Author's Note: I seem to have a lot of trouble with endings lately. I don't know. It took me a while to figure this one out. Also, I have never, ever, EVER written porn before, I've never had a pairing that I felt comfortable writing it for until this. So I would really appreciate any feedback you guys have to offer. This is a sequel to Escape. The song quoted directly below this is 'Sideways' by Citizen Cope and that's also where I got the title. I didn't realize until after I wrote this how perfect the song was for this pair.
You know it ain't easy for these thoughts here to leave me. There's no word to describe it in French or in English. Well, diamonds they fade and flowers they bloom and I'm telling you these feelings won't go away, they've been knocking me sideways, they've been knocking me out lately, whenever you come around, these feelings won't go away, they've been knocking me sideways. I keep thinking in a moment that time will take them away, but these feelings won't go away.
The idea that threatened to undo Arthur soon became the only thing real in his life, the only thing constant. It was what he woke up to in the morning and what he went to bed with at night. That's why, when Eames shows up at his door in the middle of the night, his fingers immediately grasp for his loaded die.
"Arthur," Eames greets him drunkenly with a crooked smile, pushing his way past him into his hotel room. Arthur's brows knit together in confusion, one hand firmly on his die, unwilling to let it go, the other carding through his sleep-tousled hair.
"What the fuck, Eames?" He says. Arthur doesn't usually curse, finding the words to be vulgar and slightly beneath him and the word sounds awkward coming out of his mouth. Eames turns his drunken gaze towards him, his eyes roaming over his body, clad only in silk pajama pants that hang from his hips.
"Darling, don't think I haven't noticed the way you look at me." The crooked smile is back on his face and Arthur's hand tightens on the die, like it's the only thing keeping him anchored to the earth.
"Oh, yeah?" Arthur's can feel his eyebrows drift up. "So what are you going to do about it?" He knows it's the right thing to say as soon as the challenge, masked as a question, escapes his lips.
"Darling," Eames drawls, "it's not what I'm going to do about it… it's what we're going to do about it."
And suddenly, there he is, filling Arthur's vision. Arthur's eyes close and he feels Eames's mouth crash into his own. It's hard and toothy and Arthur can't help but moan into Eames's mouth. Eames leans away to let out a soft chuckle, but Arthur doesn't let him get too far, pushing his fingertips into the British man's hair, pulling his lips down to his again.
Arthur pushes Eames down on his bed, positioning himself between his legs. He rips Eames's shirt open, the sound of buttons falling to the carpet making them both groan.
When Arthur pulls the sleeves off Eames's arms, he leans down close to his ear and growls, "Grab the headboard." Eames looks at him in confusion. "I don't want to waste time tying your hands. Grab. The. Headboard." He emphasizes his words by thrusting his hips into the other man's and grins in satisfaction when Eames does what he says.
Arthur licks a trail down Eames's neck then across his chest, teeth grazing over one nipple, then the other. He relishes the moans coming from the man underneath him. Arthur kisses a trail to the waistband of his brown slacks. Slowly, so slowly he knows he's torturing the other man, Arthur undoes the buckle and the button, then slides the zipper down the length of the other man's erection.
"Fuck," Eames growls, hands never moving from where they grip the headboard. Arthur can see that the other man's knuckles are white with the strain of it and he smirks, encouraged. He sits up to slide Eames's pants down his legs, slipping his shoes and socks off, then dragging the pants off along with his boxer-briefs, tossing the clothes to the floor. Then, he stands, removing his own pants, dropping them next to the other man's slacks. He resumes his position between Eames's legs. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," Eames repeats over and over, head rolling from side to side.
Arthur leans down, his tongue lightly touching the tip of Eames's penis. Suddenly, he feels self-conscious, like he always does when he's licking a new cock. But then he hears Eames's half groans, half growls, a murmured please and he regains confidence.
Wrapping his large hand around the base of Eames's erection, Arthur licks a stripe down the underside. His own cock twitches in response and suddenly he's done with the foreplay. He can't wait any longer, he needs to be buried deep inside the other man.
Arthur leans across Eames's body, rubbing their bare chests together, retrieving lube and a condom wrapped in a foil package from the drawer in the bedside table. Quickly and efficiently, with practice fingers, he squeezes the lube onto his fore and middle fingers, while Eames's hungry eyes follow his every movement, hands never leaving the headboard. Arthur stops what he's doing to take in the sight before him: Eames, quiet for once, stretched, pale white and ready to be fucked, across his queen-sized hotel bed. With a growl, Arthur lifts Eames's legs above his shoulders and thrusts his two fingers into Eames.
Eames takes it like a slut. He thrusts his hips down onto Arthur's hand, moaning, "More, please God, more." Arthur could see the sweat beading on Eames's forehead, could see his pink tongue dart to moisten his red lips. Arthur thrusts his ring finger in, twisting and scissoring them, smirking as Eames whines and whimpers like a whore. Finally, he pulls his fingers out and rips open the foil wrapper of the condom. Slowly, so slowly, he slides the condom up his erection, taking the time to stroke his length once, twice, three times. He squeezes more lube onto his palm and strokes his cock a few more times.
Smiling up at Eames, his gaze never leaving the other man's face as he guides his cock to his entrance, he thrusts in, swiftly and smoothly. Eames's eyes widen when Arthur's entire length enters him, gaze becoming unfocused, a slight grimace on his lips. Then, he's back, lifting his hips off the bed, arching up into Arthur's body. Arthur begins thrusting, slowly at first, then quicker, needing more. He groans and whimpers. Eames is so hot, so tight, so not what he was expecting. This was better than any of the things Arthur could have thought up alone at night. This was a warm body underneath him. This was comfort.
Eames uses his hold on the headboard as leverage to thrust further down onto Arthur's cock. They were moving simultaneously, meeting halfway, their skin making obscene sounds where they slapped together. Their moans mingled together in the silence of the hotel room. Arthur was close, so close.
"Fuck, yes," he growled, throwing his head back, riding out the orgasm. Searching, searching, grasping at Eames's cock. One, two, three strokes was all it took and Eames came all over their stomachs with a low moan.
They lay in bed, limbs splayed out across each other, breathing heavily. Arthur finally pull out, feeling oddly uneasy at the loss of contact. Eames releases his hold on the headboard, body sagging, one hand reaching up to ruffle through Arthur's hair.
Eames is already dozing off when Arthur rolls off the bed, searching for his die. Finding it, he rolls it, once, twice, three times. Satisfied, he climbs back onto the bed and falls asleep next to Eames.
The next morning, Arthur wakes up to Eames dressing. He watches, silently, as the other man pulls on his socks then his shoes. Eames notices he's awake and walks over to the bed. He leans into him, slowly, so slowly, soft lips brushing against Arthur's, gently at first, then harder. Their teeth clack together as their tongues slip and slide. Arthur's about ready for round two, but then Eames pulls away, suddenly across the room at the door. Then silently, he's gone.
Arthur grabs at his die and rolls it. Only once this time. He grasps it in his palm all day, working in the warehouse, then on his way back to the hotel room. He doesn't let go of it until Eames is at his door once more, drunkenly pushing him backwards toward the bed.