Almost Without Expectation: | NC-17| 20k | Complete | (Part 4b)

[1lostone]

Arthur left, and Eames heard his footsteps getting quieter on the steps. It seemed like an age before Arthur returned with a bottle of cold water. Eames drank it gratefully, overly aware of the cameras as Arthur bent down to kiss his lips with a quick peck.  

“... good. God, your cock is so fucking hard.” Arthur reached out and slid the palm of his hand down Eames’ stomach, just barely brushing over his skin. Eames jumped with another little gasp, his eyes flying open.

Arthur’s hand was cool from the water bottle, and felt bloody  cold against his dick. Arthur's small smirk said that he knew exactly what he was doing too, the little sod.

Eames shifted, posing a little. He had calmed down enough that the urge to come wasn’t so intense. He had enough control over his body to keep himself hard, but not on the knife-edge of orgasm.

Eames leaned over to put the water bottle on the nightstand, stretching a little as he did so.  Arthur sat down beside him on the bed.  Arthur was still sweaty around his temples, and he’d pushed his hair so that it went in about twelve different directions. Eames reached out, stroking Arthur’s cheek, surprised when Arthur leaned into the small caress, kissing at Eames’ fingers.

Arthur really was a superb actor.

Unfortunate, really. It hit him that this was their last time. That he would no longer be working with Arthur after Yusuf cut and spliced this last film together. In fact, it was all possible that he would never see Arthur again. Arthur gave him a quizzical look, and Eames cursed himself. Some of what he was feeling must have been showing on his face.

“Hey.” Arthur gave him a small smile and bent, stretching his arm over Eames’ chest so that he could kiss Eames’ lips. It was a quick gesture that real lovers would do without thinking twice. Eames refused to examine just why it caused his gut to clench, his throat closing with emotion.

“Hey, pet.”

Arthur wrinkled his nose.

“Petal?”

Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Schnookums?”

“You’re an ass.”

Eames was so surprised that he laughed a bright, sharp burst of sound.

“Yeah, but I’m your ass, darling. Speaking of arses….”

Arthur just shook his head, a small smile at his lips as he bent so that he lay stretched along Eames’ legs, his longer body seeming to take up twice the space. Arthur shifted so that his head was pillowed on his arms, laying them across Eames’ thighs. He was close enough that some of Arthur’s silky hair brushed lightly against Eames’ balls, causing his skin to break out in gooseflesh.

“Nice segue. What’s the matter, Mr. Eames? Feeling a little abandoned?” Arthur traced lightly over the leather strap of the toy, as though fascinated.  

Eames shook his head a little, smiling at Arthur’s upturned face. “Not abandoned. Just curious to what else you want to try. I mean, my arse has been through a lot in the past hour or so. I think I deserve a little treat, yeah?”

“Did you do what I asked?” Arthur sounded as though he hadn’t expected it, like a kid who had received an unexpected treat. “Let me see!”

It was absolutely ridiculous, but Eames found his cheeks heating in a blush.

“Are you… blushing?”  Arthur lifted off of Eames’ legs, grinning delightedly.

“I’m horrified that you turned out to be such a kinky little fuck.” Eames spread his legs open, tilting his pelvis a little so that Arthur could see properly. Eames felt Arthur’s cold fingers as he gently moved his balls, lightly trailing his nails over the bottom end and up over the base of Eames’ cock.

“Show me.”

Eames shivered a little at the low, dark note in Arthur’s voice, surprised at how much he wanted to comply. He tightened his arsehole a little, then purposefully relaxed, feeling some of Arthur’s come dribble out of him.

“Fuck, Eames.…. Again. Do it again.”

Eames did, not surprised when Arthur moaned, low in his throat. Eames felt his cock jerk at the sound, and hauled himself up again onto his elbows so that he could see the top of Arthur’s head. Arthur bent a little more, lapping at his come, like a cat with cream. Eames could swear that his cock jerked with each touch of Arthur’s tongue, and he had to throw his own arm over his face, biting his own forearm to keep from screaming out. He’d never, ever let anyone do this to him before, but couldn’t seem to help the way his legs spread of their own volition, his hips tilting so that Arthur could lick at him properly. Just like that his body was on the knife’s edge of coming again, held in check by the leather cockring.

