Disclaimer: I do not own Inception.
For Your Listening Pleasure:
9th Wonder ft. Erykah Badu & Rapsody: 20 Feet Tall
9th Wonder ft. Holly Weerd & Thee Tom Hardy: Your Smile (yes, there is a rapper named Tom Hardy!)
9th Wonder ft. Mac Miller & Heather Victoria: That's Love
Andy Allo ft. Blu: Dreamland
Slum Village: La La
Eames felt extremely pleased with himself – he was in a sleek, black Nissan Z with a tan leather interior (rented) wearing what he considered to be his best clothes (questionable), and he was going to get laid in the very near future (unquestionable). He was on his way to Arthur's apartment complex, driving 30 kilometers over the speed limit and really not caring if he got pulled over; after all, how many people could say that they had managed to coerce Arthur into going on a date? Eames wasn't aware of anyone else who'd managed such a feat. He whistled tunelessly as he made the final turn and pulled up in front of the building. Arthur's silhouette occupied the brightly lit lobby, sleek and unmoving until Eames lowered his window and blew a kiss at it.
Arthur emerged, dressed in one of his many black suits that made Eames' pulse race. He strode towards the car, looking around suspiciously before getting in. "You're early."
"Don't go and have a coronary, love. I'd hate to be the one who broke your heart."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Hardy-har-har."
"In all seriousness, though, you look fucking delicious." Eames gave his date a lecherous once-over, unconsciously running his tongue over his teeth. Arthur blushed.
"Seems you clean up well," he said, and Eames knew this was about as close to a sincere compliment as he was going to get.
"Aw, shucks!"
The car was now in gear and moving. Arthur had been anxious all day because of this date, unable to concentrate on his paperwork and looking at the clock every few minutes. He couldn't help but wonder why he'd agreed to it in the first place – even though he'd sell his soul just for the chance to see Eames naked, he wasn't sure if establishing a romantic relationship with a co-worker was wise. He fidgeted in his seat, picking an invisible piece of lint from his pants before straightening his collar and focusing on the darkening landscape of the city as it flew by.
"Where are you taking me?" Arthur asked as their surroundings grew increasingly unfamiliar.
"Somewhere posh, where the portions are miniscule and the tablecloths touch the floor," Eames replied.
Arthur's nervousness sharpened his tongue. "So, in other words, you'll stand out like a sore thumb."
The insult glanced off of Eames, who simply smiled deviously and wagged his finger. "Now, now, Arthur – that kind of talk is going to deprive you of dessert."
"Boo-fucking-hoo."
Eames' grin widened, much to Arthur's chagrin. "Why, what a nasty little mouth you've got! If I hadn't pinched myself earlier, I'd say I was dreaming." His voice turned sing-song. "Arthur's swearing! Arthur's swearing!"
"Oh, fuck off!" Arthur snapped, slouching into his seat and crossing his arms.
"Don't get your pants in a twist, love, I'm just pushing your buttons." Eames shifted his focus back to the road, a smile still playing on his lips. Arthur harrumphed. He hadn't known what to expect from this evening, and he was unsure as to what he hoped it would turn into. So far it seemed like another day on a job – his businesslike demeanor waging war against Eames' merciless pigtail-tugging.
Several kilometers passed in silence before Eames brought the Nissan to an abrupt halt. "Here we are," he said, exiting the car with a flourish. Arthur scarcely had his seatbelt off before his date had swung open the passenger door. Embarrassed, he stepped out onto the dimly-lit sidewalk and adjusted his suit before surveying his surroundings. It was too dark to discern the details of the street's architecture, but the building standing before him gave off a distinctly Mediterranean aura. Sure enough, the hand-carved wooden sign by the front doors read Yiamas Greek Cuisine.
"Time's a-wasting, Arthur," Eames said, giving the other man's backside a squeeze as he brushed past him. For what seemed like the millionth time, Arthur found himself asking himself what on earth he'd gotten himself into.
The restaurant's interior was lit primarily by candles and wall sconces, which cast an inviting orange glow over the black and white tables. Patches of artistically aged bare brick emerged from the stucco walls, and the flagstone-covered floor reinforced the building's Mediterranean feel. The cozy waiting area expanded into the modest dining room, which was filled with sharply dressed couples and wait staff whose attire matched the tables. The air was nothing but an amalgamation of tantalizing aromas.
