Is this more, this more than I can take?
Adri made me write a thing. It's a companion piece to something she wrote - just from Eames' PoV instead of Arthur's. SADLY that means none of the dialogue here is mine, much as I would like to claim I had come up with quite a few of these lines myself :'|
Not going in the fic journal because I'm too much of a lazy bugger to remember the password, awyeah.
Fandom; Inception
Characters; Arthur/Eames
Rating; NC-17? I ASSUME since that is what hers was
Word Count; 2959 fucking words at last check
Summary; It's two teenage boys in a closet, okay. What do you think?
Or, as in this case, a bit of both.
So, okay. Maybe he'd had a little more to drink or more to smoke than was advisable for keeping his wits about him. And maybe, just maybe, he may have insinuated a few things about some people's sexual orientations and their mothers that was ill-advised given the obvious size disparity.
What did it matter? They'd get over it.
Bored quickly of watching Arthur try not to have a conniption over this whole affair, Eames decided it was best to try and busy himself somehow until it was safe to enter evasion mode. "Ah, it's gone out," he complained under his breath, bouncing his spliff between his fingers while he tried to remember if he'd picked up his lighter before they took off.
"You actually brought that?"
It took Eames a bit not to just roll his eyes and shrug off the complaint. Honestly, sometimes he wondered if there was anything Arthur couldn't find fault with. "I didn't know where we'd end up and how long we'd be here, Arthur." He fished a lighter out of his pocket with a small feeling of triumph and got about re-lighting the thing. It was almost the whole joint too, he'd have to have been mad to chuck it. But of course, that wouldn't mean anything to certain people, so he didn't bother trying to explain.
"You want some?" He offered with a smirk and almost laughed when Arthur turned him down, still concerning himself with trying to keep an eye and an ear out for whatever was going on outside.
"Have you ever been high before?" Eames inquired further.
"Yes."
Eames shook his head, not entirely believing him. Not believing him at all, in fact. Even if he had managed to allow himself to enjoy the merits of a good buzz, Eames doubted it had ever been anything more than a schoolgirl high. Couple of puffs to get you feeling a bit fluttery and that's that. Kind of like giggly fifteen year-olds getting sooo drunk on Smirnoff Ice and Bacardi Breezers. Not even close to the real thing.
He regarded Arthur with this thought in mind, but his internal commentary on what a pansy Arthur was was interrupted by voices passing by the closet. Sadly, neither of them could make out what was being said, though it hadn't really sounded all that interesting anyway.
"We could've taken them," he announced into the silence after a little while, off the back of an exhale.
"No, we couldn't."
Not even the least bit surprised that Arthur disagreed, Eames shrugged and looked him over, "well, not you. You're skinny."
"And you're... short."
"Arthur!" Eames gasped, doing a good enough job of feigning offence, though his lack of seriousness was probably painted clear on his face. He was sure it was safe to assume as much when the only reply he got from Arthur was a frown. Par for the course with him, really. "Whatever," he rolled his eyes and looked from Arthur's sour face to the door, taking another drag contemplatively, "they're not out there anymore, let's go."
"No, no. I can hear them."
Eames rolled his eyes again as Arthur put his ear to the door. He waited for him to pull away and held out the joint, "here."
"What?"
"If you’re going to keep us in here we might as well have a bit of fun, alright?"
Of course, as if it was the only piece of body language God had been kind enough to impart upon him, Arthur frowned. This time, at the spliff. In response, Eames raised an eyebrow, challenging him to stop being such a ridiculous little girl about these things. They stayed in silence like that for a long enough moment until Eames smirked, having thought of a brilliant idea that even Arthur couldn't turn down.
"We can do a blowback if you'd like."
"What?"
He gestured with his hands first and took a deep pull on the joint, "come here."
They both moved in towards eachother and Eames put the lit end in his mouth, balancing it delicately on his lips with a bit of acquired skill so as not to burn himself. He put his hands either side of Arthur's neck to pull him level with the spliff, resisting the quiet urge to run his thumbs along the ridge of Arthur's jaw and waited for him to hurry up and get his lips around the damn thing because, really, there was only so long he could keep the smoke in his mouth for.
