Archive of Our Own

Arthur: (Immediately Post-inception)
Arthur fidgets in his seat as the plane taxis to the gate. It's taking far longer than he thinks should be possible, as if time were still dilated by a dream. (It's not. He'd checked his totem twice in the bathroom when he woke up in the first class cabin.)

He is too fucking keyed up to sit still after the emotional roller coaster of the gig--not to mention the elation he feels at finally being free of tending to Dom's mental downward spiral. He scans the cabin for a post-gig drinking buddy. Socializing  after a job goes against every rule of professional conduct that Arthur knows. It's just that in his experience, things don't work out with this kind of happy ending, oh, ever, and he's determined to celebrate, dammit.

Obviously Dom is not an option, nor would Arthur even want him to be. They've spent far too much time together of late. Saito is the client, so it's a bad idea, and besides his wealth is intimidating. Ari seems like a promising friend. But after that ill-advised kiss, Arthur is loath to ask her to hang out. There's just no way it won't be misinterpreted.

Now Eames, on the other hand. Arthur wouldn't mind so much if he were to misconstrue an invitation for a drink.

Arthur thinks Eames has a boyfriend, or at least someone who sends him text messages that make his face light up like a kid on Christmas morning. Regardless, he's a good guy and Arthur owes him a few kind words after being snappish for most of the job for no good reason.  Eames just makes him testy sometimes. But he had been brilliant during the entire job--coming up with pretty much all of their best ideas and quietly standing by Arthur in the wake of his failure over the whole militarization thing. Sure Arthur would love to fuck him, or to feel those plush lips wrapped around his dick, but he'd also just like to say thanks, to revel together in the feeling of success for an hour or two.

So he scribbles a quick note on his Moleskin  and slips it into Eames' pocket as they're standing and fumbling with their overhead luggage. It's clumsy--nowhere near as subtle as Eames is capable of being with his thief's fingers. But that's kind of the point. Arthur wants Eames to look at the note at the first-available opportunity, not hours from now when he's God knows where in the middle of doing God knows what.

Ariadne grins at him from across the baggage claim. Cobb nods politely at Arthur as he passes through the customs line. Yusuf winks at him at the taxi stand. Only Eames and Saito are professional enough to completely ignore Arthur as if they were truly strangers. Of course, Saito seems to have disappeared into the International terminal somewhere. So Eames is the only one who gets full marks.

He's pretty sure he got away clean. But to be safe, Arthur takes a taxi to a hotel downtown, where he gets a room under the alias he'd used on the job, then takes a second taxi to another hotel on the beach, where he gets a room under his real name. He takes a third taxi to Cedars Sinai and from there he walks to his bungalow off of Beverly, near the CBS lot. It's a long trek with his carry-on suitcase and the PASIV, but Arthur considers caution more important than comfort in all things.

Once home, he takes a quick shower and makes some toast with almond butter. His body is confused about what meal it wants to eat, but he knows he's hungry, so he keeps it simple.

He isn't sure whether or not Eames is going to call. It's already been two hours since Arthur left LAX. Of course, Eames is probably following his own security procedures and Arthur knows he won't reach out until he feels certain he isn't being watched. So Arthur keeps his burner phone on, pours himself a generous drink, unlocks all his guns from their various safes around the house and gets to work cleaning them.

The combination of rote movements and fiddly work sets his mind at ease. The alcohol probably doesn't hurt, either.

But he's startled out of his reverie when the doorbell rings. He grabs a still-fully assembled Glock and steps silently to the door, listening for anything that might indicate a confrontation.

"Oh for fuck's sake, Arthur, it's me," Eames bellows.

"Damn his hearing is excellent," Arthur thinks as he confirms this through the peephole and undoes the locks.

"You couldn't pick up a phone like a normal person?"

Eames shrugs.

"This seemed more amusing."

He has a pastry box in one hand and a bottle of Champagne in the other. He's wearing clean clothes and his bag from the plane is nowhere to be seen, so he must have somewhere to crash, despite showing up on Arthur's doorstep.

"I thought we'd meet somewhere, like a restaurant or a bar" Arthur says as he ushers Eames inside.

"And I thought you only wanted to get me back here afterward anyway."

Arthur frowns. He can feel wrinkles growing on his forehead. Eames is going to make him age prematurely. Why did he invite him out again?

"I thought you were seeing someone?"

If Eames is going to be blunt, then Arthur isn't going to hold back out of politeness, either.

"Who told you that?"

If Arthur had suspected it before, he knows it now. Eames' response is guarded in a way that he rarely lets people witness, with a hint of actual fear in his voice.

"I'm not blind Eames. I see you texting with that stupid grin on your face. And I see you getting tense right now."

 Eames shocks Arthur by blushing, pink spreading up his neck and across his face to the tips of his ears.

"Don't worry, I doubt anyone else noticed," Arthur says, taking pity on Eames' display of vulnerability. "Dom was completely oblivious to everything but his own issues. Ariadne was focused on him to the exclusion of all else. Saito likely didn't give a fuck about anything that couldn't affect his businesses. Yusuf, I don't know. Perhaps he's already aware of your relationship?"

"Not bloody likely."

"Fair enough. Anyway, your secret's safe with me. And I honestly didn't expect anything more than a few celebratory drinks."

Eames holds up the Champagne.

"Well then, let's celebrate."

Arthur is confused as to why Eames came here to his house, rather than meeting at some safe neutral place, considering that he's not available. But he's not going to question it. Not yet anyway.

"I'm not much of a Champagne drinker, honestly. I'm not even sure if I have the right glasses," he says as they walk toward the kitchen.

"No matter. I'm not picky."

They settle in the living room, Arthur back on the couch with his guns, Eames on a bar stool across the room, nibbling on a croissant and sipping a mimosa made with juice from Arthur's tree out back.

"Honestly Arthur, this is how you relax? Cleaning your firearms?"

"It's both mindless and detail-oriented. It's the best way to shut off my brain after working in high gear for so many hours straight. I couldn't sleep now if I tried. I'm hungry, but unsure of what would satisfy. Drinking and gun maintenance just make sense. Why what do you do after a job?"

"Sex if it's an option. Gambling if that's one. Otherwise, I mostly read until my mind is tired enough to let me sleep naturally."

"Well there's no casino for miles. And you're seeing someone. But feel free to check out my bookshelves. They're mostly crime fiction and engineering manuals, but I'm sure the latter could put you to sleep."

Eames smirks. He downs his glass, pours another from the bottle, this time sans OJ, and moves to sit next to Arthur on the couch.

"Need some help with these?" he asks, picking up a rifle and starting to disassemble it.

