Disclaimer: As always I own nothing but the original characters and the situations the characters find themselves in. Thanks so much for continuing to read and for giving me feedback on my work. It's muchly appreciated and I do read every review you send me!

Note: I was watching the reboot for 'Jumanji' when I was finishing this chapter. Hence the reference. I love this movie, and highly recommend it if you haven't seen it. It's so much better than I thought it would be.

The Object of Art

'The object of art is to give life a shape.' William Shakespeare

Everyone had their preferences, and this was personally one of Eames' favorite ways to start the day. And not just because morning sex was just that amazing in general-which it was-but because Arthur was not by nature a morning person. His darling woke up slowly and with great reluctance when not working, and was slow to pull on the metaphoric shields he wore as armor against the rest of the world. A just awake Arthur was sleepy, soft, and cuddly. Inclined to smile at Eames with dimples on display and a look in his eyes that said Eames was all Arthur saw. All he cared about or wanted. It was as if there was no past or future, just the present as Arthur lay back and let Eames adore every inch of him with small, happy sighs and mumbled words of endearment and encouragement.

It was all the more precious, these stolen moments, because of what Eames had learned the day before. What Arthur had finally, after all these years, trusted him with. The truth about the past that had shaped Arthur and his twin into the men they were today.

He'd always known that a large part of Arthur's early, childhood story was a lie. You couldn't con a con man. At least not one of his caliber and skill. Not for long. So he'd known and waited, as patiently as he knew how to be, for the day that Arthur would reveal the truth behind the visible and invisible wounds his darling bore. All of them.

Yesterday...yesterday he'd been entrusted with the full story. Not the half version that Robbie's Incredible Hulk boyfriend was getting, but the truth and nothing but the truth. So help them God. Well, if you believed in him. Eames was still on the fence in that regard, especially since he wasn't inclined to worship or respect a being that would allow Arthur to suffer as he and his brother had as children. Though they'd ended up in the Blake family, which was far better than the life they'd had with their mother before the Black Tiger had taken them. The twists and turns of fate...or a higher being's plan?

"You're using your wrist too much." Arthur murmured, hands running up and down the arms Eames had braced on either side of his warm body.

"Unlike your brother I've followed doctor's orders." Eames pointed out, though Arthur did have a point about the hand in general. Specifically his broken fingers, which were, as the seconds passed, less and less pleased with their present position. His wrist was holding up well though. It had only been a minor sprain.

Making a sound that Eames interpreted to mean Arthur wasn't buying it, Eames made no effort to protest as Arthur gently rolled them onto their sides, facing each other.

Though the more up close view of the still healing bruises around his love's eye had Eames fighting the urge to frown and punch things. Which he was not supposed to do thanks to his healing wrist and broken fingers, which was a real bitch. He'd have loved to be able to beat the hell out of something yesterday after the family meeting.

Understanding in his eyes, Arthur reached out to stroke Eames's hair away from his forehead. "It barely bothers me anymore. A lot of people got it a lot worse."

"I hate seeing you bruised."

"Unless I ask for them, and you put them there to show I'm yours."

"True." Few people could appear more untouchable than Arthur. He did love seeing signs of their lovemaking on Arthur's skin that showed that he, alone, was allowed to touch. That Arthur allowed him to mark him as his.

A long, lingering kiss punctuated that thought, both of them enjoying the other's mouth thoroughly, morning breath and all.

Pulling back, Eames suggested that they take this into the bathroom and shower together. They'd save water and be able to help each other reach those hard to reach places.

"I'm pretty sure we're both wearing bruises from our last shower together." Arthur pointed out, though he smiled slyly as he said it. "A bath sounds better."

"It does, doesn't it?"

"Mhmm."

)

Meanwhile

Lying with his face smushed into a pillow, his body aching like he'd been sparring with Bane for hours with Bane aiming many of his blows at his ass, Barsad considered his predicament and couldn't quite bring himself to be sorry. At least for now. When he actually tried to get up and sit on something he was going to be at least a little sorry, for sure. And later, when this all came back to bite him in the ass and not in a good way, he was liable to be truly sorry. But for now...for now Barsad was mostly occupied trying to wrap his head around the events of last night and this morning.

He'd been fighting wars and traveling constantly in his teens and twenties. Had lived among men and in cultures that had taught him that men did not, should not ever desire other men. That such abbreviations should be beaten, executed, and eradicated. That was how he'd been raised and conditioned, and it hadn't been until his mid-thirties that Barsad had been able to accept his own nature and had begun taking sex partners who were male. And even then he kept such contact brief and impersonal.

Barsad now had a better idea what he'd missed out on, sharing a bed with a twenty-one year old with all the sex drive, stamina, and refractory period that went with that.