He kept his eyes on Arthur's the whole time, blowing the smoke out in what he was pretty sure was in time with Arthur's inhale and smirked a little when he looked away. Always a good reaction.
Eames hesitated a moment - imperceptibly, he hoped - before he pulled away and went back to smoking the proper way. "Better?"
"No."
Oh. What a waste of smoke then. "That's too bad," he had no idea why he bothered sometimes. Really.
In the silence, Eames got bored enough that he was listening out for anything of interest in the outside world. Anything to make being stuck in the closet with Moody McGrouch a little more interesting or to make it pass by a little (or a lot, preferably) faster.
(Eames did contemplate serenading him with Trapped in the Closet, but he didn't actually know any of the words and he highly doubted Arthur would appreciate the joke anyway.)
"You did it differently with all those girls at the party."
Oh for goodness' sake.
"Well you see, Arthur. All of those girls had breasts." He gave Arthur a careful look up and down and smirked at him, "don't worry; I'm sure they'll grow in within the next year or two."
"That's not what I meant," Arthur scoffed.
Despite the fact that any and all conversations that could potentially lead towards talking about feelings were likely to make him break out in hives, Eames was a little entertained and curious about the tinge of jealousy he was sure he'd detected in Arthur's tone. "Then what did you mean?"
He waited patiently for an answer while Arthur no doubt floated up into his head to try and reason something out. If there was anything he disliked about Arthur-- which was a bit of a silly precursor to any statement of annoyance concerning Arthur, he could probably come up with quite the exhaustive list if he put his mind to it, but in this particular case it had to be his constant overthinking and feeling as if ever communicating his desire was the worst idea ever.
Eames was a massive twat, sure, but he couldn't think of a single, solitary time he'd ever turned Arthur down.
(That said, if Arthur had started spewing feelings at him, Eames likely would've called him a girl and teased him relentlessly, so the trade-off was probably better where Arthur's dignity was concerned.)
As was to be expected, all Arthur had to say after all that thought was a snappy, "shut up." A little unexpected, however, was having his smoke snatched. Admittedly, Eames was a little concerned by this sudden change in possession.
"Hey, no need to get defensive." He looked from the spliff to what he assumed was a look of utter indignation and almost laughed. "Holding it ransom until I promise to give you a proper blowback, Arthur? Didn't know you were that desperate for me."
"I'm not desperate for you."
Well, now that was rich, Eames looked around the tiny closet and raised his eyebrows in a way that clearly indicated he wasn't buying it. "Then what is this? We're stuck in this closet together because you won't let us out, and you're implying that you'd like me to give you a mouth-to-mouth high. Forgive me, but this is all just a bit homosexual and if we're going to go that route I'd like you to just come out and tell me."
He watched as Arthur went off into his head, overthinking the whole matter again. Eames wondered if he was going to be stuck wading through hints, trying to guess and pre-empt whatever Arthur wanted every time they wound up in these situations if asking for a proper blowback was this trying for him. He rolled his eyes when Arthur failed to say anything and nodded towards the spliff.
"Give it back." He rolled it between his thumb and finger for a moment with Arthur handed it over, "come here."
When he came in closer, Eames put a hand on the back of his neck to hold him still and took a long drag, getting a proper mouthful of smoke. He leaned in and pressed his mouth over Arthur's, taking care to exhale more slowly this time. He followed the smoke with his tongue, assuming the lack of complaint from Arthur (not that he'd expected any) was a good enough sign to keep going with this.
He pushed Arthur back against the wall, entirely pleased with this change in their situation and a little spurred on - like always - by the idea that they were somehow up to no good by doing this, even if the more logical part of his mind asserted that a couple of teenagers hooking up was nothing new or of much interest to anyone except a few of their more annoying peers. That said, the feeling was only exacerbated by the remnants of adrenaline and the weed and being stuck in close-quarters in this closet for however long. Too long. He pressed his knee between Arthur's legs, occupying himself with his latest exploration of Arthur's mouth. Familiar territory, but he had yet to lose any interest in it.
