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Scattered Pieces

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I’ll come to you in pieces [so you can make me whole]


Arthur sank back into the pillows, turning his head to burrow close, searching for the elusive scent that said Yes, Eames had once lain here. He clenched his eyes tightly shut, his fist aching where he clutched his die (a joint gift for his 21st and their second anniversary: tickets to Vegas and a gleaming, clear, ruby, loaded die slipped under Arthur’s pillow as Eames smirked and feigned sleep beside him) as though he could reabsorb that precious time via the skin of his palm, and wondered with hitching breaths how this bleak, empty nightmare had come to be his life.

Dom told him once (midway through one of their epic, midnight existential debates about the relevance of choice and longing in the fabric of reality) that the only truly dependable way to tell if you were dreaming was to try and remember how you came to be where you were, and so –

- It goes like this:


Arthur woke abruptly, his eyes opening against his will and for a moment he could do nothing but blink against the light currently searing his retinas before slowly his other senses also began registering the details around him.

He was warm, too warm, and buried under what seemed to him to be a veritable mountain of bedding with... oh... a hot, heavy arm across his back.

Blinking until his eyes were finally fully focused, he bit his lip and stared – incredulous and wildly hopeful all at once, as he tracked the solidly muscled and blackly decorated arm back up to the equally ink-splashed shoulder, its owner lying face down, mostly concealed by the plump cradle of the pillow beneath him.

Breathless, Arthur grinned and bit back an exultant roar of triumph, the prior nights happenings slamming back through his brain in waves.

Drunken late night confessions had never been so good.

Slowly, he slid his palm out from where he’d shoved it beneath his own pillow, extending it in tiny increments as though the smallest displacement of air about them might break the moment and then – holding his breath – he gently pressed down against the upward thrust of downy softness that cradled (and concealed) his bed-mate’s face.

Centimetre by centimetre the gradual compression of pillow beneath Arthur’s palm exposed first the curve of a lightly stubbled jaw, then a gently flushed cheek (ruddy with heat and deep sleep) before abruptly the downward brush of lashes and red, relaxed curve of parted lips had Arthur gaping, somehow thrilled despite his certainty of who it was he had fallen asleep with.


He breathed the word, involuntary and heavy with reverent joy, before jerking in surprise as a blue eye blinked abruptly open.

Eames regarded him with a low-lidded, one eyed gaze for a moment before turning his head slowly against the close embrace of the pillow beneath his head until he could blearily blink both eyes at him, angling forward to brush his lips to where Arthur’s palm still trembled atop the pillowcase, resting alongside his face.

They looked at each other for a moment, silent but for the slow, sure breaths of sleep quickening into wakefulness, the crisp mid-morning light almost too sharp for their still half-lidded eyes as it over skimmed the skin above the covers, spotlighting the slow-building smiles twitching at the corners of their mouths. Arthur swiftly schooled his features into arch nonchalance as Eames abruptly affected a mock frown, his eyes twinkling as he leisurely levered himself up onto an elbow.

“What was I thinking?” He growled with a husky, sleep roughened voice that had Arthur half hard in seconds, his hips already itching to hitch upward as Eames moved slowly over him. “Taking an 18 year old lover? I’ll be dead of sleep deprivation before the month is out.”

Arthur cocked a brow and casually arched beneath him, enjoying Eames’ low hiss and appreciative stare as their bodies caught and dragged against each other.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he murmured breathlessly when Eames settled himself atop Arthur once more, his thigh already riding high at Eames’ waist from sheer muscle memory alone, “I’ll be 19 in three months.”

Eames made a soft, scoffing noise as he dragged his nose against the gentle rasp of Arthur’s own sparse stubble, turning his head to rumble directly into his ear, “Not really darling – that is, I’m sure I’ll be fine if I eat all my fruit and veg and be sure to take catnaps whenever possible et cetera,” he nipped at Arthur’s earlobe and Arthur whined low as his body fought him for both sleep and further contact with Eames, “but the thing is, I myself turn 26 in about a week, so – sadly - it really doesn’t really help at all.”

“Mmmm, 26.” Arthur repeated, unutterably thrilled by the random information, as Eames’ mouth hovered over his own, warm breath damp over his lips, “That’s old – I mean, you should probably be ashamed of yourself or something.”

“Or something.” Eames muttered thickly and then their mouths were back together, already breathless with barely two hours respite, as though picking up from precisely the point where they had left off.

Eames ground downward as Arthur moaned and pushed up into his kiss.

