Final chapter! I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it, cause it's been a pleasure. Except today was a little frantic, I've been hammering at it all day to get it out tonight, otherwise I would have to wait until at least Monday, and that just wouldn't cut it. But here it is.

Rated M for mature content (it's been rated M since the beginning, just a little heads up).


Fill My Time With Yours

"What took you so long?" The second time Arthur found Eames standing outside his hotel room door, his reaction was considerably more relaxed than last time.

"Packing, love," Eames said with a grin, "I hope I haven't kept you waiting." He dropped his worn backpack containing his few possessions just inside the door, pretending it was heavily loaded. It was a lie, of course Arthur had been right when he said packing wouldn't take long. Not two minutes had passed from starting until he was ready to leave the room, ready to trail after Arthur toward his luxurious Downtown hotel room. But he hadn't done that, no matter how much he might have liked to, and had instead taken his time to make sure the room looked presentable: removing the cobweb on the window, wiping the dust off the table and drawer, sweeping the floor. He had even taken the mattress and blankets outside for a beating, and had felt weird when he returned to the room that then had seemed almost clean. Almost.

"Ready?" He asked.



"For what?"

"For dinner, Arthur."

"For dinner?"

"Yes, ready for dinner. Are you? I owe you one, remember."

"Oh," Arthur exclaimed when it dawned on him what he meant, "I didn't think – Right now?" He obviously hadn't expected Eames to ever actually take him out to the dinner he owed him, much less that very same night.

Eames knew this and delighted himself in Arthur's surprise. He hadn't planned to take him out so soon, but the temptation had been too much: Dinner with Arthur. His treat, his rules. Arthur would have no say in the course of this evening.

"As soon as you're ready."

"Um, sure." He went to get something in a drawer and didn't even bother to check himself in the mirror on the way out. Damn him, always impeccably good looking, always ready to go out at a whim. Maybe that's why he never dresses casual, Eames thought, after all, you never know when someone might be at your doorstep, picking you up for dinner.

Closing the door behind them and walking down the hall towards the elevator, Eames held out his arm, wanting Arthur to grab it with his. Arthur sent him a look in reply that said more than words ever could, somehow managing everything in between you've got to be kidding, in your dreams, you're absolutely out of your mind and no, really, you've got to be kidding in a single expression. Highly impressive. Eames took note of the nearly invisible upwards curve of his mouth, his raised eyebrows, the look in his eyes, the way his head was just slightly tilted forward in disbelief, but not nearly enough to look completely perplexed, and then he trudged onward unabashed, Arthur still at his side.

"Lovely décor, huh," Eames remarked as they walked through the lobby, Arthur's shoes making a clacking sound against the marble floor with every step.

Arthur looked around, nodding as if he understood. "I know you think it's horrible, Eames, but I like it. Part of me almost wishes I had designed it, but mostly I'm glad I didn't, because it means it actually exists."

"You make me sound so harsh, love, I don't find it horrible, just… less than tasteful."

Arthur smiled despite himself. "Lately I've found myself wondering if you're worth the trouble, Eames."


"And increasingly often too."

"Since when?"

"Since you moved in."

"I moved in not five minutes ago."


Arthur held the glass door open and let Eames out. "I'm worth it," he said in a low, seductive voice when he passed.

Once on the street, Eames confidently took the lead, Arthur following with a slight frown.

"Where are we even going, Eames?" he asked.

"I couldn't tell you, that would spoil the surprise."

"It doesn't have to be a surprise."

"Oh it does. My date, my rules."

Arthur stopped. "This isn't a date, Eames," he said, scornfully emphasizing the word date.

"It most certainly is, what else would it be? You asked me out yourself. Although indirectly," he admitted, mostly to himself, and signaled for Arthur to follow him.

"It's two grown men going to have dinner in a restaurant," he said, catching up to Eames, "purely platonic. No stupid romance, no teenage angst."

"Who said anything about a restaurant?"

Arthur stopped again.

"Come on," Eames said, grabbing him by the wrist and gently pulling him along, "the bus stop is right over here."

For the third time in only a minute, Arthur stopped in disbelief. "The bus stop? Eames, you've got to be kidding me."

"Come on," he urged him on, ignoring his condescending tone of voice.

"Why are we taking the bus?"

"My date, my rules," he said with a grin, "consider it an adventure."

"Spending time with you is an adventure in itself."

"Aw, thanks, love."

"It wasn't a compliment," he said coldly, following Eames around a corner before stopping.

"We're here," Eames announced happily.

"I know. I know what a bus stop looks like, Eames."

"My, my, I didn't know you were such a proficient public transportation user, Arthur. I'm impressed."

Arthur ignored him. "Next time, I decide the place and mode of transport."

