Arthur didn't know why he was surprised to come across the pair of matte black men's size eleven stilettos in Eames's closet. It was Eames, after all. Still, he was curious. They'd been together now for well over a year and they'd been…something for much longer. Long enough that Arthur spent more time in Mombasa at Eames's flat than in his own apartment and had finally decided to clear some more space in Eames's closet for his suits. He wasn't deluded enough to think he knew everything about Eames, not by a longshot, but the heels were intriguing.
Eames turned from the stove when Arthur walked into the kitchen, an easy smile on his face. Eames was a brilliant cook—which worked out quite nicely, since Arthur couldn't make toast without burning it—and the flat smelled like garlic, cumin, and other delicious spices Arthur couldn't name. Arthur grinned back at him and held up his hand, one stiletto dangling from his fingertips. "You have a kink you haven't told me about yet?"
Eames laughed. "Ah, I'd forgotten about those."
"I'm a forger, love. I'm dead talented, but it's not nearly as effortless as I make it look." Eames waggled his eyebrows, and not even pain of death could get Arthur to admit how fucking charming he found it. "It'd be rather a giveaway if I was a woman who couldn't manage to walk in heels." Eames paused, cocking his head and looking at Arthur assessingly. "Why, did you want to see me in them? I do look quite fetching."
Arthur smiled. "I can imagine, but it's not really my thing. Unless—" Arthur hesitated. Maybe it was Eames's thing. "If it was something you wanted… " There was a flicker of interest in Eames eyes, and Arthur continued, "I wouldn't mind if you wanted to wear them."
"Ah." The excitement Arthur thought he'd seen in Eames's eyes was gone. "I appreciate the sentiment, darling, but it's not really my thing, either. I had to wear those around for days before I finally mastered walking in them. Took the fun right out of wearing them." He gave Arthur a saucy wink before turning back around to stir something bubbling on the stovetop.
Arthur nodded, pressing a kiss to Eames's broad shoulder before heading back to the bedroom and putting the heels back where he'd found them. There had definitely been something in Eames eyes, an undeniable pulse of heat that had disappeared so quickly Arthur almost doubted its existence. Almost. But Arthur knew Eames well enough to know that he hadn't been lying when he said he wasn't interested in wearing the heels. If Eames wanted to wear women's shoes while they fucked, he wouldn't have lied about it to Arthur's face.
Arthur tried to put it out of his head, but unsurprisingly, the puzzle kept niggling at him. He hated not knowing things. It percolated in the back of his mind all through dinner, and though Eames managed to thoroughly distract him for an hour or two afterwards, the thought hadn't been completely banished. He should be sleeping the sleep of the well-satisfied, as Eames was beside him, but instead of letting the afterglow lull him to sleep, he stared up at the ceiling, his mind whirring. Arthur went over their conversation in the kitchen in minute detail, replaying every word and recreating every facial expression in his mind's eye. There had been something there, a spark inside Eames that ignited when Arthur had asked if there was a kink Eames hadn't mentioned, and again when he—
Arthur bit back a triumphant laugh, not wanting to wake up Eames, who was snuffling adorably into his pillow. Lovely, filthy, sweet Eames, who would do the most depraved things with Arthur, to Arthur, but for some inexplicable reason still felt shy about confessing this secret kink.
Eames wasn't interested in wearing the heels. He wanted Arthur to wear them.
Step one of his plan was, of course, to purchase the heels. Arthur spent hours researching before he finally found the perfect pair. He couldn't deny the tremor of lust that shook his frame as he clicked Purchase. It seemed Eames wasn't the only one intrigued by the idea of Arthur in heels.
He had a quick extraction job back in the States coming up, so he shipped the box to his apartment in Los Angeles and decided to take a little detour on his way back to Eames. Eames pouted when Arthur told him the job had been extended for a few days, and he did his very best to convince Arthur to stay, but Arthur was firm. Eames would thank him for it later. Besides, the sex was always extra fantastic whenever they were going to be apart for any length of time. Sure enough, Eames was fucking insatiable that night, ensuring that Arthur's long flight back to the States was extra uncomfortable. It was worth it.
The heels were waiting for him when he finished the job, sitting in an innocuous brown cardboard box on his doorstep. Arthur's stomach tightened in nervous anticipation.
Step two of his plan involved learning to walk in the heels—not that he expected he'd be doing much walking in them. Mostly he figured he'd spend the majority of his time in the heels flat on his back, but it was best to be prepared. Arthur couldn't stand the thought of doing something half-assed, and it seemed to him that if he was going to be wearing the damned things, he should be able to walk in them. The last thing he needed was to fall on his face when he was attempting to be alluring.
