After is always the same. Arthur buttons up his cuffs first, then does up the shirt's buttons. He pulls on his black silk briefs, puts on his pants. Next is his socks.
"She was so beautiful, you know. Those tits. There was no other woman like her. She was smart too, but she never had patience for the children, not really. It didn't matter to me." Cobb speaks quietly, disturbing the stillness of the dimly lit hotel room.
After socks come shoes, laced up in a neat bow. The tie is quickly smoothed down with the fingers then precisely knotted. Last comes the waistcoat, unless it's fall or winter, in which case there's a jacket too. It's important to do everything in the same order. That way Arthur can be on autopilot, not present in his own body. The routine allows him to pretend this isn't his life.
"But you've got to make do. We can't always get what we want, can we? The world is shit."Cobb spits out the last sentence vehemently, enraged and energized for a brief moment. Arthur's already opening the door, stopping to look back at Dom, who is sitting hunched over, the energy drained out of him after the brief moment of rage. The hallway's light brings out the dark shadows under his eyes. "Bye, Cobb."
Everything is an ordered routine, a tired dance. Arthur wishes it would end, but it's not up to him. He keeps his promises.
Arthur squirmed as Eame's tongue lapped closer and closer to his cock, breathing heavily. With Eames, he was less afraid to be open. He moaned softly as Eames' tongue lapped at his balls, spreading his legs further to allow easier access. "When we first started this," Eames said, stopping momentarily, "you would never have made a sound." His tongue caressed Arthur's cock, and Arthur didn't hold back. "Fuck, Eames, more, please, yes..." Eames was a champion cocksucker. His mouth, with those sensuous lips curving up into an amused smile, were good for a lot more than annoying banter, as Arthur had long suspected. It seemed his masturbatory fantasies were accurate. Well, not quite - stroking his cock and imagining Eames' mouth on his dick was not nearly as good as the real thing.
Eames sucked harder, his cheeks hollowing. Soon Arthur groaned "fuck, Eames, I can't...", and Arthur pushed his hips down on the bed, humming softy around his cock. A second later, Arthur's gone, his come in Eames mouth and on his lips. Eames licks up and down his cock as Arthur tries to back away in his post-orgasmic haze, saying "Jesus, Eames, it's too sensitive..." The dirty bastard ignored him, licking up his inner thighs.
"How long has it been since he had you last?" Eames asked, propping Arthur's calf up onto his shoulder.
"Eames, it doesn't..." He sighed, his post-coital bliss fading away suddenly. "Nearly three weeks."
"My bruises won't fade for another three, then," Eames mumbled, sucking a mark against his inner thigh.