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There are eyes on him, lingering, tracing, sliding over him like exploring touches. It makes Arthur’s pulse race. He hadn’t come for this. At least, that’s what he’s telling himself the more he attempts to rationalize it. Which, in and of itself, is ridiculous. His mind is the one that has dreamt this place into existence. Clearly, it is what he wants.
Movement catches his attention off to the left and Arthur turns his gaze to the figure sauntering closer. This isn’t the first time Eames has come to him. Somewhere along the way, the forger had invaded Arthur’s dreams much the way he’d invaded Arthur’s life. Only, in his dreams, Eames can’t hurt him. There is no fighting here, no hurt feelings. Eames can’t rush in and out of his life like the changing of the tide. Here, in his dreams, Arthur can let himself actually feel something. He can let down his guard. And isn’t that more dangerous than anything else?
Eames stops in front of him, takes a long drag off the cigarette pinched between his fingers, and then flicks it away. Arthur shivers, the anticipation already wreaking havoc on his body. It’s like those blue eyes can somehow brand him with just a look. They own him, know him, capture every inch of him and never, ever, let him forget it.
The hand against his side startles him, makes his pulse jump in his throat, and Arthur gasps. The Eames in front of him hasn’t moved. Hasn’t touched him. Hasn’t done anything but look. Another hand, hot even through the layers of Arthur’s vest and shirt settles against his stomach. It’s possessive, claiming, makes him melt a little because, god, sometimes he wonders if Eames really knows what he does to Arthur.
The Eames in front of him steps closer, bodies dangerously close, but he’s still just content to watch. He’s close enough that Arthur can feel the exhale of his breath against his face. The forger smells like stale cigarettes, whiskey, and cologne. It’s overwhelming, leaves Arthur feeling lightheaded and a little drunk. So much so that he sways were he stands and the hands on him tug him closer, press him back against the hard body behind him.
Arthur groans. He can’t help it. Can’t stop it. Feeling Eames warm and solid and aroused against him is better than any drug. It makes him lose himself a little. Makes him grind his ass back against the stiff erection pressing in against him. The large hand at his stomach presses him back harder, twists its fingers into the fabric of his vest while the other hand slips more firmly around him, closes him up in the tight embrace of a ridiculously muscled arm.
He groans again, wiggles and moans against one Eames while the other watches. There’s a smirk on those full, pouty lips. Cocksure and savage. Eames knows the things he can do to him. He knows that Arthur will let him push his boundaries. Knows that the only one in control here, that has ever been in control, is Eames.
“So handsome,” drawls the Eames in front of him. “So eager.”
Arthur growls at him, illogically angry with him and turned on at the same time. He shoves at him, hand pressing and pushing at Eames’ hard chest while the man just stands there and smiles. There’s no real effort in Arthur’s actions. They both know that. It’s just instinct. Arthur always pushes Eames away. Always. It’s part of their neverending dance. Eames flirts, drives him insane with those eyes and those lips. Touches him when he shouldn’t. Arthur pushes him away, puts space between them. They argue and they flirt. They fight and they fuck and they tear each other apart. And then they go their separate ways. This was never going to be forever. Never supposed to be more.
“Come now, darling,” Eames murmurs and finally, finally the man’s fingers slip in against the sensitive skin of his jaw. Arthur nearly comes in his pants at the touch, despite the fact that the Eames behind him is practically fucking him through his clothes. “We both know you don’t want me to go.”
The Eames in front of him steps closer, presses their bodies together from thigh to chest, and Arthur can’t help but snap his hips forward.
“Because if I leave, you don’t get what you want… do you, darling?”
Arthur shudders and tries to turn his face away, but Eames’ strong fingers grip his chin tight enough to bruise and make him look.
“Answer me,” he demands softly, firmly.
Arthur shudders again, closes his eyes, but the sharp press of nails into his skin makes him gasp and open them again.
“No,” Arthur breathes out.
The pinch of nails ease, pain soothed by the gentle caress of Eames’ thumb.
“Good boy,” Eames murmurs, thumb brushing over Arthur’s lips.
The press of both Eames’ disappears, leaves Arthur shaken and barely able to stand on his own, but he doesn’t have to wait long for renewed contact. The Eames from behind steps around him, brings himself into Arthur’s line of sight and Arthur can’t help but smile a little. This Eames is younger than the other. He’s clean-shaven, hair cropped military short, and is dressed in fatigues. This is how the man had looked when they’d first met. It’s the Eames that had picked Arthur’s world up and turned it on its head. They’d had the best sex then, rushed and desperate… both scared of the repercussions if they’d been discovered.
