This is it, the last part :) Hope you've enjoyed – warnings for M rated sap, angst and lurrrve ;)

[Part 11]

The graduating class of 2011 was lucky. Only the year before the robes had been an interesting shade between mustard and (as Yusuf had wonderingly put it) vomit – whereas this year's robes were an arrestingly sleek navy, with a subtle sheen that somehow implied ink versus unlucky bridesmaid, and Arthur couldn't help a slightly pleased look as he darted a glance at his reflection in the car window once more.

"Alright, Your Highness, enough with the preening or you'll miss the ball entirely, and if my car turns into a pumpkin you will most definitely be buying me a new one."

Arthur gave in to the impulse to poke his tongue out at his mother, enjoying her surprised gurgle of laughter on this, the most 'grown up' and serious of days, before tucking her hand into the crook of his arm and allowing him to escort her onto the school grounds.

The ceremony was to be performed upon the sprawling lawn before the front steps of the Academy, a sea of foldout chairs spread across the grass, ready for the amassed families and graduating students, with two welcoming arms out flung either side of the grandly dressed dais. One line of chairs waited for the students immediately awaiting their diplomas, and the other was for the teachers lined up ready to shake their hands as they descended, free of their high school shackles, to be absorbed into the happily teeming crowd of friends and family.

As a 'W', Arthur knew he was in for quite a wait before he was summoned to the waiting chairs, eventually beckoned up just behind the T's to smile broadly at Ariadne, who breathlessly shook hands with her former teachers as she made her way down past the congratulatory line. Arthur sneaked an amused glance to where Ben and Ariadne's other assembled family watched misty-eyed.

Rob rolled his eyes, stiff-shouldered where he sat beside his father, his diploma already clutched tight. He sent a weak smile Arthur's way before he faced forward once more, leaving Arthur to watch the slow but steady, proud parade of former students make their way across the stage. He resolutely did not stare, dry-mouthed, at the elegantly attired, visibly elated vision that was Eames as he stood alongside the other faculty members, shaking each new graduate's hand as they passed by him.

The experience was, Arthur concluded as he made his way from the waiting chairs to the official line up, then up to the podium itself, decidedly surreal.

The entirety of his academic life, his world, in fact, from the age of five upwards, had revolved around this one, seemingly monumental (possibly inconsequential) moment, and it felt like nothing now – or perhaps it was just him, Arthur thought darkly with a wry twist to his mouth as he stepped forward to receive his diploma, smiling broadly so that his mother would see it and be proud.

Perhaps it was simply that his awareness of Eames and overall longing for the endless ache of wanting to be over. Perhaps he had wished his final year away with nothing left in him to be gladdened by his final step into adulthood. Perhaps he had spoiled this for himself. And then Principal Caine passed him his diploma and, shaking Arthur's hand, smiled so warmly at him that somehow Arthur was comforted by it, and smiled back at him, frank and slightly abashed, as the older man said softly, "Well done, my boy. Well done."

The lump that rose then in Arthur's throat grew as he turned to face the clapping, beaming crowd. He turned his tassel to the sound of an ecstatic whoop from his mother before he made his way down off the dais, toward the assembled teachers and – though he'd watched them smile and speak to each student in turn – he found himself oddly stirred by the extra squeezes to his palm, their warm tones and gazes as he accepted congratulations from each of them, until he found himself quivering before Eames, his palm then firmly clasped as blue eyes that reflected the sky sparkled at him. Distantly, Arthur wondered if he had been even slightly prepared for this day, after all.

"Well done, Mr. Wright," Eames said with the same sort of visibly restrained pride he'd exhibited when introducing his cast to the suitably impressed talent scouts. It was all Arthur could do to not step forward and just lean into him – borrow his strength for just the barest moment, so that he could continue on – and then, suddenly he was terrified, cold with loss before he'd even let go, and he knew then, with a sickening wrench, that this was supposed to be it, that he had to answer him, let go, and move on.

His hand spasmed in Eames' grip and he felt Eames' warm thumb tip just barely stroke over the edge of his palm, just to steady him, and he blinked back the rush of gritty, hot gratitude in his eyes. He squeezed Eames' palm in turn before releasing him, just as he ought, and softly, he said, "Thank you, sir."

By the time Arthur had reached the end of the line, it was all he could do to not weep, instead taking his seat and swallowing hard against the lump in his throat, telling himself the day had simply taken him by surprise, and nothing more.

Once the ceremony had concluded, and the pictures had been taken, and after everyone had tossed their graduation caps high enough to thoroughly lose track of whose was whose, Arthur found himself standing around with his parents, who insisted (somewhat mortifyingly) upon talking to other sets of parents in a manner that made him, Rob and Ariadne squirm like the eight year olds they'd last been when this sort of parental bonding had occurred.

Tuning out of the conversation, he turned back to gaze at the school he would never again attend, and found himself smiling softly, almost regretfully, as he regarded the building and all too easily pictured just how it would go on without him and his friends, exactly as it had before them, and as it always would.

He was disrupted from this surprisingly melancholic train of thought as someone knocked his shoulder heavily in passing. Glancing around him, he realized he had unwittingly wandered away from his family and drifted back a few paces closer to the school itself. Eames regarded him mockingly as he strode backward now, hands in his pockets as he kept his gaze locked solidly on Arthur's.

Eames shook his head mock-sorrowfully, tutting gently. "No looking back now, Arthur," he called softly, "Only forward."

And then he smiled, so bright and beautiful in the sunlight that it burned Arthur - through and through again - until his eyes watered. His own smile quavered with the devotion that still rose toward Eames like the ocean reaching for the moon. Eames' smile faltered as the loss hung heavy between them again, but then his mother was calling his name and Arthur knew, even as he turned back the barest moment later from answering her, that Eames was gone,back inside the school. For a moment – just one moment, just to feel it – he let himself sway with the shattered heartbeat that threatened to tear him in two, before he gathered himself and – smiling – faced forward and walked off into his future.

xxXxx

It had started raining sometime around 11.30pm and Arthur had tipped his head back into it, delighted, before letting Rob drag him back under the awning and push him down to sag feebly into a chair. Smiling, he watched Ariadne still dancing her jubilant little heart out, Yusuf her orbiting, adoring satellite, his eyes and smile wide as they talked, laughed and kissed to the clamouring, insistent beat.

Ben, in his wisdom, had decided that if his daughter simply had to party herself sick over their collective newfound freedom from enforced academia, then she had best do it where he could at least set a few boundaries – thus was the punch liberally spiked but all car keys had been collected at the door and a thankfully subtle adult presence lurked at the edges of the joyously celebrating group, all dancing madly to the hired (and thankfully excellent) DJ beneath a giant marquee that had been set out in case of the now warm but heavy rain.

"Ah, young love." Arthur clinked his glass against Robert's as he tumbled down into the chair beside his, leering in an exaggerated fashion as he leaned over Arthur to nuzzle at his jaw.

"Just say the word, my prince, and we too can gaze adoringly at one another and smooch ecstatically until the dawn approacheth..."

Arthur snorted, amused right up until Rob tilted his face to slant his lips over his, soft, warm and easy, before settling back into his chair, one eyebrow raised expectantly, even as something serious lurked behind his teasing, irreverent grin.

"Um...?" Arthur said slowly, drunk enough to be thrown by the situation, and Rob smiled gently, almost soothing as he reached out a hand to lightly smack Arthur about the head.

"Oh, don't panic. Honestly, you're such a girl sometimes Arthur. I just figured I'd give it one last try. I know we're friends and all, but you're still ridiculously hot, y'know?"

Arthur barked a short, shocked laugh and took a steadying, deep swallow of his drink, bolstered by the familiar amused glint in Robert's gaze.

"Thought you'd already crossed me off your list and moved onto pastures new?" he quipped and was rewarded by Rob's smirk and shrugged shoulders as he slumped back into his own seat with smug satisfaction radiating drunkenly from every pore.

"We-ell," Rob drawled, "it's true that - having been spurned by you – I have, indeed, found solace in the arms of another-"

"-and another..."

"...and then a few more for luck," Rob winked as Arthur grinned, "But I have found that friendship with you is worth far more than a simple, tawdry tumble."

Arthur held out his glass and Rob clacked his against Arthur's once more; a salute to their now firm and fond friendship, and they each took a hearty gulp, smiling as their eyes burned from the myriad of mixed alcohols, handily sloshed together into Ariadne's specially made Graduation Party Punch.

"It was just closure, y'know? Leave no deed undone, no word unsaid and all that trite fucking garbage. I just want to start this new phase happy, y'know? Ditch all the baggage, redress the regrets... Dr. Phil shit, basically."

Arthur began a smile that faltered, falling into a frown even as a soft laugh built in his chest as he spluttered, "Right... Wait, what? I was part of your baggage list?"

Rob pulled a face, a light flush of embarrassment staining his cheekbones and darkening his already alcohol-rosy skin.

"No! No... Well, sort of, only in the sense that, well, I'd wondered, y'know, if I hadn't hit on you back when you were still all crazy broken-hearted and shit, if maybe it might have turned out differently. It's not like I was pining for you or anything, just kind of thought about it once or twice, and only because we're so good now, like, maybe it should have been more... y'know?"

Arthur blinked, slow and deliberate, to detract from how his hands wanted to curl in on themselves to keep from shaking in mild horror. "And... kissing me then, that helped?"

Rob smiled, broad and mischievous, and Arthur felt his building panic recede somewhat.

"Oh, it helped. Hot though you may be, my friend, you are not for me and I am not for you. Am I right?" He quirked a brow and Arthur was hard pushed to not beam back at him in turn.

"I'd say you're right," he agreed, mock solemnly, and Rob sniffed, affecting his father's now-famous, disdainful glance toward Arthur.

"Of course I am. I'm always right, Wright. Right?"