Arthur smiled in spite of himself. "Good choice. I like it." Eames, looking satisfied, gave his name to the maître-d' and followed her stout form into the dining room. Arthur trailed behind them, eyes wandering over the tasteful wall hangings. He was not surprised to see that they had been led to a table in the back corner of the room – this was Eames' doing. I can only imagine how he'll use this to his advantage, Arthur thought, a mixture of anxiety and anticipation coursing through his veins.
The maître-d' handed them a pair of leather-bound menus and a wine list as they settled into their seats. Eames perused the appetizers with one eye on Arthur, who was studying the wine list as though he'd be tested on it later.
"Get whatever you like, love," Eames said. "You're as nervous as a cat." Arthur couldn't deny it, and Eames' lecherous staring wasn't helping. He was relieved when their server, a plain girl who couldn't have been much more than twenty, came by to take their drink order.
"I'll have a glass of house wine," Arthur said, hoping one glass would be enough to calm him down.
Eames continued to analyze the menu. "Just water for me, thank you." Arthur gave him a quizzical look. Without looking up, Eames replied, "I'm driving, remember?"
This struck Arthur as unusual. "Well, yeah, but-"
"I am occasionally capable of acting responsibly, you know." Eames' tone was bordering on offended. Arthur dropped his gaze to his menu, the words swimming before him as a flush crept up his neck.
"Will wonders ever cease," he mumbled, unwilling to apologize.
"Oh, Arthur, you're such a prat!" Eames laughed. "You wouldn't recognize a joke if you tripped over it."
Arthur's ears burned. "I recognize the one sitting across from me." Eames' eyes lit up with delight – the jabs didn't even scratch the surface of his bottomless self-confidence, which served to further agitate Arthur. Their banter was briefly interrupted by the arrival of their drinks; Arthur drained half his wine in one go. The waitress seemed slightly alarmed by this, looking to Eames as if expecting an explanation.
"We'll need a few more minutes," Eames said, and the girl scurried away gratefully. He fixed his gaze on Arthur, who was now pretending to peruse the entrees. "You might want some food to go with that wine." Without looking up, his date picked up his glass and knocked back the rest of its contents.
"Why? Are you afraid that I might embarrass you?"
"Not really – but you'll need the energy for later on."
Arthur slammed his menu shut and met Eames' gaze. "Is that so?" The wine had colored his cheeks, making him appear vaguely cherubic.
"This, as you might've guessed, is the wine and dine, precursors to the recline."
No sooner had the words left Eames' mouth before every hair on Arthur's body was standing on end. He realized that it had been obvious from the beginning that this was the way the evening was to unfold – not that he minded, of course; he was more than willing to lead Eames on a merry chase.
The waitress returned at that very moment, glancing nervously from Eames to Arthur as she waited to take their orders. Eames decided on something with lamb in it – Arthur had been too focused on watching his lips move to hear the words they were forming. When he realized that it was his turn, he tossed the menu to the waitress and nodded at his empty glass.
"More wine to start, and salad to finish." The waitress and Eames raised an eyebrow in unison. "I'm getting fucked tonight," Arthur stated, the wine washing away his inhibition. "Wouldn't want to get cramps." The waitress' eyes whitened before she turned on her heel and vanished.
Eames laughed and presented his best Austin Powers impression. "Oh, behave!" Arthur couldn't help but grin. He kicked off a shoe and felt around for one of Eames' feet, running his foot up the leg it was attached to. "Clearly I need to get you drunk more often," Eames said, shifting in his seat to accommodate the increasing snugness of his pants. This uncharacteristically brash Arthur was very arousing indeed.
"I'm not drunk," Arthur said indignantly.
"Right, and I'm not turned on by it."
Arthur's foot paused momentarily at Eames' knee before seeking proof of this statement. It was not difficult to find. Eames glanced about the restaurant before carefully sliding down in his chair and thrusting his crotch against the foot. Arthur, emboldened by the wine, pressed himself along the thickening length of trousered cock, the silly smile on his face revealing his enjoyment. Their waitress suddenly reappeared bearing water and wine, and both men halted their game of footsies as she set Eames' water down and refilled Arthur's glass. Her discomfort was palpable, and Arthur decided to tighten his grip on it. He used his toes to give Eames a surprisingly strong squeeze, resulting in a stifled moan.
"S-shouldn't be much l-longer," the girl stammered, white-faced, as she backed away from the table.
