Author's Note: Alright guys, so I watched Inception for the billionth (third) time and decided to take a crack at a fic for my favorite pairing in the movie, Eames and Arthur. It's un-beta'd, so excuse any mistakes please. Also, this appears to be PWP at first glance, but it's going to be multi-chaptered, and I swear there's a plot, just bear with me. This chapter is pre-movie verse, so yeah. Have fun, leave me a review if you liked it, if you hated it, all that jazz.

Summary: Sex was never easy. After a night of romance, Eames splits, leaving Arthur cold and alone. When they're forced to work together again, they struggle to maintain a work relationship with bitter feelings and regrets, will they work it out, or will everything blow up in their face?

Rating: M, for, ya know, yaoi. That means m/m sex. You've been warned.

Whispered Words and Lonely Tears

Sex was never easy.

Arthur let out a noise somewhere between a disgruntled growl and a needy whimper, and though Eames was too caught up in his lust to decipher the sound, it sent a rush of pleasure through his body none the less. He pressed Arthur into the door, franticly trying to jam Arthur's hotel key into the door and get it open without having to break the too-passionate kiss. It was mostly teeth and tongue, a lot of clashing and pure, unadulterated lust-the kiss, that is.

The door gave way and Eames shoved slightly, kicking it open while pushing the slightly smaller man into the room, simultaneously peeling off his coat and kicking the door shut without stopping his ministrations on the other's submissive mouth. The door shut in an almost slam about the same moment Eames managed to rid Arthur of the offending article of clothing which was tossed arbitrarily to the floor. Eames peeled his lips away from Arthur's, the smaller man almost-whining at the loss until his lips reattached to his neck. He suckled, bit and kissed the flesh, not really caring whether or not he left marks on his porcelain flesh, too caught up in his desire to ravish to do anything other than to latch on to some part of exposed flesh while he struggled to unbutton Arthur's shirt. He pushed him into a wall, swearing violently at the buttons under his breath before returning his lip to Arthur's jaw and neck.

"Let me," Arthur snapped, though his voice was gruff with need when he batted away Eames' shaky hands and unbuttoned his shirt, allowing the cloth to fall to the floor before he pushed against Eames, shoving him towards the bed while trying to strip him down.

Eames only allowed the display of dominance for so long before he put his hands on Arthur's smooth chest and pressed slightly, pushing him into the desk and reattaching their lips. Eames enjoyed a lot of foreplay, but never before had kissing enthralled him so much as it did with the smaller, lither man. Holy Hell he tasted too amazing for Eames to comprehend, a mixture of mint, something crisp and a taste that was so completely Arthur that it left Eames breathless. He ravished the smaller's mouth, lightly calloused hands splaying over his ivory chest, pressing and tweaking every so often, causing Arthur to let out little strangled moans into his mouth, sounds that Eames eagerly swallowed up and sent electric bolts of pleasure through his body. His fingers worked feverishly at the buttons on Arthur's trousers, throwing caution and properness to the wind, completely aware that they were moving too fast but not finding it in him to care.

He had gone on too long from afar, admiring the lithe, stunning brunette from afar to the point of obsession. He couldn't help it; there was just something about Arthur, his smooth, feminine face, ivory skin like fresh cream and sweet deep blue eyes that often glared at him through girlishly thick lashes when Eames tormented him. Eames couldn't help but mess with him, but he did so affectionately, he just loved seeing Arthur all pouty and worked up, he just couldn't help it.

All that feeling, all the adoration, all the desire that Eames had kept pent up for so long, too long were pouring out now. He wasn't aware he was whispering Arthur's name until they had stumbled toward the bed, Arthur-now clad only in boxers-had pushed him onto the mattress, telling him to hush before covering the taller, broader man's mouth with his own. Eames felt like he was drowning, his entire body burned and ached, but every time Arthur's skin came flush against Eames', it was like a breath of fresh air in his needy lungs, long awaited and oh so needed.

Eames gripped Arthur's smaller arms and tugged, pulling the other man down to the mattress and pushing himself over top of him in one fluid, easy movement. Normally, Eames would tease his lovers, tormenting them until they were begging for him, but as it was, Eames needed to be in Arthur more than anything now.

