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It had been a long and not particularly good day. In the morning, Arthur had woken up in the bed with Dom who was his best friend and kind of straight and also very lonely and heartbroken and liked the blowjobs Arthur gave him when they was drunk enough. Arthur had left him in the bed and gone to work, where he had been fired. Arthur hadn’t liked the job, but he liked his flat, and he liked it that he had money for food and stuff. He had emptied his locker and then tried to call Dom who hadn’t picked up, and then he had called his mother and had a fight with her about what he was going to do with his life, and the more he had shouted at his mother, the more he had thought that it was Dom with whom he wanted to have the fight but couldn’t, because then Dom would stop accepting the blowjobs and Arthur would be lonelier than he had been before, which would be quite unbearable. He would probably be lonely for the rest of his life. It wasn’t like he could unexpectedly meet someone new, interesting and gay who would fall in love with him.
He sighed. There was too much traffic, his car made an odd sound, and he didn’t really want to get home, because Dom might still be there, watching Netflix on Arthur’s laptop. Then they would get drunk together and Arthur would give Dom a blowjob, and the next morning, he’d feel just as crappy as he had today, only then he wouldn’t have a job where to get to. He could stay in his bed and die or something.
He sighed again and then stopped the car at the red light.
Someone opened the side door and sat down in the passenger seat.
Arthur glanced at the man. Then he glanced at the red light and then at the man again. The man was staring at him with a frown, and then suddenly his expression softened. “Holy shit,” the man said. “I’m in the wrong car.”
Arthur cleared his throat. The man was clearly British. Arthur had always had a thing for that accent. Also, the man was pointing a gun at him.
“Oh,” the man said, apparently noticing the gun he was holding. “Sorry. That wasn’t meant for you. I’m in the wrong car, like I said. Maybe if I just –“
The light turned green. Arthur hit the gas. It was four o’clock traffic jam and he wasn’t going to have anyone honking at him.
“Okay,” the man said, watching Arthur. He looked a little confused but then again, he had said he was in a wrong car. That was certainly confusing. “I’ll just… If I put this thing away, could you perhaps forget about it?”
Arthur opened his mouth and then closed it again.
“Great,” the man said and put the gun somewhere, Arthur couldn’t really see where, but the gun disappeared all the same. “Thank you. So, where’re we going?”
“Home,” Arthur said.
“Ah,” the man said, sounding delighted. “You talk. Good. I don’t really enjoy travelling with people who don’t talk. Nice to meet you, by the way. I’m Eames.”
Arthur glanced at him. “Really? Like the chair?”
“Exactly,” Eames said with a grin that was too wide. Arthur blinked. He had a thing for mouths, too. “What’s your name, darling?”
“Not that,” he said, squeezing the wheel. “Arthur.”
“That’s a very normal name,” Eames said and then grinned again. His teeth were a little crooked. “Well, Arthur, I don’t know where your home is, but could you possibly me drop me somewhere on the way? I’d like nothing better than to get to know you, but I’m afraid I have a job to do.”
Arthur thought about that. Eames had a gun, and his name was definitely fake, and he looked confident even though he was sitting in a stranger’s car. He was probably some sort of a criminal.
“No,” Arthur said.
Eames stared at him. Arthur stared at the road.
“No?” Eames asked. “Did you notice that I have a gun hidden in my trousers? Aren’t you afraid that I’m going to shoot you?”
“If you are,” Arthur said, “would you please be quick about it? I’ve had a really crappy day.”
Eames took the gun, looked at it and then hid it again. “Really? What happened?”
Arthur bit his lip. He wasn’t going to talk to a stranger about his problems. He already had a therapist. But then again, he never listened to his therapist, so that wasn’t really helping. “I got fired.”
“I’m sorry,” Eames said. “Did you like the job?”
“No.”
“Well, that helps a little.”
“I need money, though.”
“Obviously,” Eames said. “What else? You look like you have something else to say.”
“I have…” Arthur paused. He shouldn’t tell Eames about Dom. But they would be at Arthur’s home in a few minutes and there was a good chance, or possibly a notable risk, that Dom was still there. Arthur should tell Eames about Dom or else Eames would think that Dom was Arthur’s boyfriend. “I have this friend.”
