Arthur went, of all places, to the public library. Eames sat reading a Harlequin romance novel and snickering (but more importantly, discreetly watching Arthur's back) while Arthur did whatever computer magic he was capable of. After about a half hour, he sat back with a sigh and said, "Well, that's all the damage control I can do for now. I don't dare move any money around, and I think we have to assume that everything about me is compromised, so unless you've got an airplane I don't know about, I think we're grounded."

"How much cash do we have left?"

Arthur checked Paul's wallet. "About $200."

Eames thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Let's call Saito. We'll find a place to crash tonight, then go get him. He owes us a favor and we're in need of cashing one in."

Arthur didn't like it, but he didn't have any better ideas and figured that they were relatively safe since they didn't exactly have a paper trail right now. So they headed on foot to the nearest motel, about a mile or so east. They walked in companionable silence, sandals flapping quietly, the night breeze sweet and cool against their skin.

"So. Tell me one of the stories from when you were in limbo."

Arthur stiffened, checking Eames's face before frowning and shaking his head. "I don't want to. It's not important."

"Oh come on. Not all of us got fluffy, happy dreams with birds and ribbons and shite. So, spill it. Share with the class." Eames's words were lighthearted, but his tone had bite.

Arthur looked at him for a few seconds before saying carefully, "It wasn't real. None of it. Just like yours wasn't real. So we both just have to try to forget them and move on."

"I'm gonna guess that it felt pretty fucking real since I know mine did."

Arthur stopped in his tracks, frowning. "What is this? What are you doing right now?"

"Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing." Eames pushed past Arthur and kept walking.

At the motel, Eames stood at the bathroom sink, Arthur's hastily purchased razor in his hand, staring blankly at the mirror. Arthur watched him silently from the other room, monitoring him closely while he stowed their meager possessions in the drawers. He watched Eames run a hand raggedly through the stubble on his jaw a few times, then he wet his hand in the tap and ran it over his jaw again. He tapped the razor on the edge of the sink, hesitatingly, then finally placed it back precisely on the counter and dried his face. He turned to see Arthur staring at him. Eames raised his eyebrows in a "can I help you?" look, and Arthur decided he didn't want to fight. He definitely didn't want to fight with Eames in his current state.

"Keeping the scruff?" he asked instead, tossing him a small smile.

Eames shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe, for now. I forgot what I looked like without a beard, to be honest. 's a bit weird," he admitted, looking almost shy.

Arthur's lips tightened in what could have been a smile, and he nodded. "I didn't get us any clothes but the shirts and shoes, nothing to sleep in," nervous words spilled out of Arthur's mouth, unbidden, "and the single was cheaper than the double room, but if you want, I can just take first watch and you can have the bed because I'm not really-"

Arthur's voice trailed off as Eames came toward him with a small frown on his face. Slowly, Eames bent down and kissed his lips, a soft, light caress that shut him up pretty effectively.

"Hey. I'm sorry, yeah? Don't kick me out of bed until I, at least, eat some biscuits and get crumbs all over the sheets, okay?"

Arthur breathed in relief but tried to cover it with a huff. "You're not actually going to do that, right?"

Eames raised an eyebrow. "Depends. Did you buy any?"

Arthur hesitated, then looked away. "I'm going to jump in the shower, quick."

Eames brightened. "You did! Arthur, you are a genius."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. My mother still has the plaque. Just don't eat all of them, alright?"

"Absolutely, darling."

Arthur fixed him with his fiercest scowl, then disappeared into the bathroom.

Eames could see Arthur start when he pulled back the shower curtain and stepped into the tub behind him.

"Hi," Arthur said, and he sounded, adorably, a bit nervous.

Eames didn't reply, just pressed behind Arthur, his dry, warm chest solid against Arthur's slick, wet back. He couldn't get enough of the way it felt when he ran his lips over Arthur's neck, starting right behind his ear and following the smooth line down the side of his throat and over his shoulder. He could hear Arthur's breath hitch as he circled his arms around him, stroking his perfect chest while water sluiced down his body. He felt Arthur press back against him slightly and couldn't stop the rumble that rolled out of his chest. He could feel himself hardening against Arthur's arse.

"I have thought about you in the shower a million times," he confessed into Arthur's ear.

