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August 2013



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Kiss Me, Kill Me (2/3)

Read Part 1 here.

Kiss Me, Kill Me
Part 2

“Bad day?” asks Eames, emerging from the kitchen with a mug – Arthur’s mug, to be precise.
Bad day is something of an understatement. Arthur’s slumped in Eames’ chair, quietly contemplating his insatiable loathing for the world and everything in it. He’s spent about a week being pissed off about the way that he’s getting nowhere with the job, and the way that Cobb is getting all worried about just getting a stupid fucking security guard to keep the office safe while they’re all asleep because he thinks he’ll smell a rat and they’ll get found out, and the way that Eames has been playing truly dreadful music on the conked-out stereo he’s hooked up to the mains with duct tape alone, which is probably a health and safety hazard but it might electrocute Eames someday and then that’d show him. Or kill him. He’s quite content with either of those options.
“Can’t find mine,” Eames explains, happening to notice Arthur staring at his mug with unabated fury.
“That doesn’t mean you can spread your saliva all over mine.”
“Believe me, there are plenty of other things I’d rather cover in my saliva, and they all belong to you.”
Arthur gives him a look that could make the angels weep and says, “You disgust me.”
Eames winks, perching himself on the edge of his desk.
“You love it.”
That catches Arthur off guard, and he can’t think of anything to say.
“Come on, darling. What’s wrong?”
Arthur groans tortuously, raking a hand through his hair so it sticks up.
Everything is shit.”
“I was hoping for a little… specificity.”
“I hate this,” Arthur rants, “I hate this job, I hate this city, I hate this office, I hate you –”
“Alright, alright, I get the picture.”
“No you don’t. You can’t possibly comprehend the depth of shit everything is in, you don’t…”
Eames sets his mug – actually, Arthur’s mug – down.
“You’re so tense,” he says.
It sounds like a corny line from a nineties romcom. Or a porno.
“Of course I’m tense, didn’t you notice, everything is sh–”
Arthur stops talking then, because Eames has just put his hands on him. He massages Arthur’s shoulders, hands huge and heavy.
“Oh, ah, fuck…” Arthur whimpers, all incoherent and inarticulate.
It occurs to him that this is the most sex he’s had in, what, six months, no, eight, oh fuck, a year at least.
“You sound absolutely wanton,” says Eames.
“I’m not –” Arthur objects, but then Eames kneads his shoulders hard, and Arthur’s reduced to a jibbering heap again, and Eames really needs to do this more often, just to make him make those noises, because they are the filthiest things he’s ever heard, and it’s Arthur, for God’s sake, and if he can take him apart like this he is bloody well going to.
“Fuck, that’s, oh shit, Eames…”
Arthur has no idea how he’s managed to go from a concentrated mass of stress to a blathering wreck in the space of about a minute. Jesus Christ, he is making Eames do this again. Amongst other things.
And then there’s a knock on the door.
“Er, hey, it’s me,” Cobb calls from outside, “I’ve just come to show Sam in. From security? Um, we’ll give you a few minutes, to er, yeah.”
That rather kills the mood.
Eames,” Arthur hisses, “How do you do this? Now everyone thinks we’re shagging and it’s your fucking fault!”
My fault? I wasn’t the one making the orgasmic groans!”
“They were not orgas–” Arthur begins, but he trails off into a moan because Eames is pressing down on his shoulders.
Aa-ahh…” he gasps, and if anything sounds like a climax, that certainly does.
He manages to shove Eames off and hurries to the office door.
Fuck you, Eames,” he spits.
Arthur picks up a pen from the desk and throws it at him, rather ineffectually. Eames just laughs, and Arthur is going to deal with him later, and yes, deal with him is a metaphor for repeatedly stabbing him with that pen, and that in turn is not a metaphor for sex, even if it does include phallic imagery and penetration, and seriously what the fuck, things are getting pretty freaky so Arthur just opens the office door because facing Cobb and this security guy seems better than being alone in a room with Eames for a few more minutes. Cobb’s standing a good few metres away from the door next to a burly skinhead who looks both terrifying and intensely awkward. Cobb seems less perturbed, as if he’s already resigned himself to the inevitability of this situation.