Arthur’d met Eames during a joint task force mission between the United States and British Special Forces. They’d butted heads right out the gate, both so sure that their way was the best way. They’d argued, nearly come to blows more times than either could count and then, the night before the mission launched, their fighting had dissolved into the best angry sex Arthur’d ever had in his life. Eames had taken him apart right there in the conference room. Fucked him hard across the table while they’d both struggled to keep their moans from carrying to the guard at the end of the hall.
Arthur isn’t sure if that’s the moment he fell for the other man. Love had never been at the top of Arthur’s list. He’d been married to the work. His job had been his life. Still was for the most part. The obsession though… Arthur was more than certain that he’d never truly been able to shake the man after that. Imagine his surprise when Cobb had brought Eames in on a job a few years later.
Young Eames, military Eames, smiles at him. Slides into Arthur’s personal space and the dream changes. The unidentifiable room slips into a vague resemblance to that damnable conference room and Arthur can feel the press of the table against his backside. Military Eames kisses him, slips his tongue between Arthur’s lips and bleeds out lust and want and need and desire until Arthur’s certain he’s going to drown in it.
He doesn’t fight the fingers tugging at his belt, only presses his hips up higher into the contact and closes his eyes against the kiss. Military Eames’ skin is smooth against his cheek and the sensation shakes Arthur a little. Enough so, that he opens his eyes to seek out the other Eames. The Eames who watches.
That Eames, the one who had more control over Arthur than any other, is standing at the far end of the room, back propped against the whiteboard. He’s smoking again, cigarette hanging precariously between plush lips. This Eames, with those piercing blue eyes and thick beard, looks the way Arthur had last seen him. His build is thicker, filled out by muscle and power. He’s dressed as he’d been the last night Arthur had seen him, deep violet button-down, sleeves rolled to the elbows, black slacks, belt, shiny dress shoes. They’d had dinner together. It had been nice. Calmer and more mundane than most of their meetings. Eames had told Arthur that he loved him. Arthur hadn’t said anything at all.
That Eames watches him, watches them as they used to be.
Military Eames demands Arthur’s attention again by nipping hard at his bottom lip. Arthur gasps at the small pain and turns back to the man in front of him. That Eames has been a busy boy. Arthur’s trousers have been unbuttoned, zip lowered, and Arthur watches as one of Eames’ hands slips inside to close around his cock. The feel of those thick fingers around him makes Arthur’s hips snap forward, everything else forgotten.
“Tell me what you want,” Eames whispers, lips pressed close to Arthur’s ear.
Arthur huffs out a shaky breath and rolls his hips up into Eames’ hand again. “Want…”
Eames’ hand tightens on him, strokes slowly up the length of him and squeezes the head of his cock.
“Yes?” the man growls.
“Want,” Arthur groans and when Eames pulls back from his ear he’s changed. Young, fresh-faced, military Eames has been replaced with the haggard, unkempt looking Eames from their first dreamshare job together.
Arthur’s pulse races now the way it had raced then. Seeing Eames again, confronting the realization that their lives had taken a similar turn, it had been overwhelming for Arthur. Something had changed Eames though. The man’s hair had been longer, hanging shaggy around his ears and in his eyes. Fatigues had been replaced with a T-shirt and worn, threadbare jeans. Ink peeked at Arthur from one stretched thin short sleeve. One of Eames’ teeth had been chipped and there were visible scars that Arthur was certain hadn’t been there before. This Eames had been quieter, more reserved, though not lacking in the occasional sarcastic comment or lewd innuendo.
The sex, by the time they’d tumbled into bed together after the job, hadn’t been nearly as rushed or angry, but the desperation had clung to the both of them like a dying thing. No one had been able to make Arthur feel the way Eames had and Eames, he’d come to life again with Arthur underneath him.
“Tell me,” Eames murmurs, his free hand sliding into Arthur’s hair to tangle in the slick strands and pull him closer.
The breath that escapes Arthur’s lungs is almost painful. “Want you,” he whispers, caught in those whiskey-dulled, pleading eyes.
Their lips meet again, caught between a crush of teeth and the slick slide of tangling tongues. Eames kisses him like Arthur is the air he needs to survive. He drags Arthur in against him, jerks his hand along Arthur’s cock like that’s all he needs to feel pleasured himself and Arthur swears something inside him fractures. One jerk, two, three, four and his back is arching up, bowing his body in against Eames’ as he comes in blistering stripes over the man’s knuckles.