It took several days, but by the end of it, Arthur could have given runway models a run for their money. He paused in front of his full length mirror, admiring the shiny red of the shoes against his pale skin. The red contrasted beautifully with the grey of his trousers and he wondered if he should get a new pair specially tailored to wear with the shoes. The height of the heels meant that the hem of his pants was a little too high, but ultimately Arthur decided against it. The high hem meant the heels were more fully on display, and that was the point, after all.
Step three of Arthur's plan was the final one: seduction. He flew back to Mombasa armed with his new heels and a thrum of giddy anticipation buzzing beneath his skin.
Arthur timed his arrival for when he knew Eames would be out—he liked to go to the casino on Thursdays—so Arthur would have plenty of time to prepare. He took a very thorough shower, and spent an embarrassingly long time inhaling the comforting scent of Eames's body wash. After that he put on his most devastatingly attractive grey suit, slid on the red heels, and waited.
He didn't have to wait long. Eames arrived right on schedule, sliding open the door with a predatory stealth that told Arthur he was well aware somebody else was in the flat. When Eames saw Arthur sitting on the armchair in the living room, his face broke out into a wide smile and he slid his gun into the entry table.
"Arthur, darling, you're home!"
Arthur returned his smile, his lips spreading wider when he saw Eames finally take in the rest of his appearance. Arthur's legs were crossed, and Eames's eyes went wide as his gaze stuck on the shiny red heel resting across Arthur's left knee.
"Do you like them?"
Arthur stood and walked closer, swaying his hips as the heels clicked seductively on the hardwood floor. Eames swallowed and licked his full lips before looking at Arthur with a mixture of hunger and shock.
"Is all this for me?"
"I inferred a few things from our conversation a few weeks ago." Arthur paused. He was sure he was right, and not just because of the heat sparkling in Eames's eyes, but he couldn't help the glimmer of nervousness. "I wasn't wrong, was I?"
Eames looked back down at the shoes, his gaze almost reverent. "Oh no, no, no. You're perfect. Do a twirl for me."
Arthur felt his cheeks flush at the command, but he obeyed, turning around in a slow circle. Eames let out an appreciative groan when he caught sight of Arthur's ass, and Arthur's flush darkened.
"Your arse looks phenomenal, darling."
Arthur finished his spin and raised a brow. "Doesn't it always?"
Eames laughed. "You have me there, but the heels…"
"I'm glad you approve. Now why don't you come over here and do something about it."
Eames seemed more than willing to comply. Taking one large step, he pressed himself against Arthur and before Arthur had a chance to blink, Eames's mouth was on his.
Before Eames, Arthur had never been much for kissing. Arthur was far more interested in the ends, rather than the means, and having some anonymous hook-up slobber all over his face was less than appealing. But Eames...Eames could kiss. With those sinfully full lips, it should hardly be a surprise that kissing Eames was a fucking revelation. He kissed with such skill and intent, such focus and enthusiasm, and it was hard not to go weak in the knees when Eames was sucking the air right out of Arthur's lungs.
When they finally parted for breath, Arthur felt dizzy from arousal and Eames voice was rough as he suggested, "Bedroom."
Arthur was more than on board with that plan. The two of them stumbled towards the bedroom, the effort made more difficult by Arthur's footwear and Eames refusal to detach himself from Arthur's lips. He lost his suit jacket and tie along the way, and he was so turned on he couldn't even bring himself to care that they were left in a rumpled heap on the ground. He'd deal with it later.
They paused just inside the door, grinding their erections against one another in an electrifying slide. Fuck, it had been less than a week since the last time but Arthur felt out of his mind with desire. His hands couldn't stop touching; smoothing over the muscles in Eames's t-shirt covered back, sliding down to squeeze his firm arse, running his fingers through Eames's impossibly soft hair. It was insane how much he wanted Eames, how much he still wanted him, even after years of fucking.
Arthur wasn't the only one. "God, I need to fuck you, Arthur. Need to fuck your goddamned perfect arse."
"That's—ooh—more than okay with me."
He picked a foot up off the ground and reached down to remove the red heel, but Eames stopped him. "No, leave them on."
A shiver went through Arthur's belly, even as he tried to stay practical. "I need to take them off to get my trousers off."
Eames grinned and shrugged. "Then leave those on, too."
Eames took that moment to push Arthur back against the bed, and Arthur went down in a flailing heap. Before he had a chance to gain his bearings, Eames's hands were on his waist, pulling his trousers and briefs down to mid-thigh and exposing his erection.