“We weren’t doing anything,” Arthur says quickly.
The security guard blinks, Cobb raises an eyebrow, and Arthur thinks he can hear Eames snickering quietly. He tries to feel indignant about the fact that no-one believes him, but he can’t deny that those groans were kind of orgasmic, and his shirt is a bit dishevelled, and his hair is ruffled, and he does sound more than a little over defensive.
“Sam, this is Arthur,” Cobb says, trying to maintain some sense of normality.
Arthur holds out his hand to Sam. Sam just looks at it and looks up at him and blinks.
“Sam Willard,” he says, his voice gravelly.
It takes Arthur a second to realise why he’s not shaking his hand.
“Come in,” he says, pulling his hand back and withdrawing into the office.
Sam smiles at him as he walks in, and it’s the kind of smile you would give someone who you’d just overheard having sex.
“So, uh, you got a hot secretary here or somethin’?” Sam asks, winking, “Good-lookin’ bird, ya know what I mean?”
Eames pops up, strolling over to Arthur’s side.
“No he doesn’t,” he says blithely, “Just me.”
Sam tries not to look surprised, but he can’t quite manage it.
“I hate you,” Arthur murmurs as Eames slides an arm round his waist.
But he doesn’t pull away.
Later on, Cobb gives them a little talk on professionalism. Arthur tries to protest but Eames just says, “I think you’ve made enough noise for one day, darling.”
Truth is, Eames is bored. He’s bored and he doesn’t like Amsterdam, he doesn’t like working in a dingy office, doesn’t like sleeping in a dingy room in the red light district above some hooker’s and hearing noises every fucking night which only make him think it’s been a while, Eames as he lies awake. It also makes him think about Arthur but he’s not going to look too deeply into that. Cobb gives them Sundays off. Sunday’s the worst day of the week, because Eames has nothing to do and that’s when he’s most self-destructive. He wants to go out, wants to drink, to get laid, to gamble, but that’s the reason why he needs the money, that’s the reason why he’s even here in the first place. Being sensible has never been easy for Eames.
He texts Arthur one Sunday morning, because Arthur is sensible, Arthur’s got self-control, and maybe that’s what Eames needs right now. Of course that means that, on some level, Eames needs Arthur. That seems so pathetic.
But, truth is, Arthur is bored. He’s bored, and Cobb’s staying in an apartment opposite his, but he’s not exactly a bundle of laughs at the best of times, and he wants another human being to talk to, but he’s too proud to give in and text Eames. But that would mean that he needs Eames, and that seems so pathetic, it can’t be true.
They’re both pretty pathetic. But Eames can accept that. It’s not like he’s got that great an opinion of himself anyway. (Apart from his looks, because really, he’s bloody gorgeous.)
Eames, 10.43am
good morning darling, hope you slept well xx
Arthur, 10.46am
Well I was sleeping until you woke me up just now. Thanks for that.
Eames, 10.47am
im sorry, but ive had about 2hrs sleep & i am so tired & bored arthur :( xx
Arthur, 10.49am
What do you want me to do, sing you to sleep?
Eames, 10.50am
yes. or just amuse me. thats a better idea. xx
Arthur, 10.52am
Amuse you? Now why would I do that?
Eames, 10.53am
because admit it, youre just as bored as i am & you hate this stupid city xx
Arthur, 10.54am
14 Papenbroekssteeg. Come quickly.
Eames, 10.54am
ill be there in 5 xx
In the end, he gets there in ten minutes, and he runs the whole way.
“Oh God,” Arthur says, “I thought you weren’t coming.”
He looks – pleased to see him. Well. There’s a first. Eames smiles, panting.
“Come on, darling. You knew I couldn’t resist you.”
Arthur rolls his eyes.
“Get in here.”
