This was a prompt I posted over on the lj kink-meme, but it wasn't filled so I decided to do it myself. This is by far the longest thing I've written and costed me many hours of sleep and a horrible sunburn, but it was worth it because this pairing is my OTP of all other OTPs (even McFassy).
Over on my lj account - nresimes(dot)livejournal(dot)com - I have some artwork posted for this story, along with a lovely fanvid that someone made for me based on another prompt.
I dedicate this to my lovely betas, Demon's Song (who disappeared but who I still adore), and Gunnr, who has wonderful stories and took this one on to beta on short notice and pointed out my horrific mistakes.
Without furthur ado:
The Ten Rules of Architecture
1. Irrational judgments lead to new experience.
2. Ideas do not necessarily proceed in logical order. They may set one off in unexpected directions, but an idea must necessarily be completed in the mind before the next one is formed.
3. Successful architectures changes our understanding of the conventions by altering our perceptions.
4. Perception is subjective.
5. Architect may not necessarily understand their own architecture. Their perception is neither better nor worse than that of others.
6. There are many elements involved in a work of architecture. The most important are the most obvious.
8. Banal ideas cannot be rescued by beautiful execution.
9. When architects learn their craft too well they make slick buildings.
10. For each concept of architecture that becomes physical there are many variations that do not.
Arthur stared at Ariadne blankly. "Sorry, you'd like what? Because if you said what I believe I just heard, then the answer is a definite no."
Ariadne stomped her foot in protest. Her eyes were wide and pleading, albeit surrounded with slight purple stains. "Arthur, please. I need this. I've been planning this for weeks. Leading an art class is worth thirty percent of my final grade. I have a room to use because Professor Miles lent me his personal seminar room, I have flyers advertising the class, I have all of the supplies, and I have no model. This class is tomorrow and there will be no one to draw. You told me you would weeks ago!"
"I said that exactly eight days ago. And that was before you mentioned that you needed a naked model."
Ariadne made a put-out face that suggested that she had heard this argument before. "I'm exploring the beauty of man without the ideals of society! Not every man is blond, blue-eyed, buff….you're a different type of beautiful, Arthur. You're perfect for my class!"
Arthur groaned. He closed his eyes and furrowed his brow, running a hand through his hair. "Ari – what about those notices you posted around the facility? The ones offering, what, fifty dollars for a model? No one stepped forward?"
She frowned, looking sheepish. "Ah, well, yes, one did. But this session doesn't work without two models!"
Arthur paled. "You expect me to pose naked with another man? For two hours?"
"An hour and a half, actually."
Arthur's expression remained frozen.
"Arthur, I need this. I'm begging you. I'm on my knees. Don't you remember what it was like to be a struggling university student?"
(Arthur didn't. He didn't do struggling.)
"I am going to fail this program, and you are the only person who can save me. What were you planning to do tomorrow evening, anyways?"
Arthur decided to ignore the question. He pinched the bridge of his nose briefly and let out a sigh. "What do you even need this course for? You're an architect!"
"Professor Miles told me that painting is one of the closest links to architecture, even before sketching, because it's precise and exact and if you mess up once you're fucked. The ten rules of architecture can be directly applied to painting; it's actually quite amazing. Besides, I needed other courses so I took this one, and now I need to pass it." She pouted ridiculously. Arthur surveyed her warily; he knew that she was not above resorting to violence.
He pursed his lips. "Fine."
Ariadne let out a squeal of delight. "Arthur –!"
"But I expect much greater payment," he interjected quickly. "I will not settle for anything less than sixty dollars."
She flung her arms around his neck and pulled him in tight hug. "Oh, Arthur. For you I can spare sixty-five."
The next evening, Arthur stood in front of his mirror hopelessly. Ariadne's lesson started at eight, and with thirty minutes left Arthur still had half of a closet to go through. He had started off with a long sleeved shirt and jeans, which had seemed too casual, and then moved on to a full suit, which seemed redundant, as he'd be naked for ninety percent of his time. He finally settled on wearing nice pants, a classy but not too formal striped brown and beige dress shirt, a gray vest, and a beige, brown and gray silk tie. He sighed heavily as he smoothed his hair back, and then grimaced as it fell back into eyes. He had just showered – because he was nothing if not thorough – and putting in his usual pomade had seem pointless at the time, although now, with his constant attempts to tuck his hair behind his ears, it was starting to seem like a better idea.
With his Rolex reading twenty to eight, he buttoned up his vest, fixed his tie in a Windsor knot, and left his apartment, opting to take the stairs as apposed to waiting for the elevator because Ariadne would never forgive him if he arrived late.
He caught the bus with seconds to spare and spent the fifteen-minute ride absentmindedly smoothing his clothing. He had never posed for anything but family photos, and although Ariadne had seen him in all his glory before – that one New Years party when he was really drunk, and the time when they all went skinny dipping – he was not in the habit of publicly stripping. He considered all of the possible ways that this could end horribly to pass the time and almost missed his stop.
He arrived on campus with five minutes to spare and jogged up to the second floor, scanning the room numbers for 3210. Of course, it was the only room with lights on in the virtually empty building, and a low buzz of awkward conversation made its way from under the door. He stood outside, listening to Ariadne speak.