“Oh,” Eames said, leaning closer. “You love her.”
“Him,” Arthur said and then bit his lip. “And I don’t.”
“Are you sure?”
“He’s straight.”
“His loss, then.”
“But he lets me blow him sometimes when he’s drunk.”
“Oh,” Eames said.
“Yeah,” Arthur said. They were almost there. Probably Eames was going to fuck off the second Arthur stopped the car. Arthur could tell him whatever and it wouldn’t matter anyway, because he wasn’t going to see Eames ever again. “It’s not his fault, really. He’s been… He’s not been well. His wife, Mal, died a year ago, and he’s been in a bad shape. Of course. And I’m his best friend. It’s mostly my fault. I know he doesn’t like me like that, it’s just that he’s right there and I know him so well and I know what to expect and we’ve been friends for a very long time.”
“Dumb him,” Eames said, then frowned. “Well, at least stop giving him free blowjobs. I’m sorry he’s had a rough time but it’s not going to help him if he loses you as a friend because he ends up hurting you so badly you can’t stand to be near him, and that’s what’s going to happen.”
“It’s just sex,” Arthur said.
“No, it’s not,” Eames said. “Why did you stop the car?”
Arthur switched off the engine. “This is where I live.”
Eames glanced at him, then at the concrete apartment building at the side of the road. Arthur waited for him to get out of the car with his gun and his accent and his mouth and disappear, but he didn’t. He just sat there.
“Dom might still be there,” Arthur said. “He was with me this morning.”
“Oh, good,” Eames said and opened the door. “I’m going to have a talk with him.”
Arthur blinked. He was still squeezing the wheel. Also, he was still sitting in his car, and a dangerous criminal who had invaded his car had stepped out and was now walking to the front door. At least Eames didn’t know which flat was Arthur’s. Or maybe he did. Wasn’t that the kind of a thing that criminals knew how to find out?
Arthur got out of the car, locked the doors and then ran after Eames. Eames was whistling off key. Arthur opened the front door for him and then they walked to the elevator. Eames smelled really nice from the close distance. Also, he was a bit shorter than Arthur had imagined, maybe an inch shorter than Arthur, and something about the way he held himself up suggested that he thought he was bigger than he really was. Arthur licked his lips.
“Which floor?” Eames asked, and Arthur realized he hadn’t pushed the button. Eames didn’t seem to mind, though. And when they finally got to Arthur’s floor, Eames followed him through the hallway looking like he knew exactly where he was going and what he was going to do there. Arthur just wished Dom had put on something besides boxers.
He opened the door and walked in. Eames followed him. In the living room, Dom was sitting on Arthur’s couch, wearing nothing but boxers.
“Good day,” Eames said, walking to the living room. “Nice to meet you. I’m Eames.”
Dom blinked. He had a box of chocolate biscuits in his lap and it looked empty. “What?”
“It’s my name,” Eames said and then shrugged, “kind of. You must be Dom. I’ve heard so much about you.”
Now Dom was looking at Arthur. “What?”
“I just met him,” Arthur said. “In my car.”
“Yes, I accidentally got into a wrong car,” Eames said and smiled at Arthur with all his crooked teeth. “But that’s fine, because that was how I met Arthur.”
“Arthur,” Dom said slowly.
“Yes,” Eames said and sat down on the couch beside him. “He seems lovely. Did you know that he’s a little bit in love with you?”
Dom stared at Arthur and then at Eames and then at Arthur again. Eames took the box of biscuits from Dom’s hands and shook it, but it really was empty.
“Yeah,” Eames said, putting the box back in Dom’s lap, “the thing is, he is. And I bet you know it. Even though you tell yourself you don’t. And I know life’s been throwing lemons at you and then rubbing them at your face, but this man,” he pointed at Arthur, “this man is gay, and he’s a little bit in love with you, and you aren’t either one of those things, and you have to let him find someone else. Someone who knows how to appreciate him. And meanwhile, you should see someone. A professional. A therapist, probably, so that you could talk to someone about your grief. Because it’s not like people just miraculously get over things. It doesn’t happen like that. You need someone to talk to and it can’t be Arthur, because Arthur has this unfortunate habit of giving you blowjobs. So, therefore, a therapist.”
