*Sept 23, 2012 NOTICE* FFnet took down 25 of my stories because they deemed the content 'inappropriate'. Because of this, any story I post with this notice at the beginning will be censored and incomplete. I will have edited it to make it suitable for FFnet and will still be a 'story', but in my opinion the quality will be decreased. I have either taken out scenes for sexual content or violence. If you would like to read the full story, which I strongly recommend, you can do so on AO3 here: archiveofourown(dot-org)/users/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles.
At least 50% of my stories cannot be reposted on FFnet because they will be removed again and I could get banned. I strongly encourage you to simply bookmark my AO3 page and read all my stories there. You can also follow me on Tumblr for story update news, here: onewhositswiththeturtles(dot-tumblr-dot-com)
Thank you.
Sway Your Hips to the Beat of My Heart
Disclaimer: I do not own Inception or the characters
Warnings: M/M pairing, public sex, sex for money, stripping, pole-dancing, insinuated slavery
Rating: M
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
IMPORTANT NOTE, PLEASE READ: The full length of this story is 30,000 words. As you can see, that is not posted here. I only posted the first part of the story here so that people would be aware of it. This is more like 'chapter one' rather than just a notice so I'm not breaking any rules. Anyway, you can find the full story here: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/519885
Summary: Eames' boss has an odd sense of humour, or an odder sense of social etiquette. As Eames spends a week in a high-end strip club to observe a mark he will be forging for their next job, Eames' boss decides to buy him some entertainment to keep him from getting bored. This entertainment comes in the form of a stripper by the name of Arthur.
Eames settled down into the soft black leather of his chair – his new home for the next six nights. He would be frequenting this high-end strip club for the next week, pretending to watch the stage while he actually watched the bar directly on his right. His chair was tucked into the corner of the main floor, tables and chairs scattered around the polished wooden stage attached to the far wall and protruding out into the sea of hungry observers.
The secondary floor was for more aloof observers; a platform raised three steps above the main floor and separated with a black iron railing as it curled around the three walls surrounding the stage. Through the railing Eames had a perfect view of the bar and, more importantly, the head barman who was involved with some deadly dealings under the table. In this position Eames could observe unrushed, shadowed and out of Brian's main line of attention.
Just as Eames found the perfect position for the cushions to pull him back, hug him close, he noticed his boss approaching from the left side of the club. Eames was a little wary but wouldn't comment, even though he could see the shimmering curtains along the left wall hiding semi-private rooms for generous customers. However, Eames did raise an eyebrow when he noticed someone else trailing behind Larry, mostly hidden from view.
"Eames," Larry greeted cheerfully. Eames masked his wince at having his name spoken aloud. It was a fake name, true, but one he preferred in his profession. He hated working with unprofessional people and Eames silently swore to himself to ditch Larry as soon as his old debt was repaid. "I bought you something to keep you from getting bored," Larry continued on, oblivious or uncaring of his slip and Eames' subsequent discomfort.
Eames watched as Larry stepped aside to reveal a young man, maybe only a few years younger than Eames since he looked to be early twenties. He could only assume that the man standing in front of him was a dancer of the club with Larry's proclamation of 'buying' him, but it took Larry giving him an impatient nudge from behind for the dancer to step forward.
Eames indulged for a moment, taking in the body standing before him. The dancer had a black mop of hair that looked like it had originally been combed back, then made dishevelled, and finally combed back again with fingers. The rest of him looked prim and proper though. His body was lithe beneath the trim cut of his suit, waistcoat hugging a narrow waist. When Eames glanced up he noticed the sharp line of the man's mouth, and the sharper, dark eyes scanning him in return.
Forcing himself to look past the dancer standing expectantly in front of him, Eames glared at Larry. "I don't need an incentive. Nor do I appreciate a distraction."
"Oh just have fun with him," Larry gave the dancer another push forward and Eames caught the brief scowl that passed over the young man's face. "He's already paid for. I'll expect a report Sunday morning."
And with that Larry was disappearing toward the exit. Eames signed and pinched the bridge of his nose, praying for patience. When he dropped his hand and looked back up he saw that the dancer was still standing in front of him, staring expectantly. "What exactly did he pay for?" Eames asked, dreading the answer.
