![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
acquiescenceEpilogue
Arthur has always had an affinity for Paris, with its streets rich with history and stories long forgotten. Just being back in the city is enough to have Arthur breathing just a bit easier - things were always right when he was in Paris. It was a simple fact, Paris was home in all the ways that Ohio had never been, in the way London had never been, in the way no other place could ever be. Paris held his heart in so many ways and Arthur was relieved to be back again.
He had an apartment there. It was small - a shit hole really - but it was his and it looked out over the Arc de Triomphe and that was all that mattered when he'd laid down the money to make it his.
He had more than enough money to afford something better now, something with a better view, something with finished floors and painted walls. Something that would fit more with the idea people have of him. And yet Arthur had never felt the need to upgrade. This place was home long before Arthur could afford to be a man of leisure and that wasn't something that would be easily changed.
"This is …" Eames trailed off, and Arthur closed his eyes waiting for the inevitable critique – he knew the apartment was hardly what anyone would expect from him, but it was his for all its faults, and he was letting Eames into this part of his life despite all reasonable logic reminding him that it was an absolutely terrible idea.
"-unexpected." Eames finished.
Arthur turned then, quirking a single eyebrow at Eames, not entirely sure if he would ever be able to take anything the man said seriously.
"If you are making some backhanded insult to my apartment you might as well leave now." He warned.
"Arthur," Eames' voice was slow and sweet, and Arthur still has not gotten used to it, the tone putting him on guard, just waiting for this entire thing to be revealed as some huge joke. And then he really would have to give in to that urge to shoot Eames in the face and find some way to make it up to Saito when he got the news. And he'd really rather not have to deal with that today. He hadn't been home in years, moving from one job to the next, experimenting with his life of leisure, and occasionally on the run. He wanted to enjoy being home for at least a day before he had to deal with cleaning blood from the walls. "Not everything I say is an insult. I'm just surprised."
"I hardly think one statement of surprise is enough to overturn years of experience." Arthur replied wryly, though the knot of tension at the base of his spine slowly began to loosen.
Maybe this wouldn't all be such a terrible thing after all. Maybe this all would work out.
Things with Eames could never be so simple though.
Just having him there in his space made Arthur itch, made his fingers eager for something to do, something to keep himself busy. Something to distract himself from the fact that he had Eames, of all people, in his home.
"Do you want-" Eames caught him off guard, framing Arthur's face with his hands again so he could capture his lips in a bruising, stupidly hungry kiss – the kind of kiss that Arthur would have loved to say was just the lust talking, but it was clear it was so much more than that. And for all that he didn't understand this, he was trying.
Then Eames' clever fingers start their wandering, pushing into his hair, mussing it in ways that he knew Eames loved – if only to drive Arthur mad – and over his shoulders and down his back pulling him in tight and unrelenting. And only when he had Arthur tucked in close did Eames let his hands continue their journey pulling, and tugging at the fabric of Arthur's shirt until he could get his hands under the crisp white linen and pushed up his shirt, wrinkling it impossibly, (Eames got far too much satisfaction at ruining Arthur in as many ways as possible) and started to propel them toward the bedroom at the same time.
"Wait, slow down," Arthur protested just before Eames could rip his shirt off of him completely and toss it who knows where on their meandering way toward his bedroom.
"What?"
"We're not teenagers," Arthur said slowly, taking just a moment to remove his cufflinks, pocketing them to save them from being lost forever with the way Eames was pulling at his clothes. "I'm not going anywhere, just slow down."
"All right, all right."
And amazingly Eames listened to him; he slowed down, stopped rushing to rip each piece of clothing from Arthur's body, and instead kissed him. Long lingering, biting kisses that left Arthur's toes curling and reminded him that all of this wasn't just about the sex – it wasn't about unwinding after a job, it was about them. And as strange as that was to even consider, it was something they were going to try.
Then time slowed as they finally made it into the bed, clothes discarded along the way and just looked at each other, breathing heavily, and Eames swallowed like he had suddenly realized just what the hell they were doing. This wasn't some fuck in a hotel after a job, or even like that one memorable time in the warehouse. They were in Arthur's bed; they were in Arthur's home. It was right about the same time the realization of all of that struck Arthur as well. He had Eames in his bed, skin and muscles and eyebrow and that stupid smirk, and that endlessly infuriating attitude. And he was welcoming all of that into his bed – willingly.
