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We could end up making love (instead of misery)

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The warehouse door had barely slammed shut before Arthur was out of his chair, crossing the few yards to Eames’ desk and grabbing him by his lapels. Eames smirked and let Arthur drag him up, dropping his files as he leant back against the desk.

Arthur glared at him for a moment before tugging off Eames’ jacket, letting it drop to the floor and starting work on his shirt buttons. Eames watched as his breaths quickened with each patch of skin he uncovered and by the time he had the shirt undone he was panting, his hands shaking as he pulled the shirt from Eames’ shoulders.

It had been a long day, made longer by the fact that both of them knew what was coming the moment they were left alone. They had been winding each other up since morning, Arthur’s criticisms becoming more biting as the clock inched forwards, Eames’ flippant responses leaving Arthur tight lipped and staring daggers at him across the room. It had just been a matter of waiting it out.

Eames let Arthur take his fill of his bare chest before gripping his shoulder.

“Down,” he said.

Arthur went easily to his knees and tore open Eames’ trousers, his cheeks flushing berry red. He pulled out Eames’ cock, half-hard since the brainstorming session an hour earlier, when Eames had laughed at one of Arthur’s suggestions and Arthur had snapped a pencil in half from anger.

Arthur sucked him down and stared up at him, glaring darkly as though he was punishing Eames, as if this was some sort of test of endurance rather than a sight which made Eames twist and sweat in his bed, coming into his own hand whenever the memory of it came to him at night.

Eames grunted and tangled a hand in Arthur’s hair, watching his cock slide between Arthur’s lips. Arthur’s tongue was as hard on him as a tongue could be, dragging up the length of him and rubbing over the head, coaxing him to full hardness with wet sucks and a warm hand around the base.

Eames held him steady and tilted his hips, sinking to the back of Arthur’s throat and watching the tears spring to his eyes. He pushed forwards in quick, shallow thrusts, Arthur’s throat gulping around him and his hand on Eames’ hip piercing him through his trousers. Eames panted down at him, watching for what he knew was sure to come if he could just hold on long enough. Sure enough, Arthur’s hips gave a sudden jerk and a pained sound rose from his mouth around the thick width of Eames’ cock. Arthur fought for air through his nose and his eyelids fluttered as his hips jumped again against nothing, wanting what Eames loved to deny him.

Eames shifted his weight, edging his leg an inch or so away from between Arthur’s spread knees, just to watch his eyes narrow. Arthur whined at the back of his throat before grabbing Eames by his belt and pulling himself forwards, straddling Eames’ leg. His eyes rolled closed as he shifted up and down on his knees, rubbing the hard bulge between his legs against Eames’ calf, his cheeks burning.

Eames forced a shallow laugh through the hot ache in the pit of his stomach. He stared up at the ceiling and fought the tightening in his balls as Arthur pressed his nose to Eames’ stomach and just swallowed repeatedly around the head of his cock, humping his leg, all semblances of shame gone. Eames could feel the growing outline of Arthur’s cock through the two pairs of trousers and imagined he could feel the heat of it. He grit his teeth and grabbed Arthur by the back of his neck, pulling him off with a wet sound so loud and dirty it made his cock jerk against his stomach.

“Hands and knees,” he said.

Arthur turned and crawled away from the desk. He reached for Eames’ dropped jacket but Eames planted his foot on it and dragged it away.

“And leave that alone,” he warned. He dropped to his knees behind Arthur and searched the jacket pockets for the tube of lubricant.

They rarely ever made it to comfortable surroundings to fuck, mostly making do with the rough floor of the warehouse, brick walls behind bars, the gritty bathroom floor. It left Arthur’s palms scratched and red raw if Eames was especially rough with him. Lately Arthur had started grabbing whatever means of cushioning he could find, but Eames would always stop him. He preferred to see the damage the next day, watch as Arthur hissed each time he forgot himself and grabbed at something, loved being able to catch sight of the cut palms even as Arthur tried to hide them.

“Fuck you, Eames,” snapped Arthur, making another fruitless swipe at the jacket. Eames lifted it out of his reach and tossed it over the desk after having found the lubricant.

“Shut up for once, Arthur,” he said lightly, reaching around to undo Arthur’s belt, “and stop pretending. Don’t think I didn’t see you yesterday.”

