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The guy is always at the gym. Arthur only goes four times a week but he assumes this guy is there 24/7. Arthur may or may not have cataloged exactly when the man enters the private weight room during his workout regimen. The gym is big enough to have a separate smaller room off to the back for the more hardcore weight-lifters. The first time Arthur stepped foot in the room, his presence was an instant attention grabber; he gained a few smirks and raised eyebrows, but the guy and his blond friend--his trainer, Arthur assumed by the constant words of encouragement--had just smiled at him. Arthur never forgot, however, how one smile was definitely sharper than the other.

Arthur had first noticed the man a few weeks ago, when he’d used a leg curl machine right across from where Arthur was working on his bicep curls. The man had huge arms, thick and cut with definition. His shoulders were broad, and his chest was all hardened muscle mass that rippled with each lift of his thighs under his tight white T-shirt. The cuffs of the man's shirt were tight around his upper arms, the muscles stretching the fabric taut. Arthur had let his eyes drift slowly down to the man’s thighs, which reminded Arthur of tree trunks. He found himself wanting to press his palms to them and see how far his fingers could curl; he doubted he’d even make it a quarter of the way around. The man had caught his eye then, and Arthur blushed furiously, blaming it on the workout.

That had been weeks ago, and Arthur is still in a constant state of arousal around the man. He worked up the courage to enter the smaller weight room last week. This is his fifth time there, and he has to keep reminding himself not to lick his lips every time he watches the man--discreetly, he hopes--out of his peripheral vision. The man is definitely British from the few words he’s uttered, and today’s the first day he happened to catch his name: Eames. Arthur likes it; wishes he was alone so he could roll it around on his tongue, fit it in his mouth and feel the weight of the consonant.

Arthur watches Eames as he stands in front of the mirror, lifting free weights in each arm, his biceps curling and tight. Arthur does lick his lips then, from his seated position on the bench press.

When he’d first told his mom he wanted to join a gym, she’d said, “But honey, you’re so skinny!” Arthur had rolled his eyes and said, patiently, “People do go to the gym for things other than losing weight, Mom.” Arthur is sixteen and still one of the scrawniest kids in his grade. He didn’t want to look like Eames; he just wants a little bit of muscle, that’s all.

Arthur let his eyes drift to Eames’ ass, round and perfect-looking beneath the fabric of his work-out pants. No, the things Arthur wanted from Eames had nothing to do with learning about weight -lifting, unless Arthur was the object being lifted.

He curses himself under his breath when he feels his cock begin to stir.

Eames and his trainer look at him in the mirror, and Arthur forces himself to meet their gaze. “Looks like you’ve got a fan club,” the blond guy says, light and humorous.

“Shut it, Dom,” Eames says good-naturedly.

“Dom” grins and then looks at his watch. “Shit, I gotta go and meet with one of the reps. I’ll catch you back here later.”

Arthur watches him go, then looks around the room, which was practically empty, and realizes this is the first time they are mostly alone. He swallows hard. Eames was still looking at him in the mirror.

Arthur gives him a quick nod and then lies down on the bench. He’d adjusted the weights previously, from 50 to 100. He’s not going to show his weakness around this freaking iron man. He’s okay the first press, then the second, until he cranes his chin forward and catches sight of Eames bending down, that ass is in perfect view. Arthur loses himself in the movement, and then finds his arms shaking and the weights tipping toward the side.

Suddenly all the weight is off him and Arthur is staring up, flushed, at an amused-looking Eames.

“Easy there, mate.” He replaces the weights to the bench like they’re nothing.

“I’m fine,” Arthur snaps. He knows he sounds like a petulant child, but there’s something about the smirk on Eames’ face and the way he easily carried the weights that makes him feel ridiculously small.

“Yeah, you really looked it,” Eames says, but his tone is almost fond. Arthur feels his irritation melt away. “What’s your name, then?”

“Arthur,” he says, sitting up and resting his hands on his knees, which are slick with a fresh sheen of sweat. Eames walks back over to his weights and starts doing the curls again, this time facing Arthur.