They empty the Champagne and Arthur pours them both some Bourbon while they finish the tasks at hand, filling each other in on the details of the second and third dream levels and gossiping about their colleagues.

It's nice--strangely domestic. This is the kind of thing Arthur would like to do more often after jobs.

He'd been stuck with Cobb for so long, taking high-risk work and fleeing back to the States alone when he hadn't been too busy holding his partner's life together with a shoestring and the force of his will. Going forward, he should have more friends like Eames, who came through and then some in a crisis, and fewer like Cobb, who sold them all out without a second thought. He never imagined he'd think that, but there it is. He doesn't even ask Eames to avert his eyes when he re-safes all the weapons.

He really wants to ask Eames more about his relationship and what exactly he's doing here, but he doesn't want to break the spell that has kept things so light and easy between them all afternoon.

"So do you want to go out and grab a bite? Or maybe some more drinks? Hell we could go to the movies for all I care. I just need to wind down some more. I don't think my brain has quite come to terms with what we just did. Fuck, I still can't believe it worked."

"I tried it before, you know. Didn't take. Utter disaster. Barely escaped with my life."

"Cobb mentioned that. I wasn't sure how seriously to take him. Well we definitely couldn't have pulled it off without you this time. You were really great."

"Is that why you asked me here? To say that?"

"Actually yeah, I felt like I was a real asshole to you and I wanted to apologize. Also, for the record, I did not ask you here. Although it was nice that you came. So what do you want to do?"

Eames gives him a curious look. It feels kind of like he's being judged and kind of like he's being laughed at. Neither are particularly feelings that Arthur enjoys.

"What?" he snaps.

"I thank you for the invitation and the show of goodwill. But I don't think that's entirely the reason you slipped me that note on the plane."

"Maybe not, but there's nothing I can do about it. You can go if it makes you uncomfortable."

Eames inches forward into Arthur's personal space.

"Maybe you can do something about it, if you like."

Arthur recoils, confused.

"Eames, I saw your face when you got those text messages. You are not here to fuck up your relationship with me. If this is some sort of cover to keep your boyfriend a secret from prying eyes, I'm happy to play along. You can spend the night, let the neighbors see you on the lawn in my bathrobe tomorrow, whatever you need. But at least be honest with me, and with this other guy, whomever he is. All you had to do was ask."

Eames is chuckling and shaking his head.

"Arthur are you thick? It's an open relationship. I'm here for the exact same reason you invited me, to let off a little steam and hit the reset button on my brain. I wouldn't have twigged you as such a traditionalist."

Arthur is taken aback--and insulted. He's not some uptight square. It's just that Eames had seemed so obviously and utterly head over heels. Arthur never suspected he was anything less than starry eyed.

"So, what, you have permission to sleep around after a job, work off the excess energy and come home refreshed?"

Eames shrugs.

"Something like that. We're apart frequently, Brian and I. Pining and sexual frustration are a terrible combination. So we have a system for keeping our sanity. There are rules, of course. But it works out nicely."

"Don't you? ... Call me a prude, or whatever, but don't you worry about one of you taking it too far with someone else?"

"Never. No offense, Arthur, but no one else could possibly compare. I'm not speaking about just going to bed, although obviously that's a part of it, too. It's that, well, if you've ever been in love you know it's different to when there aren't feelings, or when there are just friendly ones. With other people it's just physical, just a bit of fun. When I'm with Brian, there's no contest. Everything else is just erased."

"Well that's certainly a convincing seduction speech. Tell me does this work for you often?"

 Eames blushes again. It's fascinating how unguarded he's become since arriving on Arthur's doorstep. Part of Arthur wants to see how much more accessible he would become with their clothes off. The other part is vaguely insulted at Eames' frank assessment of the situation. Not that Arthur had envisioned a hookup between them turning serious. But it's another thing to be straight-up told you're just a convenient dick.

"Truth be told, I don't often share the part about the relationship. I didn't quite count on your being quite so observant."

"Yeah, well, I'm glad I was, or I'd have just ended up getting used by you."

Eames' face flashes with anger.

"Used?! I'll have you know there are plenty of benefits for those who have sex with me!"

He's clearly verging on actual anger, so Arthur dials it  back.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"I think perhaps I should leave."

Arthur reaches out and lays his hand on Eames' arm.

"Stay. I'm just being an asshole. Let's watch a movie. Come on. Misery loves company after all."

Arthur's a bit embarrassed that he's so bothered by the fact that Eames would sleep with him, but love someone else. It's not like he'd slipped Eames a note asking to call if he wanted to celebrate because he hoped they'd start dating.  But there's something unappealingly cold about the thought of hooking up without even a sliver of potential for more to grow out of it, even something as quietly intimate as Eames bringing him coffee on the next job with a wink, subtly acknowledging some tiny shift in their relationship. Arthur doesn't need to explore that potential, but apparently he needs to know it's there, just in case. Otherwise there's no way to avoid feeling like a dick in a glass case: Break in the event of an emergency ... or a successful inception.

They drink themselves into a stupor watching Die Hard and pass out on the couch lying head to foot, a throw blanket tucked around their entwined legs.

Arthur wakes at some point in the middle of the night when Eames gets up to piss.

"Do you want the guest room?" he asks when Eames returns, looking just barely conscious.

"You're an odd duck," he responds, but he follows Arthur back to the second bedroom, undoes his pants and collapses on top of the covers.

Arthur forces himself to brush his teeth and change into pajamas before curling up in his own bed for the first time in months.

He wakes ridiculously early, internal clock still confused about the passage of time, and finds Eames in the living room tearing through a Charles Willeford book from one of the shelves.

"You can borrow that, if you want."

"Ta," he says, using a bit of Kleenex to mark his page and shoving the paperback into his jacket pocket.

They have crepes at the Farmer's Market, which might be kitchy, but is classic for a reason.

"Where are you headed? Or can't I ask?"

"Vancouver. Staking out a potential forge for an upcoming job with Grant Smyth, do you know him?"

"Of him. We've never met. Let me know if you hear of anyone decent who's looking for a Point. It will take a while before people realize Cobb's out of the business."

"So you're not going clean then?"

"I don't think so. Too boring. At one point that was all I wanted. But life on the run has changed me, I think."

"Well at least have a well-earned holiday first."

"I'm sick of travel. I think I'll just enjoy my house for a while. It'd been three months since I slept in my own bed."

Eames smirks.

"No wonder you wanted it to yourself then."

Arthur steps on Eames' toes under the table, but not too hard.

"Can I give you a lift to the airport?"

"Certainly. Although I need to fetch my things from the hotel first, if you don't mind."