Dom blinked. “Okay.”
“I love these biscuits,” Eames said, looking sadly at the empty box. “Do we have anything else to eat?”
“We could order pizza,” Dom said. “Arthur, maybe -”
“I’ll do it,” Eames said, stood up and walked to Arthur’s kitchen. Then he took the gun out of his trousers and put it on the counter. Dom stared at the gun and then at Arthur and Arthur took a deep breath, walked to him and sat beside him on the couch. It was safe now that Eames was here and the chances that Arthur was going to end up blowing Dom were pretty slim.
“What do you want?” Eames said, turning to them. “I’m a vegan but if you want to eat meat, that’s your business.” His fingers were tapping idly the handle of the gun on the counter.
“Anything’s fine,” Arthur said.
“Just pizza,” Dom said.
“Great,” Eames said and smiled. “I’ll order, then. I know a good place that delivers in this area.”
“From England?” Dom said. He sounded confused.
“No,” Eames said, “from Brooklyn. Just wait a moment. And don’t touch my gun.” And then he took his phone, walked to Arthur’s bedroom and closed the door.
He spent there almost five minutes. Arthur stared at the closed door and Dom stared at the gun and on Arthur’s laptop that had Frozen going on on Netflix. Arthur had told Dom not to watch it because he always cried in the end and then Arthur felt sorry for him and ended up blowing him. But he couldn’t find it in himself to worry about that now. Instead he worried if perhaps he ought to have called the police. But he was afraid that if he tried to describe Eames, the officers would hear from his voice that he had a thing for Eames.
“Great,” Eames said, coming from Arthur’s bedroom. “I called my boss, too. Just to let her know I had gotten into the wrong car.”
“Are we in trouble?” Dom asked in a small voice.
“Probably not,” Eames said, “but I should stay for the night all the same. I suppose I can sleep in your bedroom, Arthur, since there’s no guestroom.”
“What?” Arthur said.
“And obviously Dom is going to sleep on the couch,” Eames said.
“What?” Dom said.
“Ah,” Eames said when the doorbell rang, “it’s the pizza guy.” Then he went to the door, paid the pizza guy and came back to the living room with three boxes. “I hope you guys like garlic.”
**
They ate pizza and watched The Lion King. The old version, not the new. Eames was sitting on the couch in between Dom and Arthur, and the couch really wasn’t big enough for three people, but Arthur was afraid that if he pointed that out, Eames might go sit somewhere else. Or leave altogether, which was the worst possible scenario. Besides, he didn’t exactly mind when after some time Eames placed his hand on Arthur’s thigh, then seemed to realize what he had done and whispered sorry, there’s no much room in here. Arthur tried to smile and failed, and he tried to say yeah and failed that too. But Eames kept his hand where it was.
After The Lion King, Arthur had to go to the bathroom, and there he washed his hand with his heart beating in his ears. Certainly Eames was going to fuck off now. When Arthur would get back to the living room, Eames would be already gone. Arthur would be alone with Dom again. But when he opened the bathroom door, Eames was talking to Dom about French literature.
“Hi, Arthur,” Eames said, pausing whatever it was that he had been saying about Camus, “come here.” And when Arthur did, Eames grabbed his hand and tugged until he sat down in between Eames and Dom. Arthur didn’t know much about French literature, but he listened to Eames’ voice and then a little later realized he was leaning against Eames’ shoulder. He startled and tried to pull away, but Eames put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly, and so he settled back against Eames. It was almost like being in someone’s arms. Almost. But it had been a long time since that had happened to him, so he shouldn’t be too picky.
“I’m tired,” Eames said much later, when Dom had fallen asleep twice in between a sentence, and Arthur was wondering if perhaps he was dreaming this. “We should probably go to sleep. Do you have extra toothbrush, Arthur?”
“I don’t know,” Arthur said. He couldn’t be dreaming it, though, because Eames’ hand on his thigh felt very real.
“Could you check?” Eames said and bit his lip. “Can I sleep in your bed?”
“Of course,” Arthur said and then realized what he had said.