"I know."

Eames pulled back slightly.

Arthur gave him a mischevious smile, a light blush staining his cheeks. "I heard you at the hotel in Alaska."

Eames's eyebrows shot up and he felt his own answering grin. "You should have jumped in with me. Showers are always better with two."

"I have to tell you, I've never actually found that to be true."

"Mmmm," Eames said, distracted by a rivulet of soap suds working their way over Arthur's hip. He followed it with his thumb. "That's because you've never done it with me."

"Wow, you're right, condescension is really not...ahh!" Arthur sucked in a breath as Eames's fingers circled his length. He touched him lightly, teasingly, the water surrounding them both and heightening their senses. Eames took his time, working him slowly with one hand and exploring with the other, caressing each plane of muscle on his back, stomach, side. He grazed Arthur's nipple and at his answering grunt, spent time rolling and tugging it into a perfect hard bud. He ran his tongue and teeth over the scar he'd helped stitch up. Arthur's panting filled the small space and Eames drank it in, their nearness and the frank amount of Arthur he was allowed to hold in his arms.

Eames meant to say something witty, something sexy and charming, but what came out was a breathless, "Christ, darling, you are perfect." He should have done something to lighten the moment, but the statement was so true, he could only wish there was a stronger word than 'perfect'.

He nipped and sucked at Arthur's ear, his strokes becoming firmer and wringing what can only be described as a whine out of the point man. His own erection trapped between them was hard and aching, slipping between Arthur's cheeks with every shift of their bodies. Eames's fingers grasped Arthur's hip, pulling him back, hard, and groaning at the too much/not enough friction that was going to break him. His head swam and he closed his eyes against the tidal wave of want, and longing, and aching loneliness and crippling despair. No, wait, no. He gripped Arthur tighter and dropped his forehead, his hand slowing, then stopping as he drew in ragged breaths. He suddenly needed Arthur to ground him, bring him back from the ledge of his appalling well of emotions, churning and waiting to overflow their carefully constructed container.

"Hey," Arthur whispered turning slightly. When he caught sight of Eames's face, he turned sharply. "Hey, hey, hey. Where'd you go?" he said gently, cradling his face in his palms. His palms rasped against his stubble. "It's alright. Hey," he forced Eames to look him in the eye. "It'll be okay, yeah? I promise."

Eames swallowed hard, then nodded. Eventually, if Arthur said it enough times, he'd believe him. He just had to give him enough time. "Promises, promises, pet," he replied, his voice sounding slightly strangled. When Arthur kissed him, he held on tight and Arthur pressed him into the cold tiles and slid his tongue into his mouth. Their slick bodies glided together in all the right ways and Eames let himself be overwhelmed with Arthur. They rutted against each other, taking pleasure and giving it until Eames stilled. "Darling, I want to be inside you. Right now."

He felt Arthur's erection twitch with interest at his words. "That could be arranged, Mr. Eames," he said with heat in his voice. "Bedroom?"

"Absolutely not, I promised to introduce you to the glory of a shared shower."

The corner of Arthur's mouth quirked up. "Promises, promises." He pressed a quick kiss against Eames's lips. "Okay, stay right there." He ducked out of the shower and the blast of cold air hitting Eames was almost refreshing. It cleared his head and he took a deep breath, steadying himself. Arthur deserved the best of him, and he was determined to be that for him. He ducked his head under the spray, letting it spill over him, drown out his thoughts and wash him clean.

When Arthur returned, setting the condom packet and lube on one of the shelves, he wasted no time. He maneuvered Arthur against the long wall of the shower, his hands and mouth everywhere at once. He tasted everything he could reach, kissing Arthur in all the places he'd kept himself from eyeing from across the room over the years: his neck, the vee of his throat, the insides of his elbows. He touched every place he'd fantasized about too, the planes of his chest, the soft skin on the inside of his thighs, swell of his arse.

