the window and checks that no alarms will go off if he moves around, then tests out all the couches and chooses the comfiest one to snuggle into. He pulls a blanket around himself and inhales Arthur-scent, promptly passing out.
Eames wakes up with a start when he hears a faint humming noise, the flick of light switches and the clump of a briefcase on the floor. A door swishes open and closed. He sighs when he remembers where he is, that Arthur must be home. He’s sitting up and stretching out the kinks in his spine when he hears a different sound, the clicking of high heels and his first thought is that Arthur has some kind of sex-mistress (it makes his blood boil, Arthur is his, Goddamnit) but then a tall figure appears in the doorway and it’s Arthur in the heels. Eames’ mouth drops open as he takes in Arthur’s endless legs accentuated by the cherry-red stilettos, the white shirt tucked into a knee length black pencil skirt. Arthur’s looking back at him, now, glossy lips slightly open and a flush is beginning to spread across his cheeks.
“Eames,” he says, voice wavering only a little. “What are you doing here?” He pushes away from the doorframe, the heels making obscenely attractive noises on the floor, hips swaying and Eames is gone.
“I came in through the window, love,” he rasps, standing up. Arthur’s markedly taller than him, now, but he curls in on himself defensively. “Darling, look at you,” Eames says, and runs his hands through Arthur’s slicked back hair. “Why haven’t I seen this before?”
“It isn’t something I’ve ever shown anybody,” Arthur mutters, resting his head on Eames’ shoulder. “What do you think?” Eames presses his hard cock into Arthur’s hip as an answer. Arthur’s breath rushes out of him as if he’s been slapped, a tiny oh escaping his lips.
“C’mon, Arthur, give us a kiss,” Eames smiles, coaxing Arthur’s head up and guiding their mouths together. He winds his arms around Arthur’s waist, groping at his arse through the skirt and he groans when he feels Arthur’s leg lifting and the point of the shoe’s heel scraping up his calf.
“I think I need to see the rest of your wardrobe, darling.”