Title: They Met at a Party
Author: Saydria Wolfe
Warnings: No beta, Sexytimes
Summary: First of “Things you didn’t know about Arthur/Eames”
The honest-to-God truth that no one would ever believe about Arthur and Eames is that they met at a party. Specifically, a house party thrown by a French scientist in a tiny American town with more cactus than people.
Eames is new to the program, the official liaison from SAS Project Somnacin to the American Project Morpheus as of that very day. He knows exactly one person.
“God dammit, Arthur,” That one person -Mal- bitches, looking over Eames’s shoulder.
Eames turns to find the target of her ire. Instead he finds the most beautiful creature he’s seen in his life.
Thin but in no way lanky. Broad shoulders, slim hips. Pale with dark hair and eyes. He’s wearing the gray trousers and waistcoat that probably belong to a suit but neither suit jacket nor tie are in evidence.
This is the love of Eames’s life and he absolutely knows it.
He swallows hard and turns back to Mal before he’s caught staring.
She’s not-quite grinning at him, her eyes full of mischief. “Shall I introduce you?
“He’s a great big bottom and single.” She adds, unhelpfully.
Eames gives her wide, innocent eyes.
She snorts. “Please, I’m French. I can spot a queer at 200 paces.”
He shrugs, not like he has any reason to deny it. “Casually, if you please.”
She waves over his shoulder, throwing her hair flirtatiously. “Arthur!”
The new man enters their space, standing closer than expected because of the press of the crowd. Eames can feel the heat of his body as the other man leans even closer to hug her.
“Mal.” This Arthur says, voice deeper than expected and warm with affection.
“Arthur, meet Adair.” She turns his attention on Eames, naturally as anything. “Dair, meet Arthur. We don’t call his by his first name because no one can pronounce it.”
Arthur rolls his eyes good naturedly and asks with a soft smile. “Dair?”
“How else would you shorten ‘Adair’?” Eames grins.
“Only to my mother, darling.”
Mal laughs at them. “Your stuff arrived, Arthur. Dair made your bed before the party.” And she leaves with that, drowning them in a semi-awkward silence.
“So, you’re moving in?” Because there was furniture in the room Mal had pushed him toward with an arm load of sheers but everything else had been empty. Not that he’d looked. Much.
“Monday. Officially.” Arthur nods, rocking back on his heels. “What brings you-?”
“Liaison position. Up at the base.”
Arthur’s eyes light up. “So you’re the-” Arthur pauses, whether it’s because what Eames does has no official designation or because he’s not sure how to refer to it subtly, Eames finds he doesn’t care.
“Yes, I am.”
“Have they come up with-?” A name for what you do is implied.
“No, they haven’t. They shot down my suggestion and theirs are just stupid.”
The party is the longest session of foreplay in Eames life. It’s torture mixed with and blurred by booze and music. Warm bodies all around them are doing all manner of depraved behavior. There’s girl-on-girl lap dances near the fireplace, a corner of body shots, and a flat out orgy going on in the hot tub. But nothing grabs and holds Eames’s attention like Arthur.
Arthur starts with little brushes of the backs of their hands as they move around. Standing just close enough for their arms to touch as they watch others around them getting up to no good. A hand on his shoulder and then his hand as Eames gets them their second -and last- beers.
By the last cigarette of the night, Eames is propping up the wall of the house with Arthur propping him up in the same manner. He leans down as much as he can without making Arthur move off his chest. “Would you like to get out of here?”
It’s a stupid and cheesey line but Arthur smiles any way. “I don’t know. I don’t usually take a man back to my bedroom on the first dates. I’m not that kind of girl.”
Eames laughs, relieved as much as worked up by the other man’s teasing tone. “Surely this is the second date, we’ve crossed midnight together.”
Arthur shoots him a flirty, considering look over his shoulder and after a bit of a wait says, “I’ll allow it.”
They stub out their cigarettes and head back inside. Almost everyone has gone home and those that haven’t are too busy watching Mal make out with another woman to pay them any mind as they go to Arthur’s room.