Arthur held out his glass once more and this time their toast sloshed each of their drinks up and over the sides of their glasses.

"Right," he agreed seriously and they each affected a mature, comradely pleasure with the other's company before laughing together like idiots and heading back to the punchbowl.

"After all," Rob grinned as they drank and danced until the room spun and lunged about them, "we'll only have this moment once – might as well do it right."

And, as Ari and he spun in wide, whirling circles, their gripped fingertips all that kept each other from falling directly to the floor, he tried to ignore that sick, tight feeling of wrong that Rob's words had evoked in him.

It stayed all throughout the prerequisite slow dancing that brought the evening to a close, and lasted through to helping Ben and Ari put everyone into cabs or family cars to drive home. It coiled miserably and painfully in his gut as Ari chattered nineteen to the dozen from the backseat, laughing with Ben about the day itself and the party and everything, it seemed, so that Arthur was forced to speak out past the lump of lead in his throat, affecting mirth and merriment in turn until they left him, waving and smiling gaily (painfully so) on his driveway.

He turned as though to walk inside and then stood, simply staring as the rain soaked through him. He looked at the apartment that had been his home for so long and wondered why the thought of walking up the stairs and heading indoors felt so repellentto him now.

His head spun, lopsided and aching and somehow empty, as he slowly turned back to look upon his street as the rain fell through the darkness, giving everything a barren, almost haunted look beneath the streetlights. He knew, with every fibre of his being, that it was simply not where he should be.

He walked at first, slightly unsteady as some still higher functioning part of his brain objected and tried to talk him back home and into bed, walking slowly with careful, contemplative steps as though he might suddenly change his mind, only to find that the further he moved down his road, the more the knot loosened deep within him.

He walked faster then, his wingtips clicking somewhat defiantly on the sidewalk and slapping in and out of shallow puddles until his socks were as saturated as the rest of him, but the rain didn't bother him, nor the darkness.

He crossed the street that brought him out of his own neighbourhood and far, far closer to his destination, and couldn't help but walk faster still and then, as his foot lifted back up from tarmac to sidewalk, he ran.

He ran as fast as his body would let him, skidding and slipping over wet paving slabs and slick asphalt, spinning around corners with arms that spiralled and sliced through the night air to better keep his balance.

His breath burned in his chest even as his skin tingled and tightened. The airflow and rain chilled him in his flight and his body circulated the alcohol in his system faster, and then yet faster, so that his mind swerved and spun within his skull with only a few wild thoughts making it through the chaos, but then, they were the only ones that mattered at that point.

"Eames," Arthur panted as he reached his drive, too raw and rushed to be heard above his laboured breaths, but calling for him all the same as his shaking, dripping body powered him up the path to stop, swaying and suddenly unsure, before the doorway.

"Eames..." he said again and lifted a fist to knock urgently – painfully - upon the wood, taking deep, gulped breaths as he watched the darkened living room window, waiting for Eames to snatch it wide as he had before, waiting, watching, and then, with a tiny, disconsolate noise of need, he knocked again – longer, louder.

A light came on somewhere within; Arthur could see it just at the very edges of his vision, his stare unwavering upon the door. He could see how the window reflected its weak rays somewhere inside and Arthur took a polite step backward, rocking slightly on his heels as the door opened slowly, the blackness beyond only broken by the bulk of Eames' body, his shocked, sleep-slack expression doing nothing for the roiling, horrified begging at the back of Arthur's mind as he clasped his hands together and tried to not reach out and touch.

"A-Arthur?" Eames rasped in bewildered disbelief, blinking as his expression sharpened, focusing on the gently resonant ring of droplets upon the ground outside, the limp darkness of Arthur's clothes and hair against his skin, and the way he swayed and gasped before him. "Jesus fuck, you're soaked, get in here!"

He closed his palm around the firm knot of Arthur's wrist bone and jerked him across the threshold with a huff of surprise as Arthur stumbled forward, knocking into him before snatching away, determined to not cling and drip and beg like a weeping teenage girl.

"Please," Arthur said and swayed, his hand reaching to cover where Eames still gripped him, holding his eyes even as he panted and rocked on unsteady feet, "Please, please just let me say good bye to you, the real you. I – I don't, I can't just – I need closure, or something. I – I need this...please let me, let me..."

Eames lifted a hand to grip at Arthur's shoulder, steadying him where he'd been gradually tilting to one side, and frowned at him. Arthur would have said more but his teeth took that moment to begin chattering and Eames sighed, releasing him.

"You're dripping wet, Arthur. Let me get you a towel or something, hm? Then we'll see if we can't sober you up some."

He turned to walk up the stairs and Arthur let out a noise suspiciously like a sob and grabbed at him, his wet hands fisting into the sleep-warmed material of Eames' t-shirt and he was gasping, "No, please" even as Eames gently detached him.

"Arthur," he said and met his gaze steadily (albeit with tired, shuttered eyes), "You're shivering and wet and until that is rectified we can't talk about anything else. Now, I'm going to go fetch something to sort you out, so why don't you take a seat. I'll be back in just a minute."

He pushed Arthur toward the living room and jogged quickly up the stairs. The room lurched and spun about Arthur as he tried to gulp down the horror and humiliation building in his chest.

He looked down and saw the water dripping from him, pooling around his feet and, shaking his head violently, he staggered backward, away from the leather chairs and sofa, to wrap two shaking hands about the newel post at the base of Eames' banister. Easing himself onto the lowest step on the staircase, he rested his head against the cool, solid wood and bit his tongue to hold back something like a sob.

It wasn't fair, he decided brokenly as the floor and walls about him continued to buck and slant before, forcing him to close his eyes and lean more fully into the wooden spindles.

He'd just wanted to talk to Eames, to tell him how necessary and wonderful he'd been, to tell him how they couldn't just part without Arthur being allowed to look his fill and break his heart over his farewell, to tell him he would miss him and... and...

xxXxx

He awoke to the sensation of a dry mouth and throat, and a deliciously cool pillow beneath his aching head.

He sat up, moaning softly as he reached for the Tylenol tablets he could see on the bedside table, and chased them with a gulp of the gloriously cool water he'd found alongside it, mentally thanking whoever had been thoughtful enough to...

Oh.

Arthur sat fully upright and took in his surroundings with wide, protesting eyes.

He was in a large, barely lit bed that perched beneath a window where the rain slicked the pane, dulling what looked to be the blue predawn light into murky grey, its shade casting itself over everything in the room so that Arthur was hard pushed to tell where shadow left off and texture and colour began.

He shivered slightly then, aware of an odd, clammy sensation and, shifting, he found himself stripped but for his equally rain soaked boxers around which a towel had been firmly wrapped before, it seemed, he had been placed into this large and otherwise empty bed.

Eames' bed.

Eames had undressed him and put him to bed.

Arthur glanced again at the night stand where his watch, cell, keys and wallet all sat, dry and carefully placed where he could easily find them.

Arthur's heart swelled and broke a little under the weight of such possibly-humiliating kindness and he swung his legs around and out of bed, pleased to find that his head no longer swam, and that the world had ceased to tilt and twirl like a merry go round.

He regarded the wide, shadowed space before slowly making his way toward the open door just off to one side of the bed. His fingers spanned against a cool tile wall until he found and flicked on the light switch, wincing as his reflection blinked back at him, rumpled and still mostly bedraggled, from the bathroom mirror. He rinsed his mouth out and splashed his face with water that seemed too loud, echoing in the tiled, empty room as he unwrapped the towel from about his hips. He dried his face and scrubbed at his hair until it resembled something slightly less mop-like, and then turned to stare at his shirt & suit, hung up and drying against the radiator. A fierce clutch of tenderness made his chest seize so painfully that his eyes watered.

He shut off the light and leaned against the doorframe, standing there until his eyes readjusted to the rain-darkened room and the sluggishly building light, before he walked back toward the bed where a pair of sweats and a t-shirt lay draped across the footboard.

Stripping quickly out of his still-damp boxers, he snatched up and donned the sweats, then gave the wide, warm bed a considering look as he hovered, uncertain, at its foot.

He was sure he should crawl back into the embrace of bedding that had no doubt smelled like Eames (had he but taken a moment to check upon waking) and sleep until his stomach caught up with his head – and until his heart ceased to flutter like a small, frightened bird in his chest – but there was an emptiness about the spread-wide comforter and indented pillows that mirrored a gaping loss in him and so, dropping the t-shirt back onto the footboard from nerveless fingers, he steeled himself and went to find Eames.

He glanced through the other doors that stood open as he went on tiptoes across the landing. He found only another bathroom, an office, and a horribly empty room filled only with labelled, stacked boxes that caused a low coil of dread to form in his belly. His fingers were tight and trembling on the banister as he slowly descended the staircase.

The wood groaned gently beneath his tentative footsteps as he stopped midway down; his eyes flickered about the grey-washed living room. The watery light gave the shadows a sharper definition, stretching from point to point so that the room was cocooned in an almost otherworldly glow and there, in the long line of light reaching weakly from the windows, sprawled across the larger leather sofa, was Eames.

Braced high on the balls of his feet, Arthur crept down the rest of the staircase, crossed the floor on near-silent footsteps, and followed the sound of Eames' deep, even breaths until he stood over him, just looking. His breath caught hot and high in his chest as he took in the face half-turned into the sofa cushions, the jumbled drape of his limbs over and off of the side of the sofa itself, and for a moment, it was all Arthur could do to just stand there and watch the steady expand and fall of his ribs beneath his t-shirt and wonder at the vulnerability that a pair of black sweats, a black t-shirt and bare feet could evoke.

Sighing softly at his own despondence, his heart trembled against his ribs as he dipped down – close enough to touch – to lift the fallen blanket. He draped it back over Eames, skin prickling at the proximity, and stood for just a moment more to simply look before he walked over to the window, hands deep in his pockets, and watched the impending sunrise attempt to light each raindrop in turn against the glass.