"Is that your way of asking me out on a second date?"

"Yes. My date, my rules," he said without looking at him.

"I'm looking forward to it." Eames couldn't hide his glee at Arthur's dissatisfaction.

Despite it being nearly empty, Arthur planted himself firmly in the aisle once on the bus, only reluctantly grabbing the handle above to prevent him from falling over. Eames, having just bought the tickets, nudged Arthur in the side when he reached him, as if to say it's not so bad, which only drew a barely audible grunt out of Arthur in response. He then sat down in a seat next to the standing man, feeling pleased with himself, as the bus sat in motion.

A bumpy ride and three increasingly impatient are we there yets later, they finally stepped out onto a busy street. Eames theatrically taking a long, deep breath once outside, Arthur scrutinizing the surrounding area, glancing up and down the street. There were people on all sidewalks, and the street was lit up as much by lamp posts as by the multi-colored, sometimes flashing signs on the different establishments.

"Koreatown," he said with a sigh, "do you even know where we're going?"

"I'm impressed," he said, smiling at Arthur, and lead the way down the street, "and of course I do."

They walked side by side, and Eames marveled at the neighborhood, enthusiastically telling Arthur all about how he felt. How all the numerous Asian signs, though completely indecipherable to his European eye, just felt right. How all the people in the streets, drunk and sober, rich and poor, gave the place a feeling of being real ("but good god, Arthur, look at that, their style is even worse than yours"), but how it somehow still lacked that certain authenticity of a proper city.

Arthur smiled at his devotion. "You're judging it as if it's a dream. A city is a city," he said.

"Yes, yes, I know, but some cities are so alive and real, while others…" he paused. "Just seem inhibited."

He stopped and looked around, sure that their destination was right around here somewhere, though he couldn't spot it. Across the street a large group of people had gathered in front of something, and he wondered if that was it as he mindlessly stepped out onto the street.

"Eames," Arthur stopped him before he reached the traffic, "are we having take-out?"

"Huh?" He spun around. Arthur was on the sidewalk, standing with his arms crossed. "Yeah, how did you know?" He asked cheerfully.

"Experience has taught me not to expect more from you," he said, raising his eyebrows and nodding backwards slightly.

Eames followed his nod and found the Korean take-out just behind Arthur, an in-suspicious hole in the wall with a blue and yellow sign on top. He had assumed the writing meant something like Delicious Korean Food Sold Here, but he had no way to be sure. "Excellent," he exclaimed, and dragged Arthur to the menu on the wall, full of faded pictures and Korean letters.

"This isn't really what I had in mind when I said dinner, Eames," he said, eyeing over the selection with a critical gaze.

"I'm sure this isn't what you had in mind when you imagined the perfect date, either, but look at us now."

"This isn't the perfect date."

"Well." He lowered his voice. "Good thing the date isn't over yet then. Now pick something."

When they had both gotten their food, they continued down the street, looking for a place to eat it. "Now let's just hope it doesn't start raining," Eames said

"It only rains 35 days a year in LA."


"On average, yes," he said matter-of-factly.

Eames stopped and observed Arthur, smiling. "So the chance of rain on any given day is…" He tried to do the math in his head.

"Seasonally dependant, yes. Right now I'd say it's less than 4%. It rains less in Los Angeles than it does in Mombasa, you know."

"Impossible," Eames said and looked up, then returned his eyes to Arthur. "So we arrived on the only rainy day in forever, not that I'm complaining." He sat down on the curb behind a car.

"You sure were that nigh- Eames, what are you doing?"

"If it's not going to rain, we might as well eat here, come on." He patted the curb beside him as if it were a plush chair, wanting Arthur to sit down next to him. When he showed no intentions of doing so, he looked up and started a "my date…" which awarded him a killing glare from Arthur.

"Your rules," he said grimly and lowered himself, looking severely uncomfortable when his pants touched the ground. "How come I'm not surprised that eating on the ground for the first time somehow happens to involve you?"

"How come I'm not surprised that you haven't ever done it before? You're such a prude, Arthur, let go sometimes, let your hair down."

"In your dreams, Eames," he said sternly and started to eat.

"We could go out for a drink afterward."

"In your dreams, Eames."

"But you're such a cute drunk."

If looks could kill, Eames would have been torn to pieces right about now, his remains violently run over, pushed through a paper shredder and then burned. Then maybe even dropped in the ocean to be eaten by sharks. That's what the glare read like to Eames at least, Arthur's eyes ablaze and his mouth a thin, white line, and he found himself momentarily happy that looks were physically harmless.

"What I mean-"

"Eames. Don't force me to make you sleep on the couch."

He moved closer. "Does that mean I'm not sleeping on the couch?"

"You might be." He returned to his food. "You very well might be," he mumbled.