Now, it's never exactly fun to discover that the person whose pants you're trying to get into has cold hands. Certainly there were worse moments for it to become apparent, but that didn't change the fact that Eames almost leapt out of his skin when he felt Arthur's hands slide under his shirt. He inhaled through his nose - it wasn't entirely unpleasant, just took a moment to get used to. For a relative quantity of "getting used to" anyway. Truth be told, every time Arthur's fingers moved it took a considerable bit of effort not to shudder or shrink away from them.
As fun as standing around tongue wrestling was, Eames was rather interested in moving this along and extracted himself from Arthur's mouth, directing his attention to Arthur's neck and all the lovely little sensitive spots he'd familiarised himself with. Smirking against his neck when he heard what was most definitely a squeak.
"Hold this," Eames pulled away from Arthur's neck and held out the, rather impressively, still-lit joint.
"What?"
He rolled his eyes, "just hold it."
As soon as Arthur took it, Eames was busying himself with undoing Arthur's fly, thankful for the bit of help he got when it snagged, and slipped his hand down the front of Arthur's boxers.
"You don't have any...?"
"No. Wasn't really expecting to..."
He frowned, thinking on this himself. Sadly, Eames wasn't exactly in the habit of carrying supplies with him. Generally speaking, he wasn't usually out and about when this kind of thing came up, though he was starting to think maybe he should rethink this policy.
"It's too bad the natural stuff Mother Nature gave us doesn't come until the end, hm?" Eames mused aloud.
"That's not what it's..."
"Jesus, Arthur." Eames glanced down, subtly impressed with how hard Arthur had managed to get in such a short time - regardless of any help he may have had in the matter.
"As if you're not," Arthur replied plainly and Eames pulled a bit of a face, thinking.
"We'll just have to do this the old-fashioned way, then," he murmured, resuming the motions with his hand and dipped his head to get back to kissing Arthur's neck. Annoyingly, working within the confines of a pair of boxers and a not-quite-loose-enough pair of trousers was doing a number on his wrist and really, of all the ways to potentially get carpal tunnel, Eames was really not willing for the reason to be "giving a furious handjob," and he paused with a slight huff to tug Arthur's trousers and underwear down over his hips. Just enough to get the fun bits out.
With a bit more freedom of movement, it meant that he could put some proper elbow grease into this - and judging by the noises he was getting from Arthur now, it was most definitely paying off. It would be a massive lie to say that he didn't enjoy this, coaxing these reactions out of people. Seeing Arthur, the reserved tightass who he was sure could put a middle aged businessman to shame, come even the slightest bit undone? It was impossible to rein in the smirk he felt forming when he noticed Arthur rocking a little on his leg.
He pulled back when he noticed the signs that Arthur was about to come. Looked up at his face and back down at his hand, watching the moment unfold, as it were. He rubbed his thumb and a finger together, sticky and really a little bit gross, and waited for Arthur to open his eyes before he held his hand up with a grin.
"No."
"Come on."
"No."
Killjoy. He sighed and took the joint back with his clean hand, placing it in his mouth as he turned to look for something to clean his hand off with. He managed to find a roll of paper towels in the dim light and turned to leave once he was done.
"What are you doing?"
Eames raised an eyebrow. Seriously? What did he think he was going to do? "Going back to my room to knock one off."
"I didn't say I wouldn't..."
Oh really. Eames grinned, slid back over and pressed Arthur back up against the wall. He'd have to be mad to pass up the offer. "Great, let's see your little girl hands go to work, then. Unless you were thinking..." His gaze flitted from Arthur's eyes to his lips, though he managed to catch the look in return telling him that there was not a chance in hell that that was going to happen. Not that he was even a little bit surprised, but it would've been nice. (Live in hope, he supposed.) Under normal circumstances, he would've toyed with the idea of harassing Arthur a little about it, but he was feeling impatient as hell and pressed himself up a little tighter against Arthur to punctuate this fact. "Whatever you're going to do, get on with it, I'm fucking dying down here." Much as he would've liked to, he couldn't keep the edge of desperation out of his voice. It worked well enough anyway, since suddenly there was a mess of hands undoing his jeans and pushing all the offending layers out of the way.