He stood there long enough for the slight chill that came from the wind and rain beyond the window to reach out and lightly kiss his skin, forming goosebumps, his nipples peaking, and then, just as he was considering the hard choice between donning his still-damp clothes and disappearing into the grey morning light or sidling quietly back upstairs to lie, awkward and longing, in Eames' bed, just hoping that the man wouldn't hate him or treat him like a child when he awoke, something changed.

The silence, abrupt and oddly terrifying, brought him free of his thoughts. The lulling rhythm of Eames' deep, even breaths was suddenly, horribly, absent and Arthur steeled himself to not move, fingers tensing in his pockets as his gaze fixed on the solid darkness of the sofa's reflection in the pane before him.

He struggled to keep his own breaths relaxed and unchanged as he watched Eames' feet swing silently down to the floor, the whisper of the blanket falling and the gentle groan of couch springs giving audible testament to where Arthur watched Eames slowly sit up, watching him in turn.

"You've got it wrong, y'know," Arthur said quietly after a beat, his spine held straight and stiff as he kept his gaze steady on the pale orb of Eames' face in the window, "When an unwelcome guest stops by, you make them sleep on the sofa, not you."

Eames ran his hands over his face, his shoulders low as he slumped into the gesture. Arthur swallowed.

"Of course, it's easier if you just toss said unwanted guest out on their ear and then forget they were ever here to start with."

"You were drunk. Not to mention soaked to the skin."

Arthur stiffened, mortified even as his skin prickled with the knowledge that Eames knew precisely how wet he'd been.

"Yes," he said carefully in return, with what he hoped was subtle emphasis, "I was."

He watched with a sad, almost starved gaze as Eames wearily rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Arthur's eyes fixed on him, heavy like an almost physical touch as they catalogued every detail to be gleaned from the slightly blurred and somehow more accessible man reflected in the window pane.

"I'm sorry," he said, breathless and rushing as he fought to explain himself before Eames could think even less of him, or ask him to leave. "I'm so, so sorry to have showed up here so late and put you to so much trouble, it's just that I... I just..."

He broke off, swallowing the surge of need and devastation that threatened at the back of his throat with every breath, and let his eyes fall shut against the weight of Eames' gaze, not quite matched to his upon the foggy glass.

"I just couldn't, couldn't leave it - this – without seeing you, really seeing you, not dancing around with pointed, painful smiles and awkward handshakes in suits and pretending. I..."

He turned, licking dry lips as he faced Eames with his hands clenched in his pockets, hoping the darkness still masked the uncertainty he knew still trembled beneath his skin.

"I wanted to say goodbye, plain and simple. Just, not to the man in the suit I'm not supposed to miss the way I'll miss you. I, I wanted – I wanted to see you, just – just one last time..."

He wrenched his eyes back from where they had held on Eames' down-tipped profile; the Englishman's eyes were hooded, his expression closely guarded by darkness. Arthur spun back to face the window in an attempt to haul back some small portion of dignity to hold him upright until he could walk out of there.

"Just once," Eames echoed, his voice so quiet that Arthur wondered if it had actually been him who whispered it. His eyes abruptly widened as he watched Eames rub his hands roughly over his face, shaking his head even as he saw the shine of his uneven teeth, a huff of soft laughter made him surge slightly in place.

"You came here, knowing it was probably wrong and... and possibly futile, and... Christ, I have no idea why that would surprise me."

Eames voice was soft, conversationally soft, and almost meandering from word to word, "You – you're so bloody brave aren't you, Arthur? You risked my wrath, such as it is, and your... not your pride, you're better than that, but certainly your sense of personal well-being, your self-esteem - your dignity -to come and see me just one last time and I, I couldn't even..."

He made a strange sound, like a laugh torn free from a soband abruptly rose, ducking forward even as he stood, his face in his hands, before jerking back upright. He roughly palmed his hair back over his skull before facing where Arthur had half-turned back to him, Eames' name heavy on his lips, freezing as their eyes met in the dim light.

They stood a moment, frozen with the shock of actually facing each other, it seemed, until Eames sighed and slumped back slightly to lean against the closest arm of the sofa, his gaze heavy where it held Arthur's with something like resignation.

"I saw Ariadne's show," he said gruffly and Arthur's brow crinkled at the conversational leap. Eames dropped his gaze low enough to hood his eyes almost completely. "And I saw... I wanted–"

He cut himself off again and licked his lips with something that looked like frustration before something surprising and sweet, almost a smile, tugged at their corners.

"I saw you before classes even began. I mean, I saw you running round the track the weekend before term. I was going over my lesson plans up in the stands and you ran past me time and time again and never looked up once, and I thought Christ, I hope that's not a student and then there you sodding well were, right smack in my class. God, I was so disappointed." He laughed, short and sharp, as he crossed his arms over his chest and Arthur turned mostly back toward the window, somehow unable to bear the weight of Eames' sudden honesty full on.

"I told myself that that was it, no big deal," he continued, "I'd hoped you were staff, but you weren't, so that should have been that... only, you were you and you were – are– brilliant and... and biting and funny and god, so many different things I normally flip over. I just kept making it worse for myself – pushing you in class and toward doing Hamlet and – fuck's sake– all those self-flagellating lifts home and... god, I just wanted to kiss you - I wanted to kiss you so much.."

Arthur trembled, turning his back to the room in an attempt to steady himself, watching the window with his breath caught in his chest as Eames rose from the arm of the sofa and walked up to stand just behind him. Arthur's skin blazed at his approach and for a beat they each simply stood there and breathed.

"I told myself that it was for you when I backed off, at first – thought you'd realize what a creepy fuck I was being eventually, thought you'd notice how much I wanted you. But it wasn't for you, it was all me... after Boxing Day Mal ripped me to pieces, told me how stupid I was being, how she knew and adored you and if I didn't back the fuck off then she'd skin me. And I thought that's it, that's enough and I tried so hard to just be your teacher, not even the piss poor friend I'd been trying for, just Mr. Eames and... it was awful and I just couldn't do it. But I told myself I'd never, never let you know how I felt, what I was thinking, and then, then that day when you..."

Arthur stiffened, visibly, it seemed, because suddenly a warm palm whispered over the rigid line of his shoulders and Eames' hot breath brushed at his nape. His hand dropped to rest lightly at Arthur's waist as Eames continued huskily,

"And then I had to tell you no... and then, then I had to let you when you pretended we'd never kissed." Arthur shuddered and Eames' arm slid around him, dragging his forearm across the quivering tautness of Arthur's belly until his palm cupped the ridge of his hip and his back rested against Eames' cotton-covered chest. His lips were warm and regretful as he dipped down against Arthur's nape to speak.

"So then I was going to leave, back then and now. Walk away and never see you again like a fucking coward and here you are... beautiful and brave and, and I was just going to let you go. I took a fucking picture on my phone of Ari's photo of you, tried to pretend like I wasn't fucking doing it. I only barely took it out of my pocket – and then when I got back to my car it was just this awful blurred-out image of what might have been your lower lip, and possibly the line of your thigh and I just sat there, sat in my car and I couldn't do anything but look at that sodding picture and try to tell myself I could make do, that I could get through a world where I'd never see you again as long as I had that stupid fucking picture."

Eames dropped his forehead to rest at Arthur's nape and sighed shakily. His hands crossed over each other to clasp at Arthur's hips, gripping hard enough to bruise, and Arthur's eyes stung. Eames' mouth was hot against his skin as he whispered, shaking and self-loathing against his flesh. "I'm sosorry, Arthur... I... I tried so hard to save us both and all I did was make us miserable..." He swallowed and Arthur felt Eames' sorrow, his words like a brand upon them both. "I've been so fucking stupid."

Arthur moved, clean and sharp, as though moving through water once more. He turned in Eames' arms without dislodging his hold, his own fingers spearing through the hair at Eames' nape as he jerked him close, smirking even as he bit his tongue to keep from spilling all the desperate words still lodged deep in his chest.

"C'mere, stupid," he said gruffly and wrapped his arms about Eames in turn, shivering with delight as Eames swiftly turned his face in to press tightly at his throat, each clinging to the other as though reality might intercede at any moment and rip them apart once more.

They swayed there a moment, Eames' heart hammering through the thin, warm material of his t-shirt and reverberating against Arthur's ribs; it was all Arthur could do to not simply yank Eames' mouth to his, but he was still whispering, shaking and apologetic in his embrace, damning himself with every word breathed against Arthur's pulse.

"I went to that damned show every day until Graduation but I couldn't let myself try again. All the time everyone was talking about you – how beautiful, how alive and strong and terrifying you were – and all I could think was how much I hated them for being allowed to look and say how amazing you were when I'd had to fucking push you away – let you go – when you should've been, could've been mine and–"

Arthur laughed, helpless and fond as he pushed Eames back just the merest step, unable to help his smile at the mortally offended light in Eames' narrowed blue eyes.

"You really are stupid," he said, his tongue thick behind his teeth as his heart hammered anew, blood seething and triumphant beneath his skin as he tightened his grip upon the bemused but glaring, beautiful man before him. "I was always yours..."

Eames blinked, swallowing and Arthur's breath stuttered and caught in his chest as he watched Eames wet his lips.

"That so?" he queried faintly and Arthur nodded, dizzy as the blood poured downwards, rolling through him in waves as they swayed against each other. Arthur's words brushed Eames' lips as he tilted and slanted their mouths together.