The dancer shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I'm supposed to keep you company until closing at 2am," he explained, though Eames knew there was a lot more insinuated with the word company. "And he paid for a lap dance."
"Look, I mean no personal offence because you're quite lovely to look at," Eames offered, getting rather uncomfortable with the dancer just standing over him. "But I would really rather avoid any distractions tonight."
"Distractions," the dancer repeated, stepping closer until he stood between Eames' legs, forcing his knees apart. "You're in a strip club with a paid-for dancer. What could I possibly be distracting you from?" Immediately Eames went tight-lipped, unwilling to give any more away. Just because Larry was a moron didn't mean Eames had to be one as well. However, the dancer seemed to take Eames' silence as surrender and crawled up into Eames' lap. "I insist."
Eames did his best not to shiver at the rich purr of the man's voice, the warmth of his body pressing close. "Why?" Eames questioned. "Shouldn't you be happy to get paid without having to do any work?"
He caught the dancer's quick glance over one shoulder up to the balcony overlooking the club. Eames could read the wariness in those intelligent brown eyes, and could feel the tension in his thighs where they straddled Eames' lap. "No reason," the young man promised a moment later, turning back with a practiced smile. "Maybe I just think you're lovely to look at too."
Eames pondered for a moment, considering the dancer's reactions. He had done some research on the club before settling himself for his reconnaissance mission, so he knew that the owner always hosted high-profile businessmen and politicians up in the balconies. Eames didn't know who the dancer was scared of, but there was obviously someone he was trying to please and it wasn't Eames. "That's sweet of you," Eames smiled, doing his best to brush away his annoyance and discomfort in case anyone was watching. "But it's because you'd get in trouble if you didn't perform, right?"
The man's smile dropped, though he didn't pull away. "What gave you that impression?"
"I can read people," Eames said simply. He moved his hands from the chair's armrests to hold the dancer's hips. "What's your name?" he asked softly.
The dancer hesitated. "Arthur."
"Well, Arthur," Eames tested out the name on his tongue, gripping suit-clad hips a little tighter and pulling Arthur closer in his lap. "Let's keep you from getting in trouble, shall we?"
He could have pushed Arthur off and sent him away; it was no business of his if the owner punished his dancers. But that thought left Eames feeling a little tense, and he reasoned that this wasn't the worst hindrance he could face. Eames still had another five nights in the club, and having a dancer with him might even make him less obvious and out of place to anyone paying attention. He could just be a desperate businessman in the city for a week.
Arthur rested his hands on Eames' shoulders and hooked his knees against Eames' hips, finding a solid base for himself. "Is there anything in particular you like?" Arthur questioned against Eames' jaw, breath warm.
Eames chuckled so that he wouldn't moan instead. "Do you always ask your clients for hints?"
Arthur pulled away just enough that Eames could see the smile quirking one corner of his lips. "No. But you're not exactly a normal client, are you?"
"I'm normal enough to appreciate your skills," Eames admitted, feeling a little bold as he slid his hands up to feel the curve of Arthur's waist under his burgundy waistcoat. "Is there any particular reason why you're dressed to fit in at a bank?"
Arthur glanced down at himself, taking in his own attire. "Many clients who come here like suit attire," Arthur explained, looking back to Eames and leaning a little closer. Eames choked on a breath as Arthur began swaying his hips in a slow, teasing circle. "The others can pay to remove the clothing."
Eames hummed, glad his lap dance didn't involve a strip tease since he wouldn't be able to decide whether he wanted the clothes to stay on or off. "So what are the rules? Can I touch you?" he traced his fingers up Arthur's side teasingly.
Arthur shivered pleasantly in Eames' lap. "Yeah," he agreed, beginning to rotate his hips with more purpose. "Just not under my clothes."
Deciding that it would be a shame to waste this opportunity, Eames allowed his fingers to skim over Arthur's body while the dancer moved against him. He spread the expanse of his palms along Arthur's thighs and back but then traced each finger holding his shoulders with the tips of his own, taking in details. Eames realized quite quickly that Arthur was skilled at what he did, moving his warm weight against Eames again and again at just the angle and pressure Eames needed to feel his skin tingle.
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Continued here: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/519885
(A/N: I'm sorry for only posting the first part but I don't want to get reported again)