"Good evening. My name is Ariadne and today I am going to take you through a brief lesson on painting. I'm majoring in architecture, and as you may know already there are many similarities between architecture and painting – they both involve perception and judgment, and force you to be precise and artistic at the same time. So, I'll be giving you a lesson on art through the eyes of an architect," she paused here, a little unsure of how to continue. "Um, if you'd like to grab some supplies from that back counter and then choose an easel, I just need to prepare our models" There was the sound of shuffling from inside the room and Arthur marveled at how well Ariadne seemed to be handling herself. Just as he was thinking that Ariadne could probably manage without his help, Ariadne flung open the door.
"And here's our second model now! Class, I'd like to introduce you to my friend, Arthur."
Arthur studied them as the scattered chorus of "Hello, Arthur," arose. He irrationally wished that she had used a pseudonym.
There were ten students sitting in the room, which was certainly small compared to the lecture hall that he expected from a university. Most of the painters appeared to be in their early twenties, but there was also a man of about forty and a woman in her seventies. The majority of the painters were women, although the class held three men.
Ariadne beamed at him. "Arthur, I present to you Mr. Eames, who will be modeling with you today."
Arthur shifted his gaze towards Mr. Eames, who was lounging in a chair at the front of the class, looking obscenely self-assured, not at all uneasy. He was an attractive man, with light brown hair and gray-blue eyes. Unfortunately, his ridiculously plush mouth was pulled into an insufferable smirk that immediately had Arthur suppressing the urge to cock an eyebrow.
The man held Arthur's eyes as he stuck out his hand. "Just Eames is fine, Arthur," he said jovially. He had a distinct British accent and he drew out the "A" in Arthur and practically rolled the "R". He shook Arthur's hand in a firm grasp and then turned to Ariadne "I suppose we ought to get out of these clothes then?"
Arthur's gaze flickered to the class, but none of them seemed surprised. He imagined that Ariadne had prepared them – or perhaps she had included that useful piece of information when she advertised the class. And judging from the nonchalant tone that Eames used, Arthur figured that he was probably the last person to be told.
Ariadne grinned. "If you don't mind, that would be lovely." Eames began removing his shirt – a ridiculously tacky "Some prick went to Mombassa and all I got was this lousy t-shirt" t-shirt – and Ariadne turned to Arthur. "Arthur, if you would?". She gave him the puppy dog eyes and he sighed heavily before averting his gaze and deftly unbuttoning his vest. As he slipped it off he glanced at the man beside him, only to find that Eames had shed all of his clothing but his boxers. Eames shot him a glance before hooking his thumbs under the waistband and yanking them down.
Arthur looked away quickly, but not before the image of Eames' toned body was burned into his retinas. One tattoo over his arm, the trail of hair on his abdomen that lead down to his cock, which, from the quick peek that Arthur had been shown, was fat and in no way small. Not that you could ever really know these things when one was soft.
But now Arthur was thinking of an aroused Eames, so he shook off that though as he moved to take off his tie and shirt.
"Actually – could you leave the tie on Arthur? I have an idea," said Ariadne, and she had a look on her face that Arthur knew was trouble, but he was trying to avoid associating with anyone for the next hour and a half so he did as she asked.
He moved on to undo his trouser button and lowered his fly. He raised his eyes to see Eames stealing glances with a slightly opened mouth, as if Arthur was a particularly delectable pastry. Far from looking sheepish, Eames winked at him. Arthur huffed and removed his briefs all at once, refusing to glance down at his lap. He stared at the door, pointedly avoiding the eyes of the class, who were surely gawking curiously at him, when Ariadne cleared her throat and he was forced to make eye contact.
To her credit, Ariadne's eyes never left his own. "Alright, now, Arthur, if you could just lie on the floor, there," she gestured to a blanket that she had placed on the cold linoleum floor.
Arthur complied, laying on his side on the blanker. Facing the rest of the class like this, Arthur stared determinately at their feet.
"On your back, please, Arthur."
Arthur raised an eyebrow but refrained from making a sarcastic comment.
"Now, Eames, if you could just sort of stand over Arthur," she paused as Eames did as she asked. "Yes, and then crouch on top like – no, not like that, er," She sighed. "Do you mind – could I just touch you for a second? Move you into place?"
Eames smirked at her lasciviously, crooked teeth and all. "You can touch me whenever you'd like, love."
Ariadne blushed.
Ariadne was shameless, nosy, out-spoken and self-assured. She never blushed. Not even that time when Arthur had tricked a kiss out of her – she had been shocked, sure, but then she had smirked and gotten him back soon after by tricking one from him.
He and Ariadne had a strange relationship. They had met at a freshman Christmas party, when Dom had asked him to scout out a chemist at the university so that they could get lab supplies, but instead he had befriended a young architecture student, and they had been all but inseparable since. Their relationship had started off from mutual respect, which quickly blossomed into a mutual attraction. However, time spent with one another had turned them into best friends, and past the "almost-siblings" line. One particularly alcohol-fueled night Arthur told her that he no longer wanted to fuck her brains out (that much) and she had retaliated by saying that after finding out how anal he was, she now longer wanted to ride him like a cowgirl. Then they had kissed, open-mouthed and dirty, sloppily and platonically, and that had been the end of it.
So seeing her blush for Eames, who was grinning as she positioned him over Arthur, caused an irrational surge of jealousy to arise in Arthur. Not for Ariadne's reaction, per se, but for the fact that the man could evoke such a reaction with the slant of his mouth and the glint in his eyes.
Eventually she had Eames straddling Arthur, his knees on either side of Arthur's hips as he sat back on his own legs. His arms were braced and placed on the floor by Arthur's neck.