"Told you, stupid..."he muttered against the press of Eames' mouth before letting out an embarrassing whine-like noise at the flutter of Eames' tongue at the curve of his lower lip. Abruptly, it was like nothing had ever come between them and Arthur's hands were greedy, possessive as they pushed and gripped at the fabric of Eames' t-shirt, eager – desperate– to touch his skin. Eames' hands pulled Arthur hard against him, splayed wide at the small of his spine; one hand roved from between his shoulder blades up into his hair to move and mold Arthur's position as best suited Eames to kiss him until they were breathless, swaying, stumbling–

Arthur's breath left him in a startled yelp as his bare back met the chilled glass of the window. His cry separated their mouths even as his body bucked forward and away from the clammy, cold glass, arching helplessly into the bracing shelter of Eames' body. He bit his lip as their groins met and moved together and the air grew thick and hot between them.

"S'cold," he heard himself say in a tiny, hitching voice, and Eames pressed even closer, tighter to him, crossing his forearms against the glass to cradle Arthur's skin from the cruel bite of the steadily fogging window. Arthur leaned back against them, crowded tight against the sill with Eames pressing close into his embrace, Arthur's arms wound around Eames' shoulders to bind himself in place, clinging as he gazed headily into Eames' almost black gaze.

"Better?" Eames asked thickly and Arthur nodded, already steeling himself to not beg the man, no matter how much he currently felt like being fucked up against the window.

"I can't believe how close I came to losing you..." Eames murmured, nuzzling at Arthur's jaw and sucking gently at the hinge in such a way that almost reduced Arthur's vocabulary to single syllables, or close enough that all he could say for several minutes was the simple reiteration of stupid before their mouths slid together and held once more.

"Never," Eames croaked the next time he pulled back, just far enough to mouth and bite his way down from Arthur's throat to his collarbone, "Never wanted to touch anyone the way I've wanted you. Fuck – the things I've wanted to do to you, darling – I spent fucking years not letting myself think about you when I've had to wank myself raw in the shower... only time I really let myself think about you was a fucking self-congratulatory miserable drunken toss after I had to turn you down, let myself imagine what it could've been like – coming over, eating your food... fucking your fist and then your smart bloody mouth as we sat and watched that film of yours..."

Arthur laughed, low and dirty as he traced the whorl of ink his mauling had exposed at the stretched neckline of Eames' t-shirt, tonguing and biting at the painted flesh before pressing apologetic kisses to it in turn.

"Oh, god yeah – the only time I let myself go was after that damn carpet heist of yours. I wanted you so fucking much I was surprised you couldn't hear me moaning your name as you drove off..." He licked his way back up and over Eames' jaw, pressing several quick, vicious kisses to his full, fantastic lips between words, panting as their hips rolled and rubbed together steadily.

"...had three fingers in me practically before you left my goddamn drive, thinking about motel beds and fucking poker chips, and your cock down my throat – came so hard I bit myself. Made me feel smug, like I was yours already and even you didn't know it and, and I got cocky... asked you over for dinner..." he laughed and Eames pulled back to stare at him, all shadows and lust in the damp and dimly lit daybreak, "...all because I finally let myself jerk off to the thought of you."

"Three fingers," Eames repeated hoarsely and he nodded, swallowing a strangled laugh when Eames snarled and kissed him. Arthur writhed within his hold, giddy with the freedom to do so, sucking on Eames' tongue with abandon and raking his fingertips over his chest and shoulders, grumbling into the kiss at the unfairness of Eames' wearing too many clothes. He grunted as Eames spun them and shoved Arthur hard against the wall.

"Sorry, darling," he mumbled against Arthur's skin and pressed soothing, soft kisses to the pained frown at his brow. "Couldn't take not touching you any longer."

"Fuck yes," Arthur growled. Eames' thick fingers (and oh god maybe he should have used FOUR) raked up and down Arthur's thighs, skating mercilessly close (but no closer) to where Arthur most longed for them, "Please, yes – been waiting so long to feel this – your hands on me instead of... Uhh, fuck yes, please, please, Eames..."

Eames froze midway through clenching his fingers hard into the firmness of Arthur's ass, lifting him slightly to thrust their erections together and he snarled suddenly, all ferocity and force as he crushed Arthur's lips back against his teeth.

"Instead of who,Arthur? Robert Fischer? Who, damn it?"

Arthur bit back, raking short nails over Eames' ribs with a glare.

"Instead of no one, you stupid dick. I wanted your hands on me instead of mine, for fuck's sake. I'm a virgin, you asshole and, for your information, Rob did make a pass but I turned him down because I still wanted you."

They paused for a beat and Arthur glared while trying desperately not to rock into Eames, his eyes blue and dark, fixed on Arthur's in something like shock.

"You're... a virgin?"

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I'm a pure and perfect flower. Who's had internet access since he was fifteen and was therefore only too able to order, and subsequently enjoy, the contents of my bedside drawer, by which you should understand that if you balk at the idea of fucking me now I WILL KILL YOU, understand?"

Eames mouth twisted into the familiar smirk that had left Arthur wanting to kiss it from his face at least a million times – so he did, lunging forward to kiss and suck until Eames was gasping and driving them each against the wall once more.

"I only meant," he panted between rolls of his hips into Arthur's that left them both wild and keening (and Arthur a little too close for comfort), "to show appreciation, not impugn your delicate flower status." Eames' grinned, both hands squeezing Arthur's backside hard enough that he knew he'd be wide open for him were their sweats not in the way. "I'm bloody thrilled, you cheeky, sarcastic fuck."

Arthur whined and pushed against him, dragging their lips together, parted, wet and sloppy – as he wound his arms high and tight about Eames, one hand squeezing almost too tightly at his nape.

"Eames," he whimpered, unashamed of his need as Eames shuddered at the sound of his voice alone, "Please, please... take me upstairs and fuck me?"

Eames' eyes visibly lost focus for a moment and he swayed slightly, head tipping until their foreheads touched.

"Darling..." he slurred with just enough of a hesitation to have Arthur pre-emptively slicking their tongues back over each other's.

"Don't ask," Arthur breathed over Eames' lips, "you already know I'm sure. Just do it. Take me back up to that big, empty bed you left me in and fuck me."

Eames regarded him seriously before he smiled, slow and so ridiculously lascivious that Arthur actually whimpered even as he smiled back at him.

"Yes, darling," he purred and then dipped abruptly, sweeping Arthur so swiftly upward that he toppled straight over Eames' shoulder. His head fell down to just short of Eames' ass as he spun them and made his way towards the staircase, carrying him easily in a fireman's hold. Arthur had to laugh (albeit briefly) before struggling.

"Put me down, you asshole!"

"You said to take you to bed, dearest. Now stop struggling or I'll have to drag you by your hair in the proper Neanderthal fashion."

Arthur spied the staircase drawing close (if upside down) and went perfectly, rigidly still.

"Eames," he said quietly, and lying through his teeth, "I guarantee I will throw up on you if you try to carry me up that thing this way."

Eames paused at the foot of the stairs before he sighed and carefully placed Arthur back on his feet. Arthur schooled his features into casual non-triumph before squawking as Eames dropped down to lift him again, pressing them against the wall to haul one of Arthur's thighs high around him. Arthur automatically mimicked the gesture with the other and moaned as the position nudged the distended ridge of Eames' prick into his backside. He blinked as Eames stepped back from the wall, bearing Arthur's weight easily, and turned to mount the first step with Arthur clinging to him like a limpet.

"You smug fuck," he breathed, amused, and dipped his head to be kissed. Eames paused to leisurely explore his mouth with just his tongue-tip once more, leaving Arthur heady and whining with loss a moment later as he murmured, "I rather plan to be, yes..." and slowly took them both upstairs.

Arthur nuzzled and bit at Eames' shoulders with every step upward, pulling at the steadily more loathed fabric covering Eames' body with his teeth, surprised to find himself suddenly pressed against the wall once more. Eames' bedroom door stood open just across the way, apparently too far for Eames to be able to go without claiming a good kiss or ten before proceeding, sucking at Arthur's tongue and nipping at his lips. He punctuated both with slow grindings of his cock up against Arthur's still cotton-clad ass.

"I want you," Eames muttered gutturally, dipping his head to lave and nip at Arthur's collarbone before sinking yet lower to worshipfully tongue his nipples, "Want you so fucking much."

A dozen quips, taunts and jokes tripped their way to the tip of Arthur's tongue but only two words made their way free, and those over and over again.

"Eames," he whimpered and kissed every part of him close enough to reach, "please, Eames... please…?"

Eames moved one broad palm from where it had been braced beneath Arthur's thigh to lightly cup his jaw and gazed at him for a slow, still moment before leaning in to kiss him – sure and deep – without any of the prior desperation. The simplicity of being kissed just to be kissed had Arthur smiling even before their lips had fully parted.

"Now how could I possibly refuse when you smile at me like that?" Eames mocked gently, though his eyes seemed deadly serious. "I'd climb Everest for just the dimples alone."

Arthur snorted and wriggled as Eames walked them (finally) toward his bedroom.

"Does that mean you'll put me down now?" he drawled as though they were still discussing radio stations in the front of Eames' car. He smothered his answering grin as Eames smirked before beaming ingenuously up at him.

"But of course, darling," he purred as they crossed the threshold into his room and, with only a few steps to go, he deftly unhooked Arthur's legs from about his waist and flung him onto the bed.

Arthur bounced, breathless and stunned for a moment at the centre of the bed, before scrambling up with a howl of reluctantly amused outrage. He launched himself at an already laughing Eames and tangled with him at the foot of the bed, loosely knotting themselves together as each attempted to knock the other over the low footboard and onto the bed before becoming almost instantly distracted by each other's mouths and bodies, stilling completely within moments but for the lash of tongues between their mouths and the none too casual rutting of hips.

Eames broke away first, his eyes hooded and dark once more and Arthur couldn't help but lean back into him, mouth tilting for a kiss even as Eames gently pushed him back.

"On the bed, Arthur," he said softly and the steel beneath the gentle tone had Arthur scrambling backward, breathless and so hard he hurt, over the footboard to lie trembling, sprawled against the bedding.