When Arthur drops him at the curb, Eames leans over and kisses him on the cheek before exiting the car.

"Thanks, Arthur. It wasn't quite what I was expecting, but I had a lovely time."

Hardly two hours have passed before Arthur is kicking himself for not taking Eames up on his offer. It's just sex. Why had he acted like a such a prude? Like a kid who doesn't know how to be casual yet? Now that Eames is gone, he can't stop thinking about it, how Eames would have looked, what he might have let Arthur do to him. If  he ever gets another opportunity, he's going to seize it, lack of potential or no.

Eames: (Three Months Later)
Arthur is acting odd. One minute he's bringing Eames a nice cuppa with a friendly smile. The next he's tearing down one of Eames' perfectly good ideas for no reason at all. He's always been a moody bastard, as long as Eames has known him. But this is something else. He's cycling through from warm to cold so quickly that it's impossible to know how to approach him at any given moment. 

Eames is certain it has something to do with their night together in  Los Angeles after inception, but he can't quite put his finger on why. Arthur has always been guarded, so it's possible he regrets having been so open with Eames at his house. Or perhaps he's simply awkward at the idea that Eames had come round to shag him, even if it hadn't quite worked out that way in the end. Whatever it is, Eames will simply have to ride it out. 

Just then his phone pings with a new email from Brian and all other thoughts race out of his head as he rushes to the loo to read it in private. He doesn't want to risk anyone else picking up on his lovesick expression, as Arthur had on their last job. He really needs to get a handle on his emotions, as he's apparently been slipping of late. It's only that everything has been so perfect between them recently. Eames isn't a fool. Four years in a long-distance relationship have taught him that they'll get messy again soon enough. But it's hard not to revel in the loopy feelings even the slightest thought of Brian have sent rushing through him these past six months or so. It's enough that he's even starting to perhaps consider retirement, or at least spending more time at Brian's place in London and less everywhere else. 

When he exits a few minutes later, Arthur's eyes find him across the warehouse. Eames can't tell if Arthur is scrutinizing his behavior for signs of weakness or assessing whether he had a wank in there after reading the message. (He had.) But it's unnerving. 

"See something you like?" he asks.

It's intended to turn the conversation away from Arthur's canny ability to sense when Eames' mind is thousands of miles away in London and segue them into a bit of harmless flirting. But when Arthur flicks his eyes to the left, a tell so common schoolchildren know it, and bites his lip, all of Eames' confusion resolves itself. 

So that's how it is.

Arthur wants another chance at Eames' fine piece of arse, but he doesn't know how to broach the subject without seeming pathetic. But not to worry, Eames can take the responsibility right out of his hands. It will be nice to feel another body next to his. Having one off the wrist to a sweet email from one's boyfriend is lovely, but it's been weeks and Eames is simply gagging for it. 

Perhaps he will be literally. He'd seen Arthur nude once after they'd had to escape from a flooding car and the man is certainly not lacking in the endowment department--enough for Eames to consider breaking the rules. Not that he would ever. But he can still think about it from time to time. That's allowed. 

Eames waits a couple of days, just so it isn't too obvious. Three nights before the job is set to happen, he leans up against Arthur's desk on his way out of the warehouse, coat draped over one arm, bag on his shoulder. 

"Fancy a drink?"

Arthur's answering smile is relaxed and broad. Eames knows he was right to initiate this.

"You know a good place? I went to the one on the corner the other night with Genevieve and it was awful. The bartender couldn't mix a cocktail to save his life." 

"Was he easy on the eyes at least?" 

"Not nearly enough to make up for his lack of skill." 

"I don't know, a pretty face can make up for an awful lot of personality flaws," Eames responds, letting his voice turn light and flirty. 

Arthur just rolls his eyes at the implication and responds, "so, where were you thinking?" 

Eames lets a pause hang just a touch too long. 

"I was thinking my room, actually." 

Arthur tilts his head, but doesn't question it out loud. 

"Yeah, OK. Can I meet you there? I have to finish up a few things before heading out." 

Whatever uncertainty had led Arthur to act to hot and cold for the past three weeks has apparently flown out the window in light of Eames inviting him round, because he second he opens the door, Arthur is all over him, shoving Eames against the wall and kissing him as if their lives depended on it. 

Arthur is an excellent kisser. It shouldn't surprise Eames, because Arthur is the best at everything he chooses to do. But a small part of Eames had wondered if Arthur had rejected him so easily in Los Angeles because he just wasn't a very sexual person. That suspicion was decidedly incorrect. 

Arthur's hands work quickly. Before Eames knows it, his shirt is hanging off his shoulders, his trousers are open and Arthur's long, sure fingers are reaching into his pants.

"You should've been a pickpocket," Eames mumbles against Arthur's neck. 

"Why don't you tell me about these rules of yours," Arthur responds, wrapping his hand around Eames' prick and stroking ever so gently. 

"It's a bit difficult to focus at the moment," Eames responds. 

"Try harder." 

They kiss for several minutes before Eames breaks away. 

"As far as you're concerned, there's only one. You can't fuck me, not even with fingers. Everything else is on the table though." 

Arthur shrugs and drops to his knees without a word. He swallows Eames' prick down to the root and Eames' head thunks back against the wall in surprise and pleasure. Arthur certainly knows what he's doing here and it takes every ounce of Eames' will to reach down and stop him. 

"Slow down, Arthur. It's not a race. Let's enjoy ourselves." 

"You seem to be enjoying yourself," Arthur quirks an eyebrow at him.  

 "I  ... I just mean, let's take our time. Linger over it. There are so many things we can do. Don't you want that?"

"What I want is to get this out of my system," Arthur says, matter of fact.

It stings. But Eames can't really complain. He's the one with the rules and the boyfriend to run home to in a few weeks time. If Arthur feels that this is a hurdle to clear, rather than a proper good time, then what can Eames really do about it?

Still, it can't hurt to try. 

"Humor me," he says, and pulls Arthur to his feet and leads him over to the bed. 

He undresses Arthur excruciatingly slowly, kissing each bit of skin as soon as it's exposed, running his hands everywhere he can reach. By the time Arthur is standing next to the bed in the nude with Eames sitting cross-legged on the carpet beneath him, having just finished kissing the arch of Arthur's left foot, he finally seems to have relaxed and accepted that there's nothing wrong with wanting this. 

Eames rises and lets Arthur push the remainder of his clothes off of his body. They stand there looking at each other for at least a minute, before Eames leans forward and presses his mouth to Arthur's. 

Now Arthur seems content with taking it slow. He pulls Eames down onto the bed, but doesn't do anything more than kiss him. And kiss him. And kiss him. It's like they're teenagers, snogging without hope of getting off. Except, of course, they're naked and Arthur has already had his mouth wrapped around Eames' prick tonight. 

