Almost Without Expectation: | NC-17| 20k | Complete | (part 3)

[1lostone]

---

“Hello, Darling. Miss me?”

Arthur looked up from his iphone. His grin was so bright that Eames felt it in his gut. Bloody hangover. It was still making his stomach jump around.

“Mr. Eames.” Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Glad to see you’re feeling better.”

“Glad to see you back slumming with us porn stars, pet.” Eames crossed the small room to sit next to Arthur, ignoring the way Arthur’s smile slipped away. The smaller man straightened his shoulders, continuing to stare down at his phone.

“Eames! Arthur! I hate to direct and run, but I am needed on set. Arthur, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to work with Eames on this. You’ll see what I mean when you read the particulars. Saito wanted me to give you these. Standard contract, really. The only difference is that the bulk of the money will be split three ways, instead of the normal studio breakdown of funds. You both will receive a large sum, and the third goes to Dreamshare, naturally.”

“Naturally.”

Mal grinned at Eames’ tone. “Feel free to use any of our equipment. Arthur, dear. I’m giving over control of this to you. It will be good practice, non?”

“Thanks, Mal. I think we can probably iron out the details and have it done tonight.”

They heard a rather panicked Yusuf hollering down the hallway for Mal to hurry the fuck up, damnit!

“Merde.” Mal made a face, bounding forward to quickly kiss both of their cheeks. “I must go. Have fun, my darlings.” With a turn of her bootheel, she disappeared with a muffled click of the door closing. There were a few minutes of silence before Arthur put his phone down, pulling the small stack of paper towards the both of them.

“Well, it seems pretty straightforward.” Arthur flipped open the cover and started reading.

Eames, not to be undone, grabbed one of the other plastic-bound scripts. “Oh. That’s interesting. There’s not so much of a script.”

“The setting though, that’s pretty laid out for us.”

It was quiet as they both read over the particulars of what the internet client wanted. Dreamshare had done a version of this type of request on a much smaller scale. Mal, and by a large extension Saito, would do sort of a ‘chose your own adventure’ type of internet poll, where their paid subscribers could pay to vote on what the actors would do. It was usually very small things, but giving them that element of control had been very popular- despite the fact that Mal usually insisted that they just shoot every possible choice anyway.

“Okay, so they specifically said that they want this shot in one of our bedrooms. Yellow sheets. That’s... that’s pretty odd. Bit creepy, actually. All it would take is an accidental close-up on a magazine, and my address is out there.”

Arthur shook his head. “You can use mine. There’s nothing even remotely interesting in there. I just moved and haven’t really unpacked yet. Just a bed, and a bedside table, and my lamp. I’m sure that Mal has sheets in every conceivable color known to man. I don’t imagine yellow will be all that difficult.”

Eames felt his heart leap at the idea of being invited into Arthur’s house, but his his voice was calm when he shrugged. “That’s sorted, then.” He was an actor, after all. They both flipped the page to all of the ‘suggestions’ and began reading.

“Holy shit!” Arthur stared down at the sheet, nonplussed.

“Fuck me,” Eames breathed, knowing his eyebrows had lifted so high that he was in danger of spraining one.

“Uh. Looks like I will be.”

For some inexplicable reason, Eames found his face heating, his blush staining his cheekbones. Arthur’s brown eyes met his own for just a second, and Eames was floored by the heat he found there. He cleared his throat, jerking his gaze away, wishing that he hadn’t worn trousers that were quite so snug.

“That’s not a problem, is it?” Arthur’s voice had lowered just slightly enough that Eames felt that tug again, deep in his gut.

Eames’ phone rang. He had never been so sodding grateful for an interruption in his life. Talking to his mum, however, while planning how he was going to be fucked was a tad out of his squick zone, so he ignored the call.

“Was that God Save the Queen?”

“It was my mum.”

Arthur snorted a laugh. The whole exchange took only seconds, but it was enough for Eames to get his ridiculous blush under control. He quickly changed the subject. “So, it looks like we switch off You catch, then I catch, then…”

“We both catch?” It was true. Eames wasn’t sure if Mal had a double-headed vibrator in props or not, but his cock was definitely interested in the idea. From the way Arthur shifted in his seat, it appeared that Eames wasn’t the only one.

“I think we’ll open up with  <a href="http://28.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lx70awLRvp1qzwmpco1_500.jpg:> you, spread out on the bed </a>. You’re naked, and either just fucked out... no. Sleepy. You’re asleep, dead to the world.”