“See you here a lot. Mine’s Eames.”

“Yeah, I--” he starts, then thinks, shit, no, don’t, and recovers, “I’ve seen you too. Nice to meet you.”

Eames looks him up and down, and Arthur feels himself flush. “You’ve got a little bit of tone going.. and you’ve got good shoulders. You should keep at it.” Arthur’s sure Eames’ eyes have narrowed and that lick to his lips was nothing if not deliberate.

He swallows around the sudden thickness in his throat. “Thanks, I plan to.”

Eames smiles at him, baring his teeth, which Arthur notes are crooked. That’s hot, he thinks, and his cock stirs as his eyes settle on Eames’ face, his long lashes, and dark, gorgeous eyes. Arthur bends down to take a drink from his water bottle just so he can have something to do.

Eames nods his chin towards the bench. “You wanna try again? I’ll spot you.”

What Arthur really wants to do is jerk off in the showers, but instead he nods. Even though being closer to this guy will most likely have him coming in his pants, he still wants it like burning.


The first thing Eames does is take him back down to 50 pounds.

“You need to build up to it. No sense hurting yourself this early in, yeah?”

Arthur grits his teeth, but nods. He can’t exactly be angry with Eames’ thighs spread right above his head, his legs bent at the knees as he lowers the weights to Arthur.

Arthur breathes through his nose and focuses on Eames’ eyes, the slant of his nose, rather than the sharp, hard planes of Eames’ body, which his hands and mouth are aching to touch.

“That guy’s your trainer?” Arthur asks simply to fill the silence around his rapid breathing.

“Trainer-slash-manager-slash-best mate. He’s the one who told me to stop picking pockets and fights with guys in bars and start using it to make some real money. Had a few bookings, but nothing major, yet. Thinks we can get on the next tournament, though.”

Eames sounds excited when he talks, and Arthur finds himself falling into it. He feels that way about a few things – film, music, comics. Listening to Eames, however, makes him realize he hasn’t found his real passion yet.

“That’s.. really cool,” he says, trying not to concentrate on the ache on his arms.

“Hey, look at me,” Eames says softly, as if he knows what Arthur’s thinking. “You’re doing great.”

“I can handle it,” Arthur snaps again, frowning. He doesn’t know why he does these things; doesn’t understand why he snaps at his parents irrationally sometimes, why he feels anger like it’s bubbling out of control and he just wants to punch something.

But Eames doesn’t look put-off or pissed. In fact, it just makes him smile wider, baring his beautifully imperfect teeth.

“Didn’t say you couldn’t, love.”

Arthur nearly groans at the low rumble of his voice.

Eames spots him for a few more minutes, and Arthur can feel the sweat trickling down the sides of his face. He longs to wipe at it, but won’t stop until Eames says.

Eames reaches for the weights then, and Arthur immediately reaches for his towel.

“You ready to try some free weights?”

Arthur nods, wiping at his face. Eames is standing in front of him again, bouncing a little from foot to foot, like a boxer in a ring. “Told you, I can handle whatever you’ve got.”

Eames stops bouncing and stares at Arthur so hard and sharp it makes Arthur’s breath stutter.

“I don’t doubt you could..” Eames says, low, and Arthur’s never heard a tone that filthy outside of movies.

He’s definitely hard now, and eternally grateful for the looseness of his shorts. Eames bends to grab the weights, and presses both into Arthur’s hands. When Arthur notices they’re two 25 pounders, he raises his eyebrow at Eames, who holds his hands up. “To start.”

Arthur laughs and lets Eames maneuver his bicep into a curl. “Like this,” Eames says. "Now back. Don’t lock your joints.”

Arthur follows the movement and Eames lets go, watching closely. He circles Arthur like a hawk before coming to stop in front of him, leaning the weight of his back against the mirrored wall. “How old are you, then?”

“Eighteen,” Arthur says immediately.