“Pervert.” Arthur taunted, groaning deeply a moment later as Eames sucked fresh marks atop the slightly smarting skin that he’d already traced with both tongue and teeth only hours before, then shuddered as the arm that had been looped about Arthur’s waist dipped low to press a questing finger to his throbbing and still-slick hole.

“Fuck Yes.” Eames affirmed with a shiver when Arthur traced blunt fingernails across the wide spread of twisting ink along his torso and shoulders, shifting to press the already blistering heat of his iron-hard cock to Arthur’s.

D-dirty old man.” Arthur hissed as Eames pressed his finger into where he had now twice fucked Arthur, still deliciously sore in a way that had him shivering, sweat breaking out across his body as he mewled, embarrassingly loud beneath the wet, heavy press of Eames’ tongue. They rocked together, urgent despite the prior night’s events, unable to believe their dreams were made reality even with fresh blooming love-bites, swollen lips and quivering muscles to lay testament to their truth, instead falling – breathless - back to rut and writhe together.

“W-what – no comeback?” Arthur gasped as he circled his hips beneath the slow grind and swivel of Eames’ above him, groaning encouragingly as a second finger slid inside him, pistoning in and out, quickly biting Eames’ lip to punish him for his gravelly smug chuckle against his mouth as Arthur rode his fingers with a whine.

“Fuck now – banter later.” Eames ground out between increasingly rapid thrusts against the slick, stiff flesh of Arthur’s erection, each new grind and swivel seemingly earning a fresh, desperate blurt of precome 'til they were fighting just to keep their slippery cocks in contact, skidding over bellies and hipbones and writhingrockingruttingFUCKING into each other.

Arthur laughed suddenly, delirious with delight and disbelief and came, his body shaking apart at the seams even as he struggled to stay twined and rocking against Eames, his mouth wet and open at his throat when he heard Eames mutter, “Fuck – oh FUCK Arthur...” and then come, thick, slippery and HOT across Arthur’s skin with a strangled cry.

They held in place for a beat, their breath rattling as seconds seemed too short to hold their hammering heartbeats, exhaustion crashing through them hot on the heels of their orgasms, both of them shaking when Eames’ elbow slid suddenly beneath his weight, Arthur whining softly when he was then forced to pull his fingers deftly free to better brace himself on both arms, their foreheads pressed sweat-slick and close as they panted into each others' mouths.

Arthur’s thigh muscles juddered once at Eames’ waist before protesting and falling feebly back to the bed with Eames following their example a moment later, groaning as he mashed his face against Arthur’s heaving chest.

Fuuuuuck...” He moaned tragically. “Arthur, darling I swear – I’ll die if we keep this up. I can’t take it – I admit it readily – I’m weak, alright? I require SLEEP, you bloody sex-beast you.”

Arthur snorted, amused even as his eyes slid shut and his limbs fell starfish-like against the sheets, boneless and wide-spread under Eames’ similar sprawl atop him.

“You started it,” he slurred and Eames grumbled slightly against his sternum.

“S’not true – was you.”

Arthur’s sigh took a lot more effort than it should have – easily as strenuous as his standard daily runs – so he contented himself with a lazily lifted eyebrow versus idly cuffing Eames about the head.

“Howsat?” he mumbled and Eames apparently found some as yet untapped well of energy deep within himself because he lifted up just enough to press an abruptly tender kiss to where Arthur’s heart still stuttered in his chest, pleasure-weak and sleepy all at once and Arthur cracked his eyes open just enough to look down to meet Eames’ drowsy blue.

“You were here,” he said softly and Arthur awoke just enough to drag a palm back from where it had rested limp against the bed, cupping Eames’ cheek and jaw for a moment before sliding his fingers into the perspiration damped strands at the nape of his neck.

“Nowhere I’d rather be,” he whispered and Eames smiled, dropping both his eyes and head so that his face was pressed tight to Arthur’s chest once more.

“Mm, s’good to know,” he muttered to Arthur’s nipple and Arthur smirked, letting his eyes fall shut.

Arthur felt as though he could simply sink into the mattress and disappear under the weight of his (admittedly blissful) lethargy and the warm, if crushing, weight of Eames spread over him, literally plummeting into a pleasant doze as his bones turned liquid and he heard nothing but the quiet hush of their breath in the quiet bedroom and-

“Ngh m’all sticky...” Eames lamented, apparently woeful and weary against his heart and Arthur’s body shook with silent laughter despite its overwhelming fatigue.

“Go to sleep Mr Eames,” he murmured drowsily and let himself begin to fall away once more.

“...bloody sex beast,” Eames muttered thickly even as his breaths fell deep and steady and Arthur was still smiling long after he tumbled after him into well-deserved sleep.