Not his most suave of moments, Eames did manage to almost lose his footing when Arthur grasped his cock (though thankfully, he didn't think it was noticed.) He put his arms around Arthur's neck to pull him down to his level a bit and pretty much dove straight into a kiss, making a poor attempt to hide the fact that he was making a fair bit of noise - he was pretty sure Arthur could tell anyway, as that was most definitely a smile he could feel against his lips. Part of him wanted to pull away and tell him not to be a smug dick about it, but that is not the thing one says to someone who has so graciously offered to get them off.
Not that he had long to go in that regard anyway. He gave a nice, loud groan and pushed his hips a bit more into Arthur's hand to signal as much. When Arthur's hand got a little more purposeful about the whole thing, that was it for him. He pulled out of the kiss, breathing heavily, and when he came it was with a bit more of a strangled groan than a noise he would've liked to have made, but hell if he could've cared right then.
"Fuck." Eames reached out to find the paper towels again, catching his breath a little.
"Yeah," Arthur glanced over at the door, "you think it's safe to go out?"
"What?"
"You think they're gone?"
Eames stared at the door blankly, completely lost for what Arthur was even getting at there. It took him a good moment or two to remember why they were even in there. And then it hit him and he had to try his damnedest not to laugh, "oh. Yeah, we lost them before we got to the dorms."
"What?"
"They never followed us in."
Eames watched Arthur a moment as no doubt a million and one angry things to say and tell him off for ran through his mind. Probably still floating around up there even if all he did decide on was, "you're an asshole."
"yeah, but I got off." He smiled, tucking away and doing up his trousers, "got you off too, so don't be ungrateful."
"Asshole," Arthur repeated, for poignancy no doubt, and opened the door.
Eames followed him out, grinning the smuggest of grins. "So, same time next week?"
Not going in the fic journal because I'm too much of a lazy bugger to remember the password, awyeah.
Fandom; Inception
Characters; Arthur/Eames
Rating; NC-17? I ASSUME since that is what hers was
Word Count; 2959 fucking words at last check
Summary; It's two teenage boys in a closet, okay. What do you think?
Or, as in this case, a bit of both.
So, okay. Maybe he'd had a little more to drink or more to smoke than was advisable for keeping his wits about him. And maybe, just maybe, he may have insinuated a few things about some people's sexual orientations and their mothers that was ill-advised given the obvious size disparity.
What did it matter? They'd get over it.
Bored quickly of watching Arthur try not to have a conniption over this whole affair, Eames decided it was best to try and busy himself somehow until it was safe to enter evasion mode. "Ah, it's gone out," he complained under his breath, bouncing his spliff between his fingers while he tried to remember if he'd picked up his lighter before they took off.
"You actually brought that?"
It took Eames a bit not to just roll his eyes and shrug off the complaint. Honestly, sometimes he wondered if there was anything Arthur couldn't find fault with. "I didn't know where we'd end up and how long we'd be here, Arthur." He fished a lighter out of his pocket with a small feeling of triumph and got about re-lighting the thing. It was almost the whole joint too, he'd have to have been mad to chuck it. But of course, that wouldn't mean anything to certain people, so he didn't bother trying to explain.
"You want some?" He offered with a smirk and almost laughed when Arthur turned him down, still concerning himself with trying to keep an eye and an ear out for whatever was going on outside.
"Have you ever been high before?" Eames inquired further.
"Yes."
Eames shook his head, not entirely believing him. Not believing him at all, in fact. Even if he had managed to allow himself to enjoy the merits of a good buzz, Eames doubted it had ever been anything more than a schoolgirl high. Couple of puffs to get you feeling a bit fluttery and that's that. Kind of like giggly fifteen year-olds getting sooo drunk on Smirnoff Ice and Bacardi Breezers. Not even close to the real thing.