Eames raises one eyebrow. “Yeah? You at university?”

“Yeah,” Arthur says, not flinching from his gaze.

“Which school?”

When Arthur takes a second too long to answer, Eames smiles triumphantly. “Thought so.”


“Don’t,” Eames cuts him off. “Sometimes ignorance is bliss.” The air feels charged around them.

Arthur allows himself to lick his lips outright now. He may have gotten things wrong in the past (mistaken Robert Fischer’s ridiculous friendliness and pretty than most girls features for interest/homosexuality) but he knows he’s not wrong about this.

Eames’ eyes are on his lips and Arthur watches them in the mirror. “How old are you?”

“Old enough to know a bad idea, still a bit of prat to not particularly care.”

Arthur feels like he’s lost control of this conversation yet he’s too turned on to care.

But then Eames shakes himself visibly and motions to the weights, now motionless in front of Arthur’s chest. “Keep going,” he says and moves to pick up a jump rope. “Dom will yell bloody murder if I don’t get some cardio in”

Arthur does, and steals glances at Eames in the mirror. At one point Eames stops and starts taking pictures of himself. He’s done it before; in fact, it was the first thing Arthur had noticed about him, aside from his shoulders. And his arms. And his chest.

Eames flexes his muscles: flash. He strikes a pose: flash. He faces with his back to the mirror: flash. Arthur keeps going until his arms are sore and his hands are sweaty, barely taking his eyes off Eames. Eames steals little glances at him too, winking occasionally, and Arthur wonders exactly what his intent is and how they can possibly get there.

Eames goes back to the jump rope and starts talking. He tells Arthur about MMA, which Arthur knew a little about. He tells him about Dom and how he’s doesn’t have his own training facility yet but he’s working on it. Most of all, Eames talks about the rush of it all and how it feels to take a man down with his bare hands. Arthur shivers at the words, images fleeting through his mind like a flip book.

Dom comes in then, and when he sees Arthur, and how it’s now only the two of them in the room, he shoots Eames a disapproving look.

“Been good, mate, swear. Doin’ my cardio and everything.” Eames' voice is the epitome of innocence, and Arthur laughs outright.

Dom shakes his head. “Look, James isn’t feeling well, so I gotta get home. You can probably wrap for the day. Meet you tomorrow, okay? And don’t…” He looks back at Arthur, wearily, and then turns to Eames. “Just, don’t.”

They both watch as Dom walks out, and when Arthur turns back to Eames he notices he’s biting his lip, as if seriously pondering Dom’s words.

Arthur’s not stupid. He’s captain of the debate club; he knows how to sound convincing. It always takes him a little while to get there, to shake off the nerves that want to bust through, but before long he’s loose with the anticipation of a win. Arthur may not be experienced in these matters per say, but he’s watched enough movies to know what lust looks like and he knows innuendos when he hears them. He just needs to gain his footing and simultaneously make Eames stop looking like he’s about to say, ‘well, this was fun, best be off.’

“Can we do more?” Arthur says, the words a rush of air, tumbling out too fast and hard.

Eames scratches at the back of his neck and observes Arthur. “I think you’ve had enough for today.”

Arthur sucks in a breath and moves forward, letting his fingers brush along the cuff of Eames’ shirt. Now or never.

“I haven’t even begun.”

Arthur watches as Eames’ nostrils flair and his pupils grow dark. He lets his fingers trace below the fabric, skidding along hard muscle and flecks of hair.

“Is that so?”

Arthur takes in Eames' roughened voice and nearly groans in pleasure. He can feel his cock leaking and he knows he’s never been this hard before. He digs his heels down into the floor and tries to quell the sudden shaking of his legs, nearly boneless with want.

Arthur curves his fingers around Eames’ bicep, watching in fascination how little he can grasp. He feels the muscle jump under his palm and he tightens his grip.

‘You like that?” Eames breathes, suddenly closer, head bent next to Arthur’s ear.