"Arthur, if you could prop yourself up on your elbows and lean into Eames, please?"
Arthur shot her a resentful glance but did as she said.
"Hmm, Maybe – Eames, could you grab his tie? As if you're pulling him closer."
Eames grabbed his tie and pulled.
Arthur gasped. Loudly. He could feel the thick strip of silk dig into his windpipe, cutting off his air supply. His breath caught in his throat as he was yanked forward, his head thrown back and his lips at an angle, inches from the other man's face.
"Less dominating and more…passionate. Like you're pulling him in for an embrace," Ariadne directed. Arthur wanted to stare incredulously at her – had she not just seen Eames try to strangle him? – but in his current hold he was forced to stare straight ahead.
"Like this, professor?" Eames asked, saint-like, before yanking on the tie once more and crushing Arthur's lips to his own.
Eames released him before he could react, but the brevity of the kiss did not make Arthur any less angry. "Asshole," he spit out as soon as he caught his breath. "Just because you're lips have their own God damned zip code doesn't give you the right to put them anywhere you want."
A full-blown smile broke out on Eames' face. He looked like a child. "It speaks!" he crowed gleefully. "I thought I might have to get my hands on those lovely trousers of yours before I got any sort of reaction"
"You touch those trousers and you'll find yourself …" he found himself at a loss for an appropriate threat that would describe how deeply and entirely fucked Eames would be.
"I'd be wounded if your act wasn't so transparent."
The sound of a clearing throat stopped the men from continuing their bickering. The whole class whipped their heads towards the doorway to find a white haired woman with a binder in her hands. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and her lips were pulled into an equally tight smile. "Good evening, Ariadne. I hope you'll excuse me for my tardiness. I'm afraid that I was caught up in traffic…" she glanced from the two bickering men twisted together in a ridiculously intimate embrace to the blank canvases of the ten people in the class "Although you'll forgive me if I assume that I didn't miss much."
Ariadne had the good grace to look sheepish, although she failed to control the defiant twitch of her eyebrow. Her cheeks had no flush, and again Arthur recalled Eames' pet names. "Professor O'Neil! I was just positioning the models for our painters," she slipped into professional bullshit mode. "You see, I'm hoping to have the lowlights hit their predominant features, while the stronger lights to reflect off of the front board and hit their shaded areas." She refrained from looking smug with her explanation and added, "We were just about to get started, Professor. I'm extremely glad you made it on time. There's an easel and some brushes in that corner over there," she said, pointing to a station in the far right hand corner.
The woman sat herself down in the seat and focused her dark eyes on Arthur. He gulped and looked away, but found himself staring into the gray eyes of the grinning man above him. Ariadne began directing the class as Arthur tried to look away from Eames, but now that the painters had begun, Arthur could not turn his head without disturbing them. Eames raised his eyebrow almost imperceptibly, and the twitch of his lips seemed almost a challenge. Once he was sure he had Arthur's attention, he slowly lowered his eyes down Arthur's body that was twisted artificially up against his own. Arthur's head was still upturned towards Eames', the silk tie still cutting into his neck. Eames raised half-lidded eyes to once again meet Arthur's, and touched the tip of tongue to his lips. Arthur inhaled a short sniff as a gesture of nonchalance, but Eames' obscene lips only twitched into a deeper grin as his wrist flicked back slightly and the tie yanked back again.
Arthur made a tiny, high-pitched sound at the back of his throat as it was constricted. Eames' smug smile dropped a fraction, and Arthur didn't even want to think about what that meant. Which meant that he definitely should not look down between them.
"…should capture the tension," Ariadne was saying. "You can see from the muscles in Eames' back that he is tense. Darken the lines, emphasize them. Remember, one of the ten rules of architecture states that ideas do not have to appear in logical order. This means that if the lines are what capture your attention, you can draw them first. If you have all of the muscles drawn before you start drawing a head, that's alright." Tilting his head a fraction, Arthur saw as she walked behind the students and aided them. Her professor was busy taking notes.
"She'd be a little tense too if she had to hold herself up for so bloody long," Eames grumbled. "Usually when I have a naked man under me I'm not forced to keep a metre between us."
"It's hardly a metre," Arthur rasped back, offhanded. "And must you sexualize everything? Can't we just…accept that we're both here to do a job and act professionally?"
"Act professional? Love, we're posing nude while scuzzy university undergrads and horny old ladies paint pornography starring us."
"It's not pornography, it's art. Ari is exploring the beauty of man, not the sexuality"
"And who says pornography isn't art? Or sexuality? And Ari, you say? You pulling her?"
"No, Ariadne and I aren't fornicating. We're friends."
Eames broke out into a full-out grin and let out an exhale that Arthur supposed was a muffled laugh. His eyebrow raised again as he mouthed, "Fornicating?"
Arthur patience stained. "Yes, fornicating. You know, having sex?"
Arthur suddenly noticed the silence in the room and realized that his voice must have raised Ariadne cleared her throat. "Um, guys, it's difficult to get the lines of your faces right when you're continually talking. And, Arthur, would you mind not glaring so at Mr. Eames? It sort of ruins the look."
Arthur had to work hard at neutralizing his face and preventing his answering scowl from creeping up on his face. He succeeded, since although some people would tell Arthur that he was never a good actor, he was nothing if he didn't know how to play others.