He regarded Arthur with this thought in mind, but his internal commentary on what a pansy Arthur was was interrupted by voices passing by the closet. Sadly, neither of them could make out what was being said, though it hadn't really sounded all that interesting anyway.
"We could've taken them," he announced into the silence after a little while, off the back of an exhale.
"No, we couldn't."
Not even the least bit surprised that Arthur disagreed, Eames shrugged and looked him over, "well, not you. You're skinny."
"And you're... short."
"Arthur!" Eames gasped, doing a good enough job of feigning offence, though his lack of seriousness was probably painted clear on his face. He was sure it was safe to assume as much when the only reply he got from Arthur was a frown. Par for the course with him, really. "Whatever," he rolled his eyes and looked from Arthur's sour face to the door, taking another drag contemplatively, "they're not out there anymore, let's go."
"No, no. I can hear them."
Eames rolled his eyes again as Arthur put his ear to the door. He waited for him to pull away and held out the joint, "here."
"What?"
"If you’re going to keep us in here we might as well have a bit of fun, alright?"
Of course, as if it was the only piece of body language God had been kind enough to impart upon him, Arthur frowned. This time, at the spliff. In response, Eames raised an eyebrow, challenging him to stop being such a ridiculous little girl about these things. They stayed in silence like that for a long enough moment until Eames smirked, having thought of a brilliant idea that even Arthur couldn't turn down.
"We can do a blowback if you'd like."
"What?"
He gestured with his hands first and took a deep pull on the joint, "come here."
They both moved in towards eachother and Eames put the lit end in his mouth, balancing it delicately on his lips with a bit of acquired skill so as not to burn himself. He put his hands either side of Arthur's neck to pull him level with the spliff, resisting the quiet urge to run his thumbs along the ridge of Arthur's jaw and waited for him to hurry up and get his lips around the damn thing because, really, there was only so long he could keep the smoke in his mouth for.
He kept his eyes on Arthur's the whole time, blowing the smoke out in what he was pretty sure was in time with Arthur's inhale and smirked a little when he looked away. Always a good reaction.
Eames hesitated a moment - imperceptibly, he hoped - before he pulled away and went back to smoking the proper way. "Better?"
"No."
Oh. What a waste of smoke then. "That's too bad," he had no idea why he bothered sometimes. Really.
In the silence, Eames got bored enough that he was listening out for anything of interest in the outside world. Anything to make being stuck in the closet with Moody McGrouch a little more interesting or to make it pass by a little (or a lot, preferably) faster.
(Eames did contemplate serenading him with Trapped in the Closet, but he didn't actually know any of the words and he highly doubted Arthur would appreciate the joke anyway.)
"You did it differently with all those girls at the party."
Oh for goodness' sake.
"Well you see, Arthur. All of those girls had breasts." He gave Arthur a careful look up and down and smirked at him, "don't worry; I'm sure they'll grow in within the next year or two."
"That's not what I meant," Arthur scoffed.
Despite the fact that any and all conversations that could potentially lead towards talking about feelings were likely to make him break out in hives, Eames was a little entertained and curious about the tinge of jealousy he was sure he'd detected in Arthur's tone. "Then what did you mean?"
He waited patiently for an answer while Arthur no doubt floated up into his head to try and reason something out. If there was anything he disliked about Arthur-- which was a bit of a silly precursor to any statement of annoyance concerning Arthur, he could probably come up with quite the exhaustive list if he put his mind to it, but in this particular case it had to be his constant overthinking and feeling as if ever communicating his desire was the worst idea ever.
Eames was a massive twat, sure, but he couldn't think of a single, solitary time he'd ever turned Arthur down.
(That said, if Arthur had started spewing feelings at him, Eames likely would've called him a girl and teased him relentlessly, so the trade-off was probably better where Arthur's dignity was concerned.)