“Great,” Eames said with a grin. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Arthur said and watched as Eames got up from the couch and walked to the kitchen. Dom seemed to have fallen asleep again. Arthur stood up and lifted Dom’s legs onto the couch. Dom had lost so much weight during the last year that it was getting surprisingly easy to handle him. Physically, that was. Arthur fetched a blanked and covered Dom with it, only Dom was a bit too tall and Arthur couldn’t get his toes covered.
“It’s alright,” Eames said from the kitchen, where he was drinking water from Arthur’s favorite Star Wars mug.
Arthur patted Dom on the arm. It felt weird to make Dom sleep on the couch. He had never done that before. Sometimes Dom passed out on the couch but usually at some point of night he came to Arthur’s bedroom to talk, or to have sex, if what they did counted as sex.
“You really like him,” Eames said, when Arthur walked to him in the kitchen. “Even though he’s being kind of a dick to you.”
“He’s my best friend,” Arthur said and cleared his throat. “Well, he’s probably my only friend.”
“But he’s not really thinking about you,” Eames said. “He probably can’t, not when he’s grieving like that. But because he can’t, you should.”
Arthur shook his head.
“Or can you look me in the eyes and tell me that you don’t want anything else than that? That you don’t want, I don’t know, a hot boyfriend who feels the same way about you than you do about him?”
Arthur straightened his back and turned to look Eames in the eyes. The only problem was, Eames’ eyes were too nice. They were a mixture of blue and green and they were fixed on Arthur as if Arthur was worth looking at.
Arthur coughed and turned to look at the sink. He really should wash the dishes one day. Pretty soon, though.
“So I thought,” Eames said. “Well, we should go to bed. Do you mind if I take a shower first? It’s been a long day.”
Arthur swallowed. “Really? How long exactly?”
“Very long,” Eames said and grinned, “a lot of travelling. And could you find me clean boxers and maybe a t-shirt that I could borrow? I’m flexible about the t-shirt, though.” He frowned. “And about boxers. But since I’m going to be sleeping in your bed, I think that might be polite.”
“I’ll find you something,” Arthur said.
What he found was a pair of boxers with Donald Duck on the butt and a t-shirt that had been washed so many times it was unclear if it had been blue or purple in the beginning. Or both. But at least the clothes were clean. Eames was already in the shower, so Arthur knocked on the bathroom door and waited. After a few seconds, Eames opened the door wide open.
“Thank you,” Eames said and took the clothes Arthur was holding. He was naked and wet, and there was steam in the air, and Arthur couldn’t stop staring. “You can go, darling. I’ll just be a minute. And don’t you dare to say anything about my tattoos.”
“I wasn’t going to,” Arthur said.
Eames raised his eyebrows, stepped back and closed the door. Arthur stared at the door for a few seconds and then retreated to his bedroom, where he spent the next minutes panicking about what he was going to wear. It was probably for the best that he didn’t have any choices. He should really do laundry.
“Here you are,” Eames said, stopping in the doorway. He was wearing Arthur’s boxers and Arthur’s t-shirt. The boxers were a little too small for him. “How about that toothbrush?”
“I’ll check,” Arthur said. It turned out that he had an extra toothbrush, which probably meant that he had bought it for himself a long time ago but forgot about it, which meant that he had used the same toothbrush possibly for years. But he didn’t mind. It was nice to stand in the still hot bathroom side by side with Eames, brushing his teeth and not imagining that it could always be like this. Or maybe not always. But every other night or something like that.
When they got to the bedroom, Eames took off the t-shirt, threw it onto the floor and then climbed to Arthur’s bed. Arthur stared at him for a second and then followed, and then he remembered he was still wearing jeans. He climbed out of the bed, undid the zipper and tried not to think about the fact that Eames was very obviously watching him. He didn’t even remember what boxers he was wearing today, and then he dropped his jeans to his knees and remembered and that was worse. He should buy new boxers, too. And new clothes. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to wear proper clothes, like, suits and ties and all that, and always look neat and tidy as if going to a job interview. People who dressed like that always seemed so much cooler than the rest. Cool and important and self-confident.
“Arthur,” Eames said from the bed.