A clattering, buzzing noise awoke Arthur some hours later, the muted thrum of it somewhere up by his head annoying enough that he automatically sought to escape it, rolling further into the irresistibly warm body pressed all along his side, smiling as he pushed his nose against the salt sweat tang of hot skin and memories flashed, white hot and sharp against his brain.


“Mmph.” He groused, slurring the sound against Eames’ skin, dragging greedy fingers up one thick, hair roughened thigh, clenching against the warm muscle as he attempted to burrow beneath Eames’ weight, drawing his body over him like an especially sexy blanket.

Eames let out his own drowsy growl of disapproval, pressing a haphazard kiss into Arthur’s hair before heaving himself up and across Arthur’s still desperately huddling form, to disrupt the bothersome buzzing, snatching up the persistently vibrating phone from the night-stand with a grunt.

“Mm-lo?” he croaked, clearing his throat briefly as Arthur attempted to snuggle his way further beneath him.

“Hullo?” Eames said again, slightly clearer this time as his vocal chords and brain awoke enough to work in unison, it seemed, and Arthur smiled sleepily, looping his arms about Eames’ waist, already halfway back to dreamland when Eames stiffened, abruptly.

“I – um, yes. I he - He... he’s right here – I’ll just get him for you...”

A wide palm – somewhat more brutal than Arthur would have expected considering the prior kiss and cuddling – snared Arthur just above his elbow and hauled him mostly upright before releasing him to sag, squawking indignantly into the pillows.

He rolled over to glare, bleary and baleful to where Eames was now clearly wide awake, one hand clenched over the mouthpiece of – OH...

Arthur’s phone.

“It’s Ariadne,” Eames hissed, conveying his deep horror and regret by way of wide eyes and dramatically raised eyebrows, blushing deeply as Arthur gaped and gulped in turn, taking in their naked sprawl against each other with new eyes as he considered his sweet, wonderful, terrifying pseudo sister waiting on the other end of the line.

I’m not here – I just stepped out – I joined the Foreign Legion – I DIED...

Arthur sighed and felt the last of his sleepy bliss dissipate along with his cowardly desire to refuse the call, holding his hand out resignedly for the phone.

“Hey,” he said, hearing the husk of sleep on his voice and wincing as he met Eames’ eyes, both of them all too suddenly aware of the advanced hour of the day, smiling wryly as he heard Ari take a long, deep breath.

“Arthur,” she said with the same horribly calm tone she’d used right before opening her acceptance letters, “answer me truthfully please – you are in bed, yes?”

He took a short breath, bristling slightly with nervousness before smiling when Eames met his gaze sympathetically, plucking his free hand up to press a warm, comforting kiss to his knuckles.

“I am still in bed, yes.”

“And this bed, you’re not alone in it - right?”

He clenched his jaw.

“Ari,” Arthur growled warningly, not at all soothed by Eames’ soft chuckle.

AND,” Ari continued, untroubled by Arthur’s tone as her own gained something like teeth in it, “the person currently IN said bed with you – this person, Arthur - are they British?”
Arthur rolled his eyes and his head on his neck all at once.

“Ari, it’s Eames, ok? You know its Eames, I know you know its Eames, you spoke to him so – yeah, ok, it’s Eames, Ari – IT’S EAMES.”

Silence fell at the other end of the phone and Eames snorted gently. “Oh, very smooth darling.” Arthur sighed heavily.

“Listen, Ari-” he began, only to be cut off once more.

“Let me get this straight, Arthur – you are currently in Eames’ bed, with Eames at precisely quarter past one on a fine Sunday afternoon, presumably because you have slept with him?”

Arthur closed his eyes, a wash of cold dread coursing down his spine, heavy with the abrupt and awful notion that Ari might disapprove.

“Yes,” he said hesitantly and Eames frowned, shifting closer and nuzzling his hair as Arthur leaned into him.

“And this is – good? I mean, you’re ...happy?”

He shivered in relief, turning his face to smile against the curve of Eames’ jaw briefly, finally recognising her rigid tone for cautious concern and he ducked his head, blushing under Eames’ watchful gaze.

Blissfully so,” he said thickly and promptly jerked backward, his arm held out in front of him as a high pitched, delighted shriek wailed immediately forth and Eames laughed, wholeheartedly and long. He collapsed into Arthur, helplessly shuddering against him as Arthur’s lips quirked in kind, torn between horror and adoration of his best friend and beautiful bed-mate in turn.

OH MY GOD, TELL ME EVERYTHING!!” Ari screamed audibly from the distant phone and Eames’ laughter diminished immediately as he scrambled backward off the bed, leaving Arthur bereft and outraged even as he laughed at both of them in turn.