Eames' dilated blue gaze raked over him and he swallowed as he moved forward, only to still as Arthur lifted a foot to press neatly at his sternum, shaking his head with warm-eyed disapproval.

"Clothes off. You already stripped me once tonight; it's my turn." Arthur attempted flippancy and Eames' eyebrows went ceiling-ward.

Arthur blushed and breathed shortly through his nose, impatient and lightly embarrassed.

"I want to see you," he said simply, softly, and pulled his foot back slowly as Eames smiled, his eyes burning in contrast before his face was obscured as he pulled his t-shirt up and over his head.

Arthur's mouth went literally dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth almost painfully as he panted, his eyes fixed on Eames' chest, arms and stomach and – god, oh GOD – his tattoos.

His eyes skated over the knotted black swirls of ink that twisted and embraced his body, designs and words blurring before him as he raised his gaze to match Eames', hot and proud and wanting as he looked steadily back at Arthur. He couldn't help but moan and writhe, happy to do it with the knowledge that Eames was watching him get turned on even more so just from looking at his ridiculously beautiful body.

Arthur hummed, low and thick, and dropped his gaze to where the black fabric of Eames' pants was as distended and sticky as Arthur's and he eased up onto his elbows wanting, needing, more even as his mouth watered at just the thought, but Eames was already moving forward, only to pause as Arthur's foot met his sternum again.

"All of it," Arthur croaked and bit the inside of his cheek to hold in his smirk as Eames cocked an eyebrow, affecting a long-suffering look even as the colour deepened across his chest and flushed high across his cheekbones as, carefully, he pushed his sweats over his erection and off his hips to let them drop to the floor with a soft murmur of warm fabric.

"Hunh..." Arthur uttered thickly and gazed unabashedly at the rigid, engorged flesh that lay tight to Eames' belly. He shifted forward – desperate, unthinking – in his desire to simply get closer, to touch, taste – only to find himself toppling backward as Eames jerked on the foot he still held. Eames shook his head with a soft, guttural grunt of laughter and smiled at Arthur's whine of disappointment.

"Patience, darling..." He grinned and lifted Arthur's foot to press hot, sucking kisses along the jut of his ankle bone before swiftly, sinuously dipping down to crawl over the footboard. Arthur's foot slid over and down the hot, silken skin of his back until his toes could just rub and clench at the small of his spine. Eames was over him then and pressed his cock into the clothed cleft of Arthur's ass. He rocked as Arthur moaned, his knee pressing back against his chest where it was looped over Eames' shoulder; they held there for a moment, Eames' weight pushing down against Arthur. They each moaned low as they kissed, relishing being so close to each other at last.

"Please," Arthur managed, his tongue thick and woefully bereft in his mouth as he strained upward, his hands sliding down Eames' flanks before being seized and held back at his sides with his fingers clenching pointlessly, desperately, against the bedding, "please let me touch – god, Eames, I want to touch you so much..."

"Arthur," Eames ground out between the teeth currently nipping at the long, straining line of Arthur's throat, "I'm fighting almost every primal urge I have to not simply shove my cock down your throat. Could you please stop looking and acting like the embodiment of my every last sodding fantasy long enough for me to actually stand a chance of fucking you tonight, hm?"

Arthur arched up, twisting to claim Eames' mouth. He moaned into the kiss, struggling just enough against his grip to have his cock weeping copiously into the front of his borrowed sweats. "God, yes, fuck me – fuck me..." he chanted mindlessly, thrashing beneath the torturous slide of Eames' lips down over his sternum and crying out, wordless and surprised when Eames sealed his mouth over a nipple and sucked viciously, his tongue repeatedly flickering back and forth over the sensitive nub until Arthur babbled continuously, unsure of his actual words but sobbing, pleading under the onslaught as Eames switched from left to right and back again, merciless, brilliant and there, right fucking there and Arthur couldn't touch him...

Arthur wrapped his legs high around Eames' ribs and shoulders and twisted, trying to throw him off, flip them over, desperate for anything that might grant him freedom to access the sweat-slicked and exquisite body above him, only to cry out in surprise when Eames abruptly hauled him up, twisting his still trapped wrists behind him to grip them tightly, crossed over beneath his own weight when Eames dropped him back down, his free hand spearing into Arthur's hair to hold him steady, painfully, still as Eames crushed their mouths back together.

"Naughty," he admonished huskily and, moving slowly so that Arthur had no choice but to watch, trapped by his own body and Eames' vice-like hold, as Eames hooked a fingertip into Arthur's waistband. He drew it down and away just enough so that Arthur's gleaming, sopping cockhead was exposed – leaking a virtual torrent of precome against his belly. Eames groaned, a raw, deep noise that Arthur swore he could feel roll right through him. He let Arthur's waistband snap back, too low now, twanging gently an inch or so beneath his throbbing glans and he jerked and whimpered at the sudden smack of fabric, all but swallowing his tongue a moment later when Eames dipped to soothe the rough treatment with a gentle kiss.

"Jesus FUCK..." Arthur cried out, broken and already hitching his hips up and forward as Eames lapped at the pooling, sticky pre-ejaculate before forming his lips – oh god OH GOD those lips – in a seal about the head and sucking, and then Arthur couldn't breathe. He thrashed under Eames' hotslickcruelBRILLIANT mouth and arched so hard he felt his forehead brush the comforter beneath him. He was shaking, coming apart at the seams and...

"STOP – please, please FUCK, Eames, STOPSTOPSTOP! PLEASE?"

Eames released him immediately, jerking back as he released his varied holds, and Arthur found himself bouncing against the mattress once more as he ground the heels of his palms against his eyes and struggled to breathe and not, NOT come, dammit. Eames' urgent, whispering voice was at his ear, worried and soothing in turns, and then abruptly understanding. A hot palm slid quickly beneath his sweats and Arthur cried out before gasping, wordless and choking, as Eames wrapped his fingers, tight and unyielding, about the base of his cock and squeezed.

Arthur's world went a bright, painful white and his body shuddered under the weight of a thousand different nerve endings screaming in protest before he fell back, shivering against the sheets, over-stimulated and unsatisfied all at once.

Eames pressed soft lips to his, gentling him, and murmured soothing, nonsensical things into his mouth until the shudders stopped and he lay panting, watching Eames through low-lidded, unfocused eyes as he sat back and eased Arthur's sweats from his hips. He slowly dragged them down Arthur's legs and off, tossed somewhere into the steadily receding shadows.

Arthur couldn't help but stretch, arching under Eames' covetous stare as the older man smoothed a hand down over Arthur's still juddering form, cupped at his hip bone and stroked down over his thigh, all the while muttering words like beautiful and stubborn until finally he lay beside Arthur. Eames dragged him over so he lay partly sprawled over Eames' side, his face pressed – too hot and sweaty – against the dark, inky swirls at his shoulder. Eames stroked his sides and spine in long, soothing sweeps before murmuring conversationally, quietly amused, "Y'know, darling, coming is sort of the whole point of the exercise here. No need to fight it."

Arthur, having finally regained some ground against the literal surge of pleasure storming its way up through his body, sighed and forced himself up and over onto his knees with a thigh on either side of Eames' waist. They both groaned when Arthur's cock dragged momentarily against Eames' torso.

"I have been waiting," Arthur said quietly, pressing his mouth to Eames', the words blurring amidst their breath, "for something like ten months, dreaming of what it would be like to come with you inside me."

He lifted his head, sliding his hips down until Eames' snub, slick cockhead caught and nudged against his cleft. Arthur held Eames' gaze and hitched his hips in tiny circles, working Eames' hard cock up between his cheeks until it was rubbing, prodding, at Arthur's hole with every stuttering jerk backward. His thighs trembled even as Eames held him steady, pushing up in turn and hissing, tongues tangling, as their slide against each other turned clumsy.

"Please," Arthur grunted, mashing his mouth against Eames' sweat-dampened, heaving chest. His teeth and tongue dragged, catching over every inch of tattoo he could reach, snarling, biting, needy. His voice choked under the strain of his pleasure. "Please Eames, I can't wait anymore."

Eames surged up from under him then, twisting to unceremoniously dump Arthur back against the mattress. He swiftly leaned down to press a harsh, fervent kiss along with the grunted word "condoms",to his lips and all but leaped from the bed.

Arthur's hips jerked involuntarily at the implication and he couldn't help but arch against the bedding, fisting it and biting his lip as he moaned, before quickly shuffling up onto an elbow and beaming as he watched Eames quickly dash off into the bathroom. His thighs were long, firm and perfect, and his ass was literally mouth-watering. Arthur moaned, his gaze decidedly proprietary.

"Oh fuckyes, thank you, GOD," he muttered and scrambled into an upright kneeling position, an almost drunken smile of disbelief accompanying his soft chuckle upon spotting his discarded underwear, the sight of them oddly grounding – proof somehow that he hadn't simply slipped into a drunken stupor and dreamed it all. His smile slowly dimmed down into overwhelming shock and an almost nausea-inducing exhilaration as he recalled his prior grief, the loss of Eames seeming distant then, laughable as the man himself re-emerged.

He waved the small box of prophylactics with a smirk, walking forward with predatory grace as he watched Arthur shift forward to the very edge of the bed, naked, waiting and longing for him.

"Sorry, wasn't sure where they'd ended up. Not had a lot of cause to use them the last... I don't know... let's call it an academic year."

He arched a brow and tossed the box onto the pillows. Arthur beamed delightedly and moved so he could wrap his arms about Eames' shoulders, drawing their bodies together from mid-thigh upwards. Each grunted softly with pleasure at the contact, and they kissed, lazy and unhurried. Eames' hands skated casually up Arthur's sides, then skimmed over his shoulders and down until he had a palm on each cheek and, squeezing, he drew them slightly apart.