“Okay so they want this to be more like two boyfriends, making a naughty film for themselves.”

“Right No lights, no music, no close-up camera angles. Just webcams.” Arthur thought for a minute. “We could have two cameras, one filming the whole bed, and one blocked out for the end of it, where... oh, wait. I just thought of something. My bed is pushed up against a room-length mirror. So there would be the reflection as well. We can make that part of the scene.”

“That means the computer might be in the shots.”

“I don’t really think they care, Mr. Eames. We’ll have to make sure we go by the props department. Do you want to go over all the suggestions? Or do you just want to ad-lib it?”

Eames shrugged. “I’m not too fussed, to be honest. You can use whatever you want on me.” His smirk was positively filthy. “I’ll certainly be using whatever I wish on you. So...both, I think. We can have the toys by the bed. Then whatever we want to use, we can just go with it.”

“Okay. I think that will work. I’ll be sure to tell Mal what we’re signing out.” Arthur made a quick note in the margin, the sound of his pencil loud in the quiet room, pointedly ignoring Eames’ comment.

Eames pouted a little. “Okay so, no script, no real directions other than we’re to make it clear that they both love each other. It’s not so much a series of fucks, as much as it’s a couple being a bit kinky together.”

“Exactly.” For a second, Arthur sounded pissed off.

Eames looked up at him, surprised. “Is something the matter, pet? Shouldn’t be all that hard. Some caresses, a few kisses, maybe some Warm Vanilla Sugar scented candles*…”

“No It’s just… Kind of ironic. Nevermind. It’s…” He huffed out a breath. “No biggie.” Arthur picked up a pencil and started making some more small notes in the margin.

Eames tilted back in his chair, watching Arthur out of the corner of his eye. He watched the strength in Arthur’s long fingers, watched the way his hair slipped a little from its gel, brushing over one dark eyebrow and swallowed, hard. “I’m trying to think if we’ve ever kissed before.”

The pencil snapped in Arthur’s fingers. “No. No, we haven’t. Not really.”

True. Eames’ mouth had kissed every inch of Arthur’s body except his lips. “That’s odd. Surely we have.” If their past scripts called for their mouths together, it was more of them panting into each other’s mouths, not a proper kiss. Kissing was much too personal. Most of the actors tended to refer it it as ‘pulling a Pretty Woman.’ Kissing was what you did with someone you wanted. Not someone you worked with.

Unless it was in the script, of course.

“Not really,” Arthur repeated, staring down at the script notes as though he was trying to memorize them.

“’Course it is.” Eames puckered his lips, made a few kissy noises. “Give us a kiss, darling.”

Arthur snorted, rolling his eyes. He started to stand up. The legs of Eames’ chair clattered down onto the tile with a sharp thwack of sound. His hand reached out before his conscious brain was quite aware of what he was going to do, closing around Arthur’s thin wrist with a tight grip, pulling him off balance just enough that Eames could reach up with his other hand to cup the back of Arthur’s neck. When their lips touched, Eames’ heart was pounding so loudly that he almost didn’t hear the small sound Arthur made.

Arthur didn’t let him control the kiss for long, chasing Eames’ lips with his tongue; licking into Eames’ mouth with a muffled groan. Arthur kissed him like he was starving and hadn’t been allowed to eat for hours. Eames felt Arthur’s cool hands cupping his cheeks as Arthur leaned right into him, balancing himself against Eames more solid, muscular body.

There was a crash from the hallway and the sound of Mal’s furious shrieking, clearly discernible through the closed conference room door.

Eames wasn’t sure who pulled away first, but he was bloody positive of one thought that echoed in his head.

He was so very, very fucked.

---

Apparently, the theme to Eames’ private freak-out was Journey’s Don’t Stop Believin’. Eames stared out the passenger seat window as though he’d be quizzed on the details later. He and Arthur were both more than willing to use the radio as an excuse not to talk. The one time that Eames had looked over at Arthur, the younger man had a death-grip on the steering wheel, his jaw so clenched that Eames was faintly surprised that he couldn’t hear Arthur’s dental work grinding into dust.

Oh sure. He’d made a joke about their kiss being overdue. Arthur had laughed where he was supposed to, and they’d finished up the small amount of business they’d had before Arthur had gone to the props department for whatever toys he thought they’d need. Eames had cheerfully rooted through Mal’s purse, stealing her smokes and lighter without a qualm, then practically speed-walked out to the smoking area, merrily ignoring the fact that he hadn’t had a cigarette in three years. It had taken him three tries to light the sodding thing. Robert had given him a weird look at the way his hands were shaking. No worries. Perfectly fine.