Eames peeled off Arthur's boxers, allowing his cock to spring free of its confines. He took his soon to be lover's need in his hands, spreading the precum that had already begun to gather on the head down his hard length, causing Arthur to keen and thrust into his hand. Eames latched his lips onto Arthur's pink nipple, one hand still working his shaft while the other blindly patted the nightstand for the tube of lube he had in the top drawer. He found it, popped the cap open and poured the liquid onto his fingers.

He paused then, looking at Arthur whose eyes were half-mast in pleasure, lips parted allowing little breathy pants to escape and his cheeks flushed pink. As always, Eames found him too beautiful for words, yet he managed to whisper, "Are you sure about this darling?"

Arthur gave him a look that was almost a glare and said in a tone that sounded suspiciously needy, "just do it you idiot."

Eames smiled, charmed, and slid a slick finger into Arthur's rear. Arthur gasped and Eames stifled a groan as the tight, warm ring of muscle swallowed his digit into its heat. He felt so good, so tight and hot and perfect that Eames' cock wept in desire and anticipation within the confines of his too tight pants and boxers. Still, he ignored his own needs and pushed his finger deeper, whispering soft words of comfort into the juncture of Arthur's neck and jaw.

"Relax my darling," he purred, his finger sliding in and out. Too his slight surprise, Arthur actually went lax at his words, moans pouring from his sinfully beautiful lips as he rocked back on Eames' slick finger. Eames removed his finger, added a bit more lube as a precaution and slid in a second finger.

Arthur whined, his face contorting in pain and his ring of muscle clamping down around Eames' fingers. Eames peppered his face with kisses, his free hand running over his lover's smooth, small frame as he cooed soothingly.

"Sh, my darling. Relax, love, I'll take care of you. You've got to relax, darling," and similar mannerisms were whispered by the slightly elder man as he attempted to sooth the brunette's pain. Slowly yet surely Eames felt Arthur's muscled go slack and began to scissor the digits, pushing them in and out while searching for his prostate, seeking the need to please him when Arthur let out a sob of a moan, the sound so raw and needy that Eames was surprised to hear it spill from the Architect's lips.

Eames pressed against the bundle of nerves again and again making Arthur moan loudly once more and causing him to rock back onto Eames' fingers, to which Eames regarded by stilling his hips, slicking up a third and final finger and pressing it back inside Arthur. Arthur whined in pleasure and faint pain, but Eames was met with less resistance and found Arthur opening up much quicker, his fingers sliding in and out of his tight heat while he let out almost pornographic moans.

"Sh-Shit, Eames," he gasped out, gripping the larger man's biceps and making him lock eyes. "Just fuck me."

That was all the encouragement Eames needed. He withdrew his fingers; (secretly enjoying the pathetic look of loss that crossed Arthur's face) stripped himself down and stroked his already sensitive cock, smearing lube and precum over it. The beautiful man splayed out before him had him more worked up than any other man or women had ever before and it shocked Eames to realize just how strongly he felt for the younger, slightly smaller man.

He lifted his hips, Arthur's legs wrapping around his waist as he slowly pressed inside, hissing at the intense pleasure the little movement caused. He struggled not to slam violently into the other man, swallowing his feral needs over the need to let his lover adjust. Arthur's face was contorted into a mask of pain and pleasure, his fingers gripping the disheveled bed sheets so hard his knuckles turned white. Once Eames bottomed out he paused, forcing himself to let Arthur relax.

He kissed under his eyes, attempting to soothe. "You okay, darling?"

When Arthur's eyes slid open and locked with Eames' the elder almost gasped at the intense, fiery passion he saw there along with-dare he say it-love? "Fuckin' move," he demanded and who was Eames to disagree with that?