Eames shudders with him, continues to stroke Arthur as Arthur drags in ragged gasps of air. The world is spinning and he’s not sure how he got here, desperate and needy enough to come in his pants like a teenager after a few strokes.
The next stroke is painful and Arthur tries to pull away, too tender to be touched, but Eames tightens his grip and twists his palm around his softening shaft.
“Eames,” Arthur hisses, but Eames doesn’t stop.
“I’m not done with you,” Eames rasps against Arthur’s mouth, but he lets him go and Arthur stumbles a little.
He thinks he’s going down, legs jelly from his orgasm, but Eames’ hands are back as quickly as they’d gone. The man turns him, pushes Arthur down onto a bed, and it takes Arthur a minute to realize that the dream has shifted again. The room is one he remembers. It’s in a crumbling, shack of a house they’d squatted in while trying to escape a cartel general in South America.
The heat had been stifling. It’d been that wet kind of clinging heat that made you feel like you were dying a little every time you stepped outside. They’d been forced into the jungle and away from their planned escape due to the fuckery of someone they’d thought they’d been able to trust. The asshole had sold them out and Arthur’d barely escaped with his life. Eames had shown up at the last second, stopped one of the cartel thugs from putting a bullet in Arthur’s skull, and they’d disappeared into the jungle. The shack had simply been a lucky find. Cobb had warned Arthur about taking the job in the first place. Arthur had done it for Eames.
The bed dipped at his legs and Arthur glanced over his shoulder. Another Eames to fit the situation was kneeling on the bed and reaching for him. This one was older in the face, bigger, hair short again. His hands smoothed up the backs of Arthur’s legs, curled over the waistband of his trousers and tugged, pulled them down along with his underwear, stopping only to work off Arthur’s shoes and socks first. Eames discarded Arthur’s things on the floor and was back a second later, lips and teeth kissing and nipping along the inside of his thigh.
Arthur turned his face back to the dirty mattress beneath him and closed his eyes. The bed was barely big enough for the both of them, but it didn’t matter. They were safe for now and he wasn’t about to kick Eames out of bed. Not that he’d ever been able to before.
A nip to one of his ass cheeks causes Arthur to hiss and he arches up, hips thrusting towards the mattress. Eames hums behind him, hands smoothing up and down over Arthur’s hips.
“So good for me,” Eames sighs, kissing over the small hurt.
Arthur’s not completely hard again, but he’s not getting any softer either. It’s a fucked up mix of pleasure and pain that’s leaving him wound a little too tight.
“Eames,” he growls and shoves his ass back into the man’s face. “Stop teasing.”
Eames chuckles and bites him again. He shifts up the bed until he’s practically molded to Arthur’s back. “Now where’s the fun in that?” he murmurs, lips brushing along the line of Arthur’s neck.
Arthur trembles, frustrated and yes, way too eager for what comes next. “Eames,” he snaps back.
Again, the man chuckles but pulls himself away and Arthur can feel him moving around behind him. It takes long enough that Arthur is about to look over his shoulder at what the man is doing when he feels the touch of Eames’ hand at his hip.
The hand guides him up on to his knees, then shifts to pull one ass cheek away from the other. A cool, slicked finger prods at his entrance, causing Arthur’s breath to catch in his throat. It circles him, pushes in against him until Arthur’s body opens around it. Arthur gasps, arms shaking a little as Eames’ thick digit pushes inside him, slips past the first knuckle, then the next.
Arthur’s cock twitches between his legs, sending little slivers of pain down into his balls. “Fuck,” he hisses, his hips drawing away from the invading digit.
Eames’ hand on his ass slips around to his hip and holds him in place.
“Just relax, darling,” the man rumbles softly, thumb petting at Arthur’s hip while the finger inside him begins to work itself in and out of his body. “I’ve got you.”
Arthur growls at the profound truth of those words. Eames did have him, in more ways than one, and Arthur hated it.
Another finger pushes in alongside the first and that sharp surge of frustrated anger is replaced with euphoria. Eames’ fingers are thick, thick enough that his body burns around them. Arthur’s more than certain that he could get off on Eames’ fingers alone. He’s done it before, caught Arthur off guard during the planning phase of a job and fingered him until he’d blown his load over a week’s worth of notes. Arthur’d been so pissed afterward, but Eames had simply grinned and sauntered away into the other room.
A third finger works its way into him and Arthur’s pulled from the memory of one pleasure to what’s happening now. His cock is swollen again, hanging hard and thick between his legs with precome pearling at the tip. It's painful, springing an erection so soon after an orgasm, but Eames is the fucking devil and can do things to his body that no other can.
