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snoozing_kittenArthur debated on going straight to the bar. He could call Eames; his card was made of heavy stock, and was folded neatly in Arthur’s wallet with his cell number on the back ‘just in case.’ And maybe he should, but he was just going to talk to Phillipa--he could always tell Eames what he learned later.
Phillipa was unloading a pile of cardboard boxes when Arthur strolled around the corner of the building.
“Mrs. Jones?” She turned to look at him slowly, and in the daylight her hair was dark blond with a richer palette of colours shooting through it. He probably should have noticed how much she looked like her brother, but he hadn’t placed it at the time.
This was the alley where Eames and he had first met. It wasn’t quite romantic. Not with all the stubbed out cigarettes that lined the walls and the strong smell of garbage.
“Yes?”
“Could you answer a few questions for me? About James.”
That gave her pause and she stared hard at Arthur’s face. “I’m pretty sure I told you everything I knew.”
“I’m eventually going to find out why you’re lying to me.” She was already a better liar then Yusuf had been.
“I can’t talk to you. Please leave.” She turned her back to him, heaving another few flattened cardboard boxes into the dumpster.
“You must know by now that the police aren’t really working the case, they’ve written it off.” Phillipa continued to ignore him. “He was your brother.”
At that she finally paused, turning to look at him, mouth set in a flat angry line. “How did you know that?”
“Ariadne told me.”
“Ari?” Phillipa bit her bottom lip, dropping the whole fierce pretence, just looking small and sad. “Okay, come in.”
The bar was lit up, plain overhead lights that gave a completely different impression than the last time he was here. The top was washed down, no spilled drinks or stray salt anywhere, it was pristine. Well loved, probably. Still, Arthur took a stool at the bar, leaning his elbows on the table top and holding his tongue while Phillipa fussed around with something that clanked, glass rattling against glass behind the bar.
“Just checking, you’re not police?”
“Nope, I’m a PI, looking into the case on request.”
“Oh, I see.”
“James Smith wasn’t his real name.” That much was obvious, but he needed Phillipa to talk, to fill in the holes.
“No. He changed it when we moved back to America.”
“From France?” Phillipa nodded slowly. Arthur wondered if she was older or younger; they looked about the same age, maybe two or three years apart, no more. “Who was he close with?”
“My Husband, Eli, Elliott Jones, they ran together the longest, but all the wise guys around here know him, James was a sweetheart.” An internal mob hit then? But why? “I always knew he was too nice to be part of the family, that they would walk all over him, but it made James so happy. He just wanted to make Dad proud.”
“Do you know anything about an armed robbery? 2004, spring?”
Phillipa nodded slowly. “It was in the Irish racket, they were just shaking them up a little, things were less stable then, a lot more fighting.”
“So James was part of it?”
“Yeah.” She nodded, looking far away. “James, Eli, and Greg.”
“Babe?” Someone called, coming out of the back. Eli then, because Phillipa smiled at him. He was tall, lanky, slacks and a sport coat. “Who’s this?”
Arthur waved, leaning heavily on the bar and looking casual despite the tension along his spine and shoulders. “Arthur.”
“He’s looking into James’ murder.”
“Any leads?”
“I’m still gathering evidence, but it looks promising.” Arthur smiled, sharp, feeling predatory.
Italian leather shoes.
“You wouldn’t mind telling me where you were the night James died?”
“I don’t see how that is any of your business.” He wasn’t defensive per se, but Arthur could smell blood in the water.
“Eli, he’s safe.” Phillipa cut in, and Eli shrugged.
“I was playing poker with Sal.”
“Do you mind if I check that? I have evidence it was an inside job, I’m just checking where everyone was, you know, putting the pieces on the board.”
“Yeah, go ahead.”
“That’s all for now. Phillipa, if you think of anything, give me a call, I should be in my office all evening.” Arthur flicked one of his cards out of his pocket and left it on the table. He pulled a second one out. “Mr. Jones, you too, you knew James well.”
Arthur felt really good as he left. The case was about to blow wide open.
~~
Arthur called Ariadne on the way back to his office and told her that he would probably have sufficient evidence by the evening.
He thought about calling Eames again, having him there for the grand finale. But there was a slim chance that he was wrong and it wasn’t Eli, and that he wouldn’t rise to Arthur’s rather blatant bait. And if that happened, then he would be stuck in his office with Eames all evening.
Just the two of them and Arthur’s desk. That would be bad. Very bad.
“I figured you wouldn’t call,” Eames said, sprawled in the visitor’s chair. “Really darling, that hurts.”
“What are you doing- you know what. I am going to make coffee.” Arthur spun on his heel, moving back into the back room because he didn’t want to have to deal with Eames’ face quite yet.
“Don’t be that way,” Eames called after him.
Coffee--he moved on autopilot, it was too late in the day for espresso, French press then. “Oh don’t make that face,” Eames said from the doorway. “You must have known I was going to follow you.”
“Of course, why would I imagine you’d respect my privacy?”
“I can’t help myself,” Eames said quietly, and Arthur could hear the scuff of his soles against the linoleum of the floor. Still, it came as a surprise when one of his hands touched his waist, fingers curling lightly around the bone. “You make me want to disrespect you.” He was too close, all heat and temptation; still, Arthur snorted, elbowing him in the ribs lightly.