Arthur turned back to Eames, only to find that the man had lowered his face closer to Arthur's, so that his cool breath brushed Arthur's face on every exhale. "Yes, I know all about having sex, Arthur," Eames practically purred.
"Dear God, do you hit on everything you come across?" Arthur muttered out of the corner of his mouth. His lips hardly moved.
"Only sentient beings, pet. I'm not really into bestiality."
Arthur gave no indication that he had heard. He was determined to last the next hour without talking if it meant giving Eames no encouragement to continue, or at least no new ammunition to bicker about. He focused on the conversation among the class, hoping that their comments could sufficiently distract him until his hour was up, at which point he would catch the bus, curl up in bed, and fall promptly asleep.
"Miss?" came a timid voice from the room.
"Just Ariadne is fine, Lisa. What can I help you with?"
"With, um, with…" her voice lowered, "that part…" she trailed off.
"Yes?" Ariadne prompted.
"How do I…what do I do?"
"Just draw it as you see it."
"Ah. Okay. It's just that…well, what if it's…you know….hard?"
Arthur practically choked. He glanced up at Eames, who didn't even look remotely embarrassed.
"That's part of the beauty Lisa. Sexuality is a part of animal life. It represents our instinctive urges, our weaknesses, and our imperfections. But, unlike many other animals, human sexuality can also represent the wonders of emotions, such as love. This contradicts our initial statement regarding sexuality, since if love isn't perfection, I don't know what is," Ariadne replied. "Think of it as a paradox, or the yin and yang of sexuality – use it. Convey both the imperfect and the perfect in your painting."
Even Arthur was impressed with that answer.
A piercing voice called out. "Ariadne, could you possibly grab me another palate?"
"Of course, Professor. Would anyone else like another palate?"
The awkward silence broke.
"Yes please, miss."
"Me too, thanks."
"Ariadne, when you're done there, could you help me with the shading? I'm having a bit of trouble with, um, the bottom one's arms.
Arthur allowed himself a small scowl since everyone was momentarily distracted. Great. So, not only were his arms somehow difficult to draw, a scowling old lady was seeing him nude, and he was twisted into some obscene sexual pose with the most infuriating man in the world – but now he was the bottom one?
The room fell silent as the painters took up focus once more. Arthur could hear the bristles of each brush as they stroked the canvas, the odd titters in the class, the analog clock above the classroom door as it counted down the seconds before Arthur could run home and never see Eames again. He shifted his head subtly until he could read the hands and found that he had all of forty minutes left, a prospect that brightened his outlook on life considerably.
Arthur felt a slight pull on his tie. His features flickering into a frown, he glanced back up at Eames, who still looked ridiculously pleased. "What?" he snapped.
"You were moving. You're going to spoil the paintings," Eames said with absolute mirth.
"I can do whatever I please. I'm not a dog on a leash, you can't asphyxiate me every time I glance in another direction."
Eames expression turned pained. "Don't tease me. I'd love to have you tied on a leash just for me, on your knees like a dog…and I'd say 'stay' and you'd stay still while I touched myself, and you wouldn't be able to do anything about it, and then I'd say 'beg' and you would pine like a bloody teenage girl."
"I'm not fucking interested, alright? I'm –" Eames cut him of by giving the tie another not-so-gentle tug, and Arthur's traitorous mouth let out an obscene noise.
"Not fucking interested, yeah?" Eames knees tightened until they were pressing into Arthur's hips, and he tilted his hips until Arthur could feel the heat emanating from his groin across his own bare chest and it drove him wild.
"Ariadne!" His voice sounded fine. It really did. "Ari, can we take a slight break? My arms are cramping."
"Of course! I'm so sorry, I was distracted, I forgot about that….here, I've got some towels behind the desk that you can wrap around yourselves if you need to use the restroom or anything. They're out the door and to the left." She addressed the class. "That goes for everyone – five minute bathroom break, and then we'll get into our final half hour of painting!"
Arthur scrambled out from underneath Eames before Eames had even moved. He focused his gaze on the safety of the towels as he grabbed one and wrapped it around his waist. He exited the classroom as fast as possible and headed towards the bathroom.
Opening the door, his turned on the taps and splattered some water onto his face, feeling exceedingly grateful that none of the men in the class had needed to use the washroom. He shut off the taps and ran a shaky hand through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut.
He could admit that Eames was attractive, down to the cocky grin and the drawl of the accent. But he was also a smart-mouthed asshole who tried to get under his skin, who was full of himself, and who sexually harassed him.
Arthur was an organized, rational man. He weighed his options.
Option A: He could spend the next half hour under an attractive man who clearly wanted in his pants, rebuffing his increasingly irritating come-ons, and then go home to an empty bed, whack off alone, and sleep.
Option B: He could spend the next half hour teasing the attractive man who clearly wanted in his pants, give in to the temptation, take Eames home, have fantastic sex, kick him out, and then sleep.
Arthur grabbed a paper towel and wiped his face. Option B was really the only logical option. Arthur was nothing if not logical.
The door burst open and in walked Eames, wearing a plush gray robe.
"How did you get a robe?" Arthur asked incredulously.
Eames winked. "Jealous?"
"Perplexed."
"I brought my own. You never know when you may need it, and this thing is astoundingly comfortable."
"Of course."
Eames' grin faltered. "Listen, Arthur, I'm sorry that I've been – well, I guess 'annoying you' might be an understatement?"
"I would have used 'harassing', personally."
