Author Notes: I think this is one of, if not the first porn fic for the Inception fandom. I've never felt so proud lol.

Pairings or Characters: Eames/Arthur
Warnings: sex, sort-of exhibitionism, and obviously spoilers
Word Count: 1431
Summary: It's no wonder you're so fond of those paradoxical stairs.


Arthur is standing by a table - the one with all the important papers and diagrams and things on it - monitoring Ariadne, Cobb and Yusuf as they go under, testing the dosage and probably giving Ariadne more lessons, when Eames slithers up behind him and whispers, "Hello, darling," against his ear and he actually jumps in surprise.

Eames lets out a laugh and slaps him on the shoulder.

"Don't concentrate too hard, now."

Without turning around, Arthur lets out the most put-upon sigh he can manage, and continues going over the papers on Fischer. Eames waits a few beats before crossing his arms across his chest and smirking.

"You really are a stick in the mud."

"Don't you have something useful you could be doing?"

"What, work and miss out on your wonderfully boring exploits with paperwork? Never."

Arthur grunts and slowly puts the papers back down on the desk, rubbing a knuckle against the bridge of his nose. Eames can tell Arthur's about to say something - probably along the lines of 'Fuck off' or 'Entertain yourself with someone else' as he's prone to grumbling - but Eames grabs him by the waist and stops him from turning around. Arthur tenses, as if he doesn't know what's going to happen; what always happens.

"What are you doing?" he whispers, almost like he's afraid the sleeping trio will hear him if he doesn't.

"Oh, don't mind me. Concentrate on your research or what have you," Eames smiles, thumbs brushing against Arthur's waist through his vest.

"It's counterproductive to vie for my attention only to tell me to ignore you," Arthur points out.

"Then don't. Either way, I don't really care."

Which isn't really true at all, but that isn't the point. Arthur freezes underneath Eames' hands as one squeezes his hip and the other reaches around his stomach to undo his belt. Eames doesn't stop, but he waits until he hears Arthur let out a breath before he finally reaches into his slacks.

Arthur doesn't make a sound - aside from the whistle of his nose as he takes rapid, shallow breaths - even as Eames's fingers squeeze and stroke him inside his boxers. It doesn't take him long to get Arthur hard in his hand, slicking up his palm with precome. He's a little annoyed that Arthur is still staying quiet, but when Eames reaches around and thumbs his hole with a wet thumb, Arthur grabs him by the arm to make him stop.

"They'll wake up soon."

"No they won't."

"What makes you so sure?"

"You showed her the staircases, right?"

"The paradox."

"Yes, that. She's probably practicing her own, showing Cobb how talented she is, and all that."

Arthur doesn't say anything after that, so Eames drags his thumb against him again, this time finally getting a gasp out of him. He rubs again, getting a grunt in return, and then he presses in, slick finger into tight heat, and Arthur shivers. Eames thinks maybe he should keep his mouth shut, but he can't resist.

"Feeling cold, darling?"

"Fuck you."

"That's what I had in mind, actually."

Arthur hisses as another finger presses in.

"Don't you have something for this?" he says through gritted teeth.

Eames squeezes the hand still on Arthur's waist and smiles, "I always do." He pulls the hand away, digs through the pocket of his slacks and pulls out a small tube of lotion.

"This'll be a bit-"

"Cold," Arthur gasps, hand tightening on Eames' arm as lotion-coated fingers press into him again and again. Eames moves his other hand off Arthur's waist and slides it back around his front, taking his hard cock and stroking it. Arthur still somehow manages to stay quiet when even Eames is breathing hard, cock straining against his trousers, and it makes him want to tease him some more, just to hear him say something, anything.

Arthur beats him to it, though, grumbling loudly, "Are you just going to fondle me all day or are you going to get on with it?"

Eames laughs, pressing a kiss against his neck, and answers, "Alright, alright. Don't be so impatient."

He takes his hands away, and Arthur actually makes a disappointed noise at the loss, which just makes him grin wider as he tugs Arthur's slacks and boxers down his thighs before going for his own. His hand still slick with lotion, he drags it along his cock and makes a low moan at the feeling.

For the first time, Arthur glances back over his shoulder - with the same 'I can't stand you' expression he's always wearing - and sighs.

"No, please, take all day," he says in a slow monotone.

"What did I say about that impatience, Arthur?" Eames smirks, still slicking up his cock, being sure to take his time.

"Eames," Arthur sighs, sounding more exasperated than anything, but it's hard to keep teasing after that, so Eames spreads him wide and presses forward.

Arthur is tight, but loose enough that it doesn't hurt, and incredibly hot. Arthur braces his arms against the table, papers and things long forgotten, and lets out a quiet groan as Eames slowly pushes his cock in deeper.

"I'll go slow," Eames whispers into Arthur's neck before he starts thrusting his hips, out and back in again.

Aside from dreams, where the world is his to control, this is his favorite place to be. Arthur can be just as hostile as any dream environment, but where they always end up is far more pleasant than any job could ever be. As little as Arthur seems to care for him, and as hard as he may protest otherwise, Eames knows he enjoys this, too. Whether as some kind of release rather than something more, Eames can't bring himself to really care, enjoying the now too much to bother with the later.

Arthur suddenly shakes, one of his legs stumbling forward as he nearly falls onto the table, and Eames freezes.

"You alright?"

"Don't stop," Arthur breathes, and Eames realizes he's found the spot, and he has to laugh again.

"Whatever you say, darling."

Eames thrusts in faster now, but still careful, fingers digging into Arthur's hips harder to keep his hold on him. He sees Arthur pull a hand away from the table and reach below him, but Eames' rhythm is too fast to allow him a hand to spare and help. He's getting closer to the inevitable peak, and he's still amazed at how Arthur manages to stay quiet, even now, but he's grunting enough for the both of them by now. Breathing loud and heavy, he presses in deep and comes while Arthur shivers around him.

His fingers still gripping tight, he catches his breath as he leans over Arthur. It takes him a minute to realize his arm is moving and he grunts.

"Sorry," he mumbles, reaching down and squeezing his fingers around Arthur's cock, Arthur's own hand freezing before he makes a choked noise and comes all over their fingers. "Well now," Eames grins, and even with his forehead pressed against the table, Arthur apparently hears his expression because he reaches back and jabs Eames in the gut with his elbow.

"Oh, that hurts," he pouts, but gets the message. He pulls his limp cock out and, with a quick shake, shoves himself back into his boxers and zips up his trousers, looking no more ruffled than he had when he first walked in. Arthur, on the other hand, looks a mess and can't clean himself up so quickly.

"Need some help?"

"Fuck off."

"I was only being polite," Eames frowns.

"Just shut up and stay here. I'm going to clean up," Arthur growls before tugging his slacks back up his waist and walking towards the staircase with as much dignity as he can muster. He's waddling a bit, but Eames knows when to keep his mouth shut for once. Downstairs there was probably a bathroom and a suitcase with a change of clothes, and Arthur would probably be back before Ariadne, Cobb or Yusuf even woke up.

"The animosity is really uncalled for," Eames calls just before the staircase door slams, leaving him alone with his sleeping partners. Arthur really is a puzzle. He'd seemed plenty happy a few minutes ago, yet here he was storming off once he was finished. With a click of his teeth, Eames wanders over to a chair and slumps into it, leaning his chin on his knuckles.

"Really, now. It's no wonder you're so fond of those paradoxical stairs."