1lostone | Almost Without Expectation: | NC-17| 20k

Eames didn’t know how he got from the meeting back to where Arthur and Dom were shooting. They had switched positions. Dom was on his back holding his knees so he was spread open for the camera. Arthur’s face was tense as he thrust into Dom, who was moaning, his bigger body sliding across the leather with each movement of Arthur between his legs. Eames watched as Arthur’s gaze opened, focusing down on Dom, almost looking startled for a second. Dom began making noise. His moans sound fake; like... well... porn star moans.

It was the realization that neither he nor Arthur sound like that that sent his stomach dropping to his knees. Eames was all at once so furious that he broke the cardinal rule of being on-set, stalking off and slamming the door behind him. Fuck it. He’d been given the day off and he damn well was going to go enjoy it.

Eames was shoving his belongings into his messenger bag when he heard the door open behind him. He caught a glimpse of Arthur in his ridiculous purple paisley robe before he turned completely so that his back was to the door, frowning down at his desk as though deliberating whether or not to take the three paper clips that were left in the bottom of the drawer.

“Hey.”

Eames couldn’t help the way his whole body tensed. He met Arthur’s gaze in the mirror.

“Taking a break?”

“Something like that.” Arthur’s wry grin made something tighten low in Eames’ stomach. He was furious that the simple twist of Arthur’s lips could make his cock twitch in his pants. “You blew through there like a hurricane, man. Mal’s pretty pissed.”

“She’s French. She was born pissed.” That made Arthur huff a laugh. Eames watched as he leaned back against the door. The silence stretched uncomfortably. Arthur shifted his weight, closing his robe and belting it tightly. Eames felt the vein on his temple start to throb. “Saito just told me that you were quitting.”

Eames watched in the mirror as Arthur fought to keep his face blank.

“Nice that I don’t even rate an explanation.” His words were clipped, furious. Eames took a vicious pleasure in watching how Arthur flinched slightly before looking down to fiddle with the black silk tie of his robe.

“Did he tell you why?” Arthur’s voice was subdued. Eames turned so that he faced Arthur. He ducked his head to put the strap of his bag back on his head, and dug for his sunglasses, shoving them onto his face so hard that the little nose guard bruised the side of his nose.

“I didn’t bother to ask.”

That wasn’t entirely true. Eames had been too stunned to think to ask. “You know, it’s not that big of a deal. I get it. People get burned out in this industry all the time. But we’ve worked together for two bloody years, Arthur. I know that you don’t particularly care for me outside of work, but even common courtesy would give me a head’s up that you were outs.”

Arthur flinched again, his chin coming up to look Eames straight in the eye. “I... did something unprofessional. I wouldn’t worry, Mr. Eames. You won’t have any trouble. Mal will cast someone else and it will all be business as usual.”

Eames took a step forward, giving Arthur just enough space to move out of his way. His skin felt too stretched, like he could break apart any moment. Eames wasn’t normally one to get attached to things, to people, for just this very reason. “Well, thanks for everything, I guess, although I suppose I won’t be seeing you around.”

“No. I suppose not. It was a ... pleasure working with you, Mr. Eames.”

The pounding on Eames’ door startled him out of his sleep. He jerked, wrinkling his nose at the feel of the line of drool that connected his mouth to his pillow, then moaned rather pitifully when the abrupt movement of his head set off what felt like three sets of fireworks behind his eyelids.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice croaky from disuse. Eames pressed the heels of his hands on his eyes, feeling utterly wretched. The pounding came again.

Bugger. He would know that sound anywhere.

“Alastair Montgomery Sterling Fotheringham Eames you have exactly one minute to open this door! C'est des conneries! It's been a week!”

Eames winced. Mal’s voice tended to get higher-pitched every time she was so sodding angry that she forgot her English. At this rate his neighbors would be sitting there with a French-English dictionary, smirking at him the next time he went to the street to pick up his newspaper.

“Abruti! tu petit ... bite! OPEN THIS DOOR!” There was a particularly loud thud, as though someone had driven her last-season Louboutins into the wooden door. Eames muttered under his breath, jerking on some sweats as he stumbled over a few pizza boxes to his door. His apartment wasn’t very big, and he’d not been especially tidy as of late.

“Coming. Coming already.” He stumbled over a pair of trainers and caught himself with the doorknob, slamming his hip into it and cursing when he jerked open the door to see a flushed, furious Mal with one heel ready to pound into his forehead.

“Âne! Moron! Where have you been? Why have you not answered your phone?”

“Oh fuck off, Mal. I’m not really in the mood.”