“Do you want to come like this, Eames? Fuck, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to have you spread out for me. How much I’ve dreamed of your gorgeous ass, of feeling it so fucking tight around my cock. I---.” Arthur pulled back, meeting Eames’ gaze with eyes that were completely and intensely focused. “What do you want? For me to suck you? To fuck me?”

Eames reached down to his own cock, only to groan when Arthur slapped his hand away. His whole body jerked when Arthur’s finger traced the sensitive, wet edge of the tight little pucker of muscle, going around and around until Eames clenched again, trying to move so that Arthur’s finger would slide inside of him.

“I… Fuck!” Eames cursed in frustration, spreading his legs wider. He moved his hand away from his mouth, jerking a handful of Arthur’s hair, his other hand coming to rest on Arthur’s bony shoulder. He didn’t know if it was the role reversal of their usual positions, or the cameras that he couldn’t seem to quite forget about, or the way that all of Arthur’s considerable attention was directed purely at him, but Eames knew he wasn’t going to last long. It was ridiculous and completely clichéd, but his arse felt empty.

He ached with wanting to be filled. “Your… muh--mouth.” Eames’ lips fell open on a gasp when Arthur ducked his head, to tease with cool puffs of air on Eames’ already overheated skin. “Clean me up. Put that filthy little mouth on my arse, Arthur.”

Arthur shifted, bringing up his other hand. “Lift yourself out of my way.” Eames did, grunting a little when Arthur gave his balls a parting squeeze. He felt Arthur’s long, thin finger slide right in, than another. Arthur curled them up, scissored them once, and jerked them out.

“Look. The mirror. Watch me.”

Eames turned his head and almost came right there at the sight of Arthur licking at his come-soaked fingers. His body jerked and Eames couldn’t make himself look away. Arthur had arranged him so that he could watch Arthur’s mouth as he moved in, or as he pulled his head back so that he could finger Eames’ arse. Each time Arthur removed his two fingers from Eames’ tight heat; he would lick the come off like he was going after an ice-cream cone. When he’d stretched Eames’ arsehole a little more, he bent again, licking at him, spearing his tongue into Eames’ hole to get every last bit of his own come from the hot little passage.

Eames started jerking his own cock, unable to help himself. He could feel Arthur’s talented mouth; feel the way his hole clenched around Arthur’s wet tongue. When Arthur scraped his teeth over Eames’ perineum, Eames’ whole body arched. He braced his feet against the mattress, and tried his best to fuck down onto Arthur’s mouth, which lapped at him teasingly. Arthur slipped in three fingers, fucking him fast with them, teasing his prostate each time he pressed his curled fingers inside.

Eames screwed himself down onto Arthur’s fingers, greedy for the sensation of being stretched and filled. He couldn’t say how long they did that, Arthur spreading him open with his fingers, Eames fucking down onto them with his mouth completely slack, crying out with each stroke of his prostate, but when Arthur moved to jerk the snap of the cockring, pulling it off of Eames with two quick tugs, Eames felt his balls tighten, and tried to pull away, aware of the fact that he had no control over his own body’s reactions. There had been too much, for too long. Arthur had taken the not-script to heart, and Eames flinched from that as much as from everything else.

When Arthur fastened his lips around his arsehole and sucked, keeping Eames from pulling away from him with long, thin fingers tightened around Eames' hips hard enough to bruise, Eames saw stars.

He came with a cry, frozen into place as thick ropes of come arched into the air, then splattered over his chest, his thighs, and his stomach. He felt like it went on for minutes. Eames wasn’t aware of his words, just the force of them spilling from his throat as he and Arthur both jerked at his cock with their fingers tangling together, milking each drop of come from him until he collapsed helplessly back onto the bed, his heart pounding, grey skirting the edge of his vision as starbursts popped behind his closed eyelids.

Then he wasn’t aware of anything at all, for quite some time.

---

Eames woke up with his tongue feeling like he’d licked the bottom of the bin before passing out. He lay there for a moment or two, listening to his heartbeat. He wasn’t hung over, but he wasn’t in his bed, either. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of stale sex still trapped in the room. Slowly, he became aware of a few things: his toes were cold, he was alone in the room, and his arse felt like... well. Images of tunnels and lorries came to mind. Eames winced, then grinned rather dopily at the rucked up bedsheets.