Arthur had sat at his desk the previous afternoon, staring wide eyed through the curling steam of his coffee with his lips parted, tracing the pad of his thumb over his palm, back and forth, lost in whatever thoughts he was having for so long that his coffee went cold. Eames had watched him, his toes curled tight in his shoes as he willed Arthur to catch him looking. When he finally did, Arthur’s mouth snapped shut and he busied himself with something or other, leaving Eames distracted for the rest of the day.

Eames pulled Arthur’s trousers down along with his underwear, leaving them tangled around his knees but leaving his shirt, as always, where it was. He preferred to muss up Arthur’s clothes, liked using his shirt as leverage as he fucked him, and seeing as he was only interested in what Arthur had beneath his trousers there was little point in wasting time with shirts, jumpers and ties, anyway.

Eames popped the lid of the lubricant and quickly slicked the length of his cock with it, hissing as it made the chill air of the warehouse tingle along his cock. He shifted forwards and pressed the wet head against Arthur’s hole, forcing himself inside and hearing Arthur’s fingernails skirt along the concrete.

Eames shook as he held himself steady, Arthur hot around him and as tight as a clamp.

“You’re always so bloody tight,” he said. “Can’t you manage to get anyone else to fuck you between our little trysts?”

“Shut the hell up!“

“Not been able to find anyone who can bear listening to you for long enough?”

Arthur grunted and pressed back into the cradle of Eames’ hips, spreading his thighs as far as bunched trousers would allow.

“Just fuck me,” he snarled, squaring his shoulders.

Eames grabbed him by the hip with one hand and by his shirt with the other and set a quick rhythm, pulling Arthur back onto him and forcing gasps from his lips. Eames slid his hand up Arthur’s back and grabbed Arthur by the hair, leaning over his back to press their cheekbones together. He knew before checking that Arthur’s eyes would be closed.

“Who do you imagine, hmm?” Eames asked. “Who’re you always thinking about when I have my cock in you?”

Arthur bared his teeth and tried to twist out of Eames’ grip, but Eames held firm.

“I swear to God, Eames – “

“Come on, darling, you can tell me. “

Arthur wrenched his head away and shoved Eames off his shoulder, his hair wild around his face.

“It’s none of your goddamned business who else I’m fucking, alright?”

Eames reared up at that and stared at the back of Arthur’s head. He adjusted his grip and yanked him back, angling his cock to force a harsh sob from Arthur. He did it again and again until Arthur’s head hung down between his shoulders, until Eames could just make out the point of white teeth where he bit at his lip.

Eames was so close he could feel it to the tips of his fingers, his spine in a tense arch and sweat soaking the hair at the back of his neck. It was built up between his legs, ready to burst, and he kept his gaze on the back of Arthur’s head, his hips bucking frantically against the back of his thighs. He groaned in frustration, realising it was going to be one of those times.

“On your back,” he said, pulling out and smacking Arthur’s ass, “hurry up.”

Arthur twisted beneath him and Eames pulled at his trousers, tossing them to the side along with his shoes to let Arthur spread his legs. Eames leaned forward and stole a glance down at Arthur’s face, ready to press back inside.

Arthur's eyes were open, wide and bright. His hands were next to his head, his palms scratched and the heels rubbed raw. Eames stared at him and Arthur stared back, afraid to do so much as blink. The warm pants of Arthur's breath dampened his lips and suddenly there it was, hanging quietly in the spare few inches between their faces.

They had skipped over kissing the first time they got their hands on each other and had never returned to it. They’d gone straight for each other’s trousers instead and their mouths had met cock instead of lips and tongue, but now Eames knew that all it would take would be for one of them to break the eye contact and glance down.

Eames caved first, just as Arthur’s tongue appeared between his lips to slide across his bottom lip.

Eames planted a hand on the floor above Arthur’s head and leant down. He paused, his gaze unfocused and heart hammering, sensing Arthur watching him carefully, before he closed the gap and pressed their mouths together. The second their lips met, Arthur’s bare cock between their stomachs twitched and Eames felt the drop of precome as it eased out to smear against their skin.

Eames groaned and Arthur’s mouth fell open, Eames sliding his tongue inside and testing the unfamiliar shape of Arthur’s nose against his, the tang of his afternoon coffee tinged with the taste of Eames’ own cock, the shockingly soft skin of his cheek.