Arthur blinked. Apparently, he was staring at his jeans that were pooling around his ankles.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” Arthur said, stepping out of his jeans and taking off his pullover. He should probably leave the t-shirt. Eames was lying on the bed on his side, his elbow pushed against the mattress, resting his head against his hand, and he looked like something in between a Greek god and an adult-themed picture. With a lot of quite bad tattoos, though.
“Good,” Eames said. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
Arthur took a deep breath and took off his t-shirt. “You didn’t. Except for…”
“What?” Eames said, sounding worried.
“Except for when you jumped into my car and pointed a gun at me.”
“Oh,” Eames said and frowned. “Oh. I forgot my gun in the kitchen.” He climbed over Arthur to get out of his bed, and Arthur didn’t accidentally touch his butt when he was doing that. At least Arthur was pretty sure he didn’t. “And for the record,” Eames said, turning to Arthur, “I wouldn’t have shot you.”
“That’s a relief,” Arthur said.
Eames smiled. “Right? So that’s really…” He paused and frowned, only this time it looked like he was deliberately trying to look serious. “But I’m sorry about that. It has never happened to me before that I’ve pointed my gun at the wrong person.” He blinked. “Well, almost never. Only sometimes. Occasionally. Anyway, I think I should bring the gun here. It’s generally not a good idea to leave a gun in someone else’s kitchen.”
“Okay,” Arthur said and then waited in the bed when Eames went to get his gun. It was like he had forgotten his phone or something. When he got back, he put the gun on Arthur’s side table, on a pile of books Arthur had meant to read for half a year, and then he climbed to the bed and lay down on the mattress beside Arthur.
“You look worried,” Eames said. “Is it because of the tattoos?”
“No,” Arthur said and cleared his throat. “What would you have done?”
“What? When?”
“If you hadn’t been in the wrong car. Would you have killed me?”
“Of course not,” Eames said, shifting closer to him. “I would have only kidnapped you. But in a nice way.”
“In a nice way,” Arthur said slowly.
“Yeah. No torture or anything.”
Arthur blinked. “Right.”
“Don’t worry about it, darling,” Eames said.
Unfortunately, Arthur was very good at worrying. “What do you do? What’s your job? Why would you have kidnapped me?”
“I didn’t,” Eames said.
“Yeah,” Arthur said, “but -”
“Listen,” Eames said and put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur flinched. Eames drew his hand away, looking at it as if wondering what it had been that had upset Arthur. Then he seemed to realize they were talking about his job that involved kidnapping people but not torturing them. “I don’t really like to talk about my job,” Eames said slowly. “I wouldn’t mind otherwise but if I talk too much, it might get you killed in one way or another.”
“Like, maybe you would kill me?”
“Of course not,” Eames said. “I can’t believe you’d think that, darling.”
“I’ve only known you for -” Arthur glanced at the clock on the wall, “- eight hours.”
“Plenty of time to get to know me,” Eames said with a grin and then took a deep breath. “Does this mean you don’t want to sleep with me?”
Arthur stared at him. “Sleep with you?”
“Well, I’m lying in your bed, practically naked,” Eames said. “Your boxers are too small for me, by the way. I think I’m going to have to take them off at some point or else I’m going to spend the whole night trying to adjust my balls. But anyway, you look like it’s been a while since someone’s actually slept with you and not just taken you by granted. How long has it been?”
“I blew Dom last night,” Arthur said.
Eames glared at him.
“Okay. So, maybe half a year.” He blinked. “A year.”
“Well, then,” Eames said, shifting closer to him. Arthur was afraid that if he breathed too deeply, some part of him would touch Eames. “I bet I would be the best sex you’ve had in a year.”
Arthur bit his lip. “You’re very confident.”
“When was the last time someone has blown you?” Eames asked. “Because let me tell you, people say all this stuff like ask the universe for a blowjob and the universe will give it to you, one way or another. But that’s just bullshit. The universe doesn’t do anything for us. You shouldn’t ask the universe, you should ask me.”
Arthur cleared his throat. “You?”
Eames nodded.
“We just met. I don’t know anything about you.”
“I know a lot about you,” Eames said. “I did a little background check on you when I was in the shower. I think you were very thorough in your master’s thesis, the concepts you had were pretty theoretical, but you did a good job with your analysis. Not that it’s my area of expertise. But I have to tell you, you should never again wear your hair as long as you did when you were a freshman in college.”