"Yes, well, harassing you. Honestly, if you're seriously not interested, I'll stop, yeah? I was only teasing."
Arthur grinned, and the look of astonishment on Eames' face was painfully obvious. "I think I could put up with it for a little while longer – say, thirty minutes? And then…"
The corner of Eames' mouth turned up. "And then?"
"And then I certainly hope the teasing will stop and you'll finish what you've started, Mr. Eames." And so yeah, maybe Arthur gave him a full smile with dimples, the kind that made men and women alike weaken at the knees, but he wanted to get laid and he was going to.
"Arthur, are you – are you flirting with me? You astound me more and more each minute, I swear."
"Which works out well for the activities that will occur about an hour from now, yes?"
"I don't know what inspired this change of heart when you were so close to punching my lights out a moment ago, but whatever it was, I'm ecstatic."
"I wouldn't rule out the punching just yet," Arthur responded, but his smile was so lecherous that the other man couldn't help but think that maybe he kind of wanted Arthur to punch him.
"Right, well, I supposed we'd better head back to our adoring public, then?" Eames said, still a little flabbergasted.
"Certainly," Arthur replied easily. He slipped back into the classroom without a single glance behind him.
"Arthur, Eames, if you could resume your positions, please?" Ariadne asked.
Eames, for the first time that evening, was too surprised to think of a witty response. Arthur gloated silently.
Arthur lay down first, propping himself up on his elbows with a sultry look on his face. He held out his tie for Eames to grab. The other man's eyes glanced down at the tie and then back up at Arthur, seeking reassurance.
Arthur only held his gaze.
Licking his lips, Eames lowered himself onto Arthur once more, this time with his knees pressed tightly into Arthur's hips. He grabbed the tie that Arthur was offering with uncertainty, keeping it slack between them.
Arthur leaned up to whisper into his ear. "Quit fucking around, Eames, and pull it like you mean it," he hissed.
The fabric around his neck lurched forward.
"Forgive me, but I didn't want to fuck up my chances now, did I?"
Arthur suppressed a shiver. "Keep your mouth shut and you should be fine."
Eames grinned wickedly. "Ah, but the things I could do with my mouth, Arthur."
"In this last half hour, I'd like you to focus on specifics – shading, creases in the skin…the distinct grain of every hair," Ariadne instructed. "Try to get their faces completed before the end of this session, since the body structure can be improvised by observing the bodies of other men with similar stature. Arthur, Eames, I'll ask you to try and keep your faces a still as possible, alright? Don't worry, you only have thirty minutes to go."
The two men held each other's gaze as the class began to paint once more. Slowly, Arthur tilted his hips upwards until his cock grazed Eames'.
Eames sucked in a shaky breath and leaned in ever so slightly into Arthur's touch. His eyes narrowed a fraction, but his face remained otherwise impassive. Arthur had to admit he was impressed by the way he kept up appearances. The grip on the tie tightened, however, and he pulled it back again, drawing Arthur's face closer yet. His courage growing, Eames dipped his hips in and began slightly angling them back and forth, setting an infuriatingly slow and imperceptable rate of frotting. Arthur's cock was only half-hard against Eames' own flushed cock, a fact that Eames seemed determined to change immediately. Using the hand bracing him on the side that the class couldn't see, he circled Arthur's skin with the light drag of his calloused thumb. The circles dipped from Arthur's waist to his hips and he twitched forward, causing their erections to rub on a counterstroke in the most delightful fashion.
Eames made a very quiet, low, guttural sound.
Ignoring the way Arthur's lips twitched into a smirk, Eames held his weight on his knees and took his hand completely off the ground to ghost along the dip of Arthur's hip. Arthur bucked – marginally, of course – but that did nothing to subdue Eames' victorious expression and the swell to his well-endowed ego. He repeated the action with his nails digging in a little deeper, and this time Arthur let a shaky "Stop" escape his unmoving lips. It sounded suspiciously like a toneless moan.
"Five more minutes!" Ariadne announced, and the suddenness of it pierced the two men's bubbled and caused them both to flinch.
"And then I'll have you bent over the bed, I think," Eames rasped out, replacing his hand on the ground to steady himself.
From upon his elbows, Arthur's left hand fingers twitched into the crevice behind Eames' knee.
Eames' eyelids fluttered.
He repeated the action, this time dragging his nails up Eames' thick thigh, and the hand that stroked Arthur's stomach clenched. Their faces, which had been closing in ever so slightly during this entire time, were now close enough that there was only an inch between their lips. Eames' eyes flickered down to Arthur's lips and Arthur tilted his chin closer up, forgetting about the classroom and Ariadne and her scary old teacher.
"Time's up, guys! I'll ask you to please wash your brushes before placing them in the drying rack over there," there was shuffling as everyone left their seats. Ariadne approached Arthur and Eames, who were still frozen in their absurdly intimate pose. "Thanks, you two. You have no idea how much you've just helped me. Honestly, I really could not have held such an effective class if it were not for you, and I daresay no one would have been as focused without live models. You are the muses of the class, and I really, really appreciate it." She fumbled with her purse and pulled out an envelope, handing it to Eames. "For your services – here's fifty dollars."
Eames took it with a charming smile, disengaging himself from Arthur. "Always a pleasure, love. Fifty dollars is much too generous an amount to pay me for dropping my drawers, considering I would do that for free, but the token is much appreciated. I'd give you a hug but…" he glanced down at his straining cock pointedly.