Arthur choked slightly as he attempted to breathe into the kiss and lightly smacked Eames around the back of his head for the smug grin that followed Arthur's breathless whimper, rubbing their cocks together on a whine even as he pushed back, trying to get Eames' fingers closer to his hole.

"How many was it again?" Eames muttered thickly against his ear and Arthur made a soft, querying noise, light-headed and greedy, at the juncture where Eames' shoulder became his throat.

"How many fingers, darling – when you were thinking of me... how many?"

Arthur panted, harsh and open-mouthed against the hot, damp skin of Eames' pulse-point, his mind's eye whirling once more with memories of his own guttural cries against his flesh, hole clenching hard against the idea of Eames pounding up inside him, coming, coming, coming and...

"Three," he ground out, his tongue pressed firmly to the salt-sweat tang of Eames, real and warm and right there, and he clung, dizzy and needful for a moment. Eames nudged his face up to nuzzle at his jaw and cheekbones until he could get at Arthur's mouth, breathing into him even as he swallowed his gasps and murmurs and swaying there until they were steadier. Arthur trembled under Eames' careful grip; Eames panted as he slowly released him to push him gently down and back until Arthur lay, exposed and aching, under his eyes. He murmured fitfully as Eames stepped away to rummage blindly through his bedside drawer – their eyes still locked – until he grinned triumphantly and pulled back his hand with a partially crumpled tube of lube. They each laughed with something like relief.

"Now,on the other hand – this," Eames grinned, winking roguishly and transporting Arthur back to a dozen or so of their wondrous, stolen drives home together, "I rather found I had use for. Particularly on rehearsal days."

"I'm glad to hear it," Arthur purred, trying for sultry but somewhat certain he'd only pulled off needy. He arched, breath sobbing in his chest, as Eames climbed onto the bed and hunched low over Arthur's splayed body before licking a wet, unsteady streak up and over his taut, quivering belly and then up across his chest. He twisted to bite almost savagely at the erratic hammer and throb of the pulse pounding in Arthur's throat before pressing their lips together on something like a grateful sob from each of them.

They kissed – deep and desperate – for a few long, aching minutes, until the need for air and more rose up and ripped them apart. They rutted against each other as Eames heaved himself up onto his knees and elbows and scrambled back to better place himself between Arthur's thighs, which Arthur promptly wrapped round him, dragging him back down again during a moment of distracted weakness. He grumbled and tossed crossly beneath him as Eames tried to pull back far enough to slick his hand up, laughing into Arthur's wide, biting, kissing, needy mouth as it turned to war between them.

"Give me three," Arthur hissed, baring his teeth when Eames finally managed to pull back far enough to circle and press a single slick digit against him. Eames laughed as he twisted and turned his hand to casually stroke his knuckles gently against the tight throb of Arthur's balls, pulling away yet further to re-slick his fingers before he dipped swiftly to kiss him once more.

"You can have two to start on," he said firmly, eyes lit with softly mocking defiance as he pressed a wet, messy kiss to the skin just across from where Arthur's cock twitched and wept against his belly, "Greedy bloody git."

Arthur narrowed his eyes, mock-glaring as he surged upward, trying to drag Eames back down. Their mouths slammed back together on a moan from both before Eames shoved Arthur back against the coverlet, his left hand firm, wide-splayed over Arthur's chest before moving upwards to grip Arthur's right hand. He twined their fingers together with their arms stretched above their heads.

Arthur tilted his head, quivering against the bed as he looked up at their tangled fingers. He gasped as Eames bit gently at his hipbone at the same moment he twisted and sank his fingers – hard, slick and thick – inside him.

"Oh...oh god..." he uttered hoarsely and Eames rewarded him with a long, pointed lick against the tense, muscled flesh of his belly, humming as Arthur clenched and spasmed beneath him.

Arthur writhed, his eyes tightly shut as he fought to not simply ignite beneath Eames' attentions; every hitch and roll of his hips sent bursts of hot, dark pleasure from where his body ached and flexed; Eames' gently twisting digits barely even pressed that deeply into him.

Trembling with the effort, he lifted his head – heavy with strange, burning delight – to gaze at Eames, fixated - fascinated - by the image of Eames sliding any part of himself into him.

The slow building dawn outside had finally blossomed into something like light; the dark clouds washed everything a stark, sullen grey, the raindrops that still crept and trembled against the window over the bed cast odd shadows against Eames' skin, dappling him with an unearthly sheen as he dipped his head over and over to press searing, reverent kisses to the trembling stretches of skin beneath his mouth and hands. His lashes were low, thick and dark as he worshipped almost blindly at Arthur's form, nuzzling into the hardness of his cock with one damp breath and setting his teeth against the fragile indent of his navel with the next.

"Eames," Arthur whispered and lifted a hand to sink it, shaking and gentle, into Eames' sweat-damp hair. Their eyes held as Eames turned his gaze upward, his expression frankly adoring as he laved a long, hot line up and over Arthur's pelvis, belly and chest. He paused by a nipple and pressed fervent, open mouthed kisses directly above where Arthur's heart stuttered and sang in his chest beneath the onslaught.

"Please," he gasped, body stuttering and almost agonised under Eames' tender ministrations, arching without his consent as Eames deftly slid another finger into him. Arthur thrashed briefly as his body tried to seize and sate itself over the sensation, his entire lower body felt like one giant pulse of fire and pleasure as Eames' mouth trailed wet heat over skin that could just barely contain each new bolt of burning bliss. Eames' fingers twisted as they thrust within him. "Please – I want you in me..."

Eames relinquished his hold on Arthur's hand, easing up onto an elbow to gaze down at him with barely hidden need and Arthur trembled, feeling giddy and fucking perfect in the light of Eames' own reverent regard, and slid the fingers that had been carding through Eames' hair down to cradle the nape of his neck. He said simply, "Fuck me."

Eames met his gaze with eyes almost too intense for just a moment, the blue brightening into white-hot heat that scored across Arthur's skin, seeming to catalogue every arch and hitch as Arthur squirmed and cursed fretfully as Eames pulled his fingers free. His breath ached as it ripped in and out of his lungs. Eames wiped his fingers on the bedding and leaned over Arthur to snag the discarded, all-important little box with one hand, the other curving under Arthur's jaw to hold him in place so that Eames could kiss him deeply, panting into his mouth.

"I want you," he rumbled, nipping at Arthur's upper lip before soothing it with a quick swipe of his tongue. He dipped back into Arthur's mouth to steal his breath and pull out the cries from within and pulled away to mutter, "I want you so bloody much, Arthur."

He eased back up onto his elbows and knees, forearms braced at either side of Arthur's head as Arthur wound his legs up and about his waist.

"You were pretty bloody emphatic earlier, darling, but please – for my sanity and possibly my moral fibre – are you sure?"

Arthur unclenched his fingers from where they'd been white-knuckled atop the bedding, straining against his perpetually rocketing pleasure, and lifted them to bracket Eames' face, shaking slightly as he pushed a few wet, loose strands of hair back from Eames' temples and drawing him down until their faces were barely an inch apart.

"One hundred percent certain, Mr. Eames," he purred with a distinctly self-satisfied smirk, laughing gently as Eames growled and kissed him brutally for a beat before shifting back just enough to hold Arthur's gaze as he tore open the box of condoms.

Arthur didn't fight the urge to gaze down to where Eames sat slightly back to rip the foil open, smoothing the tight latex down over his obviously leaking, violently flushed and throbbing cock and Arthur shifted, wet his lips and whined softly. His mouth actively watered and Eames chuckled, low and promissory.

"Next time, darling," he whispered with a wink and moved to one side for a moment. He pulled several of the pillows loose from the head of the bed and slid one beneath Arthur's hips on a sudden pull upward, rising and taking Arthur up with him, his limbs still wrapped tightly about Eames, legs squeezing high at his waist and ribs, before he eased them both back down with Arthur's hips now higher, pressed closer to Eames as the pillow altered their angle slightly.

"Smooth," Arthur mocked hoarsely, although his tone lacked any actual ridicule as Eames reacquired the tube of lube. He released his shaking hold on Eames' shoulders and shifted, eager – desperate, really – as he reached down between them. "Let me," he begged throatily, already shifting, undulating with need at just the thought of it, "Oh god, Eames, please let me - let me?"

He sagged, disappointed, as Eames let out a shuddering, rough breath and coated his fingers in lube once more, only to gasp and growl in delighted surprise when he turned the tube, angling it over Arthur's proffered palm, slick droplets raining down to pool between the creases of his cupped, aching fingers, squelching as Arthur made a fist. He held Eames' gaze as he moved to grip his waiting cock.

Eames grunted, seemingly pained as he clenched his eyes shut, and gasped as Arthur's fingers formed a slippery channel around him, squeezing just so. He groaned deep in his chest even as he pushed his own slicked digits – three of them – back into Arthur.

Arthur yelped at the unexpected burst of pleasure, his body already threatening him with orgasm simply from the sight of Eames' cock gliding wetly back and forth between his fingers, the obscene squelching noise of the latex against his tight, lubed fist combined with the invasive press and stretch and twist of Eames' fingers inside him was almost too much. He jerked and cried out against it, sobbing Eames name as reproach and entreaty both until their mouths slammed together once more.

"Arthur,"Eames groaned against his lips and Arthur bucked and cursed, writhing in earnest, pleading agony as Eames withdrew his fingers. He smoothed them against Arthur's hip as he whispered nonsensical, calming words over his cries and stilled Arthur's palm over his own urgent flesh. "Arthur, now, darling, I'm going to fuck you now..."

Arthur went briefly wild beneath him, unable to help rocking up, and wrapping tighter about him, pressing hard, desperate kisses to every inch of skin he could reach, an endless litany of fuckyesfuckyesFUCKYES escaping past his lips as Eames laughed breathlessly, and moved over him.