“Get off me. I’m busy.”
“I don’t want to.” Eames touched his shoulder with the other hand, finger tips tracing up the curve of his shoulder to toy with the collar to his shirt.
“Detective Eames,” Arthur said sharply and the heat was gone, a muffled thump as Eames resumed his spot leaning against the wall.
“Whatever you want.” Arthur chanced a look over his shoulder and Eames was watching him, face blank.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want it, god he wanted, he wanted so bad he could taste the chemical tang of soap and his skin on his tongue, vivid as if he’d actually gotten a taste. But he had a case. If he let go now he wasn’t going to stop himself from glutting himself on Eames’ body. Fucking until they were both strung out and sore and couldn’t possibly get it up again.
There was nothing but the silence as Arthur finished what he was doing and set the timer. He wondered if he should try and explain himself. Eames was a big boy, he could hold it long enough to wrap up the case, at least for tonight. A little anticipation would probably flavour it better anyway.
“Milk and sugar.” Arthur nodded at the sugar cubes on the counter as he poured some milk into his own mug, the delicate tinkle of metal on ceramic as he stirred it in. “Help yourself.”
“Sure.”
Arthur made the short walk to his desk and wondered how long he would need to wait for Eli to show up. The evidence pointed to Eli, but it was circumstantial, no more than some handcrafted leather and Arthur’s gut. He settled into his chair, now there was just the waiting.
Eames came in, carrying his own mug, and Arthur didn’t really try to hide the way his eyes raked up Eames’ rumpled suit. He would look so much better out of it. Eames looked startled for a second before his expression turned into something smug, giving Arthur a twitch of a smile.
“John isn’t your real name is it?” Arthur asked when the other man was settled into his chair sipping on his coffee.
“Nope.”
“Are you actually from England?”
“Yep.”
Arthur watched his face closely, the place where his eyes crinkled a little in the corner when he gave Arthur that easy smile. All the little places where his teeth didn’t line up quite right, the completely lax set of his shoulders, and realized either he was really good or he wasn’t even trying to lie. The thought set off something warm in his stomach, twisting and pulling, and it wouldn’t take too much to just crawl up in his lap and lick his way into that sinful mouth.
“You’re not lying to me are you?”
“Not at all.” Eames’ smile was wide, amused now, a little mocking. “You are all too suspicious of me.”
“You seem more like a criminal than a cop most of the time.”
“Why not both?”
“Oh?” Now that was interesting. It would probably explain quite a bit though.
“But I think I’ll save that story for another day. I need some secrets or you won’t find me interesting anymore, and you wouldn’t want to fuck me if you knew me.” Arthur couldn’t deny that because it was probably more true than not. Couldn’t deny it wasn’t just Eames’ body that made him hot, it was how Arthur couldn’t for the life of him figure out what that sly little curl of his mouth meant; it was all the parts of him he couldn’t see.
“You’re assuming a lot of me Mr. Eames.” His smile was probably giving his lie away, and from the way Eames was looking at him the message was received loud and clear.
“I like to call them educated guesses.”
Before Arthur could say anything back there was a sharp rap against his door. He jerked his head, indicating Eames should hide. Eames gave him a small head shake and Arthur glared at him. For a moment it looked like Eames wasn’t going to move. “I’m coming,” he called loudly and Eames finally gave in, moving down the hall to the kitchenette and out of sight.
He opened the door to see Elliott standing there with a thin smile. That was actually faster than Arthur had anticipated originally; he figured he would need to at least wait one round of solitaire at the very least. He really liked it when a plan came together flawlessly.
“Mr. Jones?” Arthur tilted his head inquiring. “Can I help you with anything?”
“I... remembered some facts about the case.” He looked around, and now that he was here he was looking skittish, clearly bothered by something.
“That won’t be necessary. You know who killed James don’t you?” Arthur watched the change in his expression carefully, nervousness to despair to anger.
“I just couldn’t believe it, why would Greg do something like this?” Elliott shook his head, looking sad; he scuffed his shoe against the floor. Arthur wondered if he always did that when he lied or if it was more of a nervous tick. “I mean it had to be him right?”
“Mm?” Arthur made a soft enquiring noise. If he was quiet there was a chance he would just ramble himself into a corner. Didn’t work on anyone with any sense of composure, but this close Arthur could see the sheen of nervous sweat on his brow, he didn’t look like a man with a lot of composure left.
“Who else could it be? Only the three of us were involved in the robbery, and he had that gun. But why? Him and James were tight.”
“Who said anything about a gun?” Arthur said sharply, voice like a whip-crack and Elliott stopped fast, staring at him, pale and eyes showing too much white.
“So you know then.” Elliott nodded to himself. “What am I supposed to tell Phillipa? She’s going to hate me.”
“Well you did murder her brother.”
Arthur probably shouldn’t have been surprised when Elliott drew a gun on him, aim steady in the middle of his chest, faster than Arthur would have guessed. If he was willing to kill his supposed best friend, what did Arthur mean to him? “I’ve worked too hard to get to this point, you wouldn’t understand. James was in my way, and now you are.”