So he kissed him, just because he could, because he wanted to know what it was like to have Eames in his bed and kiss him and know that he would be there in the morning. He wouldn't wake up to a glass of water and two pills like he had in the past. He kissed Eames hungrily, biting into his open mouth, rubbing their tongues together slowly, and then started in on his neck. So fucking perfect, with his pulse so close to the skin, right under Arthur's tongue – he thought about all the times he'd wanted to kill Eames, to shoot him, or break his neck or just punch him until he would leave him alone, and now here was Eames offering himself up and for the first time Arthur didn't want him dead.
When Arthur sank his teeth into the taut skin, Eames bucked his hips. "Arthur…"
"Hmm?" Arthur breathed against his skin and scraped the points of his teeth down the long line of Eames' throat, soothing his tongue over reddened skin just moments later.
"I've never done this before." Eames' hands clench and unclench at Arthur's shoulders, like he couldn't decide if he wanted to pull Arthur in for more or push him away.
"I know." Arthur was still moving lower, biting and licking and kissing, teeth bared over the hard line of Eames' collar bone. There would be so many marks the next morning, and it was that thought that had Arthur biting marks into Eames' skin every few inches. He wanted a reminder of all of this the next day, his own personal totem in Eames' skin.
"I don't know how it all works." Arthur shifted a little with every kiss until suddenly his legs were around Eames, a knee on either side of Eames' hips, his back bowed as he continued the downward path he'd started.
"Eames-" Arthur had moved lower, lips and tongue circling a nipple, pausing to bite there before he lifted his head. "If I expected you to have all the answers we wouldn't be here." It was a little mean, and a little unjustified. Eames, for all his little annoyances, was not stupid – but it seemed here, in this, he just didn't know when to shut up.
But then that was Eames.
"Arthur-" He didn't want to talk though, he didn't want to hear Eames' try to think up excuses before he even needed them. He just wanted this right now, he wanted Eames and he wanted this to work, for all its impossibilities. He wanted Eames.
"I swear to god if you don't shut the fuck up, I will gag you." Arthur warned, he moved then, pulling himself away from the open expanse of Eames' chest, from exploring tattoos and marks the way he might like to in order to reach toward the night stand. He was back in just a moment though, pressing a bottle and a foil square into Eames' palm. And then Arthur began to work his way back up, laving attention on the opposite nipple and marking his way back up to Eames' lips again.
"Don't make promises you don't intend to keep."
Arthur would have replied, there had been words on the tip of his tongue, but Eames was no longer content to lie back and let Arthur have his way with him. Before the words could even take their shape on his lips, Eames flipped them, pressing Arthur down into the mattress and settling in the space between his open thighs.
One hand next to Arthur's head, supporting himself with careful balance, Eames leaned down and kissed Arthur – putting away his need to correct and doubt and worry far more than either one of them needed to at the moment – and just kissed him. Hard and rough and not without a small bit of tenderness for all of that. It took a bit of work, but Eames managed to shift just enough so there was enough space between them to slide one slick finger into Arthur.
"Fuck," The word rang loud in the quiet of the room, filled with nothing more than the labored sound of their breathing, and Arthur wasn't sure which of them had uttered it.
This they could do, this they had done before and it was easy for Eames to set up a rhythm, to kiss Arthur and slide his finger in and out with the same deliberate movement of his tongue until he added a second finger.
It was easy after that, moving together, the slick slide of fingers in and out of him, first one and then a second and they barely make it to three before Arthur was nearly ready to beg for it. Though Eames spared him that. Eames' hands were far less in control now than they were when Arthur first found himself on his back, but Eames made it eventually, once Arthur wrapped his fingers around Eames' wrist and stilled him. He kissed him once and everything fell into place.
The feeling of being split open, of Eames pressing into him, was something Arthur reveled in, wrapping his legs around Eames and drawing him in deeper, urging him on until Eames' hips meet his own. Arthur couldn't hold back the moan that had been threatening to slip out from the moment the thick blunt head of Eames' cock pressed against him.
As much as he'd like to stay there like that, and let himself really feel that satisfying nearly overwhelming burn of being filled, Arthur knew that was an impossibility. They were both far too close to drag this out much longer.
