It had turned out that Arthur wasn't such a fastidious fuck, regardless, when it came to bed linen that weren't his own. Not if the amount of sweet, sweet rum dribbling freely on the hotel sheets was anything to go by.
And of course it had to be rum, since what else does one drink in the Caribbean?
It could be said that it was one of Eames's brighter observations when he'd realized that Arthur had never been to the Caribbean, although he'd secretly harbored a great yearning to see the place with his own eyes after seeing none other than the first Pirates of the Caribbean-flick. Wrenching out this little tidbit of information was something Eames was very, very proud of, not to mention the memory of Arthur blushing so prettily after the confession.
After a time, Eames thought, in self-deprecating retrospect, of him being obtuse as hell, he'd finally tapped onto a job which took them to the luscious heat of the tropics, to the sand and sea.
A job, since God forbid Arthur agreeing to a simple vacation, claiming that he'd only get bored. It was a small job anyway, and Eames had his suspicions about Arthur's character - there was something off about his insistence of declining any time for leisure, but at this point, Eames would rather crack that mystery later, than gamble on what they'd both come to call a proper relationship. With love and all, in stead of the somewhat awkward, lustful, longing looks they'd been shooting at each other for far too long.
And true enough, Eames was that much closer to bringing out the reasons behind Arthur's quirk, of his deep seated hatred of idle hands, right before said hands were not idle at all;
With the 'Do Not Disturb'- sign on the door, the gasp that came out of Eames when Arthur poured a trickle of rum between his shoulder blades made Arthur want to hear it again. Watching the rum run over Eames's heated skin and pool on the small of his back made Arthur want to lick it, so he did, knowing full well that it would, inescapably, bring out the gasp again. Arthur had been right with his conjecture that rum was better when it was enjoyed with a hint of Eames, but there was still one more theory to be put through the test before the final conclusion.
"Are you quite done with your experimentation?" Eames propped himself on his elbows and peered at Arthur from under his arm, unhindered amusement sounding through his voice caused by the sage attitude Arthur approached the examination of the variable uses of rum with, most of which included various body parts attached to Eames. Ike his flank, where the drops of rum mingled with sweat for Arthur to sample.
While Eames happily, eagerly complied to being subjected to the ongoing procedures, it did have side effects that had the tendency to grow into gargantuan, frankly unbearable proportions. A man could take only so much of being licked and laved and nuzzled all over before it became downright maddening, and at present, Eames had arrived to that frustrating point.
"No, not quite, not yet." The thickness of Arthur's voice curled into the pit of Eames's stomach and nestled there with the rest of the tension. Arthur ran a finger up Eames's spine, up to the nape of his neck and followed it by draping himself on the man, the bottle of rum held in one hand while the other travelled under Eames's chin, tilting his head back with a firm grip to water him with the dark liquid while Arthur's hardened cock nestled snugly between Eames's thighs.
With Arthur laying on him as heavily as he could, Eames supported both their weight on his arms, not able to do more than try to swallow when Arthur raised the bottle to Eames's lips, though he made his best effort to close Arthur tight between his legs, pushing back eagerly to offer Arthur some friction, making him groan.
Arthur's fingers splayed out to cup Eames's jaw, thumb pressing almost too hard into the joint, and yet, somehow, it wasn't enough.
The awkward angle of Eames's throat made it impossible not to have the rum spilled, and Arthur slid slowly, mindful of the bottle, to Eames's side to reach the droplets with his tongue, wrapping his hand around Eames's neck, mesmerized by the sight of Eames's eyes flickering closed, his mouth open and wet, waiting for anything Arthur might deign him with.
Kissing his way up from the side of Eames's chin to the corner of his mouth, Arthur made a notable observation of the possibility of rum tasting even more better when the tests were done repeatedly, which was a notion in itself that required further investigation.
Lowering himself slowly, licking off the stickiness from his path down Eames's back, Arthur thought feverishly of the variations of his thorough research that were yet to be tested… Arthur wasn't infamous for being anal for nothing… Nor were his hands idle by a longshot.
It just might, might be that it'll turn out to be a vacation after all.