“Ok, darling, that is most definitely my cue to clear the area - I’ll leave you to your girl talk, shall I?” He sniggered, darting (gloriously naked) across the room and Arthur hurled a pillow after him, fighting to not smile too widely when Eames blew him a defiant kiss before ducking away into the bathroom.

“Well, I hope you’re happy,” Arthur mock-huffed into the phone, scarlet with embarrassment even as he smiled broadly, “Because of you, Eames has now retreated to the bathroom to laugh at me.”


He sighed and shifted himself upward, trying to settle upright with the pillows mashed behind him, aware of a strange knot of speechlessness forming at the back of his throat.

He coughed, his mouth dry and heard her sudden hum of understanding.

“So,” she gently began for him, “I’m guessing you didn’t stay home after we dropped you off last night?”

“I, uhm,” he cleared his throat, “I never actually made it inside. I – I came straight here.”

“Oh Arthur!” Her familiar, admonishing tone helped Arthur regain a semblance of normalcy, and he grinned, wincing slightly as she continued, “In all that rain?”

He laughed self-deprecatingly, a blush suffusing his skin as he recalled the urgency that had spurred him through the late night streets regardless of anything that might have kept him from Eames.

“Yeah, I was pretty wet... and drunk... and ridiculous...” He shook his head with remembered horror, the sting of his embarrassment still heavy on his tongue despite the bliss that had followed. “I passed out practically three steps into the house – he had to put me to bed – I’m lucky he didn’t just dump me in a cab and forget I ever showed up.”

“You – you passed out and then he took you to bed?” Ari’s voice was politely disbelieving but Arthur heard the undertone of VIOLENT DEATH and winced, glad at the current distance between Eames and Arthur’s would-be sister.

NO, no – god no – I passed out, then he carried me up, put me in the bed - his bed –and then he took the couch... then, then when I woke up I was TOTALLY sober and... I, I came and found him, he woke up and, and we talked.”

“You talked?”

“We talked, yeah.”

He stifled a laugh, her silence as eloquent as the rant she was no doubt biting back, and then:

“Awesome – so, how big is his vocabulary then?”

Arthur laughed, unexpected and explosively – his sore muscles aching pleasantly as he rocked into his mirth. “ARI! My god – Jesus – we talked, ok? We talked practically 'til dawn and –“

AND?” Ariadne’s voice reached heights that set Arthur cringing from the phone once more and he blushed further, suddenly unsure about his ability to share precisely what had happened the night before.

“And – and yeah, ok yeah – we, well I’m in his bed so you do the goddamn math, ok?”

Arthur sighed and placed the phone on the bedspread, rubbing his hands over his face wearily for the duration of her joyous shriek and pretended he wasn’t grinning into his palms.

“I’m not talking to you 'til you stop that,” he called down into the phone after a moment and laughed softly as he heard her muffling her further exclamations of triumphant glee.

“TELL. ME. EVERYTHING,” she yelled and he wrinkled his nose as he plucked his phone up once more.

“No, ok NO – that’s weird, we used to be related kind of and just... No, ok? I’m pretty sure there’s an over-share rule somewhere that clearly states you do not share explicit details with your best friend slash sister – it’s gross or something.”

“WHAT? NO WAY!” she bellowed and Arthur hissed, the vague threats of a hangover lurking just behind his temples and he wished vaguely that he’d thought to call her earlier so he could randomly yell into her no doubt throbbing head. “Arthur, there is NO FUCKING WAY you are not telling me something goddammit! For months I’ve watched you two circle round each other and then break and brood and make each other fucking miserable so I want details – not like PORNO level or anything, I still need to look you in the face and everything, eww – but you are telling me SOMETHING damn it!”

“Alright, alright – Jesus Ari! I just- this is, I can’t just -” His face flamed and he broke off, choking a startled laugh of disbelief down as he realised he had literally no idea where to begin.

He paused, realising he was panting slightly into the receiver and Ari clucked, seemingly sympathetic and impatient all at once.

“Ok fine – Yes, No or Pass then? C’mon it’ll be like a fun yet perverted quiz show.”

Arthur snorted. “What - like ‘What is Losing My Virginity, Alex’?” he quipped, only to jerk in horror as she shrieked once more.


“Pass,” he croaked, mortified, and mentally thanked several deities that Eames had already left the room.

“No, no you can’t do that – I’m sorry, ok? I’m sorry I went all nutso again, let’s start over: So Arthur, are you still a virgin?”