“Yeah,” Arthur says, then jerks his head up quickly, angling his face towards Eames. Eames inches back and their eyes lock.

“I’m going to hell for this,” he rasps, and then Arthur feels full lips against his and he’s being tugged forward while Eames walks them back against the mirror, landing with a loud thud and shaking the walls around them. Arthur feels his footing slip and he’s tipped forward, all of his weight on Eames’ body except his toes, which are still angling for purchase on the floor.

Eames breathes against his mouth and then roughly parts Arthur’s lips with his tongue. Arthur opens beneath him, and their tongues tangle briefly before Eames is sucking on Arthur's hard, so hard, and Arthur thinks he might come right then and there. His hands are on both of Eames’ shoulders, twisting and digging in while he sobs moans into Eames’ mouth.

Eames pushes him away with one arm to his chest, just holding him in place. “Fuck,” he says and looks toward the door. “Tell me you’re at least sixteen. I don’t care if you’re lying.”

Arthur licks his lips and tries to move forward, but Eames’ one arm is enough to hold him in place without any give. “I’m at least sixteen.” He’s sixteen and six months, to be exact.

Eames just laughs breathlessly and leans his head back against the mirror while looking up at the ceiling. “As if that’s supposed to make it better,” he mutters. Arthur’s about to say something, but then he’s being tugged around the corner to the other exit of the weight room.

“Come on.”

Eames leads him past a few empty rooms, until he steers Arthur into one and closes the door behind them. “My friend is the Pilates instructor here,” he says by way of explanation. “No one ever uses this room at this time.”

The room is one of the smaller studios, narrower than the others, and Arthur takes note of the mirrored wall. He suddenly wants Eames to press him up against it again. He makes his way towards it without Eames until there’s a strong mass of muscle against his back and hands closing large and firm around his waist.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Eames growls and Arthur can hear the teasing behind it, the playfulness when Eames bites at his earlobe. God, this is going to be good, he thinks and lets go of the rest of his tension. He gives himself completely over to Eames and his mouth that’s biting it’s way along the underside of Arthur’s jaw and his hands that are splayed wide on his hipbones, pressing into the curvatures and inching closer and closer to his cock, which is utterly confused as to why Arthur hasn’t taken care of his boner yet.

Eames walks Arthur towards the mirrors, watching them, watching his own hands as he finally flicks a teasing hand over Arthur’s cock. Then Eames is spinning him around and pinning Arthur with his weight, letting Arthur feel the entire length of him flush up against his body. He feels small and breakable under the unrelenting crush of Eames’ body, and it’s delicious and desperate and everything Arthur wants.

Eames slides their hips together, wrenching his leg between Arthur’s thighs and lining up their cocks. Arthur’s never experienced friction like this, and his head falls forward onto Eames’ shoulder as he gasps.

“You gonna come for me already?” Eames pants, his mouth wet and lewd against Arthur’s neck.

Arthur can’t stop touching his shoulders, his back, anything he can reach. He strains upward, which only causes his cock to rut harder against Eames’. He drops his hands to his sides and then slips his hands arms around Eames’ waist, palming his ass.

“God, I wanna make you come,” Eames moans, knocking into his body again and again. Arthur gasps and claws at Eames’ ass, fingernails digging into the nylon. Arthur wraps his leg around Eames’ thigh when Eames’ mouth finds his again, sucking a breathless moan from his lips with his tongue. Eames groans and fists his hand in Arthur’s hair, then hefts him against the wall with just one hand leveraged on small of his back. Arthur’s sneaker digs into the curve of Eames’ ass and he hangs on, with Eames holding him, one hand in his hair, one on back and his hips driving Arthur further and further to the edge.

Eames is biting at his lips, his jaw, his neck; anywhere he can reach while Arthur focuses on every drag of his cock until he feels his own release upon him like a storm.