Eventually, Eames can't wait any longer and he makes to slide his way down Arthur's body. Of course just then Arthur moves to flip them so he's on top, and their motions counteract each other, leaving them laughing in a twisted heap. 

Eames leans over and nips the back of Arthur's thigh, which is somehow pressed against his face. It was intended as friendly, but the response he gets is intoxicating. 

He ends up leaving tooth marks all over Arthur's pert little bum, as Arthur writhes around and moans on the bed. Then he parts Arthur's cheeks and licks his arsehole. He's fairly certain Arthur doesn't want to get fucked--either because he doesn't like it, or because he isn't willing to do anything Eames won't do himself in this situation--but, honestly, who doesn't enjoy a good rimming? 

He doesn't go crazy with it, since not a run-up to penetration. But he gets Arthur good and worked up, before turning him roughly back over and swallowing his cock in one go. He gets in a few hard sucks and then pulls away. 

"Come on then, do me at the same time, yeah?" he demands, crawling around into a 69 position when Arthur nods weakly. 

He doesn't really hold back, trusting Arthur to stop him if he thrust down too hard. Meanwhile, he tries his damnedest to focus on doing well by Arthur, keeping his throat working and his tongue moving and his hands balanced, fingertips digging into Arthur's thighs. 

His only regret is not getting to see Arthur's face when he comes. The vibrations his moans send through Eames' cock just may be a worthwhile trade-off, however. 

Without a second's hesitation, Arthur rolls them back over and crawls up Eames' body to kiss him, working his hand fast and tight around Eames' prick until he spills all over both of them. 

After a few minutes recovery, Arthur makes to leave, gathering his clothes from across the floor. 

"Stay," Eames asks. "Let's actually have that drink." 

Arthur gives him an odd look, but sits on the sofa in his pants and undershirt while Eames mixes him a vodka soda from the minibar. 

"I don't know how you do it," Arthur says when Eames hands him the drink. 

"You get used to it," Eames responds, knowing Arthur is still disconcerted by his relationship. "I'm not going to complain, not when it leads to nights like this." 

"Sure sex is fun. Having it whenever you want without consequences is great. But doesn't it bother you to think about Brian doing the same?"

"It did at first. But now, honestly, I just don't think about it. It's not something he and I discuss when we're together. It's not, 'oh hey sweetheart, you'll never guess whom I've been shagging whilst you were away,' you know? Regardless, another one of the rules is that it can't ever be with someone we both know, or with someone the other is likely to ever meet." 

"So if I run into you on the street, I should pretend we don't know each other?"

Eames laughs. 

"It's not bloody likely to happen, but if it does, do what you like. It's not your business to protect me."

"It's exactly my business." 

"At work, yes. Not in my personal life." 

"Speaking of which, I got an offer from Nina Thompkins after you left the warehouse. Short gig. Corporate. Based out of Copenhagen. Any interest? She needs a forger." 

They discuss the offer, the current job, the state of Cobb's retirement, Arthur's post-Fisher holiday from work, Eames' wardrobe, Arthur's new haircut and their architect's obvious crush on their chemist before Arthur drains his second glass and stands to leave, kissing Eames sweetly on the cheek. Honestly, Eames couldn't have asked for anything more from the evening. 

Eames: (One year later)
He is utterly unprepared when it happens. Everything had been so close to perfect for so long, at least from his end. So when Brian welcomes him into the flat, sits him down on the sofa and says he'd broken the rules several times over, Eames doesn't even know how to process the information. 

He takes a deep breath, leans forward and asks Brian to repeat it all, to explain exactly what happened. It still doesn't make any sense. Feeling strangely numb, he asks what it means, what happens now. Brian says he doesn't know. 

Eames thinks he should be raging. He should be screaming and punching the walls, throwing crockery. But all he can do is sit there starring out the window.  Brian touches his arm and Eames flinches. That's not right. Not at all.

So he stands up, shoulders his not-yet-unpacked bag, and walks right out the door again. He wanders aimlessly for a bit and then rings his mum. She's down from the country for a few days to replenish her wardrobe. The three of them were to have had lunch the following day. Ten minutes later he's standing outside her hotel room like a lost little boy. 

She orders up tea, and pours him a glass of sherry from a bottle tucked in her luggage. He tells her they'd gotten in a fight and he doesn't know how to repair it, or if he should even try. It's difficult to be specific, because she doesn't know about his arrangement with Brian, nor what he does for a living. She asks a number of questions to which he simply cannot give her honest answers. 

He wishes he could  talk to someone else, but he's struck by the realization that hardly anyone in this world has the true measure of his life. His and Brian's allegedly shared friends are truly only Brian's. If they split, Eames knows only one or two will even make an attempt to call him, and none will make an effort to remain close. He's guarded his relationship so carefully from work colleagues, to avoid ever putting Brian at risk, so if he and Brian split, none of them would even know that his life had been shaken to the core. Quite possibly the only person who knows about the duality of Eames' life is Arthur. 

Arthur. 

Eames supposes he could ring him. They have a certain degree of closeness. They work together frequently. Arthur almost always takes the time to ask Eames about his personal life, if they have a private moment, and he listens to the answers and asks questions and remembers the details from one job to the next.

The only difficulty is that they've had sex. True it's only been twice, and the second time was just a quick and messy exchange of handjobs in the gents when Arthur's frustrations over a job that had been on the verge of going bust were putting the whole team in a panicky mood. Eames had wanted to relax him, if only temporarily, and hadn't know what else to do. He'd offered on other occasions, but Arthur had turned him down, gently but firmly. Apparently the whole open relationship situation was just too difficult for him to wrap his mind around. 

Which is exactly why he can't ring Arthur now. Either Arthur will gloat about how he knew this sort of thing couldn't last, or he'll counsel Eames to go out there and get even, consequences be damned. Perhaps he'll even offer his own assistance in a revenge fuck and that's a temptation Eames cannot consider at the moment. He's not sure whether he wants to forgive Brian and move on, or even if Brian wants him to do so, but he knows he can't so much as kiss anyone else until this is all sorted. 

Despite all this, Eames finds himself going outside and pulling up Arthur's contact on his phone. 

"Hello? Eames?"

Arthur answered in two rings, but he sounds drowsy. 

"I didn't wake you did I?" 

"No. Well yes. But from a work dream, not actual sleep. Your timing is uncanny. It rang just after the kick." 

"Odd." 

"Yeah. So what's up?"