Eames turned, ignoring the way she sucked in breath through her pursed lips. He limped over to his couch, rubbing absently at his hip, flopping down and putting his musty smelling pillow over his head.

He heard her uneven gait go to his kitchen, her disgusted click of her tongue as she looked at the mess of takeaway containers and empty beer bottles. “You silly, silly man. What have you done to yourself?”

Eames just moaned rather pathetically, trying to smother himself out of his hangover. He heard her limping step as she walked back towards the couch. Eames could picture her small frame, hands over her hips as she stared down at him, shoe clutched in her hand. Maybe he could talk her into a pity shag. Or rubbing his forehead. She was brilliant at that.

“Eames. Move the pillow, chère.”

Eames summoned up his most wretched face, and slowly moved the pillow down. He didn’t have the time to cringe before she threw the bucket full of half-melted ice water he’d been using as a beer bath.

He was pretty sure they heard his screech in West Hollywood.

“What the sodding fuck, Mal?!”

“What? I thought you were sick! Dead! Instead, I find you, what is this? Wallowing? You are pathétique!

“Are you barking?” Eames jumped up, stripping off his sweats and throwing them in the general direction of his room. “You just dumped ice water on me!! It’s none of your business.” He stomped over and found a pair of basketball shorts, sliding them up over his legs with a few brief tugs. “And I’m not wallowing. I just took my week vacation. People do that, you know.”

She pointed her shoe at him as he jerked a towel off of the back of a dining room chair and swiped it at the leather cushions. He flopped down on his couch, glaring balefully up at her. Mal rolled her eyes and handed him two aspirin and a bottle of water. He took them, frowning.

“Eames.”

Sadly, they had known each other for so long that Mal wasn’t even fazed by his temper tantrum. It only took her saying his name and he was ready to tell her everything. Instead, he drank the water, grimacing at the disgusting taste of his mouth.

“You really are an idiot. Did you know that we had to have Dom fill in for you? And why did you never answer your phone? I really did have you dead, darling.” He felt the couch dip as she sat down, felt her somewhat knobby knees as she curled up next to him.

Eames sighed, tossing back his head so that he could take the aspirin. He felt even more ridiculous now that Mal was here to call him on his bullshit.

“Saito told me that he told you the news. That Arthur was leaving us.”

“Yeah. He said.”

“Did he tell you why?” Mal cocked her head, staring at him in that unnerving way she had, with her big, brown eyes boring holes into whatever excuse Eames could come up with.

“Yeah.”

Mal’s eyebrows raised. “He did? And is that why you are all...” Mal waved her hands around. “Mopey? I would think that you would be pleased.”

Eames opened one eye. “Why would I be pleased that Arthur was being unprofessional?”

Mal’s face went through a number of expressions before she settled on one that made Eames feel distinctly uncomfortable.

Eames looked away, down at the floor.

“Eames. There is an excellent reason that you and Arthur have worked together almost exclusively. I mean, think about it. How often does that happen?”

Eames took another sip of water, hoping that the aspirin would kick in before the lecture ended. He had a feeling he would need it. Nothing was worse than having someone call you on being an arse, except knowing that you’d been an arse and deserved it. If Mal hadn’t been such a good friend, he could have very easily lost his job for pulling this little stunt.

She flicked him on the forehead.

“I asked you a question, chère.”

“Not often. Why did you do that?”

“Let’s just say....I know chemistry when I see it. You know how the two of you are on-camera. Shame that off-camera you have the chemistry of a wet noodle, but ends must. Both Cumception and Pasiv-Aggressive made all of us quite a lot of money, dear one. You know this. Now. Given all of this, do you think that I would let Arthur go easily?”

“No...” That was true. Mal would have fought like a prizefighter to keep Arthur’s beautiful arse working with her studio. Sometimes, Eames thought that Mal loved Arthur as much as Mal loved him.

“Non. Of course not. So you agree that Arthur’s reason must be a very good one?”

Eames looked up at her, trying to ignore the way his stomach was cramping with sudden nerves. “He’s... He’s okay, yeah?”

Mal’s face softened. “Yes. He’s fine. It was a personal reason, Eames.”

Eames saw Arthur’s hurt face again, heard the frustration in his voice. Don’t you ever get... tired of all of this?” Shit. “Darling, forgive me if I sound like an utter shite for saying this, but does his reason have ... to do with me?”

Mal just continued to stare at him, nodding once. “You know,” she said conversationally, like they were having a chat over lunch, “Arthur felt so terrible about leaving you in the lurch that he agreed to do Saito’s little extra-curricular project.”

“One last fuck for the road?” The bitterness in his voice surprised even him. He stretched a little on the couch, drinking the rest of the bottle of water.