Arthur stilled, breath rushing from his chest almost painfully as he panted under Eames. He turned his head to press his temple to Eames' as he leaned down, a forearm braced alongside them as he carefully guided his prick up against and then into Arthur's body.

Eames' cock was thicker than his fingers had been, thicker still than any of the toys Arthur had spent countless nights enjoying prior to meeting him, and the wide, relentless press of his cock against Arthur's inner walls as Eames slowly eased inside had him shaking, boneless against the bedspread, his mouth wide and wordless as tiny, hitched cries echoed at the back of his throat.

"Oh god," Eames husked, his voice wrecked and raw as he finally slide home, his balls resting, high, hot and tight against the trembling curves of Arthur's cheeks. He lifted his head from beside Arthur's to gaze dazedly down into his face.

They lay, panting, their eyes locked for a moment as Arthur's fingertips twitched and slowly released from where they'd been set hard into the muscles of Eames' back and shoulders, before suddenly a laugh bubbled up and out of him, quiet but heartfelt. Something like reverence shone in Eames' eyes as he smiled in answer to the dazzling joy Arthur could feel lighting his face. He hauled Eames down again, both hands cupped and quivering at the base of his skull, to slide their mouths together, and moaned as Eames let his weight rest upon him.

"Better than the contents of your bedside drawer, then?" Eames mocked, barely a millimetre from Arthur's lips and so Arthur closed the gap and bit him smartly on his irresistibly full lower lip before sucking on it a moment later.

"See? Smug fuck..." Arthur mock-groused into the kiss. "I fucking knew it."

Eames chuckled throatily before fully sealing their mouths together again, the heat and crush of him onto Arthur's body stealing his breath with the insistent slide and suck of Eames' kiss until they both writhed minutely, focused on the steady, low throb and clench of Eames' hard cock inside him.

Leaning up on his elbows again, Eames gazed down at Arthur, his expression oddly serious, intent, before he slightly shifted his hips, pulling back just the barest inch or so before sliding in once more. Arthur surged beneath him, his spine arching against the bed as something like pain but hotter, brighter – better – twitched in him and he clung tightly, his arms around Eames' shoulders as he panted and begged, face pressed to his sweaty skin.

"Fuck yes," he pleaded, "More – like that, just more... MORE."

Eames made a sound similar to a growl and drew back, further this time, Arthur's body clinging and almost empty, horribly hollow and aching and wrong for a moment, before Eames thrust back in, hard enough to drive the air from both their lungs even as Arthur felt the restraint quivering in Eames' muscles.

Arthur pushed back against the burn of it, uncaring and desperate for more, unable to believe the difference between what he'd thought he'd prepared for and the actuality of Eames' physical presence - his cock thick and hot as it rubbed against his insides - already begging even as Eames moved back and forth, rutting in and out and finally, finally, giving him what he needed.

He arched and whined, the slick, continuous slide of Eames' hardness moving in and out of him setting nerve endings alight, turning him incoherent and wild beneath Eames. Their mouths caught on every other moan as they writhed and rolled together. Eames lifted up onto one arm and slid his other beneath Arthur to lift him, hand splayed at the base of his spine, holding him higher as his thrusts gained momentum and force, the lewd, wet slap of his body into Arthur's loud over their murmured, mingled cries.

Arthur cursed between messy, biting kisses; his hands slipped on Eames' skin as he fought to cling high and hold on, losing his grip with every surge and buck his body gave without his permission. His cock slapped back against him with every jerk and flex, leaving him sobbing and already so close in Eames' arms.

He grumbled against the irresistible column of Eames' throat and crossed his calves over his lower back as Arthur struggled to maintain his hold – the addictive wet-hot, rough drag of Eames' body over and into Arthur's just too good to relinquish without a fight – and he bit harder at Eames' mouth and begged him to be closer, closer,until Eames reared up and back (despite the many varied levels of horrifically violent threats levelled at him); one visibly straining arm held his weight as he scooped and roughly gathered the comforter and extra pillows up to shove them under Arthur's back, head and hips amidst much squawking and laughter, tempered by the occasional moan or plea pressed close and wet as their bodies shifted and slid together, until abruptly, Arthur was cradled, high and hot, really, too hot, against the bedding and much, much closer to Eames' enveloping embrace.

"There now," Eames gloated softly, his forehead pressed tightly to Arthur's and his eyes fixed to where Arthur gasped, his lips wide and wanting, just beneath him. He rocked forward, the closer proximity dragging Arthur's cock between their shifting torsos and Arthur trembled, clinging and wordlessly adoring as he moved up to seize Eames' mouth with his. Eames' words were thick and blurred between their tongues as he crooned, "All better."

He laughed softly when Arthur scored blunt nails along the ink that mapped his chest and hissed, "Dick" delightedly against his lips.

Arthur's weeping, wet prick thrummed and twitched between their bellies and, for a brief moment, Eames stilled above him and Arthur looked up, a protest ready at the tip of his tongue, only to find Eames gazing at him, shaken, with something like disbelief warring with the desire in his eyes, something that seemed frankly... adoring.

And terrified.

"Hey," Arthur croaked and slid a hand up from where it had been splayed against Eames' wildly pounding heart to cup his jaw. The beginnings of stubble scraped his palm. "You ok up there?"

Eames closed the gap between them and kissed him, slow and slickly deep, and Arthur shook, abruptly recalling his earlier fear that he might still be dreaming. He wrapped his arms around Eames all the tighter.

"M'good," Eames slurred and brushed their lips together a little too hard, so that the friction pulled and burned deliciously; his tongue was quick to soothe the minor hurt. "M'bloody brilliant, as it happens."

Arthur chuckled, his laughter reverberating through them both. and Eames grinned in turn, circling his hips lazily so that his cock pushed and stretched at Arthur's inner walls with every calculated grind.

"That's... that's good to know." Arthur gasped as Eames increased his speed and they each groaned with shock and need against the others mouth. "I'm – I'm pretty fucking good, myself."

"Really?" Eames all but purred, shifting back to deliver several sharp jabs inward that literally rocked Arthur as he grunted under him. "So, you're enjoying yourself, then?"

He gave another piercing, hard push inside and Arthur let out a strangled noise, caught somewhere between swallowing his own tongue and sucking on Eames'.

"Yes... fuck, YES." Arthur sobbed and squeezed his knees tight at Eames' waist, trying to spur him onward, and Eames gripped his jaw with unfairly steady fingers to hold him in place, nose to nose, breath rushing between them as Arthur gazed up and begged him with his eyes.

"What, in particular?" Eames growled, mock sneering even as his eyes lit up with laughter and Arthur shifted, fingers cruelly tight in Eames' cropped hair, mock furious (if genuinely desperate) and hissed, "I like the bit where you're fucking me, sir."

Eames smiled, wide – exultant – and Arthur couldn't help but beam back at him, drawing him back in for a kiss with Eames muttering, "Oh, very GOOD, Wright" before abruptly slamming into him with rapid thrusts that had Arthur choking, surprised and rapturous, little bursts of sound – words like yes, fuck, please, and Eames –all surged up and out of his throat with every shove inward.

Minutes blurred by where Arthur couldn't trust himself to not simply wail his pleasure. His head turned tight to suck, lick and bite at Eames' lips and jaw, sobbing as he found himself thrashing less and trembling more, lost in the building burn of ecstasy rising in him.

He bounced against the mattress and let himself sink further into the comforter, the pillows toppling from beneath them as Eames pounded harder – then harder – into him, and then suddenly Arthur couldn't quite keep his hold at Eames' shoulders. His mouth abruptly dry from crying out with every breath, the clench and pull of Eames' body into his hole and over his cock and throb of white-hot, blissful agony suddenly hurting, his body seemed to seize, gripping tight to everything - his teeth to Eames' throat, legs and arms as iron about his ink-daubed torso, and with a startled shout against Eames' slick skin, he came.

He couldn't breathe for a long, burning moment, every inch of him taut and trembling as he shot in thick bursts, slick-hot and devastating, between their bodies, tiny hoarse cries ripped from him on every pulse. Then Eames' mouth was on his, soft and warm and necessary and eventually, arching under Eames, his lips wide as he shook, Arthur remembered how to inhale.

He lay, slack and shivering, in Eames' arms, recovering himself in stages, first nuzzling back into Eames' slurred, soft-sweet murmurings, their tongues retracing the words as though Arthur needed to relearn the language, remembering his muscles as they tightened and flexed. His hands stroked greedily over Eames' straining flanks then and his thighs moved from where they'd fallen wide to close, vice-like, around Eames' hips again as Arthur's brain finally caught up to the rest of him.

"C'mon," he slurred, biting at the plush curve of Eames' upper lip, "C'mon now... fuck me – finish it, c'mon... Eames, Eames, please..."

Eames dipped his head, dripping sweat so that it stung Arthur's eyes, and pressed their foreheads together as he moaned, long and low, nuzzling and kissing him even as he spoke.

"Bad – bad manners to just assume, darling... I, you – you're, you think you can still...?"

Arthur sunk clawed, determined fingers into Eames' hair and jerked his head to one side so he could whisper – harsh and hissing – against his ear. "If you don't hurry up and come in me in the very near future, Mr. Eames, I'm going to be seriously fucking pissed.Now FUCK ME."

Eames snarled and slammed back in, thrusting hard once more and Arthur cried out, surprised and shocked and fuck, raw, so raw but it felt amazing and he twisted, shoving back and moaning even as Eames stilled at his cry. Arthur tried to drive himself further down onto his cock, writhing as the contact reignited sparks all through his twitching, sated body, each slick drag of Eames' come-covered belly against his still half-hard cock setting him rutting wildly beneath him once again.