When he'd successfully left Arthur breathless and gasping a string of curses into his mouth, he rolled the condom down over himself and urged Arthur to settle one foot on the edge of the bathtub. He rubbed the pad of his finger gently against Arthur's entrance, teasing and opening him slowly. He pressed one slickened finger into Arthur in slow steady strokes, learning his body, listening to his cues and committing to memory the tiny details that made up the man he'd been mad for for so many years. He stroked Arthur at the same time, opposite the rhythm of the finger inside him, savoring the way his name sounded when Arthur said it just like that. Then, ever so slightly, he crooked his finger until he brushed the bundle of nerves inside him and turned Arthur into a jibbering mess.

"God, Eames, faster. You're fucking killing me," Arthur swore at him, his head leaning back against the tiles. Obediently, Eames worked in a second finger, then a third, brushing his prostate with every other stroke, just enough to keep Arthur right on the edge. Arthur's fingers dug into his shoulders, but he nudged them into wrapping around him instead. Arthur made a high, keening noise as Eames withdrew his fingers, but Eames pulled at Arthur's leg, urging it too off the floor to push against the edge of the bathtub. Eames gripped Arthur's hips and lowered him onto his achingly hard erection, pressing into him slowly and letting out a low, long groan the entire time. When he finally rested fully seated inside him, he had to stop and concentrate on not coming immediately. When he had some control again, he pulled back to look into Arthur's eyes.

"You okay, darling?" searching his face, panting.

"God, fuck, yes, you asshole, just fucking...move...please..." Arthur's voice shook. "Please, Eames."

Eames complied, sliding out of him almost completely before slamming home, hard, because they both needed it. After that, all bets were off, Eames thrusting powerfully up into him and Arthur using his leverage to roll his hips in a fantastic way that made Eames's vision go blurry. Arthur felt fucking amazing, and Eames would never, if he lived two more lifetimes, ever get enough of him. He wasn't even done fucking him, and he already wanted him again. And then again. And then again, until they couldn't stand up, couldn't say anything but each other's names, hear anything but each other's heartbeats.

"Oh, god...Eames...oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck," Arthur gasped.

At the last minute, Eames managed to get a hand in between them and jerk Arthur firmly, making him come almost instantly with a hoarse shout, spattering Eames's chest. Arthur's muscles clenching around him destroyed his last shred of control and he pounded into him until he spent himself inside Arthur's body, the surging emotion rolling through him making him greedy. He clutched Arthur to him as the last waves of pleasure rolled through him, his hips spasming of their own accord and when Arthur unhitched his leg from Eames's hip, Eames pushed closer into him with a wounded sound he wasn't sure came from his throat.

"Eames, it's alright. Hey, I'm here. I'm here." Arthur stroked his hair, his back, whispering nonsense into Eames's ear while the cooling water ran over them, rinsing it all down the drain. "Shh, I'm here. Shhhh."

When Eames could breathe again, he pulled back, sliding out of Arthur and kissing him with his eyes closed before Arthur could say anything or look at him with anything at all in his eyes.

"See?" he said quietly when he'd worked up the courage to look Arthur in the face. "Better with two."

Arthur gave him a wobbly smile, then kissed him, and Eames felt himself let go. Just a bit, but it was a start.

Both Arthur and Eames jerked awake at the sound of a chair scraping across the floor, instantly alert and recoiling against the headboard.

"Ahh, Arthur, you're letting him be the big spoon, that's cute."

"What the fuck, Paul, what are you doing here?" Arthur's voice gave no indication of the terror he was feeling, buck naked and covered only with a thin sheet while his ex pointed his own gun at the man he loved.

Paul's mouth twisted cruelly. "You mean you don't know."

"I have a pretty good idea," he said with a tilt of his head toward Rhonda in Paul's hand.

"Hmm?" he looked down, seeming to notice the gun for the first time. Then he scoffed. "I'm not going to kill you, I can't imagine why you'd have that idea." He seemed almost offended.

"Funny, coming from a guy who just got done spraying my house with automatic gunfire."

Paul rolled his eyes. "Oh please, if I'd wanted to kill you I didn't need to shoot at your house. I could have put a bullet in your head while you two were so busy getting each other off that you couldn't even lock the front door. Although, I suppose I would have had to hurry if I'd wanted to actually catch you in the act."

"Okay," Eames said, clearly done. "I wasn't necessarily going to kill you before but I definitely am now." He moved to get out of bed.

Paul laughed, rich and throaty. "Oh, Arthur, he's adorable. I can see why you like him." He waved Eames back to the bed with the gun.