“Arthur.” Eames was moving, Arthur could hear him, and he would have cursed--he could handle this himself--when a gunshot ripped through the air, loud and sudden. He waited for the pain to tear through his chest, something, the flood of blood into his lungs. Nothing happened.
Elliott Jones fell to the ground, face pale and twisted in pain, clutching at his chest.
Behind him in the hall, Ariadne held the gun steady, pointed at where he had been standing, expression grim but determined; next to her, Phillipa was just staring at her husband. She didn’t rush to his side, she didn’t move at all.
“We can probably save him if you call an ambulance now,” Arthur said, glad his voice didn’t waver or shake. Eames made a disbelieving sound somewhere behind him, neither of the women sparing him a second glance.
“He killed James,” Ariadne said, her voice shaking and not matching the look in her eyes at all. “He betrayed the family. Phillipa?”
“No.” She shook her head, blond hair tossing with the movement. “He doesn’t deserve to live.”
“You two should probably get out of here,” Eames said, coming to stand next to Arthur; Elliott had at some point in the conversation stopped making those pathetic, wet gasping sounds. “Before the police show up.” Ariadne looked at Eames and nodded slowly, as if dragging her eyes away from the body were physically difficult. Arthur wondered if she had ever killed anyone before.
“Let’s go.” She wrapped her fingers around Phillipa’s skinny wrist and tugged her down the hall, the uneven click of her heels followed by the shuffling steps of Phillipa’s trainers.
“My neighbours probably called the police,” Arthur said and couldn’t find the will to do anything but lean against Eames when he wrapped an arm around him, pulling him back against his chest. He didn’t need the comfort, he was just, just, just strangely okay with Eames offering.
“I’ll deal with it.”
“How?” There was a body on his carpet and that was going to be a bitch to wash.
“Well he pulled a gun on you, pet, I shot him.” Eames pressed his cheek against Arthur’s hair, and Arthur, Arthur let him. “Yusuf owes me one anyways.” Eames was probably the worst of the crooked cops, and it was all very ironic, but he couldn’t be bothered with that right now.
“Kiss me.” Arthur tilted his head up, twisting in Eames’ arms.
“Gladly.”
Eames tried to keep the kiss light but Arthur was having none of that, biting down on his bottom lip and growling against Eames’ mouth. Eames’ hands pressed against the small of his back, pulling him closer and Arthur willingly went, licking his way into Eames’ mouth and it was wet and hot, just like he imagined it would be. Shoulders firm under his hands, scratching his nails against the cheap suit, and letting himself imagine for a moment that he had the time to peel him out of it.
“Eames,” Arthur whispered against his mouth, too close, couldn’t see anything but the blue-green of Eames’ eyes. Red and blue lights filtered in through the gaps in the blinds and painted the walls in strobing colours.
“Should probably get back to work.”
“Probably,” Arthur agreed, resting his forehead against Eames’s shoulder, concentrating on his breathing and willing the flush from his face.
Neither of them moved until the heavy footed tread of the beat cops echoed down the hall, closing in on them fast. This moment was between them because Elliott Jones wasn’t telling no one nothing.
~~
Arthur didn’t see Eames after they were separated in the police station. He was pulled one way to give his statement to a bored looking officer. They would investigate it for the sake of public image, but the police were every bit as much of a family as the mob.
It was late by the time he hailed a cab home; there was the mess to be dealt with tomorrow. Blood pools were bad for business. Besides it would start to smell by the morning, and Arthur hated flies.
It took a few calls to a few guys with the biggest carpet cleaners you had ever seen who specialized in this kind of thing, and Arthur was ready to open for business again. He wasn’t surprised at all when his first customer was a familiar face.
“I have the other half of your pay.” Arthur arched his eyebrow at the wad of cash that she put on his desk. “Well, you did solve the case. Eli killed James. That is all I asked you to do.”
“I’m forwarding you the carpet cleaning bill,” Arthur said with a perfectly straight face and that surprised a laugh out of her, and she looked so much younger and prettier when she was smiling. “I’m not joking.”
“Okay. Fair enough.” She smiled at him.
“How did you know he would be at my office?”
“Phillipa called me freaking out; everyone knows Sal’s poker nights are Tuesdays, not Thursdays. I figured you would be up to something.”
“Phillipa I get. How do you fit into all of this?”
“They are my children.”
“What, did you have them when you were ten?” Arthur was sceptical; even at the oldest Ariadne could be, there was no way she was Phillipa or James’ mother.
“Their mother, Mal, died when they were young, and they moved to France to live with their grandparents. Dom figured he was in no place to raise them, and that they deserved a chance to get out of the life.”
“They are Dominic Cobb’s kids?” Dominic Cobb was one of the biggest crime bosses in the city-- the last ten years had been nothing but fierce fighting, turbulence in the darker waters, like eddies and undertow in a river. It tore the city apart for months, and left in its wake a body count that was unimaginable. And in the dust, Cobb clawed his way to the top spot. At least that explained all the voids in James’ records.
“No one knew. James wanted to impress the family without the help of his name; he was beginning to really fly up the ranks. Eli wanted that spot, and it would have been his too, except that James was blood, and there was nothing he could have ever done about that.”
“And he killed him when he found out.” It was kind of sad.