Though the traffic never seemed to get any less, the pedestrian crowd slowly let up, leaving only those going out for the night, or those having late night take-away, or even those drunkenly stumbling around, still roaming the streets. And Arthur seemed pleased, Eames thought. That is, Arthur didn't glare with malice at every intoxicated person yodeling down the street, and didn't shuffle in obvious discomfort whenever his attention was brought to the fact that he was sitting on the curb of a busy street. He merely registered it with the same condescending attitude he registered everything else in life.

"Maybe we should get back," Arthur suggested after they had discussed the merits of dressing like a prostitute when going out, their case in point on the subject having just disappeared into a bar across the street.

"We should," Eames said, getting up, then holding out a hand for Arthur to grab.

When he got up, Eames didn't let go of his hand, but stepped back on the sidewalk and started walking. Arthur twisted his hand out of Eames' grip and stood still, waiting for Eames to come back to him before he spoke.

"Holding hands?"

"My date?" Eames tried, but Arthur was persistent.

"There's a limit, Eames. We're out in public," he said and started walking toward the bus stop, hands in his pockets.

"That's alright, I'll just hold your hand all night then," he said, adding "all night - in your hotel room - where we will be sleeping - together," afterward, absolutely louder than necessary.

Arthur just gave him one of those disapproving looks he was becoming so accustomed to, the one that seemed to have an Eames label on it. The look that was part pure annoyance, part annoyed amusement. Though Eames wasn't sure how big the amusement part really was, of if it was even there at all; there was no way to be sure with Arthur.

"He wasn't flirting, Eames," Arthur said as he let them both into their hotel room in the Casa de Miranda, "he was staring at you because you were inappropriately loud."

"It was in the way he was staring. I'm telling you, Americans go crazy for my accent. Well that and my irresistible charm, of course." They had been discussing it since getting off the bus, and Arthur was for some reason adamant that the guy that had rudely stared at Eames most of the way hadn't been flirting.

"Americans have more taste than that," Arthur said, picking up the coat Eames had just thrown on the floor. He put it in the closet alongside his own and went back to the couch where Eames had flung himself.

"No need to get jealous, love," he said with a grin, propping himself up on one elbow, "I came home with you in the end, didn't I?"

"It's not like you had a choice, Eames." He pushed Eames' legs to the side and sat down on the couch. "I would have dragged you by your ankles, all the way from Koreatown if necessary, if you had as much as shown an inkling of interest in leaving."

"Feisty," Eames said, followed by a suggestive purr. "Being possessive doesn't suit you, Arthur."

"I'm not possessive."

Eames' gaze turned blank for a second, then he focused on Arthur once again. "Who am I kidding, I love it when you're possessive," he then said, as if just voicing his thoughts to himself.

"I'm not possessive."

He paused. "So I'm free to do what I want?"

"Completely free."

"With whom I want?"

"Of course not."

"So you are possessive."

"Am not."

"Well then," he pretended he was going to get up, "I think I might go find that young boy from the bus then."

"Shut up, Eames."

"He looked willing."

"Shut up."

Eames got in his knees and crawled next to Arthur. "Make me," he whispered slowly, his lips as close as they could possibly be to his ear without touching. He could feel the shiver running through Arthur's body, but he wasn't moving. "Make me – shut up – Arthur," he whispered again, slowly turning Arthur's head with a finger on his jaw.

Their lips were only a few centimeters from touching and their breaths were as one. They looked each other in the eyes, Arthur's deep, brown eyes shining with determination, only the tiniest flicker of his pupils revealing the uncertainty he battled. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against Eames'.

"Eames," he said weakly, then opened his eyes, placing his hands on Eames' shoulders. With the entire weight of his body, he pushed him back in the couch, landing on top of him with his hands on each side of his head. "Just. Shut up," he said, lowering his body.

Then he kissed him.

Eames felt the body on top of him relax as their lips met, but he soon tensed up and lustfully drove his tongue into Eames' mouth, holding his head steady with both hands as their lips worked across each other. He was pushing his body so hard against Eames it felt as if they would merge at any moment, dissolve into one.

"Eames," Arthur moaned without ever removing his lips from Eames' mouth.

Eames was kissing him back with fervor, his desire to take in all of Arthur at once currently manifesting itself in his eager exploration of the inside of his mouth with his tongue. While his legs tangled themselves up in Arthur's, his hands reached his hair, gently tousling it before moving on, further down his back.

When his hands reached his ass, he gave it a squeeze, pulling him closer to himself. Arthur let out a small yelp, but continued kissing Eames up and down his neck, setting his skin on fire with each touch of his lips. Eames reached for the shirt and pulled it out of his pants, and when he placed his cold hands on Arthur's back, he stopped his kissing, panting heavily. It only grew louder when Eames ran his hands further up his back, feeling his spine beneath his sensitive fingertips and his warm skin against his palms.