"Fuck," he gasped, "Oh fuck yes, Eames, come on – fuck me, fuck me, I want to feel you, god I want it, I want you so much..." He spoke most of the words directly into Eames' mouth, sobbing on every breath, their tongues slick and tangling as Eames' hips stuttered and rammed into him with less and less precision. Arthur extended an arm to brace, palm flat, against the wooden headboard, as he rode and met Eames' thrusts with joyous abandon, bucking down against him with eruptions of praise and want and need rolling from his tongue.

He lifted his legs as high and tight about Eames' ribs as he could manage and placed both hands on the headboard to better shove back down against him, moaning, begging Eames as his cock hammered into him, harder and harder. Eames wrapped both arms about him, the full weight of him crushing down and into Arthur, who gasped as Eames turned his face into Arthur's throat and groaned, desperate and shaking as his hips stuttered, ramming hard once, then twice before he stilled, sagging against Arthur on a sound that was something like his name. Arthur moaned, low and satisfied, as he let himself slump back against the bed.

Arthur closed his eyes for just a moment, surprised when the room seemed brighter just the barest second later. Eames shifted against him, hot and heavy, and Arthur blinked, his head feeling thick and almost drunk again. His body thrummed with remembered pleasure and hard usage.

"Mmm..." he murmured, smug, and was rewarded by a warm chuckle at his pulse-point before Eames lifted himself back up on an elbow. He gazed into Arthur's face with a slow building smile, his eyes hooded and possessive as he looked his fill of Arthur's flushed and come spattered form.

"Not bad for ten months of foreplay, mm?" he rasped and Arthur smiled, tilting for a kiss, and settled back against the bed as Eames covered him once more, their mouths locked and lazy beneath the gradually yellowing light.

They lay awhile, sluggishly moving against one another, mouths slick and swollen as they each remapped the contours of the other's skin until Eames regretfully pulled away, separating their still interlocked forms with a low moan. A groaned, desperate negation from Arthur did not stop him moving up and off the bed, Arthur reaching for him even as he moved away.

Eames returned within moments, freshly wet and gleaming, the condom apparently discarded and a warm, wet cloth clutched in one hand. A large glass of water was clutched in the other. He hauled Arthur up with a firm clasp about his wrist and pointedly passed him the water.

Arthur drained half the glass, glaring half-heartedly at Eames as he climbed back onto the bed beside him, and watched with a still-burning need as Eames took his own drink, shuffling closer to chase the cool droplets from his lip.

Eames stroked the cloth down and across his body, sighing gently as he wiped away the thick, clinging remnants of Arthur's release before dropping low to press and brush the cloth over where he was still wide open and leaking lubricant.

Arthur swallowed, sure he should be embarrassed or ashamed but instead he hitched his hips into the gesture. A soft noise escaped from the back of his throat and Eames smiled, dark and private, as he leaned back in to taste the shaking smile Arthur gave him in return.

Heavy now, and sated, they moved slowly about the bed, shifting as Eames placed the pillows back against the headboard. He untangled the comforter until he could draw it over them both and, with Arthur pulled tight to Eames' chest, they sank back into the warm, if sweat-damp, bedding.

Arthur waited for awkwardness to rise – clumsy and unwelcome – between them, but instead their limbs twined together as though they had done this a hundred times before. With an arm hooked low around Arthur's waist and a thick, sparsely haired thigh pressed between his, they settled, breath deepening as their lips moved slower, softer against each other's until they simply lay there, not quite kissing, not quite sleeping, until a soft voice at Arthur's temple stirred him back from the promise of sleep.

"So – I have a plan," Eames murmured, his voice low and husky as his lips brushed Arthur's skin. "It's very, very cunning and mostly involves you never leaving this bed."

Arthur smiled, lethargic and somewhat giddy, as he turned in Eames' embrace, affecting a mock frown even as he kept his eyes shut and tilted toward him for a kiss.

"That's an awful plan – not even slightly cunning," he deadpanned, fighting a grin as Eames nipped at his jaw and dug a thumb tip into the indent between his ribs as revenge.

"So cruel, darling. Am I to suppose you have a better plan then?"

"Not better," he sighed against Eames' lips, his body not quite having decided against sleep yet, "Just improved upon. For example, what if I had my heart set against being fucked in your shower? Or – god," he moaned longingly, "I nearly forgot the back of your car." He cracked one eye open. "I've been dreaming about you and that car for fucking months, Eames, you can't possibly expect me to give it up."

Eames hummed his approval and pressed their lips together again despite their matching smiles. "Alright. New deal then," he rasped after a few minutes of increasingly less restful kissing, "The car, garage, house and possibly a few areas of the school grounds are all acceptable, but otherwise," he nuzzled Arthur's throat and sucked kisses against his collarbone, "You never, ever leave this bed."

Arthur sighed, giddy and unthinking beneath the weight of his own satisfaction.

"Might make it hard to catch my flight."

Eames stilled and then slowly stiffened, pulling back to look, blank and horribly absent suddenly, into Arthur's shocked open eyes.

"I – I forgot," Eames murmured, his voice slack, caught somewhere in his throat so that it didn't sound like him. "When do you leave?"

Arthur sat up slowly, holding Eames' horribly empty eyes. "Three weeks next Tuesday."

Eames closed his eyes tight, nodding, and Arthur felt his horror fall away so easily that he almost laughed at the simplicity of it all.

He shifted back into Eames' body space, leaning in until he rested almost chest to chest with him, only Eames' averted face preventing their mouths from touching.

"You love Paris," he whispered and Eames nodded once more.

"You should come with me," he said softly, smiling, and Eames' eyes opened, slow, controlled before lifting to meet his, with the same raw sorrow that Arthur had seen earlier that night lurking in the depths of his stare once again.

"Come – to Paris?" he whispered and Arthur held his gaze, unflinching.

"I could use someone to show me around," he said, more sure with every word he spoke, his fingers shaking against the coverlet, so great was the hope he was offering up to be dashed against the rocks. "Come with me."

A moment passed – leaden, unflinching – between them, the silence oppressive as Arthur watched Eames, knowing the perfect facade of stillness for nothing more than the elaborate veil Eames dropped over his no-doubt whirring thoughts, struggling – Arthur knew – for a way to tell him no.

"I heard you," Arthur said gently, keeping his tone level not only to spare Eames the unfair, guilt-ridden horror of rejecting a devastated teenager, but to contain what felt like his rapidly shattering heart, "After the gala, I heard you telling the board members that you were leaving soon, that you were just going to pack up and simply go where the wind took you."

Eames huffed a breath through his nose and nodded shortly. "Something like that," he said, subdued even as he attempted normalcy, meeting Arthur's eyes only briefly. "The thing is, d-Arthur-"

Arthur stiffened, rigidly crushing down against the flinch that tried to work its way up through him at Eames' abruptly curtailed darling.

"The thing is," Arthur interjected swiftly, fierce now, "You're saying no because you think you have to. Don't." He swallowed down the howl of rage building in him as Eames' eyes fell away once more. "Don't say no because it's unplanned, unexpected, unseemly.You know France and you know me, too – so tell me, which part of that combination is it that's not working for you?"

"Arthur..." Eames began on a sigh and Arthur inclined his head regally.

"Eames," he countered smoothly and let the corners of his lips twitch upward as Eames blinked, slow enough that Arthur saw the spark of something in the instant before he shuttered his gaze; his lids dropped low, shifting away as he drew a knee up to rest his elbow atop it as he scrubbed his palm over his face in short, sharp sweeps.

"You, ah-" Eames began, his voice a low, deadened rumble from his chest, hollow as he attempted something that looked like a small, persuasive smile, his lips just about turning upward even as his eyes fell bleak and empty to the bed before him. "Your parents went there to find themselves, right? I found myself there, and you... you should be doing the same, Arthur. This is about discovering what you want for you."

Arthur moved onto his knees, angling around until he knelt directly before Eames. A steady hand extended to rest under his jaw, attempting to lock their gazes once more.

"Eames," he said quietly, firm, "when have I everstruck you as someone who didn't already know exactly who I am?" He leaned forward, closing the gap until there was barely an inch between their faces. Something sickeningly like hope flashed momentarily in Eames eyes. "Or, for that matter, what I want?"

Eames swallowed and Arthur watched the tension clench its way through his body, his shoulders set tight, locked against a yearning so strong that his eyes had to fall shut to contain it.

"I'd make a lousy tour guide," he whispered and Arthur heard again the man who'd tried to push him away to save them both and he laughed – once – soft and sore as it battered its way up past his bruised and aching heart. He met Eames' eyes as they opened, surprised and uncertain.

Arthur lifted a shoulder and shrugged with a single, tranquil hitch into the light. He smiled at Eames, so sure of what he needed as he held his gaze, tone soft and steady with conviction, steely with the drive that had set him racing in circles his entire life, just waiting to take this moment and run with it. "So we'll get lost."

Eames' eyes, blue and brilliant where the gathering sunlight finally spilled into the room, shot to his and held,unblinking, as Arthur gazed back at him, certain of him in a way he'd never been certain of anything before.

Eames nodded slowly, considering.

"I guess we could do lost," he said in a deceptively casual tone, his voice so low with longing that it made Arthur's eyes smart to hear it.

"You'll come with me?" he whispered despite himself and Eames grinned, lopsided and raw where something like despair had begun to settle into his skin, moving forward to press his lips, tight and trembling, to Arthur's.

"I'll - I'll come with you," he affirmed huskily, and they fell into a breathless, desperate kiss, hands racing over each other's body as though to reassure themselves that the other was really there.Arthur pushed Eames down against the sheets and clung to him, smiling into the kiss as they moved against each other once more, unrushed and heady with the promise of days to come.

After all, Arthur thought deliriously as Eames hooked two fingers back inside him, smirking as Arthur keened and arched up into his kiss, bed or shower, car or continent, he couldn't care less where they went, just as long as they were together.

Fin.

That's all folks, I hope you liked it :D Thanks for reading