"Oh I was just wondering ... about that job, the cheese company one, the Miller bloke, I was thinking I could try forging the daughter, rather than the son." Eames truly doesn't care. It's an ongoing corporate job, which they drop in to check on every few months. Hardly something that needs to be discussed in advance. Nevertheless, they discuss the merits of both options for a few minutes and Eames feels calmed a bit by the ordinariness of it all. His heart might be breaking, but he still has control over some aspects of his life; not everything has to change. Of course, once they've hashed out the pros and cons on the forge, Eames changes the subject and asks Arthur for shopping advice. Not his smoothest transition, but at least he'll be able to keep it all in his head tomorrow if he accompanies his mum. What else does he have to do? When he tries to ask Arthur about Cobb, it's apparently obvious that he's stalling. 

"Eames, are you OK? If you're in trouble, tell me about the conversation we had at that beer garden in Berlin, when we ran into someone unexpected, you remember?" 

"Oh no it's nothing like that, Arthur. I'm just ... out of sorts. I needed to hear a friendly voice." 

Arthur is silent for so long that Eames begins to worry. 

Finally he says: "What's going on?"

"Please, please don't say, 'I told you so,' but it's Brian. He's broken the rules. And I'm not even certain he's sorry for it." 

"Oh Eames, I would never ... I'm so sorry. Are you at home? Do you have someplace to go?" 

"I'm at my mum's hotel room presently. I'll have to sort something out when we ring off. I just ... it was difficult to explain it all to her and I realized how few people have the full measure of my life and, well, as long as I'm being perfectly honest, that realization made me sad. In addition to the expected melancholy, of course." 

"I'm glad you called," Arthur says simply, and Eames finds himself relaxing just a bit. "So, tell me, what happened? Can you fix it?"

"He ... he ... well you'll probably laugh at me for using the word, but I don't know how else to say it. Brian has begun an affair. God this is embarrassing. Apparently he's been at it for months now, waiting for, quote, 'the right opportunity to tell me.'"

"So ... what does he want? Is he breaking up with you? Ending it with this other guy? Wanting to keep you both? What?"

"He doesn't know. Which I suppose is answer enough, isn't it?"

"Did he say why? Is there something you can change to make this go away?"

Leave it to bloody Arthur to approach a relationship problem as a series of boxes to tick.

"You mean stay home more, work less? No he didn't give that as a reason. Although he was probably too wracked with guilt to try to fob the blame off on me."

"But he still ... he ... he has feelings for you, right? Besides the guilt?"

"Yes ... yes he says he still ... " Eames trails off, unable to voice the words.

He'd spoken about love so confidently with Arthur back in Los Angeles, the night they first became proper friends. But it feels different now. The man in Eames' memory seems so arrogant now, lecturing Arthur on how he'd conquered romance, sorted all the potential problems.

"But it doesn't matter, does it? Because it's not enough. I'm not worth giving up this Liam fellow for ... I shouldn't call him that, 'this fellow,' as if he's a stranger. I know him. Not well, of course, but he's friends with one of Brian's mates from school. We've met at parties. It's ... it's intolerable. And that's not the only rule he broke, if you catch my meaning."

"Well then that's your answer, I suppose," Arthur says, very gently, as if Eames is a child or a skittish animal.

Eames stares at a moth that's beating itself against the glass encasement of a nearby streetlamp. It makes him feel like a teenager, seeing his own angst reflected back at him throughout the surrounding world.

"I know of a job you could take. If you wanted. It's not forging, just being an extra team member. But it could keep you busy."

"When?"

"Next week, although nothing says you can't go early."

"I should speak with Brian tomorrow. Be certain I'm reading all of this correctly. I'll text you?"

"Sure."

"I suppose I should let you get back to work."

"It's all right, Eames. I can talk."

"No, I'd best find a room for the night. Try to sleep. I should probably be out trying to find the best-possible revenge fuck. But my heart just isn't in it. I'd be liable to start crying in the middle or something equally embarrassing. Lord, the last time I had a proper break up, back in my mid-20s with my boyfriend from uni, I turned into the most fantastic tart you can imagine, shagging anything that moved. I even tried it with a woman, emphasis on tried. Not a rousing success."

Arthur laughs.

"I'm a purebred myself."

"Of course you are."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Only just ... you're so damned perfect."

"I promise you. I'm really not."

Are they flirting? Eames can't tell. His senses are too numb. Whatever it is, it's cheering him up a bit. He supposes that's why Arthur is doing it. This is why it's good that they'd only been together twice, and not in nearly a year to boot. Eames can graciously accept Arthur's flirtation without it having to mean anything, without it feeling like Arthur is overstepping the boundaries of tact. Eames will have to do something kind for Arthur in return once his world is no longer tilted off its axis. 

Five days later when he arrives in Lisbon for the job, he discovers that Arthur had given up his own spot on the team to Eames. His chest aches with regret for taking it. How can he ever begin to repay Arthur now? 

Arthur: (Eight months later)
He's been avoiding Eames for months now.

Ever since Eames and Brian had broken up, Arthur had gone out of his way not to work with him. And when he'd had no choice, he'd finagled ways to keep Eames occupied with stakeout duties and away from their main workspace as often as possible.

At first Arthur had assumed the newly single Eames would fuck his way through every available colleague and hadn't wanted to witness it. Eames had always been restrained in the workplace before, but he'd also always been in a relationship. 

When this hadn't happened, Arthur had forced himself to continue his avoidance for fear that he wouldn't have been able to stop himself from pulling Eames aside and begging to fuck him. That would have been a bad idea with Eames just getting on his feet again. Even if he weren't rejected, Arthur would have been a rebound screw, soon forgotten. And Arthur wanted Eames so terribly, more than a few fucks could satisfy. 

And then, finally, the day came when Arthur had known, he'd just fucking known, that Eames had finally started dating again, or at least sleeping with people again. He'd come into the warehouse stiff-backed and with an unfocused look in his eyes and Arthur had wanted to track down whomever Eames had been with and murder him. So then, naturally, he'd had a whole new reason to try to spend as little time around Eames as possible.

Yet all the while, Arthur had gone out of his way to call and text Eames regularly. He'd even sent him a selection of fancy jam and marmalade as a house-warming present when Eames had finally found a new place--one he trusted Arthur to know about, which made Arthur's insides feel warm. 

He's managed to make himself an important part of Eames' life, or so he likes to think, and is waiting until the time is right.

He's pathetic; he knows. This crush he's been nursing for what feels like so long now, probably since the night they'd had sex, definitely since the day Eames had been so kind when the Cruz job had crashed and burned so spectacularly. 