He sighed. “No.” he said quietly and couldn’t help but close his eyes and smile at the recollections, pinkening further at Ariadne’s quietly caught breath.

“So – uh, you ah-“


“You don’t know what I was going to say!”

“Yes I do.”

FINE,” she huffed with amusement, “you do – so... how was it?”

“That’s not a Yes or No question.”

She audibly ground her teeth, “Augh... FINE – Was it AMAZING, yes or no? Are you walking funny, yes or no? Is he just as pretty all over, yes or no? Did he ROCK YOUR WORLD Arthur, yes or no?”

At the precise moment Arthur parted his lips to respond, the bathroom door opened and Eames emerged – towel-clad, his skin flushed and dripping – to smile quizzically at Arthur, smirking as he saw the phone still clamped to his ear.

“And here I was waiting for you to come scrub my back,” he whispered mockingly, winking as he turned to start rummaging through what appeared to be an underwear drawer, and Arthur rose from the bed, mouth open – empty and unsatisfied – as he took in the beads of water rolling over Eames’ clean, wet skin.

Arthur – Arthur are you still there?”

Ari’s tinny, irritated tones from the phone shook his focus loose as he slowly crossed the room, gazing unabashedly at Eames’ barely clad form.

“Um, yeah – I’m still here... and yes. To everything you just said,” he muttered – distracted - and Ari all but howled in frustration.

“ARTHUR – you’re not even LISTENING to me, are you? I should....wait - oh my god he came back didn’t he?” Her tone rocketed straight from sulky to salacious in seconds but Arthur was focused on how Eames had stilled, slowly turning his head 'til he could smirk softly over his shoulder at Arthur, his profile more blisteringly GLORIOUS to Arthur than the sunrise they had witnessed, interlocked, that morning.

“I gotta go Ari,” he mumbled thickly and reached out a trembling, greedy hand to pull Eames toward him by the small towel ruched at his waist, yanking so that it loosened as he moved Eames round to face him, already lightheaded as their eyes met across the inches between them.

“ARTHUR WRIGHT, DON’T YOU DARE HANG UP ON ME!” Ari bellowed before Arthur could shift his thumb over to disconnect her, “You tell me... uhh, THREE ... three real things right now or I will ask you again about of all of this but IN FRONT OF YOUR MOTHER!”

Eames raised his eyebrows at the admittedly powerful gambit and Arthur sighed, jerking the phone back up to his ear as he stepped close, biting Eames’ damp, freshly shaved jaw before jerking back, Eames’ towel in hand, breathing heavily as he looked his fill.

“Three things,” he grunted, panting, “right – one: he just came back from showering alone thanks to this phone call, two: he is wet and naked right now, Ari thank you so fucking much for dragging this out and three-” He let his eyes roam, his gaze as unquenchably needy as his hands across Eames’ skin, 'til they stilled and Arthur swallowed. His eyes lingered on the taut expanse of skin where droplets still ran downward to embrace gravity.

“Three,” he whispered, swaying drunkenly, the space between them lessening 'til he could feel Eames’ breath mixing with his own.

Three...” Arthur all but whimpered as the hushed mutter crossed his lips alone, his mind fighting valiantly (if unsuccessfully) to free him from the call even as his blood thickened in him to the point of incoherency. His tongue crept out to wet his parched, throbbing lips and his breath caught in his throat as he felt Eames’ thickening cock lift to brush against him, a sudden, swift hand easily appropriating the cell phone.

“Arthur has to go now, Ariadne,” he purred and Arthur practically convulsed at the predatory promise of Eames’ eyes on him. “He says thank you for the somewhat alarming level of support but he’ll have to tell you a third thing some other time. Bye-bye now.”

With that he held down the Power button until the phone began to cycle through the OFF function before casually dropping Arthur’s now fully silenced phone to clatter atop his chest of drawers.

“Lovely girl,” he growled as he hauled Arthur into his arms. “AWFUL sense of timing.”

Arthur would have agreed but for the whine that seemed to roll out directly past his lips as he mashed them to the wet, lickable expanse of Eames’ throat. He gasped – open mouthed, wide and wanton – as Eames dug his fingers deeply into the firm flesh of his rear end, before using his grip to better roll their hips together.

Arthur ground himself into Eames, unable to help but sully the freshly washed skin with his own, his body still tacky with the well-earned sweat following a night (and morning) of passion. Their skin alternated between slick and sticky as he rubbed himself against the clean wall of damp flesh that was Eames’ body, Arthur’s arms upraised to cling tighter as he twisted his mouth to be kissed and they each fell back into the gasping urgency that had repeatedly plagued them through the early hours.