“Art--” He coughed, wincing. Eames cautiously opened his eyes, blinking in the low light. “Arthur?” There was no sound in the silent room. Eames watched in the mirror as he pouted, then immediately made himself stop, feeling foolish. He pushed up, noting that Arthur must have covered him with the sheet before going off into another part of the house.

Eames stretched, noticing that the cameras were gone. He shook his head, knuckling the sleep out of his eye, then made a face at the dried come stains on his hands.

“That is definitely not attractive.”

Eames rolled out of the bed and winced again. His arse didn’t hurt exactly, but he clearly had used muscles that hadn’t been stretched quite that way before. “Arthur? You better be making coffee. I’m not just a cheap lay, you know, darling. Breakfast is a must.”

He shrugged when he didn’t hear Arthur’s reply. He was probably listening to music. Arthur was forever ignoring a lot of what was going on at the studios, listening to some ridiculously pretentious hipster music, the pink wire of his earbuds the only indication of his how unaware he was.

Eames made his way to the shower yawning and scratching a little at his stomach. The water felt divine, and Eames let himself use a good bit of Arthur’s hot water tank as he lathered up. He’d very carefully avoided thinking too closely about what he’d done last night. That Arthur had crossed that line... from just a job to someone Eames wouldn’t mind waking up with, well. It was bound to be awkward. Arthur was such a particular little thing. He always had things planned out to the nth degree. Eames frowned as he rinsed his hair, not exactly sure how he would fit into Arthur’s life.

But Arthur hadn’t been acting last night. He couldn’t have been, not for all of it. Eames knew what pretend intimacy looked like. Hell, he’d practically invented the concept. Whatever he and Arthur had done last night (and Eames couldn’t help the little smirk as he remembered just exactly what it was that they’d done), it sure as balls hadn’t been ‘pretend.’

Eames shut off the water and stepped out, frowning a little when he noticed that there wasn’t a towel. In fact, the bathroom was fairly empty, lacking a toothbrush, or toothpaste. Not that Eames would have used Arthur’s toothbrush. He liked his liver exactly where it was, thanks. Maybe this was a guest bathroom?

Eames walked back out to the bedroom naked, finding Arthur’s towel from last night and wrapping it around his hips. “Arthur? Look, I didn’t mean to steal your bed. You could have just shoved me--”

Arthur wasn’t in the kitchen. The floorplan of the house was open, with a breakfast nook the only thing to mar the wide space. Eames could quickly see that Arthur wasn’t in the living room or the dining room either. Eames bit his lip, turning to check the garage, already sure of what he would find. Sure enough, even Arthur’s car was gone.

Oh. Well, that .... okay then.

There were boxes stacked haphazardly around the living space. Eames must have been so nervous yesterday that he hadn’t noticed, but it was fairly clear that Arthur was moving.

Of course he was. He’d quit his job.

Numbly, Eames made his way back to Arthur’s bedroom. That explained why Arthur didn’t mind them using his personal space as a set. Of course there wouldn’t be any identifying information. He’d packed everything up. Eames couldn’t even smile at the way Arthur had carefully folded Eames’ things. Even the toys were gone, packed up and gone the way of the cameras.

Eames dressed, having to swallow hard around the blockage in his throat. He coughed, turning to fumble for his phone. He dialed the number from long-standing memory, which was a good thing given that his fingers were starting to shake. He couldn’t tell Mal about this. She’d take one look at him and know.... She would know everything. Eames wracked his brain for another number to call. Aridane wasn’t his first choice, but she would do in a pinch.

The numbness was beginning to be replaced by a feeling of such complete stupidity that he was horrified at himself. “You are a such an utter... git!” Eames ignored the way his throat tightened even more as his own harsh whisper filled the empty house.

“Eames! What a pleasant surprise! How...”

“Ari?” Eames interrupted, and whatever she heard in his voice made her cut off her speaking, abruptly. “I...” his voice cracked. Eames cleared his throat and took another deep breath. “It appears as though I need a ride. Fucker didn’t even leave me cab fare.”




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