Ariadne flushed bright red again and averted her eyes. "Maybe some other time?"
"Absolutely! And anytime I can be of assistance, you have my email and my mobile," On a whim, Eames grabbed her hand and brought it up to his lips, planting a kiss that was in theory chaste, but with those lips seemed of the utmost sensuality. He winked and then turned to grab his clothes.
Ariadne turned to Arthur. "Arthur, you have no idea how important this was to me. Thank you. I honestly would have been royally fucked without you."
Arthur couldn't help but smile at the guilty look on her face. "I'm glad I could help."
She beamed.
"Never again, though," he added quickly. "Ever."
"No? Something tells me you didn't find it half bad," she said, inclining her heard towards Eames.
"Him? Please. There are plenty of other people I could have picked up who were less irritating and better looking."
Ariadne gave him a look that told him that she was not convinced.
"But, I wouldn't have gotten laid tonight otherwise," he conceded.
"Go get 'im, tiger," she said, swatting his ass playfully.
"You too – with your professor, I mean! And by that I mean: I hope she marks you well."
Ariadne's face lit up. "Oh, she's impressed. She practically told me as much during the break when you two were doing God knows what in the bathroom. She thought that my relatability to the class made me a great teacher and that my idea of portraying male beauty without overt sexuality or objectification was perfect. She said that now she knows why Professor Miles talks about my originality," she sighed happily, and then glanced at the people in her class, most of whom were finishing washing their brushes. "I should probably let you two go then. Ah, regarding your payment – I'll take you out for drinks on Friday, alright? Oh, and here…" she reopened her purse and pulled out a foil package. "This can be a slice of your compensation upfront."
Arthur took the condom and quickly stuffed it in his trousers, which he was stepping into. "Ari – for Christ's sake!" he whispered, looking around the class. "It's not like I don't have these things at home!" he added.
Ariadne rolled her eyes. "You've been naked in front of these people for the past hour and a half. I don't think they'll find the prospect of you and Eames fucking that scandalous, considering that's basically what you've been doing this whole time. And it's not just any condom, it's with tingling sensation!"
Eames cleared his throat, delighted at her crudeness. "Thank you, Ariadne love, I'll certainly enjoy it."
"Oh, Jesus, I'm getting out of here," Arthur said hurriedly, buttoning up his shirt and straightening his ruined tie. "Goodbye Ari, good luck, we're leaving now, no comment," he said, rushing out of the door.
"It was a delight to meet all of you! I hope you enjoyed the show!" Eames called out to the class. "Ta!"
"You're a fucking attention whore, you know that?" Arthur asked once they were a safe distance from the classroom.
"I'm only a whore for the things I want," Eames stated in what Arthur supposed was a rebuttal, but which really proved no point.
The sexual tension was electric as they walked silently down the stairs of the faculty. "Have you got a car?" Arthur asked.
"Have I got one or do I own one?"
"Either."
"I have got one temporarily. I'm owed a favour, but until the favour is delivered, I'll be satisfied with his car." Eames cast Arthur a glance but the other man didn't ask any questions. "Your place or mine?"
"My apartment is only a fifteen minute drive," Arthur said, "And I really would just like to sleep afterwards, so I'd rather it be mine."
"Oh, darling, I'd let you cuddle with me if we were at my flat." They exited the building and walked out into the crisp, spring air. Eames pointed to the right and they began walking along the sidewalk.
"Hey, none of that pet name crap, alright? I'm not some girl you need to charm. And we're going to my apartment, where there will be no cuddling, and luckily for you, you have a car, which means that promptly after the sex you can be on your way and I can be asleep."
"You wound me, love."
"Control your British need to patronize me."
Eames came to a stop in front of a dark red Aston Martin and held out a demonstrative hand in true melodramatic fashion. "Voilà."
Arthur gaped. "Some favour."
Eames chuckled darkly. "You have no idea." He held open the door and waved Arthur in. "Hop in."
Arthur slid into the leather seats and let his fingers ghost over the wood decals. "It's gorgeous," he said, unable to keep the awe out of his voice.
Eames shot a cocky grin at Arthur as the car roared to life. "I know."
With the instruction of Arthur and the Aston Martin of Eames' 'friend', they arrived at Arthur's neighbourhood in less than twenty minutes. This turned out to be a good thing seeing as Arthur didn't stop palming Eames the whole ride, and Eames warned him on various occasions with his pornographic voice that he was close to finishing there in the car.
"Which one's yours?"
"My apartment is a block up, but you should park here."
Eames sent him a mischievous look. "Don't want your parents to hear the car? Are you past curfew?"
Arthur glared. "I'm probably older than you are, asshole. It's just that I was supposed to, uh, take care of something today, and because of Ariadne's art thing I couldn't."
Eames looked curious but still pulled the car over to the side of the road. "A work thing?" he asked, killing the engine.
"Sort of," Arthur allowed.
"And your employer is the kind of person who would show up outside of your house at ten o'clock and harass you?"
"He's my associate, and yes, I would not put it past him. We're working on a tight schedule."
Eames walked around to the car and held Arthur's door open for him. "Hmm. Does this mean we'll have to skulk around through the back alleys and break into your flat?" he asked, offering a hand.
Arthur declined it. "Yes. Will that be a problem?"
"Not at all, Darling."
