Author Notes: Inspired by a prompt at the Doomed Ship Ficathon. Not sure if I got any bit of the prompt in here, BUT IT'S WHATEVER.
Pairings or Characters: Eames/Arthur, cameos for the gang
Warnings: naughty times, sickening amounts of fluff
Word Count: 1,007
Summary: Eames' confession is like a gunshot to the face. Or, well, more correctly, it comes with a gunshot to the face.
Make Me a Promise (and Break it Thoroughly)
Eames' confession is like a gunshot to the face.
Or, well, more correctly, it comes with a gunshot to the face.
Arthur hardly finds that the appropriate time to tell someone you're in love with them, but it sticks with him anyway.
"You shot me. In the face. I am not screwing you."
"Come now, darling, we both know if I hadn't, you'd've been killed anyway. I was giving you a mercy-"
"In the face!"
"You're never going to let me forget this, are you."
"In. The. Face."
Eames takes that as a 'no' and sighs.
Cobb tells him to get over it, there's a job to do.
Ariadne tells him to get over it, she has to watch over Cobb.
Yusuf tells him to get over it, it's just Eames.
Saito tells him to give it a shot, what's he got to lose?
Arthur decides he works with imbeciles and ignores their advice.
"I never said it had to involve sex."
"It's you. Of course it has to involve sex."
"Well, maybe," Eames purrs, rubbing his lips with his thumb, "But not immediately. We could go for tea. Or a movie."
"I already told you I am not screwing you, and I am definitely not going on dates with you."
"Why so opposed, darling?"
Arthur whips around from his papers on the table and glares, pressing an index finger against his forehead.
"In the face," he says slowly.
"That's what she said," Ariadne says absently as she walks by, not having heard any of the rest of the conversation. Ariadne continues walking, Eames devolves into a howling fit of laughter and Arthur's face burns bright red. He ponders how mad Cobb would get if, when they all entered Arthur's dream, he trapped them both in a sealed fish tank and let them drown together.
"This is hardly professional," Eames grins.
"Shut up," Arthur hisses, wiggling to try and get more space between them. He finds none and stops after a moment when Eames makes a noise somewhere between a growl and a whimper. "What was that?"
"You really are such a tease, Arthur," Eames says matter-of-factly.
"I am not," Arthur growls, moving to jab Eames in the chest, but somehow jostling them closer together and getting another growl-whimper in response. "Seriously, what the hell are you doing? Stop it."
"I can't help it when you're basically rubbing me off through my slacks, darling."
Arthur freezes and turns a purplish pink color, like he's highly embarrassed and about to get sick at the same time.
"I didn't- I wasn't-"
"You can deny this all you want later. But for now, please shut up and just finish the job," Eames demands, voice rougher and lower than Arthur's ever heard before and he forgets how to say no.
What was supposed to be a one-time thing in a dream experiment gone wrong turns into a regular thing in reality.
Arthur doesn't seek him out. Eames doesn't, either. They just seem to find each other, behind corners, in hidden closets in the warehouse, after hours back at their hotel. It's not a thing, Arthur insists.
It's just... a happenstance. An oft repeated happenstance. Or something.
"JesusfuckEames," Arthur groans, grabbing at the shoulders between his knees. Eames smiles around his cock before pulling away and wiping at the come still on his lips. He reaches to undo his own belt while Arthur catches his breath and remembers reality.
Eames gets his slacks and boxers around his ankles and starts to crawl over Arthur when Arthur holds him off with a foot to the chest.
"What are you doing?" he pants, still not entirely recovered.
"Um, having my wild, desperate way with you?" Eames suggests, though he doesn't sound entirely sure at the moment.
"No," Arthur says immediately, shoving Eames off and grabbing his pants off the floor while trying to ignore the large penis next to his face as he bends down.
"What?" Eames squeaks, half-laughing, half-incredulous.
Arthur waits until he finishes buttoning up his trousers and redoing his belt to bring an index finger up to his forehead.
"In. The. Face."
"Oh, you bastard-" Eames starts, but Arthur is already walking away, laughing loudly by the time he reaches the door. Arthur pauses at the door to turn around and take one last look at Eames - a naked, distraught, still very horny Eames - but the look on his face stops him from leaving.
"Arthur, I am very close to begging here," Eames admits, wincing. Whether at his neglected erection or the dent in his pride, Arthur isn't sure.
"Begging for what?" Arthur asks with a raised eyebrow, feeling not at all guilty for milking this as long as he can.
"For you to let me fuck you, for you to fuck me, for anything. Just be a dear and hurry back over here. I'd like to do this before my balls turn completely blue," he grunts.
"That didn't sound like begging."
"I can get back on my knees if you'd like."
Arthur laughs and Eames loses his patience, striding over until Arthur's pressed against the door and soon his pants are off again and he doesn't mind one bit.
"You're an asshole."
"You're the one who wanted a third round."
"I- I never said I wanted a third round."
"Moaned it. Whatever."
"I hate you."
"I love you."
"Why did you tell me that right before shooting me in the face? You didn't think that'd leave a bad impression?"
"I just needed to leave an impression. Didn't matter whether good or bad. You're obnoxiously oblivious, as it happens."
"And you're terrible at flattery, Mr. Eames."
"Only when it comes to you, darling. I find myself quite tongue-twisted around you."
"Your tongue normally works fine," Arthur points out, trying to ignore the heat in his cheeks and not catching the innuendo.
Eames hesitates, but just smiles after a beat, running a hand along Arthur's side.