Eames had brought Arthur coffee spiked with brandy and jerked him off in the bathroom. And, best of all, he'd gotten the fucking job done, despite everything being FUBAR. Arthur never let people take care of him. Taking care of other people was his job. But Eames' observant and sweet behavior had punched Arthur right in the gut. He'd fucking wanted to have it all the time, all for himself. But, obviously, it hadn't been within the realm of possibility back then in the Brian era. So he'd shut Eames down and carried on. He'd tried to put it out of his mind. And then Eames had called and said it was over with that idiot and Arthur's chest had felt tight and his breath short. He'd hoped beyond hope that he could have want he wanted, if only he played his cards right, did everything to be the one Eames turned to when he was finally ready for a relationship again. 

So naturally, Eames, who's in the warehouse after a day of tailing the mark's secretary, looks up from his mug of tea and says, "Arthur are you trying to get rid of me?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"It's only that you keep trying to fob me off on mistress-stalking duty, when I could be here helping with our strategy." 

"Eames you know you're brilliant. I know you're brilliant. But this job doesn't exactly require inception-levels of planning. I just want to give you the time you need for the forge." 

Eames' plush lips thin and his eyes narrow. 

"Flattery will get you nowhere. At least not at the moment." 

Arthur shrugs, trying for nonchalant, but probably coming off like an asshole. 

"Look if you want to help, then help," he gestures to the whiteboard on the other side of the room. "Have at it." 

Eames wanders over to the board and stares at it, twirling a marker in his fingers. He's so quiet that Arthur can almost forget he's there. Except, of course, he can't. Ever. He's scrolling through his email, feigning indifference, when Eames shouts from the other room. 

"Arthur, I think you've got it all wrong! Come over here!"

"Tell me, why would I ever want to get rid of you again?" Arthur says as he plunks down in front of Eames. 

"I don't think we should be going through the girl at all. To my mind, we should work the brother angle. It's all so clear. I don't know how I didn't see it before." 

"What? That's ridiculous. He and his brother have been estranged for years; he's not going to spill any secrets to him. He's in love with his secretary, but he's afraid to leave his wife and her fortune. He'll make it up to Stacey by giving her the information. She can't have him, but she can have what he knows." 

"It might work. But if it doesn't we have nothing. I say we arrange a run-in with the brother, initiate a fight. Perhaps he'll break down and share his secretes. If not, then we send him running into the arms of his girlfriend." 

"How do we manage to get Roger and Lucas in the same place without arousing suspicion? Aside from something happening to their mother, I can't imagine them ever being in the same room. Roger lives here and Lucas lives in Alaska, why would they ever see each other?" 

Eames bites his lip. 

"I haven't worked that out yet. But I think there's a secret at the heart of their estrangement. Not an ugly one necessarily. It could be miniscule. But no one else understands why they hate each other so much. If we can get them yelling at each other about whatever it is that's hidden between them, it might bring the company secrets bubbling up to the surface too."

"Do you think you could even do the brother on such short notice? We couldn't get you to Juneau for more than a couple of days, max."

The look Eames gives him in response is incredulous. 

"Do you doubt me, Arthur?"

"No, I suppose not."

They stay up for hours, hashing out the options over and over again, arguing back and forth until Arthur's throat is sore and his head is light from hunger and exhaustion. Finally, unable to hold out any longer, he calls for a break. They're going to have to go back over it all with the rest of the team in the morning anyway. 

"Supper?" Eames asks, although it's far too late to be considered a proper mealtime. 

"Room service, I think," responds Arthur, yawning. "Or maybe just bed." 

Arthur's tidying his desk and gathering his things, when Eames touches his arm. 

"Thank you for this, listening to me."

Arthur can't help smiling fondly.

"You were genius, as usual, you bastard." 

And then, before he has time to respond, Eames is leaning forward and kissing him, pressing Arthur against he edge of his desk and curling a hand into Arthur's hair. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. This isn't supposed to happen. Not yet.

Not that Arthur can fight it now. Eames is intoxicating. His mouth, his scent, the heat coming off his body. Arthur can't get enough. Without even being fully conscious that he's doing it, he undoes Eames' pants and starts palming him through his jockeys. Eames is moaning against his mouth and Arthur can't slow it down, can't pull back. Seconds later he's spitting into his palm and shoving his hand down to grab Eames by the shaft. 

"You never did like to take your time," Eames gasps.

"Shut up," Arthur growls, biting Eames' neck tendons hard enough to leave a mark. 

Eames takes forever to undo Arthur's belt and fly in turn. He can't tell if it's due to distraction or he's just proving a point. But it's probably for the best, because as soon as Arthur feels Eames' hand wrap around his dick, he knows it won't last long. 

Arthur comes first, knees turning to jelly, but Eames follows in less than a minute, throwing his head back to the ceiling and moaning loud enough that someone outside could hear. Arthur loves it. 

"I've been waiting for that to happen for yonks," Eames says, grabbing a handful of Kleenex from Arthur's desk. 

Arthur frowns at his feet as he cleans himself up, not wanting to look overly eager. This isn't how he's wanted it to go. It's much too soon. Now he'll be stuck in some weird limbo with Eames, where he can't give him up, but can't ask for more.

"What took you so long, darling?"

Arthur remains silent as he buttons himself up, then, against his better judgement, reaches over and does the same for Eames, who is just standing there, softening dick hanging out of his pants like he doesn't even care.

"Maybe I wasn't sure it wouldn't be a tremendous mistake," he says, but his voice is teasing--or at least he thinks it is--and he kisses Eames' cheek as he pulls away. Arthur may not be happy this happened when it did, but there's no point in being an asshole about it. He doesn't want to drive Eames off. 

"So what's your conclusion then? Have we cocked everything up?"

"Absolute disaster. No hope for the future."

"In that case, you'd best come back to mine, go out in a blaze of glory."

At this Arthur pauses. He wants to more than anything, but he's so fucking tired and he's worried he won't be able to impress Eames at all in this state.

"I'm liable to pass out on you at the moment."

"So then just come have a cuddle. Give it another go in the morning. I am likely on a plane to Juneau tomorrow, after all, and then it's the job and after that who knows?"

"Like I won't be seeing you in a month or two for another job."

"I must have fallen off my game if you think you can wait that long."

"I've been waiting a lot longer."

Oh fuck! Did he really say that out loud? Shit, shit, shit, shit.

Arthur puts on his jacket and tries to to maintain the last shreds of his dignity as he shoulders his bag and makes for the door. But Eames is looking at him, eyes boring right through all his defenses and Arthur knows his goose is cooked.

"I ... never mind. Forget I said anything."

"Perhaps I don't want to forget."

"Eames ... "Arthur's going for a warning tone, but a hint of desperation may creep into his voice.