“Eames, oh god, I’m gonna,” Arthur gasps wetly. Eames bites sucks at the base of his throat, right where the neckline of his T-shirt is and says, “yeah, fuck, yeah, come on,” and Arthur does, shaking and sobbing in Eames’ arms. His thighs and legs and trembling and his position around Eames falters. Eames just keeps holding him; keeps kissing him until Arthur is hanging lose in his grip, being kissed around his choking gasps for air.

Eames’ hips are still moving shallowly against his when he’s lowered to the ground and it’s only then Arthur realizes Eames didn’t come.

“You..” he starts, and motions downward, his hand reaching out to stroke the front of Eames’ pants. Eames arches into his touch and his eyes slide closed briefly. When he opens them Arthur takes in his blown pupils and the fresh sweat branding his face.

“We’re not done yet,” Eames purrs, and Arthur’s dick twitches painfully.

Arthur swallows hard when Eames inches closer, pressing him fully against the mirror. Eames drags the pad of his thumb, blunt and heavy, over Arthur’s bottom lip, tugging it down. “Have you done this before?” Eames asks, his voice all breath and not much else.

Arthur legs feel like jelly and his arms are aching from holding onto Eames and the previous workout. “What?” he asks, hopefully less dazed than he feels.

Eames laughs loudly. Okay, maybe not. “Any of it..”

Arthur sighs, a hiccup of breath, as Eames’ large hand glides down his throat, gently squeezing. “Not really..”

Eames’ hands skim down Arthur’s sweat-soaked T-shirt, dipping beneath the hem and skittering along his sides; his hands are rough and calloused; a fighter’s hands, Arthur thinks in a rush, and his cock jerks between them. He’s knows Eames felt it when the curve of a smile is felt against his collarbone.

He mouths along the cotton of Arthur’s shirt, biting lightly. “That’s right, gonna make you come again.”

Arthur lets loose a keening sound, arching against Eames. He can feel the slickness in his underwear as Eames cups him gently, running his knuckles along his rapidly hardening cock.

Eames slots his mouth over Arthur’s, slow and languid, licking his way between his lips and sighing into his mouth. Arthur’s never experienced anything like it before, and it makes him run his hands frantically up and down Eames’ chest, tracing the contours of muscle. He's admired Eames' tattoos from afar before; now Arthur finds he wants to see them up close and follow the path they take along Eames' body with his tongue.

Arthur’s hands scramble at Eames’ chest when he starts to move away, except when he looks down he sees Eames has only gone as far as his knees. Arthur inhales sharply as his head thuds against the mirror. Eames slowly works his shorts down, mouthing at his cock through his white briefs. Arthur groans and raises a shaky hand to Eames’ hair, just resting there. Eames makes a low noise, and Arthur takes it as encouragement to twirl his shortly cropped hair beneath his fingers. Arthur tugs hard when Eames fits his mouth along the clothed head of Arthur’s cock, sucking through the wet fabric.

Eames eases down his briefs, and Arthur watches as his cock nearly hits him in the face. It makes Arthur laugh, a little crazily, which is totally worth it when Eames beams up at him. Instead of sucking him down, Eames starts licking along the base and the damp curl of hair. It hits Arthur so suddenly, what Eames is doing, and his lungs feel his lungs feel too tight.

Eames licks at Arthur’s come, his tongue flat and wet, and it’s the best thing Arthur’s ever felt, aside from Eames’ hands holding him up. Eames takes his time, teasing. Arthur feels him inhale, his nose tickling against Arthur’s balls.

When Eames slides his tongue up the length of Arthur’s cock, wrapping his lips around the head in a flash, it’s like a surge of heat through Arthur’s body, and his hips stutter forward on their own accord. The thinks he could come again, feels his body tense, and then the heat wet heat of Eames’ mouth is gone as quickly as it arrived. Eames rises from his knees, and Arthur watches him reach down to grab his own cock, giving it a quick tug. It’s incredibly hot in its carelessness.

Eames presses his body flush up against Arthur’s again, and it feels even better against Arthur’s bare torso. Eames rests his forehead against Arthur’s, presses shallow kisses against his lips.