His lover’s fingers twist inside him, piston slowly in and out of him, hooking on every other stroke to scrape at his prostate and it's driving Arthur insane. He thinks maybe Eames is still teasing him, but maybe he’s just too needy at this point. Because he is. God in heaven he is so fucking needy that Arthur thinks it might feel good to come crawling right out of his own skin. He needs more, needs faster, needs harder. All that makes it across his lips though is a whimper.
Eames hums, the sound a low, growling rumble and Arthur’s hips jerk. He feels the man shuffle in closer, the hand at his hip slipping down to cradle Arthur’s stomach. He’s petting Arthur, soothing him and it’s confusing for a second until Arthur feels another finger pushing its way inside him.
“Eames!” Arthur startles, pulling his hips forward because damn it burns.
The hand at his stomach keeps him in place and that fourth finger works its way inside until he’s stretched tightly around four, fat, long digits.
“Fuck, Eames!” Arthur cries, tries to pull his hips away again and only manages to fuck them deeper inside himself.
Eames growls, twists his fingers inside him and starts to work Arthur open even more. The fingers move, pull out of him and push back in, work him over and over again until the room is spinning. It feels amazing, feels almost like having Eames buried balls deep inside of him, but it also leaves him walking a razor’s edge. There’s still pain there, a sharp, burning pain that’s keeping him clinging to the precipice of orgasming again. It’s not deep enough, not fast enough. He needs more. Needs… something.
“Easy, darling,” Eames soothes, the hand on Arthur’s stomach rubbing soothing circles beneath his shirt and vest. Gods he wasn’t even completely undressed for this and the soft cotton of his shirt was clinging to him from the sweat.
“I need… need… more,” Arthur manages to whine, hips moving to the rhythm that Eames’ fingers have taken up. “Need…”
He has to stop himself before he drools all over the bed beneath him and it’s only then that he realizes they are still on that dirty mattress in that falling down shack in the middle of the jungle. Arthur had cared then. He’d hated sleeping on the thing. Hated the fact that he’d not been able to say no to Eames fucking him hard and slow on top of it. Now, now he can’t bring himself to care. All that matters is how insanely hot it is to have damn near half his lovers hand working him apart.
Eames hums again, caressed his hand up from Arthur’s stomach to his chest and tweaks a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. The sensation is enough to rip a scream from Arthur’s lips and his cock drools a line of precome out onto the already stained duvet.
Eames’ thumb brushes along Arthur’s rim, pushes against it as he pumps his fingers in and out, and Arthur whines, “No.”
“No?” Eames rumbles back softly and pushes with his thumb again.
Arthur shakes his head frantically. Four fingers is already skirting the edges of too much and all he wants is Eames inside of him now. He needs his lover to fuck him, not rip him open.
“S’too much,” Arthur slurs. “Just… want you.”
Nails rake over Arthur’s swollen nipple and he cries out again.
“I think you can, darling,” Eames whispers, fingers twisting into Arthur’s body again.
Arthur groans, tries to shake his head but ends up whining when the hand on his chest is taken away. The hand inside of him stills, thumb rubbing at his aching rim while something cool is slicked into his skin. More lube.
“No,” Arthur moans again and tries to pull himself further up the bed.
Eames’ arm is back around him in an instant then, that solid, tree trunk of a limb holding him in place.
“Easy now,” Eames soothes softly as his thumb attempts to work itself in alongside the others.
The burning intensifies and Arthur struggles; tries to break away. “No!” he cries, pushes forward only to be stopped by that immovable arm.
The tip of Eames’ thumb breeches him, pushes its way forward until Arthur can feel the heel of his lover’s hand trying to force its way inside behind it.
“Too much,” Arthur whimpers, feeling too full and overstimulated. There’s no way Eames’ whole hand is going to fit. No way.
“Please stop! Oh god, please, please, please. It won’t fit, Eames!”
Eames isn’t stopping though. He’s working that hand into him slowly, pressing in as far as Arthur’s body will allow and only backing off momentarily to allow the tight ring of muscle to relax around him before he’s pushing forward again. Arthur feels like he might be dying. His heart is pounding, the room is spinning, and his body feels as though it’s being split open.
But then… Eames’ hand slips completely inside and his body closes tightly around his lover’s wrist. It’s still too much, he’s too full, too sensitive, but the stretch is a little less. There are tears on his cheeks and Arthur isn’t sure who he’s mad at more, Eames for ignoring his boundary or himself for completely dissolving at the assault.