Arthur blinked. “Really?”
“And don’t worry about the gym,” Eames said. “You keep paying for it but never go there, which suggests that you think you should but don’t want to. Just forget about it. It’s not that important. Do something that you like. Life’s too short. It could happen any day that a stranger jumps into your car and kidnaps you.”
“But I don’t -” Arthur took a deep breath and his knee brushed Eames’ thigh. “Shit. Sorry. I wasn’t -”
Eames grabbed his knee under the blanket and squeezed it lightly. “You were saying?”
“I don’t look like you,” Arthur said. For some reason it was easier to talk now that all his thoughts were in his knee.
“That’s very lucky for you,” Eames said. “Because if you did, I wouldn’t be in your bed.” He paused. “Or probably I would, but it would be a little kinky.”
“I meant,” Arthur said, “I don’t look…”
“You look incredibly good,” Eames said, “especially now that you look nervous as hell and a little hopeful and your hair is a mess. But earlier, too, when I was trying to kidnap someone else but chose the wrong car, I thought that you were very hot. I thought that was obvious because I followed you home and befriended your best friend and took your toothbrush and your boxers and got into your bed. But anyway, I thought you had nice eyes and a pretty mouth and a beautiful neck and you looked so serious and so worried and like you didn’t have a goddamn clue about what to do with your life and you thought you should, even though it’s the opposite. There’s absolutely no need to know what to do with your life, because no matter what you think you want to do, the life will give you something else entirely. And you are twenty-seven years and forty-eight days old, Arthur, and you think you should be ready somehow. That’s just bullshit. You aren’t going to be ready when you’re a hundred years old. But you’ll be dead. Probably.” Eames smiled. “I hope that was comforting.”
Arthur stared at him. There were a lot of things he should have asked, for example what Eames’ name really was, and if he had killed anyone recently, and if there was a considerable risk that FBI would come knocking on Arthur’s door in the morning. But then again, Eames was stroking Arthur’s knee with his thumb and it felt better than anything else had in a long time. “Eames?”
“Yeah?”
“Would you blow me?”
Eames grinned. “Gladly. But, Arthur?”
“Yeah?”
“Would you kiss me first?”
Arthur swallowed. “Kiss you?”
“Of course,” Eames said, frowning. “What did you think this was? A one-night stand?”
Arthur stared at him. He stared back. “Do you… do you want me to kiss you now?”
“Yeah,” Eames said, “if you don’t have anything else to do.”
“Okay,” Arthur said.
“Okay,” Eames said. He was smiling again.
“This is a little weird,” Arthur said.
“Don’t worry about it,” Eames said. “You’re only twenty-seven years old. You’ll have time to figure everything out later. Like, much later.”
“But I can’t just -,” Arthur said, but then he forgot the rest of what he had been about to say, because Eames grabbed his hips with both his hands. Eames’ fingers were strong and big and hard and they were clinging to Arthur quite tightly but still gently, and Arthur realized his breathing sounded a little shaky.
“You were saying that you can’t just…” Eames said, raising his eyebrows. “What can’t you just, darling?”
Arthur leaned in and kissed him. Eames tasted of toothbrush and faintly of garlic, and his breath felt warm on Arthur’s face, and his nose poked against Arthur, and Arthur realized he didn’t remember how to breathe while kissing.
He tried to pull away.
Eames pulled him back and kissed the corner of his mouth, then his chin, then his ear. “Come on,” Eames said. “Come on, Arthur. I’m here. You have me. I’m here and I think you’re brilliant and I want to do everything I can to make you feel good.” Then he kissed Arthur on the mouth and Arthur stopped thinking. Well, he thought about Eames’ hands holding his face, and about Eames’ legs getting entangled with his, and Eames’ toes that were terribly cold, and Eames’ knee in between his thighs. He tried to catch his breath.
“It’s okay,” Eames said, “I got you,” which sounded a little like a threat. But in a good way. Arthur glanced at gun on the side table and then he glanced at Eames again, and Eames kissed him and then began kissing a trail down on Arthur’s throat and his chest and his stomach. Arthur grabbed his shoulders and thought about telling him that he didn’t have to, but it got stuck in his throat.