“Ohh! Va te faire enculer! How can you be such a ..a...child!?” Mal jumped up, gesturing again with her hands as she yelled, still holding the shoe, utterly furious and completely beautiful in her anger. Her eyes glittered as she tossed her dark, wavy hair over her shoulder. “I don’t even know why I bother. Either charge your damn phone or find a new job. You will be at the studio tomorrow by eight am, Eames.” Mal started to point at him and with a twist of her wrist as she gestured with her hand, the heel of her purple Louboutin flew across the room and imbedded itself into the leather cushion, so close to Eames’ balls that he could feel the cool puff of air as the heel arrowed through the worn couch material in the vee between his sprawled legs.

“Jesus fucking CHRIST, woman!” Eames jumped back so quickly that he overbalanced, sending hm arse over tits onto his floor. The water bottle flew out of his hand with a clatter. He cupped his dick, horrified, checking to make sure it was still all the way there. Talk about damaging the merchandise! He heard her suck air through her teeth again, and from his position had a lovely peep up her skirt when she bent over to rip her heel out of his leather couch, stepping gracefully into it with a quick, jerky movement.

“Eight-o’clock, Eames. Do not be late.” Mal was definitely one of a kind. Eames didn’t know many women who could be murderous, loving, and absolutely ruthless, yet still come off as utterly charming when she wanted something. Eames could only gape at her as she walked calmly out of his apartment, closing the door with a soft click, still protectively cupping his dick.

If he whimpered, no one was there to hear it.

Eames’ phone battery was so dead that he had to power it off and allow it to charge a few minutes before he could read his texts. Robert still had his charger, so he had to dig through his junk drawer until he found his extra cord. He had missed twelve texts from Mal, each one more progressively angry, one from an old friend of his from school, and five from Arthur.

Eames. Give me a call when you have a moment (12:11 pm)
Eames? (12:22 pm)
Look. I feel terrible for quitting, but I didn't have a choice. (3:01 pm)
I wanted to let you know that I'll do Sato's project.
Mal said you're ill & will be back Mon. Ttyl! (8:12 am)

Eames texted back before he could change his mind:

SHIT!! Sorry, Mate
Phone still off. Cya Mon.
Looking fwd 2 last hurrah xoxoxo. (1:22 pm)

Eames set down his phone with a small click. He sighed, then gagged a little when he smelled himself. His house was bad enough, but what he had done to his own body while feeling sorry for himself was simply ridiculous.

It took him awhile to clean the alcohol out of his body. Eames went for a run, pushing himself. The first mile wasn’t too pleasant, but he grimaced through the pain, knowing that he was sweating the week of toxins out of his body. Mal was right to call him pathetic. He’d been doing exactly what she said; wallowing. So Arthur was quitting? So what? It wasn’t like it was going to affect him, really. Dreamshare was still going to benefit from him using his gorgeous cock, after all. Sure it was sad that Arthur wasn’t going to be with him, but it wasn’t like it would matter. There was always someone willing to work with him.

Eames worked hard to keep his body looking as perfect as it did. He was sure to eat right, he didn’t normally drink, and he both ran and lifted weights. Eames was very aware that people liked looking at him, and he was enough of an exhibitionist that he enjoyed it right back. Why shouldn’t they? Mal once told him that he looked like a cross between a MMA fighter and the boy next door... with a really thick cock.

Eames stopped for a second at a street light, jogging in place. The next stretch would hurt a bit, but Eames knew he deserved it. He pushed himself even more, running uphill, feeling his calves burn. Both running and working out gave him an outlet to get his head straight. Clearly it was necessary, given how much of an utter arse he’d been. Until now, Eames had been rather careful not to examine his reasons for taking an unscheduled week off. It wasn’t too hard to push that to the back of his mind.

He made it back to his house, wrinkling his nose at the sour stench of stale beer and old sweat that hit him when he walked in the door. God, he really was revolting.

Eames made his way into the kitchen and gulped down what appeared to be his last bottle of water. He turned, chucking the empty bottle in the recycle bin. Next, he called his housekeeper, warning her of possibly needing a hazmat suit and promising her a huge bonus, then went to take a shower. As he walked to his bathroom, his gaze fell on the hole in his couch and despite everything found himself smirking. Mal. Bloody insane. She was a complete bitch when she got something in her head, but god how he loved her for it.

As the hot water filled up his shower with steam Eames began to relax, enjoying the sensation. Tomorrow at eight he’d see Arthur again. Eames couldn’t help the grin that stretched his chapped lips.

Tomorrow.

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