“You… fucker,” Arthur half snarls, half gasps as Eames works his hand a little deeper.
Eames only gives a little growl and balls his hand into a fist inside him. Arthur chokes, the pressure inside him building because suddenly there are knuckles kneading into his prostate. They work over the cluster of nerves, press and knead and push until Arthur can’t think straight. All there is is blinding pleasure and heat. His body is on fire, heat crashing down on him like a hell wave.
Eames pulls his hand back, then punches into him and Arthur rocks forward, screaming, “Fuck!”
He does it again and again, fucks into him with his fist and it’s all Arthur can do to hold on. His arms want to buckle, he wants to crawl away, but all he can do is hold on. All he can do is feel.
And then there is a hand in his hair. Fingers twist against his scalp, tug until Arthur looks up and it’s the other Eames. The one who watches. The one who’d walked out of his life eight months ago without so much as a backward glance. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, fingers twisted in Arthur’s hair, while just another memory Eames takes Arthur apart piece by piece.
Arthur shatters, body jerking against the fist pounding inside of him. He comes hard, paints the bed beneath him with his release and passes out before the wave subsides.
*****
Arthur jerks awake. He’s disoriented, realizes the timer must have run out and brought him back but no… He blinks, moans as Eames’ thick cock thrusts into him. The man is over him, knelt between his legs, one of Arthur’s legs slung over his arm. Eames’ other hand is pressed into Arthur’s hip, lifting him, holding him against him as he fucks him.
Arthur moans again, shudders as something inside him lights up. He tries to reach for Eames but hisses at the pinch of the needle in his arm. He blinks again, looks dazedly from the PASIV needle to Eames. His lover leans down over him, meets his gaze and fucks into him harder. Snaps his hips forward until Arthur slides up the bed with every thrust.
“Ea... Eames!” he screams, caught between shock, sleep, and bliss.
The arm without the needle moves, presses into Eames’ chest and Arthur isn’t certain whether he’s trying to push the man away or hold on to him. Eames slows a little, releases Arthur’s leg so he can reach up and pull out the needle. Arthur doesn’t fight him, only hooks that same leg around Eames’ hip when the man starts to pick up the pace again.
“Missed you,” Eames grunts and Arthur wonders if that’s all the explanation he’ll get. Figures it should be him explaining and not the other way around, but now isn’t the time.
Eames presses down over him, covers Arthur completely, and it’s the safest Arthur’s felt in months. God, but he’s fucked.
“Missed you,” Arthur echoes and doesn’t miss the slick slide of their stomachs, wonders if Eames had watched him come in his sleep before deciding to fuck him.
The scratch of Eames’ beard against his throat makes Arthur’s face heat. He loves that beard. Loves the feel of it against his skin. Hates Eames because he loves it.
A sharp thrust has stars exploding in Arthur’s eyes and he digs his nails into Eames’ back. “There! Right there! Just… fuck!”
Eames lifts himself up again, just enough to watch as Arthur chases his end. Arthur stares back, watches the play of emotion across Eames’ face. Love, lust, anger, resignation, hate, need, insecurity. It’s all there. All laid bare for Arthur to see and Arthur answers back. He lets it all go, all the pent-up anger, the shame, the longing, the need… the love. Everything he feels for Eames, Arthur lets it show.
Eames’ rhythm falters, his brow furrowing, and then the most brilliant smile lights up his face before he leans down and captures Arthur’s lips. Arthur groans into the kiss and brings his hand up to tangle in the hair at the back of his lover’s head. His other hand grabs at Eames’ backside, nails digging into the meat of his ass, and Eames hisses as he pulls out of the kiss. His hips snap forward harder, lost in the bite of pleasured pain. Arthur knows that’s all it takes.
Eames slams into him, once, twice, and then breaks. Arthur comes a second later, caught somewhere between the dream and waking.
*****
“This is new,” Arthur mumbles a while later, finger circling a bullet scar on Eames’ side that hadn’t been there before. It looks to be newly healed.
Eames just grunts and wraps his arm tighter around Arthur’s back. There’s also new ink hooking over his lover’s left hip and he wonders how far it goes in the back.
“How bad was it?” he asks because Eames has to know that Arthur needs to know.
Eames sighs; opens his eyes but fixes his gaze on the ceiling instead of looking at him.
“Bad,” he replies. “Bullet bounced around a little before getting lodged next to my spine. Doc says I got lucky.”