As was to be expected, all Arthur had to say after all that thought was a snappy, "shut up." A little unexpected, however, was having his smoke snatched. Admittedly, Eames was a little concerned by this sudden change in possession.
"Hey, no need to get defensive." He looked from the spliff to what he assumed was a look of utter indignation and almost laughed. "Holding it ransom until I promise to give you a proper blowback, Arthur? Didn't know you were that desperate for me."
"I'm not desperate for you."
Well, now that was rich, Eames looked around the tiny closet and raised his eyebrows in a way that clearly indicated he wasn't buying it. "Then what is this? We're stuck in this closet together because you won't let us out, and you're implying that you'd like me to give you a mouth-to-mouth high. Forgive me, but this is all just a bit homosexual and if we're going to go that route I'd like you to just come out and tell me."
He watched as Arthur went off into his head, overthinking the whole matter again. Eames wondered if he was going to be stuck wading through hints, trying to guess and pre-empt whatever Arthur wanted every time they wound up in these situations if asking for a proper blowback was this trying for him. He rolled his eyes when Arthur failed to say anything and nodded towards the spliff.
"Give it back." He rolled it between his thumb and finger for a moment with Arthur handed it over, "come here."
When he came in closer, Eames put a hand on the back of his neck to hold him still and took a long drag, getting a proper mouthful of smoke. He leaned in and pressed his mouth over Arthur's, taking care to exhale more slowly this time. He followed the smoke with his tongue, assuming the lack of complaint from Arthur (not that he'd expected any) was a good enough sign to keep going with this.
He pushed Arthur back against the wall, entirely pleased with this change in their situation and a little spurred on - like always - by the idea that they were somehow up to no good by doing this, even if the more logical part of his mind asserted that a couple of teenagers hooking up was nothing new or of much interest to anyone except a few of their more annoying peers. That said, the feeling was only exacerbated by the remnants of adrenaline and the weed and being stuck in close-quarters in this closet for however long. Too long. He pressed his knee between Arthur's legs, occupying himself with his latest exploration of Arthur's mouth. Familiar territory, but he had yet to lose any interest in it.
Now, it's never exactly fun to discover that the person whose pants you're trying to get into has cold hands. Certainly there were worse moments for it to become apparent, but that didn't change the fact that Eames almost leapt out of his skin when he felt Arthur's hands slide under his shirt. He inhaled through his nose - it wasn't entirely unpleasant, just took a moment to get used to. For a relative quantity of "getting used to" anyway. Truth be told, every time Arthur's fingers moved it took a considerable bit of effort not to shudder or shrink away from them.
As fun as standing around tongue wrestling was, Eames was rather interested in moving this along and extracted himself from Arthur's mouth, directing his attention to Arthur's neck and all the lovely little sensitive spots he'd familiarised himself with. Smirking against his neck when he heard what was most definitely a squeak.
"Hold this," Eames pulled away from Arthur's neck and held out the, rather impressively, still-lit joint.
"What?"
He rolled his eyes, "just hold it."
As soon as Arthur took it, Eames was busying himself with undoing Arthur's fly, thankful for the bit of help he got when it snagged, and slipped his hand down the front of Arthur's boxers.
"You don't have any...?"
"No. Wasn't really expecting to..."
He frowned, thinking on this himself. Sadly, Eames wasn't exactly in the habit of carrying supplies with him. Generally speaking, he wasn't usually out and about when this kind of thing came up, though he was starting to think maybe he should rethink this policy.
"It's too bad the natural stuff Mother Nature gave us doesn't come until the end, hm?" Eames mused aloud.
"That's not what it's..."
"Jesus, Arthur." Eames glanced down, subtly impressed with how hard Arthur had managed to get in such a short time - regardless of any help he may have had in the matter.
"As if you're not," Arthur replied plainly and Eames pulled a bit of a face, thinking.