Only it wasn’t. It was like someone had given him a swift kick to the arse. A long-overdue slap to the face.

Talk about being unprofessional.

Eames had no illusions about the fact that he was a porn star. He fucked for people on camera. He fucked for people to get off to, for them to imitate or wank or salivate over. To be jealous of. He got paid extremely well because he was able to be whatever the script called for. He privately doubted that he’d win any awards from the Academy for his acting ability, but for his part he made his characters as believable as he could, despite the ridiculousness of his job.

Saito had pulled him aside during his first shoot and had given him a small bit of advice that Eames had never forgotten. ”Don’t Romanticize what you do.”

Ironically, Eames had said the same thing to Arthur when he had started. It was right after Arthur and he had fucked for the first time on camera, Arthur’s enthusiasm making it difficult for Eames to control himself. He’d had to stop twice, something that he’d not had to do in years. Thinking to be a mentor, Eames had pulled Arthur aside after, with both of them still stinking from sweat and spunk and slick.

”Don’t romanticize what you do, kid. It’ll just be harder for you later.” Arthur had turned a furious shade of red, and had stammered something that Eames had never quite caught. But it was good advice. They weren’t just fucking- they were fucking for people. For a camera, to put on a show. Falling for your co-workers was just bad business.

And until today, Eames never had.

Eames didn’t have a boyfriend, or a girlfriend for that matter. He hadn’t really seen the need to do so. He was not one to attach himself to people. Other than Mal, and a few mates from school, Eames kept himself to himself. Oh he’d tried. Once. He had tried to laugh off what he did for a living, assuming that if he didn’t treat it as all that of a big deal, the boyfriend would either.

Yeah, that hadn’t gone well.

But now? Eames being jealous of Dom touching Arthur? Of Eames being so ... hurt when Arthur hadn’t told him that he planned to quit? Spending an entire bloody week feeling sorry for himself?

There was no way that this could end well.

So Eames stared out the window, past the famous landmarks, making himself sick thinking of every single way he’d fucked himself over before he’d even had a chance. If Arthur wouldn’t go out for coffee with him, then it was a fairly certain bet that he’d have no interest in--

“We’re here.”

Eames jumped in his seat. He hadn’t even realized that they’d stopped.

“Nice.”

It was. Arthur’s neighborhood was an older one, set in the hills with enough space between houses to afford quite a bit of privacy. Arthur’s home wasn’t gated, but the driveway was fairly long, curling up to the house.

“Thank you.” Arthur’s voice was perfectly pitched for someone who had had his tongue down Eames’ throat twenty minutes ago.

Obviously their kiss wasn’t nearly as big of a deal to Arthur as it was to Eames. He was being a complete prat over this. Mentally, Eames gave himself a few slaps across the face.

Arthur opened the garage, pulling inside and turning off his vehicle. Arthur crossed to the boot and bent to get out their supplies. Eames grabbed the two computers, leaving the duffle bag for Arthur. Eames followed his lead, following him into his house.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“No, best not. I’ll set up the cameras if you want.”

“That’s good. I want to take a shower anyway. Bedroom’s to the left. Use anything you need, okay? I’ll put this bag in there, just toss the stuff in the drawer so it looks a little less set up. The sheets they wanted are here, too.”

“Brilliant.” Eames forced a smile and turned towards the hallway. It didn’t take him long to set up the equipment. They had ended up using three cameras. One set to give a closeup of the left side of the bed (which would include the reflected images in the mirror), one at the foot of the bed, and one situated on the whole bed. Eames raised an eyebrow at the number of toys Arthur packed, dumping them all in the drawer as requested, and making the bed with the sheets.

Eames began recording, then stripped down completely, sliding into Arthur’s bed with a small shiver as he smelled Arthur’s scent on the pillows. He kicked off the duvet and flopped down onto his stomach. He’d clamped a trucker hat down onto his head to hide his expression, stretching out on the bed like Arthur had said: pretending to be completely blissed out.

Eames made sure to tilt his arse up slightly spreading his legs just enough that Arthur would get an eyeful when he finally came in, resisting the urge to wink at the camera. His fingers pressed against the mirror as he waited for Arthur to finish his shower, telling himself over and over that he could sodding well do this, damnit. It was just sex.

Just sex with Arthur.

He’d have time to properly freak out later. Right now, he was determined to make this amazing.



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