"For him or the food?" Arthur asked, his smirk widening. The waitress turned tail and practically ran to the kitchen. He turned back to Eames, who had been biting his lip to suppress an outburst of either pleasure or laughter.
"She'll spit in our food!" Eames exhaled.
"Then she'll get no tip," Arthur responded. "But the real question is whether or not I'll spit." He gave Eames another squeeze as he gulped his wine.
"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"
"No, and it'll do much worse things to you in good time."
Eames could only imagine what Arthur meant by that. A tremendous heat was radiating from his crotch and spreading throughout his body, leaving him feeling pleasantly lightheaded. He was suddenly aware of the other diners, glancing back at them now and then, and the notion of being found out secretly thrilled him. His bliss was interrupted once more by the waitress, this time bearing plates of food. Arthur's foot disappeared from his lap as its owner sat up properly in his chair and dug into his salad. The disappointment Eames was feeling vanished as the smell of baked lamb hit his nostrils, voracity taking its place.
The two ate in silence for a few minutes, returning to anonymity amidst the chatter and clinking of cutlery on ceramic throughout the room. Eames was thoroughly impressed by the quality of the food, but his thoughts and eyes kept wandering back to Arthur - despite being slightly tipsy, he was inhaling horiatiki with impeccable grace. This made Eames want to fuck him even more. Perhaps he'd have to escape to the men's room, drop trou and give himself a few good jerks before Arthur followed suit. He'd be on his knees in a jiff, taking every last inch down his throat before Eames had him pressed up against the wall, moaning into the tile as he got his perfect ass fucked into oblivion.
"Eames?"
This time it was Arthur who was disrupting his reverie, and Eames realized that he'd forgotten to swallow the mouthful of food he'd been chewing. He did so before responding. "Yeah?"
"Everything okay?"
Eames nodded, noting that Arthur had already polished off his salad. "Looks like someone wants dessert," he said, a frisky edge to his words. "I don't know if I should let you have any after all that filthy talk in the car."
"You don't have a choice," Arthur said, slowly looking over both shoulders to determine that their waitress was nowhere in sight before accidentally-on-purpose knocking his fork to the floor. "Goodness gracious! What a butterfingers I am." Eames was certain of what was coming and his cock hardened in anticipation. Arthur knelt down as if to retrieve the fork but instead disappeared under the tablecloth, shoving his date's knees apart with considerable force.
"Unh!" Eames grunted, automatically canting his pelvis closer to Arthur. He'd slid down further into his chair and hoped nobody would notice. Arthur spread Eames' knees wider as he moved in, his breath unbearably hot and teasing over his restrained erection. Eames was itching to tear open his fly and free himself, but he didn't dare attempt it. Sweat moistened his temples as he felt Arthur's hands ghosting over his crotch, carefully undoing and unzipping and maneuvering until he had his fingers wrapped around cock. Arthur's breath was audibly ragged, and Eames held his in the hopes that they would not be discovered prematurely and thrown out.
Arthur was mumbling about something, his lips brushing along the length of Eames' cock as his hands gripped his thighs, halting the fine tremor that had started moments ago. Eames could feel precum leaking from his impatient dick, and he wished that Arthur would get to the point so that he could blow his load and get the fuck out of here. He was going to pay for this little stunt once they got to the car, which was looking as though it would be christened earlier than Eames had originally planned.
As if he were telepathic, Arthur latched onto the head of Eames' cock and tongued its slit as he moved his hand along the shaft. Eames let out a loud sigh and was sure that he felt Arthur smiling with his mouth full. Several pairs of eyes were now on him (or was it them?); he took a sip of water to appear nonchalant. At that very moment Arthur decided to test his gag reflex, and was promptly rewarded by the sound of water being spat all over the table. This was followed by Eames reaching a hand under the tablecloth and grasping Arthur's hair none-too-gently, pushing his mouth further and further down his cock until it hit fabric. The thrill of deep throating Eames – in public, no less – bolstered Arthur's technique and speed. He used his free hand to attend to his own cock, which had already dampened a spot on his suit pants and was begging to be freed.
The sound of approaching footsteps caused both men to freeze.
"Is everything s-satisfactory?"
Fuck, thought Arthur, unable to control the saliva that was running from his mouth and soaking the front of Eames' pants. He heard the other man trying his best to regain his composure.
"Fantastic, love, but would you mind bringing the bill? We'll need to get off – I mean, take off shortly."