Arthur’s tongue twirled around his own before he pulled back a little, gasping in a breath of air before taking Eames’ lips again. Eames was afraid to move, his body frozen over Arthur’s, daring only to move his head, but then Arthur’s arms wound around his neck and Eames shuddered, melting into Arthur’s arms and kissing him as though making up for each and every time he had failed to do it. For all the things he had imagined doing to Arthur, and there had been many, none of them had involved this. It was a back and forth whereas everything else with them had just been about taking whatever they could get from each other.

Eames took Arthur by the wrists, put his arms on the floor above his head and slid their hands together, Arthur hissing against Eames’ lips at the touch on his sore skin. Eames entwined their fingers and pressed his forehead to Arthur’s, waiting for him to shove him off or to crack a joke. But Arthur gave a smile that reached his eyes and Eames smiled back.

He eased his knees beneath Arthur’s hips, lifting his bare lower back from the floor and resting it on Eames’ thighs. He pushed forward carefully, finding Arthur’s opening again. He watched in fascination as Arthur’s mouth dropped open as Eames entered him, his fingers tightened between his own. Arthur hummed and craned his neck up to press their lips together again.

“God, Arthur,” Eames murmured, rocking into him and tilting his face for Arthur’s mouth, wondering why he was so surprised that their mouths fit together so brilliantly, seeing as the rest of them did.

The burn in Eames’ groin flared again but he forced his hips to a slow pace, fought to keep his eyes open against the desire to scrunch his face up in agony. Arthur’s cock was steadily leaking between their stomachs, the mess letting Arthur’s cock slide between their stomachs in smooth, damp strokes. He kept pulling away from Eames’ lips to whimper against his mouth, before Eames raised his head to watch Arthur’s face.

“You going to come?” he whispered.

Arthur’s eyebrows knotted together as he nodded. He hid his face in Eames’ neck but Eames shrugged him off, nudging his head back to the floor. Arthur stared up at him with glassy eyes and Eames watched with his heart thumping somewhere near his throat as Arthur came across his stomach, his jaw slack and hands tight on Eames’ own.

Eames was torn between watching Arthur’s face and wanting to look down at his cock. It was the first time he had felt Arthur’s cock spurt while he was inside him. He normally left Arthur to jerk off into his own hand as Eames fucked him, or to come untouched against a wall when Eames forced his hands above his head, or the rare occasion when they had had a bed and Eames had pulled out, held Arthur face down and made him come by humping into the mattress, jerking and furious.

Eames sped his thrusts as Arthur wound down, his body twitching and his eyelids heavy. Eames’ knees slid on the floor as he bucked helplessly into Arthur, heat pounding in his temples as he felt the rush between his legs. Arthur ran the pad of his thumb over the pulse in Eames’ wrist, light enough for Eames to wonder briefly if it was deliberate before he came, gasping Arthur’s name and pressing him almost in half. He shook so violently that Arthur had to suddenly grab his wrists to keep himself balanced.

Eames leant against him, panting into the curve of his neck before easing back. The haze had left him now and the silence outside of his own harsh breathing was heavy and uncomfortable in his ears. He slid his hands down Arthur’s forearms, pulled out of his body and sat back on his heels, leaving Arthur lying beneath him. He avoided Arthur’s eyes and pulled up his trousers.

Eames was still on his knees when Arthur scrambled to his feet and turned his back. Eames listened as he zipped up his trousers, the clink as he buckled his belt. He ran a hand through his hair and stared at Arthur’s back, the taste of him still in Eames’ mouth, wondering if he was just going to walk out without a backwards glance.

“I have my car out front, if you need a lift home,” Eames said finally, “unless you’ve got plans with – unless you’ve got somewhere else to go?”

Arthur stilled and shook his head.

“Not tonight, no. A lift would be good, thank you.”

Not tonight.

“Arthur?” It was out of his mouth before Eames could stop it, and then Arthur had turned around, his shirt half tucked into his trousers and his hair still askew. Eames reached out and pulled Arthur to him by his belt, staring up at the wary look on his face. He wet his lips and carefully tugged the rest of Arthur’s shirt from his trousers and smoothed his hands up beneath it, up over his stomach to rest on his chest. He leant forward and pressed a kiss above his navel, to skin as tight as the skin of a drum.

Arthur’s hands hovered in the air for a moment before settling on either side of Eames’ face, his fingers carding through his hair.

“How about – how about not having anyone else fuck you anymore?” Eames asked. He closed his eyes at the brashness of it, but then felt Arthur’s stomach clench against his face as he laughed.

“There isn’t anyone else, Eames,” said Arthur.