The light turned green. The car in front of them didn't move.

Arthur swore. Loudly. He rolled the window down, and thrust his hand out in an unmistakable gesture that had been used fondly by many Los Angeles drivers in rush hour. "MOVE IT, JACKASS!"

Eames hid a grin behind his paperback.

Arthur, however, was far from amused. "Zounds," he snarled, honking furiously. The Kia finally farted off to a start, but apparently too slowly for Arthur's tastes, because he tailed it with menace. In their rearview mirror, Eames caught a glimpse of a startled old man's face.

They only made it a few meters, anyway, before grinding down to a stop. Eames leaned out of his window (ignoring Arthur's furious swearing) to see what looked like half a mile of inert cars on the 405. "Woot." he murmured, and ducked back in.

Arthur looked so frustrated that he could cry. He made a small motion with his shoulder that looked like the beginning of a pound on the dashboard, but his eyes suddenly darted to Eames, as if suddenly remembering, right, I'm the adult in this relationship, and visibly, forcibly relaxed. Eames nearly laughed.

"Cobb will be angry." he said, nearly in tears.

"Screw Cobb." Eames said languidly. Cobb wouldn't be, anyway. When Arthur was stressed, he tended to think that everyone would be frustrated with him. Projection. They weren't. Eames found it kind of cute. "Ah, meanwhile, darling-"

"Oh no," Arthur said, still looking furious with the universe and its untidiness, "We are not doing- oomph!"

There was an interesting pause in the car. Arthur's hands shook on the wheel. "Dammit, I just ironed those trousers-"

"And they taste lovely, I assure you." Eames said around a mouthful of lovely dove-gray cloth. "Mm, what do you use on these-"

"Nothing, I justaaaah."

Arthur happened to look out of the car to distract himself. The window was still open, and so was the one of the car next to him. He met the eyes of the driver, a balding man who looked to be in his late forties. He had gone very red, and seemed to be unable to tear his eyes away from the sight.

"Shit," he said, unable to articulate. "Eames-"

But Eames was doing something very nice down there, grazing his glans with the very edge of his teeth, very precisely, just sort of teasing, but Arthur didn't dare move. Not even to close the window. He instead carefully braced his head against his seat and just sat there, shivering rather a lot- unable to stop himself, he looked to the left again. The man was still staring. He gave him the finger.

"That's the spirit, Arthur." Eames said cheerfully, having noticed what he was doing, and seeming to be gleeful rather than mortified about it. The man had no sense. Arthur shook as Eames make a quick movement, and the head of his cock hit the back of his throat. His hand tightened the the steering wheel, and if they'd been driving, they would have driven off the road. Arthur tried not to scream.

From this angle, Eames couldn't take him any further, but that posed little obstacle to him. He drew back a little, resting his head on Arthur's thighs as he did, until he was in the right position to tease his slit with his lips. Damn those lips, anyway. Arthur saw, in the distance, the light go green. He said as much, except garbledly.

"This is LA." Eames reminded him, his breath playing on hot, sensitive skin. "The 405. In rush hour. Relax, darling, we aren't moving."

He then proceeded to do some very interesting things with his tongue. Arthur, compulsively, looked outside again as his brain shut down.

The man was on his phone, talking rather fast and low.

"Fucking hell," Arthur said, and slid his hand along the controls, pressing at random, closing his eyes as he did so. The radio blared on and off for a second, the air conditioner went on, and the window closed, slowly. Arthur finally allowed himself a long, embarrassing little sound.

Eames started to hum.

It had barely been two minutes, but Arthur came, hard and spine-tightening, his breath puffing out in hard desperate pants, and he pressed his wrist against his mouth not to scream. His cufflinks clacked against his teeth. The air conditioner blew into his face as Eames drew back, a little white smearing the corner of his mouth. His hair was in disarray.

Arthur's trousers hung open as the car in front of them finally got moving. Eames waved jauntily at their friendly voyeur as they followed suit, and Arthur tried desperately to remember if he'd brought a change of clothes along with him.

He had. Ever since the first time this had happened, he'd always had a contingency plan.