Arthur tried not to giggle at the Freudian slip. As the waitress retreated, Eames shoved his head down onto his cock with renewed vigor. He sprang back into action, ignoring his aching knees and jaw. Eames, meanwhile, was attracting an audience with his labored breathing. He knew he was on the verge of a toe-curling orgasm and was hoping that the waitress would take her time getting the bill. He twined his fingers through Arthur's hair, knowing full well that his painfully strong grip encouraged him to work faster.
The waitress, wanting to be relieved of the most awkward situation she'd encountered in her working career, wasted no time in bringing the bill. Arthur was too engrossed in coaxing an orgasm from Eames to hear her approaching the table, and as she set the slip down and moved in to clear the plates, her foot hit his knee.
"Mmph!" Arthur exclaimed, pulling his mouth off of Eames' cock with an audible pop and smacking his head on the underside of the table. "Ow! Shit!"
Eames froze, a nervous smile plastered to his face. He looked at the waitress, whose expression had morphed from mild discomfort to pure disgust.
"Oh my god." She dropped the plates onto the table and backed away. The scene had attracted the attention of every diner in the room, and Eames cursed his cock for remaining rock hard as he stuffed it back into his pants. He was acutely aware of the deep blush that was creeping up his neck and onto his cheeks as he retrieved his billfold and dropped a fifty dollar bill onto the table. He would've left more to compensate for the waitress' embarrassment, but she had gotten on his nerves.
"Come on, Arthur," Eames said, standing up and straightening his clothes before striding towards the door. Arthur poked his head out from under the tablecloth. In his tipsy, lustful state he'd quite forgotten that there were other people in the room, and now they were all staring at him reproachfully. He gave them his most charming grin before crawling out and stumbling after Eames.
Eames was already waiting in the Nissan with the passenger door open when Arthur stepped outside. He's going to fuck me, Arthur thought giddily. He practically skipped to the car, the charming smile still stuck to his face. After settling himself in, he reached for his seatbelt but was stopped by Eames' hand on his arm.
"You won't be needing that," Eames said. Arthur couldn't read the tone of his voice, but knew exactly what it meant when he turned to face him - Eames had his cock out, his other hand moving over it languorously. Ignoring the fact that they were parked right outside the building that they had just been busted in, Arthur twisted around in his seat and positioned himself over Eames' lap, his mouth hovering over the glistening head of his erection. He looked directly into his lust-darkened eyes as he wrapped his lips around the head, tongue lapping up precum. Eames sighed deeply and relaxed into the seat, his right hand finding its way to the bulge in Arthur's crotch and squeezing. Arthur made a delicious little noise, thrusting against Eames' hand as he took in a few more inches of cock.
The two quickened their pace as the minutes passed, Eames controlling Arthur's movements with one hand and teasing him mercilessly with the other. He knew he couldn't keep this up much longer; he had been on the brink of orgasm before and as incredible as Arthur's mouth felt on his cock, he was literally aching for release.
"Arthur…" Eames began, not getting any further before his entire cock was engulfed in the liquid heat of the other man's mouth. He could actually feel a wave of ecstasy swelling and crashing down his spine and being drawn out of his body; he was coming in violent jerks and Arthur was taking every bit of it down his throat. Several blinding seconds passed until Eames bucked himself dry, his vision slowly returning to normal as he sank into the seat. Arthur let the now-spent cock slip from his mouth as he locked eyes with Eames, cum and saliva glinting off his chin in the car's dark interior.
"C'mere," he slurred, crashing his mouth against Eames' and forcing his whitened tongue past lips and teeth. Eames' breath hitched when the taste of his own cock - his own cum - hit his taste buds. It wasn't unpleasant. Actually, it was pretty fucking hot – especially when Arthur was sucking on his tongue the same way he'd been sucking on his cock. He felt disappointed when Arthur pulled back, tearing off his suit jacket and unbuckling his belt, but he also came back to Earth.
"Hold your horses, darling, our work here is done." Eames turned the key in the ignition and the Nissan roared to life. Arthur looked as if he was going to cry. "Sit down and buckle up."
As the car sped along the blackened streets, Arthur stopped sulking long enough to speak. "Where are we going now?"
"Oh, the night is still young, Arthur, and besides – you haven't had your turn yet."
The sullen expression vanished from Arthur's face and a devilish smile took its place. Eames shifted into fifth gear and turned onto the highway, heading towards the city.
~tbc