“Well, I should go. Dom’s not taking this well at all, he’ll just brood endlessly if I leave him to it.” She stood up, straightening her clothes and hair and slipping back into her business face.
“Ariadne.” Arthur called as she was opening the door. “For what it’s worth, I hope we don’t meet again.”
“Me too.”
Then she was gone. Case closed, the frosty outline of her petite frame leaving and then gone.
Arthur decided it was a good day to close early and go for a celebratory drink. One for James Cobb, then another for his sister, but he wasn’t worried about her, if she had Ariadne to look out for her she would be fine.
~~
It wasn’t until the next night that he would see Eames again, and by that point Arthur was in the phase of convincing himself that he didn’t want to see him again. Didn’t care at all to see if he could fill those promises that hid in his eyes. He was closing down for the night when Eames rapped hard on the glass, three quick taps before he peeked inside.
“Lovely, I caught you before you left.”
“I was just going.” Arthur closed down his computer, ignoring the tension in his stomach, like standing on the edge of something tall, feeling the rush right before you decide to jump. It wasn’t really one of those things that could go either anymore. He knew what he wanted. He could stand up right now, march over there and kiss him, all teeth and lips and no finesse, and Eames would let him. Instead, he forced himself to sit there, giving Eames a bored look. “Was there something I could help you with, Officer?”
“Must you always be like that, pet? I’d imagine we were past that by now.” Arthur just stared at him and Eames gave him a small grin. “Okay, yes. I was looking for a good dick, you don’t happen to know any?”
“You’ve been waiting to use that line, haven’t you?” Arthur said blandly and Eames grinned at him.
“Awhile,” he admitted. “Did it work?”
Arthur smiled at him, feeling oddly light. “I’m using my right to remain silent.”
“Oh, is that how we are going to play? Because I forgot my handcuffs in the car.” Arthur would never ever admit to the way his pulse jumped when Eames said that, voice pitched low and intimate. If the way that Eames’ smile grew, he already knew. “You, Arthur, are just full of little surprises.”
“I don’t imagine you’d need them to restrain me,” he said, blithely ignoring him. “You’re kind of….” He waved a hand to indicate Eames, his physical size, just everything about him.
“Kind of?”
“You know.” It was kind of embarrassing to admit, because if he said anything it would give away just how much Eames’ sheer presence affected him.
“No, I don’t think I do.”
Arthur stood up, slowly, with purpose; Eames all but melted into his chair, eyes on Arthur, watching each deliberated step. Arthur’s pulse was jumping, blood rushing through his head, tilting his hip a little as he leaned back against his desk so he was standing in front of Eames, looking down his nose at him. The ball was in Arthur’s court, and it was his move. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted his fingers to the top button of his vest-- a dare.
“Come on.” Eames was speaking, but he was staring intently at Arthur’s fingers--he toyed the button out of its hole and moved down to the next one. “I want to hear you say it.”
“Hm?” He quickly flicked the last button, pushing the sides of his vest out of the way so he could start on the top button of his shirt.
“Tell me how much you want me to hold you there and make you take it.”
Arthur swallowed hard, and all the determination in the world couldn’t stop the flush he could feel creeping up his neck. Still, he fought for his cool, arching an eyebrow. Saying without words, ‘make me.’
“I didn’t expect that from you, you know.” He continued while Arthur worked his way down the row of little plastic buttons, pulled his shirt out of his pants when he got low enough. “When I first saw you in the bar. You just looked so proper.” Arthur just smirked at him, shirt hanging loosely from his shoulders. He went to shrug it off. “Ah ah, leave it on, I like how it looks.”
Eames reached out, hooking his fingers in Arthur’s belt loops and pulling him closer, pressing a wet kiss against his stomach.
“Come here.”
It wasn’t easy to climb into the chair with Eames, it wasn’t really built for two, but he was determined. He managed to sort of kneel, spread across Eames’ lap, balanced by one of his arms slung across his lower back. He looked down at Eames, watched the way his tongue swiped across his bottom lip in anticipation, and fuck the games, Arthur wanted that mouth, and he wanted it badly.
“I wanted you at the bar,” Arthur hissed against his cheek before he kissed him hard. Eames growled against his mouth, pulling him closer, so Arthur wrapped his arms around Eames’ neck to keep his balance. Slick wet kisses, his lip being caught between the hardness of teeth, a single flare of pain in all the heat and Arthur pressed in harder. He wanted it all from Eames.
One hand curved around his waist, skin warm and dry against his skin, sneaking up under his shirt and moving up to curve around his rib cage, holding him steady. Arthur licked at his mouth, trying to tangle his fingers in the short hairs at the back of his neck, and failed to do more than just run his fingers through them, tracing the curve of Eames’ skull. The hand on his lower back slipped down to cup his ass and Arthur growled his approval, doing his best to push into it, rocking forward where he could just barely feel the heat of Eames’ cock, his knee digging into the solid shape of Eames’ service pistol.
“You’re impossible,” Eames said, voice rough, and Arthur wanted to fuck his mouth, see what he sounded like after. Eames was staring at him, dazed, and Arthur felt flushed and warm; it was a pity that he would need to move to take his pants off. He was flexible, but that was just wasn’t going to happen.