The shirt was about to give in to the pressure, and he stopped trying to stretch it further, instead pushing Arthur up into a sitting position, himself following in perfect synchronicity. He resumed his kissing as his hands worked urgently to undo the buttons, only stopping involuntarily to let out a moan of surprise when he felt Arthur's hands under his own shirt.

"Damn – your – delicate shirts – Arthur," he hissed in between kisses when it was finally open, and he pulled it off, revealing the smooth, toned chest Arthur possessed, his skin pale in comparison to Eames' tanned body. He left a trail of kisses down Arthur's neck as he worked himself downwards.

"Eames – the bedroom," Arthur whispered.

"Doesn't matter. The couch is fine," he replied, trying to push Arthur on his back so he could kiss his perfect stomach.

"No – Eames, not the couch – the bedroom." His breathing was heavy, but his tone left no room for compromise.

Eames stopped his kissing and raised his head so it was level with Arthur's. "Possessive and commandeering, who would have thought you had it in you?"

"Shut up, Eames," he said, a smile spreading across his face before he kissed him a final time. Then he got up and went to the bedroom, closely followed by Eames, who would have held him close the entire way if his hands hadn't been busy undoing his own shirt before reaching the bed.

"Oh, Arthur," he said, throwing his shirt off to the side and instead using his now free hand to pull Arthur closer, running his nose up and down his neck. "You have no idea," he whispered, "no idea – how long I've wanted-"

"Eames," he interrupted him, "not. Not – now, now…" He didn't finish the sentence before laying himself backwards onto the bed, dragging Eames with him.

"As you wish," Eames said, now on top, as he resumed kissing him, trying to undo Arthur's belt with one hand. "God damn it, Arthur, your clothes are like…"

Arthur reached down and opened his belt in one, swift motion before Eames finished, and flashed a brief smile as he undid the button and Eames sat halfway up to pull them off. Then Eames undid his own belt before violently pulling off his trousers, laying back down on Arthur before they were all the way off, instead counting on his frantic kicking to do the job as his tongue explored Arthur's upper body. His skin tasted salty.

Arthur was panting heavily, and Eames crawled back up, kissed him passionately and drew back slightly to look him in the eyes. Those beautiful, brown eyes. Then he rolled over, pulling Arthur with him, but the smooth maneuver it should have been failed when they didn't have enough momentum, and Arthur fell to his side. They both laughed as Arthur got up and positioned himself between Eames' legs, who spread them wider in response. He leaned down to place a kiss on his lips.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Eames hissed impatiently, and Arthur sat up and spat in his hand, using it to lube himself up.

Eames relaxed as he could feel him pressing gently, but the pain when he pushed all the way in made him draw a sharp breath through clenched teeth. "Don't – stop," he articulated, though it took him great effort.

"Are you okay?" His voice, otherwise loaded with lust, was full of concern, and he looked down at Eames with a worried frown.

"Yes, yes! Don't stop, Arthur," he hissed again, pushing himself toward Arthur, who started moving in response. "Yes," he moaned loudly, unable to keep quiet any longer, when Arthur pushed in and hit the spot, making Eames' entire body quiver with the sensation. "Yes." Arthur thrust back and forth, and he pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around his neck, pulling him into a wet kiss. Their bodies were covered in sweat and Eames was breathing hard and fast now.

He held his hand on the headboard, keeping his body in place when Arthur pushed in in powerful, regular motions, filling him up. Under his skin a thousand fires were burning, his whole body sensitive to the slightest touch, as if Arthur were penetrating every single cell in him.

What sent him over the edge was when Arthur leaned forward and kissed his neck, the way their bodies rubbed against each other, hearing his panting breath so close to his ears.

"Arthur – Arthur – I'm," he said between thrusts, but didn't finish before his body tensed and he let out three long, quivering moans as every muscle in his body was sent into convulsions.

The tensing seemed to ignite Arthur as well, who thrust in hard one final time, letting out a long "Eames," as Eames felt his body spasm and he came.

They looked at each other for a second, then Arthur fell down onto Eames and stayed there, both of them utterly spent and exhausted.

"Hold me," Arthur said, not lifting his head from where he had tucked it under Eames' chin, and he obliged, wrapping his arms around the man, running his fingers up and down his back.

"Eames," he added after lying like that for a while, both doing nothing but enjoying the closeness of their bodies. "I don't care where you go. I'm coming with you."

Eames didn't say anything, but held him close for a long moment and lifted his head slightly to kiss the top of his head.

"But right now," Arthur said, "right now – I think we should just stay here."

He had to concede.