Arthur’s pulse jumps and he pushes up onto his elbow so he can look down at him. “Why didn’t you call? Why didn’t you tell me? I…”
Eames’ gaze is hard. It’s all the answer Arthur needs, but Eames speaks anyway. “Didn’t think it would matter.”
Arthur can barely swallow around the sudden lump in his throat and though he starts to throw up all of those protective walls he’s so good at building, the look on Eames’ face stops him. Eames expects it. He’s the only one good at reading him and this is how they always end up falling apart.
“It matters,” Arthur says instead.
He pulls himself up, shifts until he’s seated across Eames’ hips and reaches out to cup his face with both hands.
“It matters.”
Eames frowns, looks as though he doesn’t believe it at first, but then nods and reaches up to cradle Arthur’s hips.
“Good to know, darling.”
Arthur sags, relieved, and leans down to press a kiss to his lips. “I’m glad you came home,” he whispers against him.
Eames wraps Arthur up tight, hugs him despite the awkward position. “Me too.”
Arthur kisses him, nuzzles their noses together, then groans as Eames rocks his hips up against him. He’s hard again, slips easily between Arthur’s cheeks, and Arthur reaches back to guide him in. The angle is wrong, too difficult to hold, and Eames slips out again. Arthur presses one last kiss to Eames’ lips, then pushes himself up a little, braces one hand against his lover’s chest as he reaches back with the other and guides him in again.
“Missed you so much,” Arthur groans, eyes closed, hips grinding down until Eames is sheathed completely inside him.
Eames growls and thrusts up into him. “Were you dreaming of me?”
Arthur shudders, eyes opening dazedly at the remembered dream, and nods. “Lots of you,” he breathes out and manages to look down at the man making love to him. “Dreamt about you fucking me. Kept changing. Memories.”
Arthur gasps when Eames thrusts up into him sharply, his vision blurring. “Shifted… between memory and… dream.”
Eames is tugging at him, pulling him down so that he can mouth at Arthur’s nipples and god that’s good. His nipple hardens at the contact and it sends a jolt straight to his cock.
“Dreamt you stuck your whole fist in me,” he moans and damn but if that doesn’t get Eames attention.
His hips slam up into him, bounce Arthur off his lap until there is no more soft and slow. Arthur screams, fingers curling against Eames’ chest as he rides him.
“Is that what you want?” Eames growls, hands bruising as he forces him up and down his length. “Want me to fist you, darling?” Arthur groans. “Fill you to bursting and make you beg?”
“Didn’t… I don’t… couldn’t stop you,” Arthur stutters, breathless. The rapid piston of Eames body smacking into his is bordering on painful, but it’s still too good to stop. He’s dizzy from it. Can’t breathe. “Begged you to stop. Too much.”
Arthur’s world jerks hard to the side and he cries out as Eames manhandles him onto his knees. He’s bent forward, hand pressed to the headboard for balance and Eames shoves back into him.
“But did you like it?” Eames growls into his ear as he starts to fuck him again. Clearly, the idea is turning his lover on.
Arthur can’t find the words to speak. Eames is hitting that sweet spot inside of him, ramming into him hard enough to send his knees sliding against the sheets, and its all he can do to stay upright.
Eames slips a finger in alongside his cock, pushes the slick digit in to the hilt and Arthur’s back bows.
“Fuck!” Arthur screams, pulls his hips forward only for Eames’ free hand to drag him back.
“Answer me,” Eames growls, another finger slipping in next to the first. They are framing the already thick cock inside of him and Arthur’s lungs go tight.
“Yes!” he screams, hips jerking on the intruding trio.
A third finger pushes inside of him and Arthur screams again as he comes. The release slams into him like a freight train; rips his orgasm from him like shattering blows and Arthur swears he blacks out again for a second. Eames is pounding into him when he manages to focus and breathe again. The fingers are gone and Arthur is pressed face first into the mattress. It doesn’t take long before Eames follows him over, hands gripping and flexing around Arthur’s hips as he comes deep inside him.
Eames sags against him, front covering Arthur’s back and they lay that way until the world manages to right itself again. Eames rolls off of him, but tugs and pulls Arthur with him so that Arthur is draped over him. Arthur hums, curls lazily in against him, and settles his cheek against Eames’ shoulder.
“I love you too,” Arthur murmurs softly, body still humming in the afterglow.
Eames grunts, his arm coiling tighter around him. There’s a smile on the man’s lips and Arthur doesn’t care that Eames doesn’t say it back. This was just the ending of a conversation that should have happened months ago.