"This," Arthur managed to get the word out, forcing his tongue to work, though every shallow thrust of Eames' hips was enough to send the words he tried to hold so tight to skittering off to be gathered up one again. "This is how it's supposed to be, this – fuck, there, god Eames – this is how it works." Arthur gritted his teeth and pulled Eames in, forcing him to still his hips as he held him tight.
"Don't worry about the rest, we can figure it out, this –" Arthur pressed his hand to Eames' chest, fingers pressing on a mark that had all ready bloomed dark against Eames' skin, "- this is what you need to listen to, nothing else."
Eames pulled back then, pulling himself out of the grip of Arthur's legs only to drive himself forward again. There was a smirk on his face, finally something familiar and right in all of this. "Talk later, pet."
Eames grinned at him, so wide it was almost stupid on his face, and yet Arthur knew he was doing the same damn thing, though the momentary glee faded quickly when Eames began to move again. And Arthur moved right with him, hips stuttering arching rocking right up into Eames – to urge Eames on. They found a rhythm quickly, easily, something that worked for the both of them, something that fit that wasn't forced or awkward the way Arthur had feared from the beginning. They just fit.
Eames has one hand curled at the back of Arthur's neck, pulling him up to bite kisses along the line of his jaw, his other hitching Arthur's leg higher, pulling it against him, high and tight against his body splitting Arthur open and driving into him more deeply with each thrust.
That he even had the presence of mind to do anything more than just lay there and let Eames take was a miracle in and of itself, but Arthur had always been gifted. He wrapped his fingers around his cock, stroking himself hard and fast right there with the rhythm of Eames' hips – and just as unforgiving. Eames swore and pressed his forehead to Arthur's shoulder, his breath was hot and humid against Arthur's skin and yet it was perfect.
Arthur wanted this to last, wanted to spend the rest of the day with Eames just like this, joined perfectly, spiraling closer and closer to that edge of bliss, but the pull was inevitable. And despite his best efforts not even Arthur could resist it.
"Fuck, Arthur, gods, I'm close. I can't –"
It seemed though that Eames would beat him to it, Arthur pushed the fingers of his free hand into Eames' hair, pulling his head back so he can look at him. "Shut up, Eames. Come for me; don't hold back on me now." Arthur demanded.
"Oh god," It would be the one time that Eames actually did exactly what he was told, and that knowledge alone was enough to have Arthur chasing that bittersweet sharp edge right along with Eames until he fell over as well. Eames' name on his tongue and holding him tight against his body as he gave up everything he'd been holding on to so tightly for so long until there was nothing left.
It was autumn now, the leaves on the trees slowly fading from their usual rich green to golden reds and yellows. The colors seeping into every part of the city, drowning daily life in their deep saturated colors The season taking over Paris the way it does every year, Arthur had never let himself stay in one place for so long. There was always some job to do, some source to get in touch with, some new competition to check out. And yet he'd been there in Paris for nearly a year and he hadn't been anywhere near the airport.
Saito hasn't had need of their services in some time, though Arthur wondered on occasion if that was perhaps due to some outside influence. He never let himself think about it for long though. It was unimportant. There were so many other things that filled his mind now.
The leaves were changing now, falling to the ground in droves, while other still clung with the last of their strength to branches that wanted nothing more to do with them for the rest of the year. They would be replaced next year, new bright young green leaves springing up to take their place and holding tight to their tree for as long as they could before the process was started all over again.
Arthur watched the leaves every day, making note of the colors and the variations as they changed and pulled them toward the winter months. It was a slow process, and if he wasn't actually looking for it he might not even have noticed the changes until the leaves were giving up the battle and had blanketed the ground with their deep colors.
Still it's not the change that is important, not really. It was the passage of time, time spent with a man who could often times make Arthur want to throw up his hands and forgo the entire thing, and yet the same man had the uncanny ability to make Arthur stay, to have him forget about everything else in the world and just stay.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-02-17 11:46 pm (UTC)I felt so sorry for Cobb*sniff* I loved seeing things from Arthur's eyes. The imagery was beautiful. All the characters were so real. Just, hearts forever. Brilliant!
no subject
Date: 2011-02-18 06:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-18 02:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-18 05:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-18 05:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-18 09:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-20 06:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-20 07:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-20 04:07 pm (UTC)That last little part is devilish...
no subject
Date: 2011-02-21 04:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-21 03:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-21 04:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-22 10:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-23 04:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 03:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-28 07:52 pm (UTC)