“Want – want it in my mouth,” he managed to gasp between Eames’ near violent thrusts, his erection rubbing sticky-slick smears across Arthur’s belly with every push and grunt. Arthur pressed his mouth tight and pleading to Eames’ ear, desperate, “Fuck my mouth – please, come on Eames – want to suck your cock...”

Eames shoved him back, hands tight at Arthur’s biceps, his eyes bright and fierce as they flashed over Arthur’s face, cataloguing his almost embarrassing need. He leaned slowly back into Eames’ heat, lust-drunk and shaking as he revelled in the desire burning in the Englishman’s black-blown pupils.

“Let me,” he whispered where he dragged his mouth over and against Eames’ own considering, pursed lips. “Let me suck you – I want to taste it when you come...”

Eames swallowed heavily and slammed their mouths together, brutal and brief before slurring, thickly compliant as he moved his clasp to Arthur’s hands, placing them against his hip and rigid, dripping cock.

“As if I could ever deny you anything, my darling...”

Arthur made an appallingly desperate sound and jerked forward to lavish wet, grateful kisses across Eames’ breathlessly laughing face and down his jaw to his throat, before jerking them round – half dragging and half leading Eames across the room to spin him, pushing him down onto the bed.

“Oi, watch it!” Eames guffawed as he toppled over the low footboard, abruptly breaking free of their cocoon of almost impossible sudden intimacy, his easy grin drawing Arthur back to month's worth of laughter and quiet craving from the passenger’s seat. “In something of a rush are we, Arthur?”

Arthur cocked a brow as he elegantly took to his knees, sliding a warm palm up the thick muscle of Eames’ thighs, enjoying Eames’ sudden expression of enthused appreciation even as he had to choke down his abrupt desire to laugh hysterically at the literal incarnation of his dreams. He found himself besieged by equal parts disbelief and delight as Eames lay sprawled before him, propped up on his elbows as he panted and laughed into Arthur’s shuttered yet smug eyes.

He mock growled and shuffled forward between the warm, splayed thighs, dragging his fingers up, twisting through the short hairs 'til he could nudge just the blunt ends of his fingers into the crisp dark hair at the root of Eames’ proud, flushed cock, working his thumbs against the already tightening flesh of his lightly furred balls.

The roof of his mouth felt tight, burning hotter than the rest of him (barring his weeping prick, possibly) and saliva flooded Arthur’s mouth as he simply allowed himself to look.

Eames’ body - previously just beginning to dry – now shone with the fresh gleam of sweat, aroused to the point of a deep flush mottling the skin of his chest, shading the inky scrawls and shapes from pale to pink. His breath caught and rumbled in his chest with every pant, his body loose and pliant but for his braced elbows, rosy rigid cock and the fixed, burning intensity of his eyes on Arthur.

Arthur wet his lips and swallowed back a low whine of need as the actuality of what he was about to do bled through past his overall appreciation of the man spread out, just waiting for his touch.

He was hard, so hard that it actively hurt, but he couldn’t risk a quick squeeze, so sure was he that even the slightest touch would have him coming all across the floor. His breath burned in his chest, leaving him giddy and somehow distant, as though he was watching himself from afar and so, slowly, with great care to not whine or groan like a greedy child, he dipped his head to press a tender kiss to the petal-soft dome at the tip of Eames’ erection.

And then he smiled.

He couldn’t help himself, the fingers of one hand splaying across the plane of one firm thigh as his other moved to close about the base of Eames’ thickness. Then, with the hot, blunt press of Eames’ cockhead against his mouth, Arthur simply had to smile – euphoric and close-lipped – just the damp drag of his curving lips over Eames’ skin already the realisation of so many yearnings that he shivered with it. His eyes fell shut and he hummed with gentle bliss as careful fingers ghosted over his brow.

“You like that?” Eames breathed, wonderment making him sound as though he were miles away, his voice the merest whisper in the wind between them.

Arthur nodded slowly, his lips catching further – opening against the barely there pressure of the motion - and he didn’t even try to stifle his quiet moan of need as just the tip slid into his mouth.

He pursed his lips around the flare of the head, muttering, slurring his appreciative noises back into Eames’ flesh as his lips met and pushed gently against Eames’ foreskin, already mostly drawn back to reveal the slick, reddening shine of him. Arthur pressed his tongue against the shallow indent in the tip and groaned, feverish and overwhelmed at the sudden blaze of flavour.

Still groaning, he pushed down further, entranced by the slow drag of thick, hot hardness over his tongue, his lips clinging, quivering against the heat even as his tongue twitched and surged against the taste.