“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” Eames whispered, nosing against Arthur’s collar bone, tilting Arthur back so that he had no choice but to tighten up his abs and cling to Eames’ shoulders to avoid sliding off. He rubbed his thumb over one nipple while he pressed a loud, smacking kiss to the other. Arthur would be annoyed, except that it set off sparks along his nervous system, little jolts that made him groan softly. “It’s been driving me mental,” Eames confessed, “all of the things I want to do to you.”
He bit at his nipple and it flared, bright, something caught on the line between pain and something better than that, not quite pleasure. It tore a soft sound from his throat, and he dug his fingers into Eames’ shoulders; bent out like that he couldn’t press into it.
“What’s stopping you?” He groaned, and Eames bit him again, sucking the pain away, tongue almost unbearably soft.
Eames moved up, sucking on the skin of his neck lightly and Arthur was torn between warning him against leaving marks and revelling in the feeling of blood rushing to the skin, bruises forming. “Arthur, darling, where do we even start? I want to take you apart, find out what makes you tick. I want to know what you sound like when you come, and I want to know what you sound like when you beg.”
“Eames,” he breathed, pushing him back until he could kiss him again, wet, hot, desperate. It wouldn’t take much more to get him hard, and no one had even touched his dick yet.
“I want you to wear out my name.” He growled, and Arthur nodded against his lips, couldn’t find the words for ‘I want that too.’
Now that he was more balanced, Arthur could touch, fit his hands in the place between them, could awkwardly brush his fingers over the peaked nipples under rough cotton, his elbows going everywhere as he tried, and Eames groaned against his mouth, slipping both of his hands down to Arthur’s ass, kneading the flesh there. It would feel so much better without pants. He tripped his fingers down Eames’ hard stomach, and it was so unfair that he was so attractive, body tight and just everything from Arthur’s fantasies. He could just make out the shape of him through his slacks, rubbed at where the head should be. Eames bit sharply at his bottom lip and Arthur gasped.
“Up,” he growled and Arthur didn’t want to; he kissed Eames once more before he wiggled out of the chair, standing on shaky legs and Eames was up in a flash, pressing him against the hard edge of his desk with his bulk, and Arthur couldn’t shutter the whine behind his teeth fast enough.
“God, you,” he groaned against Arthur’s neck, kissing him there, tender, at odds with the way his fingers were digging in tight on his hips. Like this, Arthur could get his own hands on Eames’ ass, following the line of his flanks down until he could dig his fingers in, feeling the tightness of muscle.
“Pants,” Arthur breathed, nosing against his hair; the faint smell of his shampoo lingered there, and he breathed deep, letting it fill his lungs.
“Say please,” he replied and bit down on the skin of his shoulder. Arthur shivered all over, dick going tighter where it was pressed against Eames’ thigh and he was probably leaving a wet spot in his underwear. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this turned on while still completely dressed. He grabbed his gun, and Eames should have the safety on or he deserved to get shot for being stupid, and pressed it against his ribs.
“Please.” Arthur pulled him closer, trying to buck up against him and finding that he didn’t have enough leverage.
“Since you asked so nicely.” Eames wiggled out of his grip, mostly ignoring the firearm and playing along, and before Arthur could explain exactly what he thought of that he was sinking to his knees, watching Arthur’s face the whole time.
“Fuck.” Was all that came out, and Eames smirked at him. Arthur touched his mouth with his free hand, letting the tips of his fingers rest against Eames’ bottom lip.
“Is that what you want?” Eames pressed a soft kiss to the tips of his fingers and Arthur nodded dumbly. Of course that’s what he wanted. “If you’re real good for me, I’ll give it to you.”
Arthur actually whined at that, closing his eyes against the look Eames was giving him. Heat and possession, and Christ, he couldn’t deal with that. He could feel the tug against his hips as Eames undid his slim leather belt, the whisper of it through his belt loops. The sound of the zip seemed impossibly loud against the rush of blood in his head and Arthur shuddered when Eames ran the tip of one finger against the damp cotton stretched over the head of his cock.
“So hard for me.”
Arthur cried out when he kissed it, wet and sucking kisses pressed all the way down until he couldn’t reach anymore, Arthur’s pants getting in the way.
“Shoes.” Eames tapped his knee and Arthur opened his eyes, lifted one foot so Eames could unlace one and slip it off, then the other. “Good.” Arthur petted his hands through Eames’ hair until it was all messy, dirty blond hair falling into his eyes and that stupid side part was no more. Eames let Arthur’s fitted slacks hang loose on his hips for a moment before he smoothed his hands down the outside of Arthur’s thighs and pushed them until they fell and pooled at his socked feet.
“You really are impossible.” Eames breathed, fingering Arthur’s sock garters with a hazy look. Arthur just hated it when his socks slipped down, but Eames couldn’t seem to stop touching them, tracing the lines all the way around Arthur’s calf, and the clips to his socks. It almost tickled, but short of kicking him there wasn’t much he could do about it up here, just curl his toes into Eames’ hard thigh and shiver. “Arthur.”
“Yeah?” Eames pressed a kiss to his bony knee, holding his hips, Arthur’s hands petting through his messy hair and down over the planes of his face.