Arthur locks the door behind them and Eames takes in the room again, appreciating it more now than he did hours before. It’s all the same, even the bed he made, but for the rucksack on the desk and the coat and tie draped over the desk chair.
“What do you want to do?” Arthur asks, his voice sexy and warm.
“Everything.” Forever. If he can get it.
Arthur smiles, like maybe he heard what Eames knows he didn’t say. “How about this first time?”
Eames considers. How can he make Arthur crave him? What can he do that will guarantee no one else will ever do for the man? “I want to suck you off and then fuck you though the mattress.”
Arthur’s smile grows to give a glimpse of dimples and crooks a finger as Eames, “Well, come here then.”
Eames goes there.
And he kisses Arthur for the first time, full on the mouth. It’s hours overdue and he puts everything in to it. His desire for Arthur, his hopes for their future, everything.
Arthur wraps a leg around Eames’s thigh and pulls him in, rubbing their cocks together through the layers of their trousers. It’s hot and perfect and strangely luxurious, making out with this man. Rolling his hips and rubbing on his warm, solid body is what Eames was made for.
Arthur must agree based on how he’s gasping and moaning the moment Eames leaves his mouth for his neck. The noise Arthur makes after one particular bite has Eames reevaluating his priorities and sliding right to his knees at Arthur’s feet.
“Oh, fuck,” Arthur sounds completely wrecked and Eames congratulates himself on his tactical decision making.
He congratulates himself more when he opens Arthur’s trousers to find he’s wearing no pants.
He groans into Arthur’s newly bared thigh and rolls his eyes up to take in the sight. It’s just as hot as he’d imagined – Arthur, all put together from the waistcoat to cufflinks above the waist with his cock standing bare and proud among shirt tails.
“God, that’s hot.” He’s 90% sure he says aloud as he swifts over to start muzzling Arthur’s cock.
He takes his time, licking Arthur slowly from root to tip, giving him time to acclimate or change his mind.
Instead Arthur just pats his hair, comforting, encouraging, but not demanding.
He rewards his new lover by taking the head of his cock gently in his mouth and running his tongue all over the inch of skin he’s allowed himself.
Arthur’s knees wobble so Eames slides his hands up the back of his thighs to cup the other man’s ass supportively before setting to in earnest.
Arthur doesn’t know how to react. This is his second blow job ever and there’s just no comparing this to the other one. He knows from personal experience that thrusting is a bad idea so he tries not to but he has no idea what to do with his hands. He can’t get a grip on the wall. He’s going to break the door knob if he grabs that again and as much as he would love to he can’t touch the other man’s hair. He doesn’t want to do anything to redirect Eames’s efforts. If he accidentally changes what the man is doing, or worse makes him stop, he would probably cry.
“Eames! Eames!” He’s coming and he knows that requires a warning.
Eames just carries on, gripping his ass with more force and rocking Arthur a bit until he has no choice but to give it up for him.
When he opens his eyes again, after, Eames is resting his forehead on his thigh. Arthur touches the other man’s hair, gently, gently, checking in.
Eames pulls back a little with a small smile. “Let’s get you on the bed.”
Arthur doesn’t argue so Eames shuffles him over to the bed, making sure he lands on his back across the bed before divesting him of shoes, socks, and trousers.
“Are you wearing a vest?”
Arthur frowns at him, on languid hand landing on his waist coat.
“An undershirt.” He corrects.
Arthur frowns and shakes his head. “Too hot.”
“I want to leave these on while I fuck you. Are you okay with that?”
“What do you mean?”
So he shows him, making quick work of the millions of tiny buttons on Arthur’s shirt and waist coat and spreading them open, leaving Arthur’s torso bare in the middle, like a hastily opened gift.
Arthur looks down at himself, at his tanned flat stomach presented in a sea of stiff gray and white fabric. He flexes his abdominals and really gets the aesthetic.
“Okay. Yeah. You too. Shirt and belt off but keep the pants.”
Eames grins down at him. “Lube?”