“You’re lovely,” Eames said and kissed the head of Arthur’s cock, “and someone should tell you that, because you look like you don’t know it. And you should start expecting people to be good to you. You should start thinking that you deserve what you try to give to others.”
“Bloody hell,” Arthur said.
“I know, darling,” Eames said, “just a second,” and then he patted Arthur’s thigh, grabbed his hips and took his cock in his mouth.
There was an odd stain on the ceiling. Arthur didn’t remember where it had come from. Maybe it had always been there. Maybe it was just dust. Maybe it was -
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck -
He wasn’t going to come yet. He wasn’t fifteen or anything, he could last for longer than fucking two seconds, he could take deep breaths and not come in Eames’ mouth when Eames had only started -
He pushed his fingers into Eames’ hair and squeezed lightly. His hands seemed to be shaking.
Eames pulled away. “Easy, now,” he said, his face an inch away from Arthur’s cock. “You can come. It’s alright.”
“I can’t…” Arthur said. “You just…”
“This isn’t a goddamn endurance test,” Eames said. “But if you want me to stop, I can. If you want to do something else first, that’s fine.”
“I’m not…” Arthur took a deep breath. “I don’t think I could… last for long anyway.”
“Just come,” Eames said, “then we can keep on kissing,” and then he put his mouth on Arthur again.
Arthur tried to hold on for a little longer. He thought about the dishes. He thought about pizza. He thought about the amount of laundry he was going to have to do. He thought about his bank account. He thought about having to go to job interviews. He thought about Dom sleeping on the couch. He thought about how Dom never seemed to want to look him in the eyes after they had sex. He thought about his car and the odd noise it had made today. He thought about his mother’s cat. He thought about all this but very briefly, and then he thought about Eames’ hands on his hips and Eames’ head in between his thighs and Eames’ mouth on his cock and the hungry low voice Eames was making. He thought the sound was ridiculous and then he came in Eames’ mouth.
“Darling,” Eames said a few seconds later, spitting in a napkin that had been lying beside Arthur’s bed for at least a week, “darling, you were so good. You were perfect.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Arthur said. He sounded like he had run a marathon.
“Exactly,” Eames said, “that was exactly what you were supposed to do. Can you kiss me?”
“I should…” Arthur tried to get onto his knees, so that he could get in between Eames’ legs, so that he could return the favor. But Eames pushed him back to the mattress so firmly it didn’t feel like a suggestion.
“Listen,” Eames said, settled himself lying against Arthur, his arm wrapped around Arthur’s waist. “I’d love nothing more than to have you blow me, but there’s no way to know that you wouldn’t do it because you think you have to.”
“I really want to.”
“I don’t believe you,” Eames said and kissed the crook of Arthur’s neck, “not tonight.”
“But you can’t just -“ Arthur paused. Eames had wrapped his fingers around his own cock. “At least let me do that.”
Eames kissed him on the mouth and he kissed back. His heart was heavy and his head was light and he hadn’t remembered sex could be like this. “Give me your hand,” Eames said, and when Arthur did, he placed Arthur’s fingers on his cock and covered them with his hand. “Okay?”
“Yeah,” Arthur said and closed his eyes. Eames was warm and hard and already leaking in his hand, and he didn’t have to do anything, he couldn’t have even if he wanted, because Eames did all the work. He didn’t have to think about when to speed up or slow down or hold tighter. “I like you.”
“I know,” Eames said. His breath was warm and a little sticky on Arthur’s neck. “I kind of figured it out.”
“How?”
“Well, I jumped into your car and pulled a gun at you and you took me home and sat on the couch with me watching The Lion King.”
Arthur took a deep breath. “Why’re you so nice to me?”
“I can’t imagine why anyone would want to be anything but nice to you,” Eames said. He was sounding a little breathless now. “Arthur?”
“Yeah?”
“Your ass looks really good.”
Arthur bit his lip. “Really?”
“Yeah. I’m going to –“ And he came in their hands.
Arthur slowly let go. His fingers were sticky with cum and his heart was beating like crazy and at the same time he thought he could fall asleep like this, with Eames all over him.