They walked in silence to the back of Arthur's building. Fortunately, the apartment complex's dumpster allowed the men to reach the fire escape stairs at the back, and after some slipping and muffled curses they made it through Arthur's window.
"Do you make all of your dates work this hard?" Eames panted out as he slumped to the ground.
Arthur ignored him and went straight to a front room, looking out of a curtain. "Shit. I knew it! He's waiting out there in his car. I told Dom we shouldn't have worked with him," he muttered angrily. "And you're hardly a date," he called as softly as he could from over his shoulder.
Eames looked at the anxious man in front of him and leaned back invitingly. "Come over here, Arthur. He's not going to know you're here, and even if he does I doubt he'll want to walk in on us."
Arthur finally turned away from the window. "For God's sake, Eames, I'm not having sex with you in my kitchen. Come into my bedroom, at least," he said, inclining his head towards one of the doors on the side.
Eames jumped up quickly from the ground and strode into the room. Arthur immediately shut the door behind them.
Eames chuckled. "If I'd known you were so eager I'd – "
Arthur cut him off by yanking his arm and maneuvering him until he was flat against the wall. "Do shut up, Mr. Eames," he let out breathlessly. His arms braced against the wall on either side of Eames, encasing him. He held Eames' gaze with his lips slightly parted until Eames gave in and leaned forward to meet him.
Eames' lips were tentative, only pressing chastely against Arthur's and gently sucking. Arthur took Eames' soft bottom lip in between his teeth and bit down, enough so that Eames let out an involuntary noise that was equal parts arousal and pain.
Maybe 60/40.
Eames' arms wound around Arthur's back, and he dug his nails into the fabric as Arthur continued to dominate the kiss with nibbles and occasional sweeps of his tongue, which he then thrust into Eames' mouth. Eames responded by trailing his hand down to the other man's ass and cupping it before drawing them closely together.
Arthur let out a little breath into Eames' mouth that might have been a moan.
Arthur drew his head back for a second – presumably to take a breath – and Eames took the opportunity to drop his mouth to Arthur's neck and nip and lick and suck. This time Arthur did moan, and rut shamelessly against Eames, who chuckled lightly. He repeated his ministrations – this time at the junction of Arthur's jaw and neck, where his pulse was the strongest – and Arthur bucked, one of his shaky hands pulling and winding in Eames' hair as he pressed him into the wall with all of his weight.
Eames removed his lips and moved his mouth to just below Arthur's ear, leaving little open-mouthed kisses. Arthur let out a little 'ahh'.
"Perhaps we should move to the bed, yeah?"
Arthur nodded and glued his lips to Eames' once more, drawing away from the wall and pulling Eames' by the shirt – the horrid, tacky t-shirt that maybe looked sort of good on him – backwards towards the bed, pulling the shirt up as he went. Thankfully, Eames followed suit, one hand on Arthur neck while the other fumbled through the buttons on Arthur's shirt. Eames' was off by the time Arthur's legs hit the bed and gave out, and Arthur let himself fall back onto the mattress as he hastily shed his own. Eames bent down and yanked off his trousers and briefs, paying no attention to the buttons, and Arthur sat up and practically ripped Eames' off of him, because if Eames was going to disregard his $80 trousers, then Arthur really could not care less.
"In such a rush to see me naked, Darling…it's nothing you haven't seen before," Eames said with a breathless laugh as Arthur pushed his pants off of him. Arthur wished that he would shut up and put that fucking mouth to use, but then Eames was kneeling and his head was between Arthur's legs and Arthur moaned at the sight.
Eames bit into a thigh and Arthur jerked. "Would you like to top or bottom, love?" Eames murmured against his skin. "Unless you'd just like a blow job," he added, clearly thinking he was the perfect gentleman.
Arthur considered. "Top – although the blowjob does sound nice," he conceded.
"Let's see what I can manage."
Eames' mouth moved to Arthur's cock – red, flushed, and simply aching to be touched – and he let his lips rest on the head.
He waited there a moment until Arthur grew impatient. "God damn it, Eames, move," he said, arching.
Eames let his mouth sink down lower and swirled his tongue around a little, and Arthur shut his eyes and suppressed a moan. When he began moving, sucking in to create an impossible tightness, Arthur's eyes flickered open and his hands grabbed at Eames' hair. He let out a broken "Eames…" and Eames felt it was a sufficient reward for his actions.
Eames moved up so that his lips only surrounded the head, looked up at Arthur, and grinned. The visual made Arthur drop his head and circle his hips, positively mewling.
Suddenly the warmth disappeared from around Arthur's cock. Before he could protest, Eames' warm hand found his balls and gave them a gentle tug, and then his tongue licked around his perineum.
Arthur yelped.
"You idiot," he hissed. "We need to be quiet!"
Eames glanced up at him innocently. "You're the one making all of the noise, love. I could stop, if you'd prefer."
"Fuck no."
Eames smirked and his face ducked down once more
Arthur heard a sucking noise and suddenly a wet finger was probing at his entrance. Arthur forced himself to relax into the touch as Eames pushed his index finger in.
"That's it, love, let me in. Ah, Christ you're tight."
Arthur grit his teeth and gripped the covers, feeling the vaguely familiar burn. "Yes, that's why I chose top. It's…it's been a while." He let out a shaky breath as Eames wiggled his finger experimentally.
"Ah well, next time I'll have plenty of time to make you into a most pliant bottom, I think," Eames said, lowering his lips to where they were joined and licking and sucking alongside his finger.