“Up.” Eames stood up, lifting him by the hips so he could sit him on the edge of his desk, moving so he was between Arthur’s knees, pressing him down until he was holding himself up on his elbows watching. Eames was absently rubbing the band of his briefs, toying with the elastic between his fingertips and tugging on it.
“Come on.” Arthur tilted his hips, wiggling on the cool varnish of his desk, the skin of his lower back rubbing against it where his shirt had ridden up. “Move,”he demanded and Eames tugged on the elastic, making it snap back against his hip with a loud, hollow crack. Arthur glared at him.
“I’m thinking about it.” He rubbed across his tummy, tracing his nail along the edge of his underwear and it tickled, making Arthur kick out. Eames caught his ankle, fingers skidding across his socks.
“Don’t think. Move.” Arthur hissed, wiggling up so he could get his free hand on his underwear, intending to push them down himself.
“Ah ah.” Eames slapped his fingers away.
“I will fucking shoot you," Arthur snarled, flopping back on his desk, wishing he’d invested in a wider desk--his head hung off the other end and he needed to strain to stay curled up over it.
“Who’d fuck you then, baby?” Eames grinned at him, thumbs brushing the dips of his thighs. “And you’re so pretty when you’re desperate for it. Look how wet you got.” There was a damp patch on his underwear, and when Eames rubbed the wet cotton Arthur groaned, it was so sensitive.
“I swear—“ he began, but Eames was pulling his underwear down his legs and Arthur helpfully kicked them off, kneeing Eames in the ribs in the process. Accidentally on purpose.
Eames grabbed his ankle again, pushing his legs wider apart, looking surprised for a second when Arthur shifted, getting into a good position so that he could bend.
“You’re such a good boy.” Eames slid his free hand up the inside of his thigh, touching the tightness of his balls, rolling the papery, sensitive skin and Arthur groaned. It felt good, hazy pleasure adding to the tightness in his stomach. He was going to embarrass himself by coming all over his stomach when Eames so much as touched his dick.
Arthur yelped when Eames dragged him down a little, hunching over him and between his legs. As soon as he could get his arms under him again, Arthur surged up to meet him for a kiss, Eames breathing into his mouth and swallowing the desperate little whine he couldn’t contain when Eames wrapped his big hand around his cock and thumbed the sensitive spot under the head. Arthur would have pressed up into it if he could have; instead he pressed his ankle into Eames' hold and kissed him hard.
“Eames.” He groaned, and there wasn’t any way he could explain just how close he was to making a mess of himself and keep his dignity intact. “Eames Eames.”
“Go ahead.” Eames pulled away, watching him, with dark eyes. He twisted his hips, trying to push up into the tight heat--he needed just a little more. The gun was all but forgotten in his hand, the weight of the metal pinching his fingers against the desk. “I want to see you come.”
“Not yet.” Arthur gritted his teeth, and Eames was playing dirty, rubbing his thumb over the sensitive slit before jacking him hard and fast, the no nonsense race to the finish that was familiar from long stressful days. Arthur couldn’t hold it, groaning and panting.
“That’s it. Just let go.”
“I.” Arthur gasped, toes curling in his socks and that was all he could take. He shuddered, coming in wet pulses against his stomach. Hard and fast, and Eames was drawing it out, stroking him through it and out the other side until Arthur was whining and trying to kick him away. “Ah, stop.”
“But look at you.” Eames kissed the rise of his ribs, and Arthur lay sprawled on the desk, feeling limp and too hot, breath coming fast and heart still thumpthumping desperately in his temples. His office was seeing a lot more action than it normally ever would. “I just want to keep pushing you. Keep going and going.” Eames licked delicately at a drop of his come high on the ridge of his chest, and Arthur twisted as best he could in his hold.
“I’m pretty sure you said something about fucking me.”
“Mmm, I will.” Eames kissed his way up to his cheek. “Soon.” Arthur huffed, head hanging awkwardly over his desk, and if he had put more thought into it, he would have bought one of those huge sturdy desks with all the space underneath it. “I’m pretty sure I promised you something if you were good.”
“Eames, I can’t.” Arthur hissed, letting the gun clatter loudly on the wood so he could thread both his hands in Eames’ hair. Eames sucked the already wet head into his mouth, sucking softly and Arthur groaned. It wasn’t quite so sensitive any more, but it was still just too much, the unbearable softness of the inside of his lips and the gentle suction. But Eames didn’t stop when he tugged, just sucked harder, until Arthur relented with a sharp gasp, thighs tensing under Eames’ hands, trying to close on him.
“Be careful what you ask for next time, pet. Just relax,” Eames said, mouth already looking shiny and wet, licking lewdly at his bottom lip.
Arthur tried, he really did, but his stomach was so tight, and he was holding himself stiff, caught between ecstasy and agony, as Eames sucked him straight through his natural rest period, and Arthur didn’t think it was possible, or maybe no one had tried before, but he was getting hard, the pulse of blood slow, but there, keeping him from going soft and keeping him there.
Arthur twitched, uncoordinated when Eames pressed a dry finger against his hole, using his shoulders to keep his thighs apart, slinging Arthur’s leg out of the way.