“I wanna fuck you,” Eames breathes, palming the swell of Arthur’s ass as he says the words. Arthur jerks in his arms and shudders hard. “Do you want that?”

Arthur trembles in Eames’ arms, which are now firmly around his waist, his thumbs brushing the cleft of Arthur’s ass. Arthur feels his lungs expand, the weight of Eames’ words surrounding him.

“Yes,” he chokes out. “God, yes, please.” He just wants to wrap his leg around Eames’ waist again, ride the expanse of his abs and feel him everywhere.

“Shit,” mutters Eames, and it sounds something like surprise. Arthur manages a shaky smile at that. “Okay, you stay here, gorgeous. Don’t move.”

“Where--”Arthur starts and Eames kisses his lips quickly.

“Need stuff.. be back in a jiff. Uh, can’t believe I’m going to say this, but pull up your shorts, love, in case someone comes by.”

Arthur does, and leans back against the wall, his mind suddenly racing alongside the anticipation thrumming through his body. Arthur figures that "stuff" means condoms and lube, he guesses, and then he thinks what kind of guy he’s fooling around with who readily has these items. He looks to the far right of the room and can see from the windows that it’s pitch black out. He’s never been at the gym this late before, and he’s sure his phone is buzzing up a storm in the gym locker.

Eames is back a minute later, jogging toward him, his hands clenched in fists. He fits himself against Arthur immediately, kissing him hard, letting Arthur feel every inch of his stubble, the sharp scrap of it making his skin buzz with want. Then Eames is turning him around and murmuring, “We’re gonna make such a mess,” in a voice that says he’s incredibly excited at the prospect.

Arthur laughs a little, and feels the first set of nerves set in. They start to melt away as soon as Eames starts kissing along the back of his neck before lifting his shirt up and off in one smooth movement. The glass feels cool against Arthur’s overheated chest and he lets his weight rest against it. Suddenly he hears the soft rip of something and then Eames is pushing his shorts and underwear back down with one hand, pooling them around Arthur’s ankles and kicking his thighs apart with his knee.

“Relax,” Eames whispers. “You’re gonna take it so well.”

Arthur moans at the first feel of Eames’ finger, running up the cleft of his ass and pressing between his cheeks. Eames’ breath is hot on the back of his neck “You can handle anything I give you, right? ‘S-what you said, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Arthur groans, and feels a slick finger at his opening, circling his hole and pressing inside. He gasps at the feel; he's done this to himself before and even more so since first seeing Eames, but Eames’ finger is thicker, bigger, and shivers in pleasure at the thought of his cock. He pushes back against Eames and feels him slide in to the knuckle.

“Oh, shit. You’re so tight,” Eames grunts against his neck, pressing biting kisses there. He says it like it’s the most incredible gift Arthur could give him. Arthur wants to hear him sound that way again, so he presses back, fucking himself on Eames’ finger and loving the feel of it stretching him, making him ache the way a vigorous workout does.

“You okay?” Eames asks, his voice tight.

Arthur nods, unable to speak suddenly, mouth falling open on a wordless moan as Eames pumps into him. He feels him pull out to the tip, and then there’s additional pressure which Arthur recognizes as a second finger. He lets out an involuntary gasp and Eames just runs his free hand up and down Arthur’s side, raising goosebumps upon his flesh, before palming his belly in soothing circles.

“That’s good, you’re doing beautifully. Fuck, I want you,” Eames moans.

“Eames,” Arthur sobs, then Eames presses deeper, crooking his fingers slightly and dragging over a spot Arthur’s heard about from the internet but never been able to reach himself. But he knows this must be it because his dick leaps from where it’s making horrible wet trails against the mirror. The danger and rush of it all finally hits Arthur, and he nearly almost comes again until Eames’ fingers tighten on his hip.

“Can you take three?”

“Bring it on,” Arthur gasps, and Eames does. Arthur's never felt so full or open. It burns but it’s good, so good when Eames hits that spot again. Arthur sees flashes of white behind his eyes and feels his thighs begin to tremble with each thrust of Eames’ blunt fingers.