A twenty-one year old who had spent the night and morning completely destroying and ruining Barsad when it came to sex, potentially life. He'd let the boy take ownership of his body in ways no one have ever attempted, much less succeeded. A family trait, Barsad thought darkly, recalling his own observations where Bane and Robin concerned.

Hubris. It got you every time.

Turning his head, Barsad looked over at the boy sitting beside him, sheets pooling around his waist and Simon's upper body mostly on display. The much younger man was holding a notebook and was writing away on it, working on a song, presumably. Completely oblivious, or not caring, that he had a trained killer in his bed.

And Simon knew that much. Barsad had outright told him he was letting a killer into his apartment and he should be more careful who he invited into his space. And bed.

Simon had shrugged, completely unconcerned. Another trait he shared with his cousin. Limited to no sense of self preservation. Desperately in need of a keeper.

A glance over and down. "Have you recovered?"

It was lowering-and emasculating-but Barsad had to say no. He knew what would happen if he said he had. The same thing that had happened the other times he'd said he was fine. And his ass just wasn't up to another round.

A small sound of disappointment, then Simon's gaze was back on his work, Barsad dismissed just that easily.

Which should have pleased him, but didn't.

It annoyed him, Barsad was peeved to realize. The fact that the boy didn't want to cuddle or pretend this had been more than sex should have pleased him, normally would have, but there was something about the care Simon showed when you had his full, undivided attention that made you want it, even if you weren't exactly up to it.

Disgusted with himself, Barsad threw off the covers Simon must have draped over at him after the last time and determinedly sat up and spun his legs around to hang over the edge of the mattress in one smooth move.

Training kept him from whimpering. That and Barsad reached out to brace one hand on the mattress just in case as he pushed himself up and onto his feet. He might have bit back a couple more whimpers as he let his body adjust to its new position.

Simon looked up again with detached interest, looking Barsad over before lowering his head back to whatever he was working on. "Do you want a bath? It might help."

"I'm fine." Barsad bit off.

Not even bothering to look up, Simon shrugged his shoulders a little. "Okay. If you want food you'll have to make it. I can't cook. Can you cook?"

That was worth more of Simon's attention, apparently.

Meeting Simon's gaze Barsad reminded himself that he was an adult, and would act like one. Which was why he stated that he could throw something together provided that Simon had food in his refrigerator.

"I should. I think."

Shaking his head, he wasn't going to hold much hope that there'd be much in there to choose from, Barsad stated that he was going to go shower. He needed to clean up, and the hot water would help the rest of him.

"Kay."

And that was that it seemed. And trying to wrap his mind around how he'd gotten himself into this situation-which he'd been trying to do since he woke up without any luck-Barsad could only hope that in the near future he came up with an answer. Especially since he wasn't actually in a hurry to leave.

Govno.

)

Meanwhile

Having been carried downstairs and deposited on the sofa bed he'd never gotten a chance to actually sleep in, Blake opted to take advantage and with some maneuver and cursing managed to work his way under the covers and even prop up his knee with a spare pillow so Bane couldn't scold him. Though of course the man did from the kitchen, telling him not to go back to sleep. Which only made him want to go back to sleep more, but somehow Bane had yet to catch on to how contrary Blake was. Especially with the men he was dating. It sorta made Blake question the whole genius label people lobbied Bane's way. Not that he was going to say so in his present condition. HE wasn't stupid.

But that didn't mean that he couldn't close his eyes and drift a little, entertaining himself with trying to recall snatches of the delightful dreams he'd had about the two of them the night before. He couldn't remember much, but what he did remember suggested it was for the best he'd been drugged and sleeping deeply last night. Otherwise he'd have totally molested Bane in their sleep.

Though he was enjoying thinking about molesting Bane now. Blake was fairly sure the other man would be onboard with the idea. It was the rest of their 'relationship' the idiot had problems with.

"Why are you smiling like that?"

The wariness in Bane's voice had Blake's smiling widening. The man was learning...slowly.

Opening one eye Blake looked up to see Bane staring down at him. He did not look pleased.

"I thought you were making breakfast."

"You hardly have any appropriate breakfast food."

"Just put a couple slices of bread into the toaster for me and put peanut butter on them. I'll be good."

"That is no kind of breakfast."

Blake sighed as dramatically as possible. "Fine. You can cut up some banana and put that on top of the peanut butter toast. If you must."

"You will eat what I make you." Bane ordered, stomping away before Blake could argue with him. While also forgetting all about inquiring as to what had made Blake smile evilly before. Bonus.