"We'll just have to do this the old-fashioned way, then," he murmured, resuming the motions with his hand and dipped his head to get back to kissing Arthur's neck. Annoyingly, working within the confines of a pair of boxers and a not-quite-loose-enough pair of trousers was doing a number on his wrist and really, of all the ways to potentially get carpal tunnel, Eames was really not willing for the reason to be "giving a furious handjob," and he paused with a slight huff to tug Arthur's trousers and underwear down over his hips. Just enough to get the fun bits out.
With a bit more freedom of movement, it meant that he could put some proper elbow grease into this - and judging by the noises he was getting from Arthur now, it was most definitely paying off. It would be a massive lie to say that he didn't enjoy this, coaxing these reactions out of people. Seeing Arthur, the reserved tightass who he was sure could put a middle aged businessman to shame, come even the slightest bit undone? It was impossible to rein in the smirk he felt forming when he noticed Arthur rocking a little on his leg.
He pulled back when he noticed the signs that Arthur was about to come. Looked up at his face and back down at his hand, watching the moment unfold, as it were. He rubbed his thumb and a finger together, sticky and really a little bit gross, and waited for Arthur to open his eyes before he held his hand up with a grin.
"No."
"Come on."
"No."
Killjoy. He sighed and took the joint back with his clean hand, placing it in his mouth as he turned to look for something to clean his hand off with. He managed to find a roll of paper towels in the dim light and turned to leave once he was done.
"What are you doing?"
Eames raised an eyebrow. Seriously? What did he think he was going to do? "Going back to my room to knock one off."
"I didn't say I wouldn't..."
Oh really. Eames grinned, slid back over and pressed Arthur back up against the wall. He'd have to be mad to pass up the offer. "Great, let's see your little girl hands go to work, then. Unless you were thinking..." His gaze flitted from Arthur's eyes to his lips, though he managed to catch the look in return telling him that there was not a chance in hell that that was going to happen. Not that he was even a little bit surprised, but it would've been nice. (Live in hope, he supposed.) Under normal circumstances, he would've toyed with the idea of harassing Arthur a little about it, but he was feeling impatient as hell and pressed himself up a little tighter against Arthur to punctuate this fact. "Whatever you're going to do, get on with it, I'm fucking dying down here." Much as he would've liked to, he couldn't keep the edge of desperation out of his voice. It worked well enough anyway, since suddenly there was a mess of hands undoing his jeans and pushing all the offending layers out of the way.
Not his most suave of moments, Eames did manage to almost lose his footing when Arthur grasped his cock (though thankfully, he didn't think it was noticed.) He put his arms around Arthur's neck to pull him down to his level a bit and pretty much dove straight into a kiss, making a poor attempt to hide the fact that he was making a fair bit of noise - he was pretty sure Arthur could tell anyway, as that was most definitely a smile he could feel against his lips. Part of him wanted to pull away and tell him not to be a smug dick about it, but that is not the thing one says to someone who has so graciously offered to get them off.
Not that he had long to go in that regard anyway. He gave a nice, loud groan and pushed his hips a bit more into Arthur's hand to signal as much. When Arthur's hand got a little more purposeful about the whole thing, that was it for him. He pulled out of the kiss, breathing heavily, and when he came it was with a bit more of a strangled groan than a noise he would've liked to have made, but hell if he could've cared right then.
"Fuck." Eames reached out to find the paper towels again, catching his breath a little.
"Yeah," Arthur glanced over at the door, "you think it's safe to go out?"
"What?"
"You think they're gone?"
Eames stared at the door blankly, completely lost for what Arthur was even getting at there. It took him a good moment or two to remember why they were even in there. And then it hit him and he had to try his damnedest not to laugh, "oh. Yeah, we lost them before we got to the dorms."
"What?"
"They never followed us in."
Eames watched Arthur a moment as no doubt a million and one angry things to say and tell him off for ran through his mind. Probably still floating around up there even if all he did decide on was, "you're an asshole."
"yeah, but I got off." He smiled, tucking away and doing up his trousers, "got you off too, so don't be ungrateful."
"Asshole," Arthur repeated, for poignancy no doubt, and opened the door.
Eames followed him out, grinning the smuggest of grins. "So, same time next week?"