“Good.” Eames breathed on his stomach and Arthur couldn’t stop the shiver that worked its way down his spine. “Very good. Now hold that pose.” If Eames moved from where he was awkwardly bent over Arthur’s hips his legs were just going slip off the desk. Thankfully he didn’t, just moved his hands so he could root around in his pockets. He tried to be annoyed that Eames was a cocksure asshole when he pulled a condom out of his pocket and a little single-use packet of lube, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care when Eames was tearing the foil and letting it drip onto his hands.
“Only one?” he said instead and Eames gave him an amused look.
“I think it’s a good place to start.”
Arthur sat up enough that he was more or less sitting on the edge of the desk and kissing Eames, the cotton of his shirt rubbing against the inside of his arms, and pants between his thighs, delicate places. Arthur pressed up against him harder, amused by the fact that Eames didn’t seem to notice his shirt was sticking to the drying come on Arthur’s stomach and there was something to be said about getting messy. Eames was trying not to get any of the slick on him as he stepped back.
“Turn over.”
Arthur slithered off the edge of the desk. The varnish wasn’t cold under his forearms anymore, hot with his own body heat, bent neatly double over the edge and propping himself up, ass out. Eames’ clean hand rubbed across his lower back gently.
“That’s just perfect,” he said, pressing a wet kiss to the lowest part of his spine, the little flat of bone there. “Now, I’d rim you, get you all wet that way, and maybe next time.” Arthur didn’t hear the rest of it, groaning low in his chest as Eames pushed his finger up and inside. It felt thick, not at all what it looked like and Arthur breathed through his nose, trying to relax into the burn. Eames was moving fast, not giving enough time for the slight burn to fade. He just kept pressing and pressing and Arthur couldn’t stop the little sounds, tried to bite them back but it was hard, Eames’ other hand was against the small of his back holding him in place while he dropped the occasional kiss or bite along his hip.
His fingers slid along the varnished top, breath fogging up the space right in front of his face. He couldn’t push back into it, but Eames was giving it to him, hard, fast, stretching him out, and Arthur was melting into it. He couldn’t help it, lifting onto his toes against the pressure holding him down silently begging for more, groaning as Eames pressed deeper and deeper, whispering words against his skin that Arthur couldn’t make out.
“Please,” he hissed, twisting so he could try and look back at Eames. Eames was too busy staring down at the place where he was two fingers deep in Arthur, flush riding high on his attractive face. “Eames.” He couldn’t explain it, but he was hard again, thrumming in his blood like he'd never come at all, and god, Eames must be ready to explode, straining against his slacks and Arthur wanted to feel it.
“Yes?”
“Just fuck me.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Eames slipped out, and Arthur hadn’t done this in awhile, he’d forgotten that awful, twisting empty feeling. Watched Eames work off his belt, the button on his pants and shove the whole mess down a few inches. He was long, and perfect and god, Arthur wanted it so bad. Didn’t even realize he’d said something until Eames was looking at him, smirk making his bottom lip stick out, full and red. Arthur buried his face in his arms and pushed up into the hand that petted down his side. “Be good for me a little longer.”
The faint foil crinkle of the condom packet being opened and discarded. He couldn’t not watch, lifting himself up, and the latex shone in the light, slick and shiny. Arthur swallowed hard, skin tight and hot.
“Yes, that’s right,” Eames crooned mindlessly, pressing the blunt tip up against him, and Arthur groaned, bracing himself for the first push. He was loose and ready, but it still felt like he was being pulled apart, and all the little bits of him mashed together all wrong, reconfiguring around Eames. Arthur moaned, arching his back to try and ease the way a little. It was tight, and it was everything Arthur wanted, breath coming in shaky pants, hitching when Eames shifted, impossibly deeper.
His pulse was hammering just under his skin, but Eames was pressed completely against the backs of his thighs, hands on his hips, the tips of his fingers digging into his skin. Each breath was settling him around Eames. When it didn’t feel like he was going to choke anymore, Arthur wiggled a little, canting his hips. “Move.”
There was no witty reply, just Eames pulling out slowslowslowly, and the long sweet drag, that caught his voice in his throat, and the push back in that made all his air leave with an embarrassing whine.
Eames built up a fast pace, one hand on Arthur’s hip and the other on Arthur’s shoulder, pulling him back into each motion. Arthur couldn’t let go of the edge of the desk he’d grabbed; if he did, Eames was going to squish him against the other edge of the desk. He could only hold on, feeling his own cock bouncing against his tummy. It was good, every nerve singing, making him pant. And maybe, just maybe if he hadn’t come already this would have been enough, just the lightest touch. Arthur didn’t think he could come again so fast, but it felt so good.
Maybe if he could touch himself.
But he couldn’t let go. Arthur whined, and Eames ran his hand down the middle of his back, making a soft cooing sound.
“Just a bit more, for me.”
There wasn’t anything he could do but agree.
The rhythm grew jerky, rough little jerks like Eames couldn’t control it anymore. He pulled out when he came, giving Arthur just enough time to twist around and watch him, the blush on his face disappearing under the unbuttoned neck of his collar, snapping the condom off and coming all over Arthur’s lower back.
Eames rested both his hands back on Arthur’s hip, the wet condom hitting the floor with a plop. Arthur was about to speak, but Eames was on the same wavelength, spinning him around with his grip on his hips so Arthur was trapped between the desk and his chest. He was hard and covered in come now.