Arthur, too overcome with sensation, did not have the presence of mind to correct Eames and tell him that there would be no such 'next time' because this was a one-night stand, so instead he just nodded and hummed in agreement and arched, because his cock was being neglected and surely just one touch could bring him off.
Eames continued for a while, until Arthur was making truly embarrassing noises, and Arthur pulled at his hair. "Eames."
Eames pulled off and removed his finger, still crouched at the side of the bed. Arthur was suddenly filled with affection for this obnoxious man. "Come here," he commanded, and, propped up on his elbows with his hair in his eyes and his voice full of lust and a smirk on his face, Eames couldn't refuse.
He clambered onto the bed as Arthur reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a container of lube and a condom. "On your back, on the pillow, come on," Arthur ordered. Eames leaned back and spread his legs obscenely. Arthur leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the lips before moving down his body, sucking a little on his nipples along the way.
Eames gasped out Arthur's name too loudly. Arthur shushed him halfheartedly.
He reached Eames' cock and gave it a few experimental pumps. Eames' bucked wildly, and Arthur smirked as he worked up a steady pace with his fist.
The other man moaned as if in pain. "If you keep touching my prick like that I promise you that I'll come right now. And that would be a little – ahh – a little anticlimactic, hmm?"
Arthur wasn't sure if Eames was attempting to make the shitty pun or not, so he let it slide and placed a wet kiss to the tip of Eames' cock.
He unscrewed the bottle of lube and dipped two fingers in, warming them off sufficiently – because he wasn't an asshole – before touching them to Eames' rim.
Eames let out a gasp that didn't seem to be discomfort, so Arthur let his fingers slide in.
Eames' muscles clenched against him and he moaned. "More," he croaked out.
Arthur inserted a third finger, quite enjoying the feeling of stretching Eames, and the other man hissed. He stilled until Eames pleaded "Move them a little, Darling, please," at which point Arthur could not do anything but obey and thrust his fingers at full force.
Eames was making obscene noises and low growls that resonated throughout his chest and Arthur continued until it was almost painful that his dick wasn't what was causing them. He slipped his fingers out and Eames moaned "Please, Arthur," and Arthur fumbled with the condom and slathered copious amounts of lube and pushed himself into Eames.
Eames let out a little cry and Arthur bent down to brush kisses around his neck. When Eames moaned and began returning the kisses with increasing fervour Arthur took it as a sign to begin moving.
"Fuck, Eames, you feel amazing," he choked out as he started with a slow pace.
"Darling, save the slow love making for next time…I need to come Arthur, and you do too, and I know it, and you're going to finish inside me and I'm going to come all over us and you're going to love it." The British accent made every word sound explicit and Arthur set a furious pace, pounding in and crying out and kissing Eames' bent, shaking knees.
"Of course you're going to wake up in the morning and see the mess and want to murder me, I'm sure," Eames added.
Arthur moaned and lowered his head, and he hated this man because he was always right and witty and charming and funny and why did Arthur always have to do all the work – set the pace and then clean up in the morning and wash all the sheets – but before he could voice his resentments he hit the spot that made Eames clench around him and the only though that remained in his head was find that spot again and keep hitting it.
"Arthur," Eames moaned, writhing and shaking, his fingers finding Arthur shoulders and digging in. Arthur would protest, but he was digging his own nails into Eames' hips; they would both be thoroughly marked in the morning. He brought one of his hands to Eames' cock and pumped.
"Come on, Eames," he grit out, severely needing release. "You sexy, arrogant asshole with your fucking lips –" Arthur broke off with a high-pitched keening noise catching in his throat. Eames met his eyes and came, dropping his head and bucking and getting come all in between them, hot and wet, and Arthur didn't care because Eames was clenching and moaning his name with his pornographic accent so that Arthur came too, going rigid and giving a few more erratic thrusts to ride it out and then collapsing, releasing Eames' name to the air in a breathless hiss.
He lay there for awhile, his hands twisted in Eames' hair while Eames' stroked his back.
"I suppose I'd best be off, then," Eames said eventually, and in his post-coital bliss Arthur may have slightly regretted having to roll off and break contact. He pulled out, tied off the condom, and threw it into the trash, falling back into the bed with a sigh as if those actions had robbed him the last of his strength.
Eames disappeared into the bathroom and emerged cleaned off, holding a damp towel out to Arthur. Arthur took it gratefully and cleaned himself off. "Thanks."
"No worries."
Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly. "Not just – for the towel – for everything."
Eames gave a smile – a genuine one, no smirk or grin, void of all cocky undertone, and bent down to capture Arthur's lips. "No worries," he repeated. "Thank you for letting me."
He turned away and bent down to pick up his clothes by the bed. He froze.
"Arthur?"
"Yeah?" Arthur replied, unconcerned, because there could be a monster under his bed, hell, he could have Cobb under his bed and it wouldn't matter right now, he felt so good.
"Is that a PASIV?"
Arthur sat up abruptly to see Eames pulling the silver briefcase out from under the bed. Shit. He was supposed to run some tests today, but because he went to Ariadne's stupid porno class he forgot to put the equipment away properly and now someone – no, not someone, Eames, which was even worse– had seen the highly illegal device that he had lifted from a previous extractor.
"What would you know about that?" he asked coolly.
Eames smiled at him, and the look was more smug and dangerous and sexy than any other smile that night.
"Oh, Darling."
First story for the fandom: feedback would be lovely.