He tried to keep a slow, even pace at first, not wanting to hurt the Architect with his raw animalistic desire, but Arthur seemed to want none of the tenderness. He eagerly met Eames' thrusts, encouraging him with little whines of, "fuck more," and, "damnit, faster Eames," and the occasional, "oh god, yes, please…"

All of this was almost too much for Eames; the brutal smacking sound of flesh against flesh accompanied by Arthur's cries of pleasure synced up with Eames' groans of lust filled the air, the music to their passionate dance of love. Eames thrusted feverishly in and out, encouraged by all of Arthur's cries, locking lips with him every so often before they'd part to take in lung fulls of air and to let out sounds of satisfaction. Eames was in Heaven, or perhaps Hell, he wasn't sure. At that moment the only thing he was sure of was Arthur, his lover, the man of his dreams, the object of his desire, the man he…loved?

The thought made his thrusting stutter, but he dismissed it quickly, replacing it with dirty thoughts of Arthur's body and pushing feelings back where they belonged, in the deep recesses of his mind. Arthur's hips shifted slightly and Eames slammed into his spot, he cried out, his eyes flying open as he nearly screamed out, "oh my god! Fuck…"

Eames set to abusing his prostate, pushing violently in and out of him, glad that Arthur was just as eager to take what he had to give. He reached between them and gripped Arthur's weeping cock and began stroking it in time with his thrusts, willing the other man to come undone first.

"Shit, Eames, can't-gonna-oh god!" Arthur babbled incoherently.

"It's okay darling, come, come for me," Eames pleaded, his voice thick and heavy with lust as he felt his own orgasm nearing.

As Eames had hoped Arthur came first, spurting warm come all over his lover's hand and abdomen, a moan in the form of Eames' name ripped from his lips in the process. The feeling of Arthur's warm seed on his hot skin, Arthur's pleasure ridden face and his muscles tightening around Eames' cock ripped his own orgasm from him. Eames came with Arthur's name on his tongue, crying out as white gripped his vision and electric bolts of pleasure ripped through his body.

When he came back to himself, his thrusts stilling, he struggled not to collapse on the smaller man. He pulled his softening cock from Arthur's ass, and collapsed beside him, panting heavily, his body tingling from the intensity of his orgasm. Arthur panted softly too, the open curtains let in the opalescent glow of the full moon, bathing them in light and outlining hickeys on Arthur's pale neck. Eames kissed on almost apologetically and Arthur looked at him, his lips parting to speak.

"I love you."

It was Eames' gruff, tired voice that spoke and Arthur's face that became a mask of shock, then peace. He pressed close to Eames smiling softly and sighing contently as he whispered. "And I love you."

Eames smiled, his fingers running through Arthur's hair. "Shouldn't we get cleaned up before bed?"

Arthur grunted, his eyes already closed and tendrils of sleep clearly already taking hold of him. "There's time for that in the morning," he muttered, and pressed closer to Eames. Eames smiled softly and held the lithe man closer to him, savoring the warmth of his body and the peace of the moment. Quickly, Arthur fell asleep, leaving Eames alone to think.

He studied the beautiful man he had just made love to, so flawless and stunning, a smart, scholarly type man with a good heart and kind ways. It was then that Eames realized what he had done. He wasn't much more than a con-man, working for whoever paid him with no moral compass or sense of right and wrong. The only reason he and Arthur had ever crossed paths was due to Cobb, otherwise they never would have exchanged so much as pleasantries in the world. Instead of feeling grateful and pleased for the events that led them to be together, Eames suddenly felt guilty and sick to his stomach.

What had he done?

When Arthur awoke in the morning he found that he was cold, sticky and naked. He rolled over in bed, expecting to see Eames' slumbering form but instead found only an empty bed. He frowned, tossing the thin covers off himself and roamed toward the bathroom, assuming maybe the elder was in there. It was then that he noticed that the only clothing items remaining on the floor were his, none of Eames' designer clothes were to be seen.

"No," he whispered, his heart suddenly in his throat. He pulled on his boxers and raced over to the phone to call Eames where he found the note, the three words there would break him even more than the three words Eames' had spoken to him the evening before had defined him. Tears blurred his vision as he slowly sank to the bed and re-read the words.

Scrawled in quick yet neat hand writing were the three words that broke Arthur's heart.

'I'm so sorry.'