Jesus FUCK...” that was Eames again, a million miles away, it seemed, though the scorch of him beneath Arthur’s body held him close and steady, the sun to his tremulous satellite as he pulled up and sank back down, unable to keep the soft needful noises from spilling past the occupied stretch of his lips.

He moved his hand then, moving upward tight and slow 'til he could press against his mouth, forcing his lips back against his teeth for the brief spark of reality the tiny pang evoked and Arthur pulled off, panting and keening quietly as he pressed his face into the juncture between Eames’ thigh and groin. He mouthed at the damp skin there, smoothing his tongue against the flat enamel of his own teeth and then the salty, hair-rough tang of Eames beneath his face, his hand still clutching loosely, twisting and stroking wetly at the head, his fingers trembling and stroking all at once.

“Hey – hey, c’mere you, Arthur – Arthur, come here darling.”

Eames sat upright, forcing Arthur from his near boneless slump against his thigh, a hand tight in his hair as he tilted Arthur’s face to his. He hauled him up and close to kiss him, deep and adoringly, even as he shushed him with feather light strokes and gentle squeezes, muttering softly into his mouth throughout.

“It’s too much – it’s ok – you don’t have to – want you so much no matter what – fucking love kissing you when you taste like me – it’s ok – let me take care of you now darling – it was just a bit too much...”

Arthur pulled back, his eyes wide, imploring, as he looked directly into Eames’ eyes in turn and leaned his weight heavily into him, slumping into the hand at his nape.

“It's so much,” he whispered worshipfully, already pulling away. “It's so much...”

He had his mouth on him again almost before he’d finished speaking and Eames swore, groaning and surprised as Arthur sank down, trying to cram as much of Eames inside his mouth as he could take, slurping somewhat noisily as he swirled his tongue against the ridges and veins, moaning with abandon as Eames accidentally thrust in further.

“Jesus! FUCK... Ca-careful darling – steady...”

When Arthur was 13 there had been a video clip circulated between the male students, a three second mpeg that looped constantly unless stopped, of a red-lipped woman pulling slowly all the way back off of a thick, almost plastic-looking cock to gasp prettily as the subsequent ejaculation coated her mouth and face.

Arthur had beaten himself raw to the thought of that clip – not because of the woman, naturally, but because he’d wanted to be her so badly his mouth had actively watered at just the thought of it. His first sex toy had been the most realistic he could find and, until Eames, the hardest he’d ever come in his life had been the day it had slipped into his throat and he hadn’t choked.

He let his precome and saliva-slicked fingers beat up against his lips ruthlessly, battering them as he worked the base of Eames’ cock in time to sharp sucks against the fat, leaking dome atop his tongue and groaned when Eames’ hand tightened yet further in his hair.

He dropped down then, flirting with his gag reflex as he let just the corona scrape the back of his tongue, his throat clenching reflexively, tears darting to his eyes as he rubbed the same spot over and over, letting his throat quiver and jerk minutely 'til he felt the need to slide back up, his mouth a tight, unrelenting seal about Eames’ twitching prick.

A thumb tip brushed just under the compacted curve of his lower lip, pressing it flush against his straining flesh before croaking gently, “Arthur – look at me.”

Arthur eased up and back, swallowing reflexively and gazed up at Eames through eyes framed by wet spikes, the lashes tear-damp as his throat protested its proposed usage.

He held Eames’ gaze and mouthed slowly, rapturously, at his cock, the head still resting just at the cushion of his lower lip. He suckled gently before pressing several sweet, sharp kisses to where clear pre-ejaculate pumped free with every heart-beat.

Look at you...” Eames whispered and Arthur flushed, dizzy with want and the pounding pain of his own arousal, moving the hand that had been hotly clutching at Eames’ thigh and hipbone to firmly press on Eames’ sternum, holding his eyes as he acquiesced and allowed himself to be pushed back onto his elbows to watch. Their gazes locked as Arthur ran his tongue from root to tip and hummed, lapping at the length of it as he would an ice cream cone.

“You fucking love it, don’t you?” Eames murmured huskily and Arthur nodded against his stiffened flesh, using the motion to drag his lips up and down once more – all but purring at the savage appreciation written dark in Eames’ eyes.

He held his eyes for as long as he could but already his mouth was watering, and resisting felt somehow like the burn from holding his breath too long and so, between one breath and the next, Arthur was slipping down once more. He sucked, swirling his tongue and emitting tiny hitched noises with each barely repressed thrust up of Eames’ hips, mewling as each movement pushed the Englishman’s cock deeper, pounding faster against his gag reflex 'til the tiny stabbing motions were nothing more than flutters at the top of his throat and all Arthur could think was next time, next time, NEXT TIME...