"I won't take 'no' for an answer," Eames says and grabs Arthur's hand, leading him outside, his own coat abandoned in the warehouse. Arthur is humiliated, but he's powerless. He can't not follow.

They walk a few blocks to distance themselves from the workspace and then Eames hails a taxi. They don't talk at all. But their fingers remain entwined the entire time and the pad of Eames' thumb gently traces Arthur's palm over and over again. Arthur's heart is racing rabbit fast, but his mind is strangely blank. He isn't sure what to make of all this, but he's unable to fight it. When they arrive at the hotel, Eames guides Arthur into the bathroom and starts up the shower.

"I'll just order something up and join you in half a tick."

The hot water revives Arthur from his post-confession stupor. Eames knows how he feels now and he seems to be handling it well. He hadn't run away scared, even though Arthur had given him every opportunity to do so between his exhaustion and his initial rejection of the offer to spend the night. The timing is far from ideal. But Arthur hadn't planned on keeping it secret forever. So he decides to just roll with the punches and see what happens. 

The door opens, but Eames just gathers Arthur's clothes into a laundry bag and disappears again. By the time he comes back and starts removing his own clothes, Arthur is already completely clean and just sort of lingering under the water, waiting. 

Eames is down to just his underpants when he looks up and asks, "would you mind popping out and waiting for room service. Only they said they'd be up directly." 

"Yeah sure," Arthur answers, confused about Eames' plans here. Maybe he really does just want them to snuggle and nothing more. 

Nevertheless, he wraps one of the hotel's plush robes around himself and goes out to wait for the knock on the door. He hadn't planned on eating before crashing into bed. But, of course, he hadn't planned on pretty much anything that's happened so far tonight, either. And anyway now that he's more awake, Arthur is positively famished. It's a good thing Eames is in the shower, or he'd hear Arthur's stomach growling. 

He has the waiter set up their trays on the coffee table, then grabs his phone from where Eames had it set aside, along with the other personal items from Arthur's clothes, and casually scrolls through a news site, trying to remain calm while he waits. 

Eames emerges in a cloud of steam and goes to the suitcase in his closet, where he retrieves a pair of soft-looking pajama pants and slides them on under the towel around his waist. This demure act is practically killing Arthur. He can't tell if Eames is teasing him, or trying to be respectful.

Eames sits down next to Arthur, still buttoning his raggedy pajama shirt. A friendly grin lights up his beautiful features as he unfurls his napkin. Arthur aches to reach out and touch him, but he keeps his hands to himself, unsure of what what's happening between them.

"The late-night menu wasn't terribly diverse. I hope you don't mind my selection," Eames says, tone casual, as if they do this sort of thing all the time, as if he hadn't been moaning Arthur's name less than an hour ago.

Three bites into his sandwich, Arthur can't take it anymore.

"What's the deal?" he asks. "Why are you acting like I'm going to break?"

Eames frowns at him, obviously confused.

"It's called being kind, Arthur. Surely you've at least heard of such a thing."

"Yeah, but why do you feel the need to 'be kind' to me. I'm not made of glass."

"I'm doing it because I like to, Arthur. To my mind, you're the sort who never allows anyone to care for him. I enjoy the fact that you let me. It's a bit of a fantasy of mine, if I'm being honest."

"So what, you have a thing about working someone into a stressed out lather and then relaxing them with some kind of pampering treatment?"

Eames shrugs.

"Perhaps. I only seem to have it when it concerns you, or at least that's the predominant association."

"So .. when you brought me that spiked coffee and cornered me in the bathroom that was just indulging this desire you have to ... comfort me?"

"That was when I realized how much I enjoy it, actually."

This is just another example of why Arthur will never understand Eames. He had been in a happy relationship at the time, yet was still fantasizing about nurturing Arthur. How could he have held two such contradictory impulses in his head at once?

"You're a riddle, wrapped in a mystery."

"Don't forget the enigma, darling."

Arthur rolls his eyes and goes back to his sandwich. Whatever Eames' plan is here, he's just going to have to play along.

"Well just so you know, next time you're in the mood to indulge me, I have a thing for having my hair washed."

"Is that so?" Eames looks thoughtful. "Missed opportunity."

"For the longest time, it was embarrassing every time I went for a trim, I'd start getting hard during the shampoo."

"Not any longer?"

"I fucked the shampoo boy, told him it was a mistake and then I did it again. Now they give me the girl instead, which solves the problem."

"You hurt his poor sudsy feelings? Why, Arthur, I'm shocked."

"I know you think I'm this gigantic prude, because I couldn't handle your ... well former situation, but I swear I'm not at all like that."

Eames fixes him with a level gaze.

"I know exactly what you're like, Arthur. You play at being this uptight prig, someone who's too rushed to properly unwind, but you're just hiding the fact that you're a sensualist who doesn't like to share, not even a little bit."

Arthur's face feels hot. He thinks he might be blushing. He can't have Eames seeing that, so he leans forward to brush his lips across Eames' in a gentle kiss.

Eames responds instantaneously, setting down his coffee cup and pulling Arthur close, so they're reclining chest to chest against the armrest as they kiss.

"Let's see the 'real Arthur' then, the one who's kept so hidden," he whispers, eliciting a wave of shivers.

Arthur practically growls as he pushes Eames all the way back against the cushions and nudges his leg in between Eames' thighs, allowing gravity to do most of the work. 

He totally lets himself go kissing Eames, doesn't worry about seeming too intense or too needy. Eames must basically know how Arthur feels at this point, so he hopes he can show Eames that being the object of his affections isn't all bad. And, anyway, he's been dying for this. Yes, they'd gotten off in the warehouse just an hour or so earlier, but that was hardly enough. Arthur needs to see Eames's body. He needs to feel all that skin under his hands, under his tongue. 

He's unbuttoning Eames' shirt one-handed as he rolls his hips down over and over against Eames' hardening dick. God he could do this forever. He might say that last part out loud, because Eames moans as if in response to something. 

When he nearly falls off the couch trying to push Eames' pajama pants down toward his ankles without breaking the kiss, Eames laughs at him and Arthur decides that they should move to the bed. It doesn't hurt matters that being upright gives him a chance to strip Eames naked and run his hands up and down Eames' arms, across his chest and around to his ass for a firm squeeze. 

"God, I want you to fuck me," Eames whispers in response and Arthur just about passes out. 

"I've wanted that for so long, you don't even know," he responds, pushing Eames down onto the bed and starting to untie his robe. 

"I think I'm beginning to," Eames responds, sitting up on his elbows to see Arthur's nakedness. 