“And that’s how you have sex,” Eames said. He sounded smug but only half-conscious. “Did you like it?”
“Shut up,” Arthur said, reaching for the napkin to wipe his fingers.
Eames laughed. “Yeah. Sorry. I know I’m an idiot. But I’m just happy. This day turned out much better than I originally thought.”
“Yeah,” Arthur said and then thought about something. “Are you going to be here in the morning?”
“Of course,” Eames said.
**
He wasn’t there in the morning. Arthur woke up in his bed alone. He was naked and feeling like he had slept for days, and Dom was standing in the doorway and staring at him with restless eyes.
“He’s gone,” Dom said.
Arthur glanced at the side table. The gun wasn’t there anymore. Then he climbed off the bed and realized his purple and blue t-shirt wasn’t there on the floor. Eames had taken it. He tried to imagine Eames kidnapping people wearing Arthur’s very ugly t-shirt but it was impossible. It was easier to think that Eames hadn’t existed in the first place.
“There was a note on my arm when I woke up,” Dom said. “It said that I should tell you that he’s sorry he had to leave but the FBI was coming and he didn’t want them to come here, and that I should stop being unintentionally cruel to you.” He was silent for a moment. “Arthur, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
“It’s alright,” Arthur said, and it kind of was. “I need a breakfast. And a job.”
**
What he needed was to see Eames again.
It was unfortunate that he had no way to get in contact with Eames. He knew nothing of the man. The only thing he was quite certain of was that Eames’ name wasn’t Eames. But once in a while, he doubted even that.
He got a new job. He didn’t hate it as much as he had hated the last one. Dom stopped watching Disney movies on his laptop and when they got drunk, he didn’t blow Dom anymore. Dom started to talk to him about Mal, which was kind of much worse, because usually they both ended up crying, but Arthur thought he preferred that anyway. At least he didn’t feel that what he was doing to keep Dom was going to break them apart in the end. And he wasn’t weirdly angry with Dom all the time. That was good, because Dom was his only friend.
He tried hooking up with someone, but turned out his type was British, probably a criminal, an inch shorter, broad shoulders, stupid tattoos, nice big hands, very cheeky, very considerate in bed. It was difficult to find someone when you had such a specific type.
He stopped paying for the gym and started taking dance lessons instead..
After three weeks, he was driving home when someone called him. He stopped the car at the side of the street and took the phone. He didn’t recognize the number.
“Arthur,” he said, trying to sound like he was an adult and knew what to do with his life.
“Hi,” someone said. It was Eames. It had to be Eames. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there in the morning.”
Arthur took a deep breath.
“Arthur?” Eames said after a while. “Well, I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. I didn’t want to get you into this mess. I heard you got a new job. That’s great. If you have any difficulties, just let me know and I’ll blackmail them.” He seemed to think about something. “That was a joke. Really. Anyway, I’ll be in Boston in two weeks. I have a job in there. It’s not terribly dangerous. I thought, maybe you could come to meet me there. For the weekend. We could go to art museums and sleep in a hotel. I’ll pay.”
“Eames -,” Arthur said.
“I know,” Eames said, “I know, I was an asshole to you, and this doesn’t sound like a good deal. But let me tell you, no one’s going to get tortured. And I’d really like to see you again. I thought about hiring someone to take pictures for me but that seemed a little impolite. Maybe you could send me pictures yourself. Then it wouldn’t be creepy.”
“It’d be a little creepy,” Arthur said. “I don’t know who you are.”
“I have your Donald Duck boxers with me,” Eames said. “I’ll take them to Boston. I bet you want them back.”
“I don’t want them back,” Arthur said, even though he kind of did. Eames had worn them, after all. “Eames?”
“Yeah?” Eames asked. He sounded hopeful.
“I’m not in love with you or anything.”
“Of course not, darling,” Eames said. “Come to Boston and show me.”
“For a weekend.”
“Yeah.”
“We’ll go to art museums and sleep in a hotel.”
“Yeah.”
“You’ll pay.”
“Yeah,” Eames said.
Arthur thought about that. It sounded like he was going to get his heart broken. But he was pretty sure he missed the feeling of Eames’ hands on his skin more than he feared the possible heartbreak.
He took a deep breath. “Okay.”