He wished briefly for the ability to speak and suck at roughly the same time Eames started pulling Arthur’s head into his thrusts, just the tiniest jerks of his hand in Arthur’s hair, drawing him down into every hitch upward and Arthur would have momentarily traded his soul to crow Yes, fuck my mouth, come on, I can take it. He settled instead for moaning constantly, delightedly, and groaning desperately each time Eames yanked him up for air, ignoring his whine to keep going.

Arthur had forgone his jerking motions in favour of rubbing rhythmically at the thickening base of Eames’ dick, squeezing and pressing his thumb into the underside as Eames began a slightly circling motion that seemed to grind his cockhead further into the hot clutch of Arthur’s mouth with every push and Arthur was mentally chanting now, NOW to try and make his throat accept the full girth and heat of Eames’ cock pounding into it, when abruptly Eames pulled too hard, stiffening as he attempted to pull Arthur back by his hair.

“Arthur – Arthur... darling, I’m- I’m going to come – ARTHUR, I’m going to come...”

Arthur hesitated for the barest moment, torn between pushing for further depth and finally (FINALLY) truly tasting Eames, and so he pulled back up, his fist flying between the root and his lips now, cheeks aching with the force of hollowing so quickly, so powerfully against just the tip of Eames’ surging cock and, with a cry, Eames emptied himself over Arthur’s tongue.

Arthur almost sobbed with pleasure, the pulse of each jet of come over his palate somehow everything he’d wanted and nothing at all like he’d thought it would be. He swallowed quickly as it rapidly built up behind his lips, shivering at the flavour – so similar to his own and yet infinitely better – as his hips jerked desperately against nothing. He moaned and smoothed a hand up, shaking and triumphant, to skate over Eames’ heaving flanks, riding the motion as the Englishman fully collapsed against the bed.

He continued suckling at the softening, slick flesh for a moment before a soft, pained noise from above him had him pulling off regretfully, nosing into the damp hair at the base to inhale – soap, sweat and semen – before turning to pant, exhilarated and mostly broken at Eames’ hip.

He was just considering whether or not he actually had the energy to beg when suddenly Eames surged upward, hands at Arthur’s shoulder and armpit as he hauled him up and off of his apparently tender knees and on top of Eames. Arthur splayed over him with a pained cry as his incredibly patient and throbbing cock nudged Eames’ taut belly and then Eames was forcing Arthur to his knees and elbows above him.

FUCK, you’re so good...” he muttered as he yanked Arthur’s mouth down to his, his hand back and proprietary as it gripped tightly into the hair at Arthur’s nape, his other reaching down to – aaah....

Arthur whined in desperation, his arousal so far gone as to have become painful as Eames’ jerked quickly at him, their tongues clashing between their lips as they mouthed and bit at each other.

“Tell me – tell me you fucking loved it, tell me you love it that you fucking taste like my come now.” He snarled the words against Arthur’s sore, swelling lips and something like tears burned at the back of Arthur’s throat with the sour-salt tang of Eames across his tongue.

“I loved it, I love it...” he sobbed and kissed him, burning as his chest heaved and stuttered under the weight of that sudden truth.

I love it – I love you - I‘M IN LOVE WITH YOU...

Arthur cried out, sharp and surprised against Eames’ mouth and came, painful and writhing as Eames relentlessly wrung every last drop of glass-sharp pleasure from him.

He sagged, collapsing atop Eames, aware of nothing but Eames’ mouth still tugging and pressing at his – gentle now, reverent – floating for awhile until the very real threat of sleep settled over him. He jerked slightly, lifting his head to fight it and blinking, met Eames’ eyes.

“Hello,” Eames murmured softly amused and Arthur flushed, wondering how long he’d had Eames pinned down, grimacing as he attempted to lift his weight from Eames only to find them steadfastly glued together with sweat and the entirety of Arthur’s ejaculation.

“Umm-Hey,” Arthur rasped and bit back a grin at the flare of interest in Eames’ eyes over his lightly ravaged voice box. “Didn’t you say something about washing your back in the shower?”

Eames smiled, slow and so stupidly radiant with satiation that it made something hurt in Arthur’s chest, as he eased up to trace Arthur’s reddened lips with a somewhat trembling finger-tip.

“You have the best ideas, darling,” he purred, and Arthur dipped down for a quick, smug kiss before allowing himself to be laughingly manhandled into the bathroom where it turned out that, as ideas went, it really was excellent.

End Day One.