"Ahh, there you are," Eames crooned, before taking Arthur's cock in one of his big hands and giving it a slow tug. Arthur shuddered. "Can you reach the lube?"
It took Arthur an embarrassingly long time for him to realize that Eames was speaking to him, and his entire body flushed as he reached up towards their bedside table, fingertips grazing the tube of lube. He knocked it on its side, and with some awkward fumbling, managed to grip it and toss it to Eames.
Eames scooped up Arthur's legs with one arm so that both dangled over his left shoulder, and began to work him open with his free hand. Arthur had zero leverage in his position, but he still did his best to arch and wriggle into the feeling of Eames's thick, calloused fingers moving inside of him.
"Fuck, yes, please."
"You only had to ask nicely," Eames said with a crooked grin. He slipped his fingers out, and took hold of his thick cock. Like Arthur, he was still mostly dressed, his jeans shoved down just far enough to get his dick out. It was primal and dirty enough on its own, but then Arthur caught sight again of the bright red heels still covering his feet, and his own dick twitched against his stomach at the filthy tableau they must have made.
Eames shifted, placing Arthur's ankles up on his left shoulder so that Arthur was practically riding him sidesaddle. Though in this case, Arthur wasn't sure how much riding he'd be doing—that would be all Eames. The position meant the heels were right next to Eames's face, and he rubbed a stubbled cheek against the patent leather, his eyes darkening as he took in a long inhale. Arthur held his breath as Eames looked him dead in the eye and began to push against his rim.
Arthur couldn't help but moan at the heavy press inside. The position made him feel caught and unable to do anything except lie there and take Eames's cock. Eames eased in almost unbearably slowly, filling Arthur inch by inch until he felt drunk with the pressure of it all. He needed Eames to move, needed to fall apart with the devastating rapture of Eames's cock fucking him until he screamed.
His eyes must have broadcasted his need, because Eames didn't lose a second before starting a relentless rhythm that made Arthur see stars. Eames had Arthur's legs in a vice-grip against his shoulder and bicep, and with his other arm he braced himself by Arthur's head, giving him the leverage to fuck into Arthur with a soul-shattering intensity. Arthur let it take him over, gripping the sheets and chanting Eames's name as pleasure morphed inside him into the burning desire to come.
Eames was right there with him, grunting and swearing as he thrust inside. Sweat trickled down his nose, pooling in the dip above his lip and the cleft of his chin. Arthur felt the bizarre urge to follow the droplets with his tongue, to soak in the salty tang of Eames skin.
Eames's strokes were becoming rougher, faster, and Arthur knew he was getting close. Arthur's own climax hovered just beneath the surface, his cock dripping precome onto his abdomen with each grind of Eames's hips. God, he wanted to come, wanted to find sweet release on Eames's cock.
He unclenched one of his hands from the comforter and took hold of his dick, stroking himself hard and rough in time to Eames's brutal thrusts.
When he finally came, it was like the familiar adrenaline rush of a kick bringing him out of a Somnacin dream, the bottom dropping out of his stomach before pleasure exploded through him. He lay there, boneless and panting and spattered with come while Eames groaned and picked up his pace before finding his own release.
Arthur looked down at himself ruefully as Eames pulled out with a filthy squelch. His trousers had a large tear from where Eames had gripped them too hard, and his shirt was horribly wrinkled and dotted with flecks of pearly white. Eames's outfit hadn't fared much better, but all of his clothes were atrocious anyway, so that wasn't a great loss.
"Well, we made quite the mess, didn't we?"
Eames leered at him. "We certainly did."
"No need to look so smug. This was one of my favorite suits."
"I'm not the one who wore the heels, love. Seems to me that I can't be held responsible for my actions after seeing you all tarted up like that."
"You think a pair of heels is tarted up? It's a good thing I didn't go all out and try for stockings and garters. I shudder to think of how you would have reacted to that."
Eames actually did shudder, his eyes turning dark and smoldering and his breath going shallow. "Maybe you should try it next time and we can find out."
Arthur's pulse raced, but he smiled coyly as he wobbled onto orgasm-unsteady legs. "Hmm, perhaps for Christmas."
"Christmas? But that's ages away!"
"Well, maybe if you're a good boy, Santa will deliver your present early."
Eames pouted theatrically from where he collapsed on the bed, and Arthur made his way to their en-suite to clean himself off. His mind hummed with possibilities, scenarios, and a hundred different avenues to explore. He couldn't stop his giddy smile as he soaped himself up in the shower, already plotting his next move.
It seemed he had some shopping to do.