"Paul. What the fuck do you want?" Arthur demanded.

The smile dropped from Paul's lips and the warm, teasing demeanor he'd been sporting dropped too. His eyes were cold and hard. "My boss would like you dead, but I'm not entirely convinced that's the best course of action."

"Don't commanding officers generally frown on that sort of thinking?" Eames asked, a river of fury coursing through the words.

Paul's eyebrows shot up. "Very good, Mr. Eames. I'm impressed."

"Don't call me that. What do you want us for, you already have the PASIV. Surely you can download the instruction manual. I hear you can find anything on the internet these days." Eames's body was a tightly coiled spring, just waiting for his chance to rip Paul apart.

Paul seemed a little too eager to see how far he could push Eames before he snapped. "I represent a branch of the military that focuses on...let's call it "experimental technology". However, you know and I know that very little can replace field knowledge when it comes to using that tech. I've been asked to retrieve the tech, and while I'm normally not the 'love them and kill them' type, I'm beginning to see their point about just getting rid of the headache the two of you will inevitably cause. You see, my convictions are starting to waver. I'm trying to remind myself that you're actually human beings and that you're more valuable alive than dead. What do you think? Care to pick a side and argue it?"

"Paul, you arrogant asshole." Arthur was livid, the muscles in his wiry body taught.

"Hmm, not the side I assumed you'd pick, but okay..."

"PAUL!"

Arthur could see the muscle in his jaw flex. He placed the gun, slowly, on the foot of the bed, Arthur and Eames both tracking his every move like hawks. "I want you both to come with me. I'm not going to force you to, but I don't think I have to explain that you're exposed here. I can help with that. Whatever you decide, I need you to know that we're dealing with very dangerous and very well funded people who don't give two shits about you. I'm trying to change their mind about that, but I'll need some time."

"You're helping us," Arthur said dryly. "And you think I'm going to, what? Fling myself into your arms?"

"I'm helping myself," Paul snapped, his voice hard enough to cut glass. "Also, I prefer not to murder people unless I have a good reason, although well done, Arthur, on the reason-gathering front."

"Alright, let's just calm down for a moment. Maybe you can just explain to us what you want from us and why we would ever, in a million years, go with you willingly," Eames stated flatly.

Paul leaned back. "I don't want anything from you. In fact, I want nothing from you. I want you to not fuck up what I've got going on, and if I know Arthur, that's exactly what he's got floating around between his too big ears."

Eames's hand, mostly hidden by the crumpled sheets, tightened into a fist. "Can't imagine why. You did just steal something from him, it makes sense he'd want it back." His smooth voice was calm and slightly mocking, but Arthur could see the flat look in his eyes that chilled him to the bone.

"Can you hide us?" Arthur interrupted swiftly.

Eames turned to stare at him in shock, Paul not far behind.

"You're not going to kill us, and you can effectively cover our tracks from your bosses or whoever. Right?"

Paul nodded once, his face heavy. "Within reason. I can't hide you very well if you're constantly popping up everywhere. If you're going to hide, you need to hide, at least until it cools off. Or until I convince you to work for me," he added lightly, although Arthur knew he wasn't kidding.

"How long?"

Paul shrugged one shoulder. "A week. Two at the outside."

"What makes you think Arthur can't hide us on his own?" Eames challenged. Beside him, Arthur's stomach clenched.

Paul was fighting a smile. "Adorable," he said under his breath. "Like a teddy bear." Louder, he said, "Because the people I work for are better than Arthur. Because there is no chance, none, that he will be able to stay in front of them, and I think he knows it."

Arthur's calm, thinking eyes met Eames's, panicked and slightly wide. He reluctantly nodded his assent and Eames swore quietly.

"They are not, however," Paul continued, "better than me."

Eames rolled his eyes, Arthur said nothing.

"I have a place. One week, maybe two, I hide you and buy you some fucking underwear, and in exchange, you don't start shit and you listen to what I have to say about the project I'm working on. And should you feel compelled to chime in with some insight, I wouldn't be remiss."

Eames looked at Arthur. Arthur closed his eyes and turned his head away. "Fuck," Eames swore, glaring at the ceiling.

"Great. Grab your shit. I already checked you out."