Closing both eyes again Blake went back to thinking about his dreams, wondering if sometime during the night he'd worked out a happy story for their Gladiator/non-Gladiator romance. Probably not. And Bane had obviously not liked the idea last night, though that conversation was hazy too thanks to the drugs. So not a gladiator, but another stereotypical-fuck. Perfect.

Viking.

Wiggling with glee at the idea, his aches and pains be damned, Blake grinned as he fought the urge to rub his hands together as his brain spun a tale of Bane the Viking-and he totally had a Viking name so how had he NOT thought of this before-come to pillage Blake's village. Of course Blake's family were all badasses-save for Simon-who could totally kick serious Viking ass and send the Scandinavians running back to their ships, but Bane could be stubborn and refuse to yield or run. And since he could never back down from a fight either...Man, this was practically writing itself in his head. Plus Viking Bane looked so HOT in leather and with tattoos. Vikings were big on tattoos and face paint, right? He was pretty sure. Some research might be required there. Totally be worth it.

"Hey, Bane. You don't have any tattoos, right?" He had yet to see the man naked, which was just sad. And all Bane's fault.

"No."

"Figures." There were always temporary tattoos. And sexual favors he would be willing to exchange if Bane were willing to-crap. Fuck. He was doing it again.

"Why are you cursing?"

"I think the fucking drugs I took last night opened my brain up to subliminal messaging. I'm starting to think like we're involved, which we're not. You can't just say we are and make it so." Blake added, well aware that Bane would think that. "You ghosted me, remember?"

"I did not ghost you. I simply took a step back to better judge the threat you pose."

"Which just goes to show that you don't listen to me at all, since I told you this was a bad idea going in. No sympathy."

"Robin."

"Using my first name does not help you at all, Sweetie. At all."

)

Meanwhile

Bane did not like the looks Robin kept giving the ceiling. Whatever he was daydreaming about did not bode well for anyone, especially him. The little shit was planning something, and knowing the cop that spelled more chaos and trouble than anyone should have to handle. Though he would be stuck handling it since he was, for the time being, stuck with the God of Chaos he was determined to sleep with. And spend time with outside of bed, for reasons Bane still had yet to wrap his mind around. He should really look into getting a C.A.T scan in the near future, just to make sure he hadn't developed a brain tumor that could explain his sudden need to ruin his orderly life for someone he shouldn't be attracted to.

"What are you thinking?"

"That you and I make absolutely no sense."

"No...we totally make sense. Which is just sad."

"I understand why I appeal to you." Bane informed him. "It's your continued appeal to me that I don't understand."

In the beginning he could be excused for not fully comprehending what he was getting himself into by pursuing the annoying twit. He no longer had that excuse, yet still...here he was.

A snort of derision from the couch.

"You should be in Egypt, you're so in De Nile."

"Robin."

"Again with the first naming. Dumbass."

"Don't call me a Dumbass."

Snickering. "Sorry, now I'm picturing you as Kevin Hart as Fridge in 'Jumanji'. Though you look more like the Rock. And I don't have a convenient cliff to push you off of."

Bane didn't know what that meant, but he sensed it would probably annoy him if he did. Ergo for the moment he would ignore it in favor of asking Robin just why he thought Bane would want to be with someone like Robin. The answer was likely to annoy him either way, so better to stick with the non-pop culture reference one.

"I make sense because you try to control every aspect of your life...and I'm uncontrollable. And you like that about me. I challenge you. You know on some level that you'll never control or entirely figure me out, but you want to try anyway. I make your boring life interesting."

"That and I'm just that sexy and awesome." Robin added after a moment.

Rolling his eyes, Bane turned his attention back to putting together their breakfast. Pathetic as it was.

"Fine. Give me the silent treatment. Again." Derision and sarcasm dripped from every syllable now. "Want to talk about the fact that Barsad probably got seriously laid last night and you didn't? Also prepare for him to be at least low grade obsessed with my cousin for a while. Simon has that effect on guys. Poor bastards."

"Barsad is more than capable of handling anything your little cousin can dish out."

"Just like you're totally capable of handling me?"

He did not like that question. He did not like it at all. So he was going to ignore it. It was better for both of them.

Even if that just made the bastard snicker louder.

"I can eat all of this myself. Do you wish to go hungry?"

"Go ahead. I can make toast and peanut butter. It's one of my superpowers."

"Superpowers?"

"Well, not really. I would totally have way more awesome superpowers than toast making if I was a superhero. Though they always have really depressing lives full of significant others and family dying because of them, so hard pass. I'd rather be a vigilante badass like Batman."

"Of course you would."

"What? Don't tell me you're a Superman over Batman fan. If you are, the relationship totally ends here."

If he believed in a god, this is where Bane would be asking him or her for strength.