“You ready?”

Arthur flattens his forehead against the glass, his hair sticking to it, and nods. Eames swipes at Arthur’s hair, gently tucking it behind his ear and then tips his chin upward. “Look at me,” Eames says, and Arthur meets his eyes through the mirror. . The room is barely lit around them, but he can still see hints of bright red spots high on Eames’ cheeks. Eames is flushed more than from a normal work-out, and it makes Arthur feel triumphant.

“Say it,” Eames commands, voice so rough and thick, Arthur wants to drown in it.

“I’m ready,” he says, meeting Eames’ eyes in the mirror.

Eames groans and steps out of his pants quickly, tearing open the condom wrapper with his teeth. Arthur rests his head against the mirror again until he feels Eames’ hand on his jaw.

“Watch,” he says.

Arthur lets his head fall back, fitting against the swell of Eames’ massive shoulder; lets Eames step between his parted thighs. Eames raises one arm and shows off his muscle in mock seriousness, just like one of his photos. Arthur’s laughter bubbles out of him and he feels his dimples take shape.

“That’s it,” Eames says, and then Arthur feels the head of Eames' cock pushing at his entrance, but he’s still laughing and it all feels too crazy, like he’s unraveled and can’t find his way back. Eames’ hand is a warm and reassuring presence against his stomach. Arthur presses back against him as he slides in slowly, the stretch of it making him grimace.

“Wanted to get my hands on you since I the moment I saw you,” Eames gasps against his jaw, pressing shallow kisses into Arthur’s skin. “Those pictures were all for you.”

Arthur’s going to come, he knows it. He cries out when Eames slides in deeper, brushing against his prostate, and then he’s bottomed out and not even moving yet but Arthur..

“Hold on for me, Arthur,” Eames grits out, and Arthur watches him, takes in his body and how he’s holding himself perfectly still and how he just said Arthur’s name like it was greatest thing to ever leave his lips. Arthur presses back against him and starts to move, wills his dick to focus on unsexy things.

“I need to fuck you,” Eames gasps, biting down hard on Arthur’s earlobe and tightening his hold around his waist.

“Yes,” Arthur moans, reaching back to grab one of Eames’ thighs, urging him forward.

That’s all it takes. Eames pulls out half way and drives back in, and Arthur nearly screams with the sensation of Eames, filling him up, and dragging along nerve-endings he never knew existed. He tries to meet Eames’ thrusts, but he’s soon held in place by both of Eames' hands. Arthur looks down between them, watches the curve of his own dick, red and full against his torso, watches Eames’ fingers flex over his ribs, trailing upward to flick at his nipple. Eames twists it between his fingers, making Arthur arch into the touch.

Then his hand leaves Arthur’s chest and jerks Arthur's cock, spreading the thick fluid at the head. Eames grip is fast and sure, and the combination of his cock in his Arthur's ass and his hand on Arthur's dick is the best thing Arthur’s ever experienced in his sixteen years on this planet.

“Feel good?” Eames asks, voice low and fond, as if he can read Arthur’s thoughts.

Arthur responds by coming all over Eames’ hand and the glass with a sharp cry. He meets Eames’ eyes, dark and full of heat, and if he weren’t already panting he would be from the sight.

“Fuck, Arthur,” Eames says and starts fucking him harder. Arthur braces one hand against the wall and keeps his other on the juncture of Eames’ thigh and ass, digging his fingers into one of the cheeks and feeling only taut muscle. He groans in appreciation while Eames’ fingers skid upward toward his abs.

“See?” Eames says breathlessly, tracing along the muscle there, "You’re doing so well. You’re gorgeous, love.”

Arthur lets out a stuttering breath and watches Eames’ fingers move along his skin, outline the muscle definition that wasn’t there a few weeks ago. “You feel so good,” Arthur admits, and then arches back again, baring his neck for Eames, who latches onto it immediately while his hips drive forward with intent, knocking Arthur completely flat against the wall and holding him there.