He adds: "supplies are in my sponge bag next to the sink, if you wouldn't mind fetching them." 

He's lying against the headboard, lazily stroking himself when Arthur returns, and Arthur can't help but crawling across the bed to kiss him, wrapping his own hand around Eames'. They make out, Arthur straddling over Eames and touching him everywhere he can reach. But even Eames can get impatient, it turns out, and he eventually breaks the kiss to whisper, "please, Arthur." 

"You will never need to ask me twice for anything, not ever," Arthur responds, sliding down Eames' body and taking Eames' dick straight down his throat without preamble.  

He uses every bit of fancy technique he knows in an effort to impress Eames and it seems to be working from the moans and grunts he gets in response. When Eames seems to be losing himself a bit, Arthur reaches for one of the lube packets, tears it open with his teeth and bites the tender inside of Eames' right thigh as he slowly slides one finger into his ass. 

"Fuck, Arthur!" Eames cries out, and Arthur soothes the teeth marks with his tongue. 

He carries on nibbling and kissing the inside of Eames' legs as he works his finger around, learning the feel of Eames, discovering what makes him squirm. When he's ready to add a second finger, Arthur gently tongues Eames balls, rolling them around in his mouth as a distraction from any discomfort. 

He's eager to get inside Eames, so he starts scissoring his fingers to increase the stretch. Eames is panting and sweat is beading on his temples. Arthur finally finds his prostate and swirls the pads of his fingers around it, making Eames' eyes roll back in his head. Then he alternates between stretching and pressing, stretching and pressing, until Eames is relaxed enough that he can slip a third finger in alongside the others.

Then he pulls out and asks, "you feel ready babe?"

Eames nods weakly, so Arthur opens the condom and rolls it on. He rests one of Eames' legs over his shoulder and leans forward to kiss him, rubbing his erection teasingly in the crease of Eames' thigh. Then he pulls back, takes a deep, steadying breath and ever so slowly starts to breach Eames.

Eames throws his head back in a gasp. 

"Oh God, Arthur! Oh! Wait, go slow." 

Arthur halts. 

"You want to stop? It's OK. I can suck you off." 

"No, no I want this ... it's just ... it's been so long, Arthur."

Arthur pulls out and slides his fingers back into Eames' ass. 

"Eames, why didn't you say?" 

"I thought you knew."

"No, I ... I thought ... I saw you a couple of months ago when we were in Barcelona ... you looked ... you ... I thought ... you came into the warehouse and you ... "

"Looked like I'd been thoroughly fucked?" Eames says, voice strained. 

"Well, yeah," Arthur slows his fingers in surprise. 

"Yeah, well, I let a bloke I'd picked up use a toy of mine on me, but I haven't ... it's become a bit of a mental hurdle for me ... All that time, I thought I was so open, so capable of anything, but I've found I can't bring myself to let anyone else do this ... I crave it so terribly, but I feel so ... vulnerable." 

Eames is more articulate now that Arthur has stopped moving his fingers, but he's blushing and averting his eyes. 

"We don't have to, Eames. I understand. You're still getting over it."

"No, no I want it to be you. I always did. I just ... it might take a bit more work. I'm sorry." 

Arthur smiles. His heart is fluttering in his chest. 

"It's not work, Eames. I could do this all fucking day." 

He leans forward and kisses Eames as he starts moving his fingers again, really trying to work the stretch. He never dreamed he could be the first guy to fuck Eames since Brian, but he's not going to waste this gift. He will finger Eames for as long as it takes to make him feel like he can take Arthur's dick. He will do anything to make this happen. 

"Do you want me to make you come first, babe?"

Eames nods, so Arthur crawls back down and wraps his mouth around Eames. He works his throat as hard as he can crouched on the bed and balanced on one hand. He's relentless about not coming up for air until he absolutely can't stand another second. All the while he rubs Eames' prostate over and over again, urging him toward orgasm. 

It doesn't take long before Eames is tapping Arthur's shoulder and shooting into his mouth. But Arthur keeps working his hand, up to three fingers now, but still not enough time has passed for him to feel certain Eames won't be uncomfortable.   

He's not even sure how long it lasts. He kind of loses himself watching his fingers slide in and out of Eames, still not quite believing that any of this is happening. 

Finally, Eames gasps, "I think it's now or never. Please, darling, let's try again." 

"Will it be easier if you flip over," Arthur asks, thinking Eames might be more comfortable on his hands and knees. 

"No, I want to see your face." 

Arthur grins like a loon while he puts on a fresh condom and repositions Eames' leg.

This time, he pushes in so slowly that it's excruciating. He keeps his eyes closed and his bottom lip clenched between his teeth until he's fully seated, balls deep inside Eames. 

Then he sort of loses his head a little bit, because he gasps out, "what does this mean?"

But Eames only smiles at him blissfully and asks, "what would you like it to mean." 

Before Arthur can stop himself, he replies, "everything." Then he starts to move, hoping Eames will forget he said it if he fucks him well enough. 

He certainly gives it his all. He's desperate and aching to come after so much foreplay. But he digs his fingernails into his palms and strokes in and out as slowly and methodically as he can, adding a swirl of his hips that seems to please Eames. 

He doesn't let himself pick up the pace until Eames' breathing is ragged and his face is flushed bright red. 

He finds Eames' prostate again on a deep, straight thrust, which elicits a truly pornographic moan, and he goes to work on it, trying to hit it as many times as he can in a row. He's barely holding on in the face of Eames falling spectacularly apart beneath him, but he steels his mind and stays just on the right side of the edge.

"Darling, please come for me," Eames gasps, barely more than a breath. "I can't again. Not yet. ... Want to watch you." 

It's all Arthur needs. Seconds later he's shattering into a million pieces, gasping and babbling nonsense endearments against Eames' knee. 

Later--it could be minutes, or an hour--they're lying entwined, stinking of sweat and come, but too relaxed and post-coital to care, and Eames brushes Arthur's hair off his forehead and says: "What you said before ... about wanting ... well you know ..."

"Eames, forget I said it. It was a heat of the moment thing. It's too soon, I know." 

"Perhaps it is. Probably it is. But, Arthur, there's a reason I waited for you. I can't say I'm really ready for another relationship ... "

"I know, Eames. Don't worry. I can cope." 

"But I can't say that this is meaningless, either."

"So ... what? What does that mean?"

"It means let's figure it out ... together." 

Eames is smiling shyly and Arthur grins broadly in return, rolling over and wrapping his arms around Eames in a giant, disgustingly filthy bear hug. For once, he's not ashamed to be so openly affectionate. He's happier than he can remember feeling. He pledges silently to himself to do whatever it takes to make this work.