“Do you want a little more?” Eames said, against his ear, rubbing the pink spots he’d left on his hip.
“That’s a stupid question,” he replied, working the buttons of Eames’ messy shirt down. It was useless now anyways, and they were going to look a wreck leaving, but hopefully it was dark and no one would notice. His own shirt was still hanging from his shoulders, and while Eames probably hadn’t come on it, it was all smeared along the inside now. He shrugged it off as soon as the buttons were undone. Pulling the white wife-beater over his head and flinging it to the floor.
Broad tanned shoulders and ink spilling across his skin like a roadmap. Arthur couldn’t stop staring. He touched it, and the skin was smooth under his fingers, and the ink wouldn’t smudge if he pressed harder, not even if he licked right there. So he did, and it didn’t taste any different, but he didn’t care.
“Touch yourself.” Arthur did, wrapping a hand around his dick and sucking in a breath between his teeth because it was more sensitive than he’d thought, the rough friction of his palm jarring. “Here, let me.” Eames licked a broad swipe up his palm and Arthur wasn’t small, but Eames’ hand could hold his own easily, and it was easier to ignore when Eames was hunched over, or behind him, but now they were face to face.
The friction was perfect, a little too much, but that was just how Arthur was. He groaned, dipping his head so he could mouth at Eames’ shoulder, sucking on the skin above one of his tattoos, worrying it with his teeth. He bit him, too, when one of Eames’ fingers slipped behind him, where he was still all slippery and open.
“Yes,” Arthur hissed, surprised by how much he wanted any part of Eames back inside him. Two fingers, finding his prostate and pressing up against it lightly. Arthur muffled his cries against Eames’ shoulder, leaving probably a large bruise, but Eames was keeping up the slow, gentle torture and Arthur was jacking himself faster.
It was bright, like looking at the sun too much, swinging rapidly between ‘I can’t’ and ‘just a little more’.
“You need to relax into it,” Eames whispered, kissing the side of his head. Arthur took a wet, shaky breath. Then he shattered. It felt like it was coming out from everywhere, the tips of his toes and the roots of his hair. It went on in scorching waves for what seemed like forever, hips jerking up against Eames as he gasped and shivered. “That’s it.”
Arthur felt like a rag doll when it finally stopped, hollowed out and happy. He sat back on the edge of the desk and peered up through his ruined hair at Eames. He felt kind of giddy, and couldn’t believe that he’d really just defiled his own desk.
“You’ve made a mess,” he eventually said.
“Looks like it,” Eames agreed, rubbing two fingers in the mess on Arthur’s tummy. “Shall we get you cleaned up a bit?” Eames leaned in for a kiss and Arthur let him. Eames was moving into the kitchen, hiking his pants up with one hand; Arthur wished he knew exactly how much he would let Eames do, if only so he could find a way to defend himself against it.
Cleaned up and presentable as he could be, Arthur half-heartedly straightened his office, the whole place smelled of sex and sweat and Eames was waiting at the door looking at him expectantly. Arthur opened the window and figured he could come and finish cleaning tomorrow.
“You know,” Eames said as Arthur closed the lights, leaving the two of them in the semi-dark, light spilling in from outside and from the hallway. “I didn’t actually come down here to have sex with you.”
“No?” It was a little out of the way of the station for a booty call.
“You came pretty prepared.”
“I never said I wasn’t hopeful,” Eames explained. “Elliott Jones died, and I still don’t know who he had paid off at HQ to hide the evidence.”
“You really are a rubbish detective if you keep needing my help”
“Well.” Eames' teeth flashed in the light. “I’m okay with that. I could always use a little outside help. And I need to find some way of keeping you around.”
Arthur thought about it briefly. He probably shouldn’t. Eames was bad news.
“Okay, I’ll take the case.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-04-15 02:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-16 03:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-15 05:24 am (UTC)gah Arthur noticing how muscular Eames is... gah...
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Date: 2011-04-16 03:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-15 02:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-16 03:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-15 07:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-16 04:09 am (UTC)I like the enigmatic!Adriadne. I like her a lot!
Oh, god, and Arthur being all jello of Robert/Eames. Unf. Just the image makes even /me/ jealous. :D
The sex scene: jesusmotherfuckingchrist. That was hot. I was anticipating rimming, because that's always hot like yeah, but god, even without it, I was just gawking at the unf and it was so incredibly drawn out, oh, it was good. :D
That last scene with the banter. Beautiful!
no subject
Date: 2011-04-16 03:54 pm (UTC)Arthur is not used to being threatened by men who may or may not be prettier then him depending on your taste. :3 I'm really happy you liked it.
(LOL. Oh god. Yeah. At that point if I didn't wrap it up that night my beta would be rushed, and I didn't want that she's busy. And the sex was literally a third of the total word count. Besides, I think Eames was getting desperate... )
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Date: 2011-04-16 02:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-16 03:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-18 02:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-18 01:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-18 12:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-18 01:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-19 06:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-26 03:01 am (UTC)I'm really glad you think so, I was worried that it wasn't consistent all the way through. Again, thank you~
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Date: 2011-04-25 10:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-26 03:04 am (UTC)