“I wanna pick you up and sit you on my dick, let you ride my cock while telling me how badly you want it. Fuck, you want it,” Eames growls.

“Yes,” Arthur moans, his cheek smashed against the glass. He watches as his breath fans against it, fogging up their reflections. He keeps his eyes trained on Eames, on the snap of his hips and muscles in his upper arms which are rippled tight as they his fingers dig bruises into Arthur’s hip bones.

“Fuck, I’m gonna.. Arthur,” Eames gasps, and then blindly finds Arthur’s mouth in a kiss, tugging at his lower lip with his teeth and groaning as his rhythm falters. The pace is frantic and sharp, and Arthur feels owned and wanted. Eames feels incredible inside him and he never wants him to stop, thinks he could even come again. But then he feels the quiver of Eames’ legs against his own and the jerking of his hips. Eames comes with his tongue in Arthur’s mouth and his hand on his thigh, crushing Arthur into the wall with all of his weight.

Eames doesn’t move for several long seconds, just gasps against Arthur’s neck while Arthur struggles to breathe. Finally Arthur shrugs him away slightly when he starts to lose oxygen from the brunt of taking on over 200 pounds of muscle. Eames laughs a little and cards his fingers through Arthur’s hair.

“Gonna pull out, okay?” Arthur nods and whimpers as Eames does so; he’s unsure if it’s the action or the loss it brings.

Eames had grabbed a towel when he’d run off earlier, and he wipes them both clean while they trade glances and tentative smiles. Eames tucks Arthur’s hair behind his ear again and kisses him, wet and slow.

“You should shower,” he says.

“Will you join me?” Arthur asks, baldly, while tugging on his shirt; his nose wrinkles at the rank smell of it.

“If I do, I’ll definitely be arrested for public indecency. Among other things,” Eames says, with a slight wince.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Suit yourself, old man.”

Eames groans and bangs his head against the mirror. “You’ll be my downfall, I just know it.” He thumbs at Arthur's bottom lip and pulls him in for a kiss that tastes like a promise. “Get on with it, then.” he adds, patting Arthur on the ass.

Arthur does, a little begrudgingly.

When he gets out of the shower, wincing and reveling in the soreness he feels, Arthur finds five missed calls and three text messages from his mom. The last one says she’ll be down at the gym if he doesn’t answer soon and that she never should have agreed to letting him ride his bike, no matter how close it is to home. Arthur swears under his breath and rushes out of the locker room toward the exit.

He looks around the parking lot, just as his mom pulls up and calls, “Arthur!”

When he steps toward the car, a glimpse of muscle catches his eye. He turns to find Eames leaning against the brick of the building, looking perfectly put together and fucking amazing. He grins at Arthur, then waves to his mom. Arthur looks at both of them, wide-eyed.

“Arthur, who’s that? And why haven’t you answered?” his mother asks irritably.

Debate club, he chides himself. “Hey, mom. Sorry. This is Eames, he’s an MMA fighter and uh, he’s been training me a bit. We kind of… lost track of time.”

His mom frowns and narrows her eyes at Eames. “Oh. Well..”

“Your son’s a really fast learner, ma’am,” Eames says.

Arthur nearly chokes.

“Why, thank you. Er, Mr.. Eames.”

Eames walks toward the car and grins. “Sorry to have worried you. Next time I’ll gladly give him a ride home.”

Arthur keeps his eyes trained on his mom so he doesn’t have to see those crooked teeth or the lethal smile that comes with them.

“That’s very kind of you,: his mother says, looking less harried. “Come on then, Arthur. Grab your bike.”

Arthur meets Eames’ eyes as he goes to get his bike from the rack. Eames smiles at him, slowly and Arthur feels his pulse race. He allows Eames a fast smile before loading his bike up and getting into the car.

He thinks he’ll ask his mom if he can start going to the gym seven days a week.