They don’t have sex. The world doesn’t love Eames enough for that. Instead Arthur makes coffee while Eames sits on the couch and quietly exults in how clean everything is. It’s regimentally tidy, cleaned with military precision. It has large windows and white walls and there’s so much light, it’s like he’s in heaven or something, only Eames doesn’t think a crook like him will ever get there, and if he did there’d be so much fornication he’d probably get chucked out.
Arthur joins him on the couch, carrying two steaming mugs.
“What was that?” he asks.
“You’ve been mumbling about fornication for the past few minutes.”
“Tired,” says Eames, grabbing a mug and gulping down the coffee.
“Careful, you’ll burn –”
“Shit, my tongue!”
Arthur gives him a told you so look, but Eames just shrugs.
“I’ll fall asleep on you if I don’t drink it now,” he says, taking another swig, eyes watering.
“Are you alright?” asks Arthur when he’s downed the whole mugful in practically one gulp, and this ability does not have possibilities, no, it doesn’t.
Eames’ eyes are wide and his hair’s sticking up and his clothes are crumpled and offensively awful. Arthur can’t decide if he looks more crazy or homeless.
“I’m good, well, I’m alright, well, of course I am, I’m with you.”
“I see the caffeine’s kicked in.”
“Are you drinking that?” asks Eames, seizing Arthur’s mug and draining it.
“Not anymore.”
“Augh, thank you,” says Eames, and the low groan he makes that is not orgasmic in any way kind of makes up for Arthur’s lack of coffee.
“Oh,” says Eames, putting the mugs down as he sits cross-legged on the couch, facing Arthur, “I have a really good idea, well, I have an idea, and I don’t know if you’d think it’s good, but I have it anyway, and I hope you let me do it.”
Arthur doesn’t know what this great idea is, but for some reason sex is the first thought that springs to mind.
“Oh?” he says, because he doesn’t trust himself to say more than one syllable at this moment in time.
“Can I have a shower? I’ve been washing in the sink for the last year, well it’s not been a year but it feels like that, and this place is so lovely Arthur. It’s so clean, and I really don’t feel clean, I feel so dirty, and not in a sexy way though maybe after I’ve had that shower I might because you’re here.”
“Yes, just have a shower,” says Arthur, practically shoving him towards the bathroom.
Which is how Eames ends up naked ten minutes after he walks into Arthur’s apartment.
He comes out of the shower, hot and damp, wearing just a towel tied round his waist. Arthur stares. He’s muscled, tattooed, tanned. He’s also not wearing anything, why is he not wearing anything, this issue needs to be addressed before Arthur does something he lives to regret, though he doubts he’d regret it when he looks at that.
“Alright?” Eames asks casually.
Eames,” Arthur stammers, “Clothes.”
Clothes. Put some clothes on. Now.”
“I will when you’ve done enjoying the view.”
“I’m not enjoying any view, Eames.”
“Then put your tongue back in your mouth,” says Eames, smirking, “Or do something else with it.”
Arthur wants to kill him, but on the other hand, he does want to take him up on that offer. He concludes that he’s conflicted. This is not a very decisive conclusion.
His phone vibrates before he has the chance to re-evaluate his decision. It’s Cobb.
“Hello?” says Arthur.
“Arthur. I, um – I was going to come over, but, yeah, I won’t be a minute, don’t worry,” Cobb says tentatively.
Arthur’s not entirely sure what he’s saying. He’s mumbling and Arthur can’t really focus Eames is just standing there watching him, leaning against the kitchen worktop with what is almost certainly not come-to-bed eyes.
“What?” asks Arthur, “Sorry, what was that? Are you coming over?”
Eames shakes his head furiously.
No,” Cobb says quickly, “No no, don’t worry, I won’t intrude while you’re – busy.”
“I’m busy?”
“Well. Yes. I guess Eames is the naked man standing in your kitchen?”
Arthur re-evaluates his decision and finds that he does indeed want to kill Eames.
Shit,” he swears.
He runs to the window and yanks the curtains shut.
“He – he was just using my shower,” he explains.
It’s possibly the worst explanation of his life, apart from maybe There were people and they did things to me, but he really wants to put that night in New Mexico behind him.
“No, you, you don’t need to explain,” says Cobb in a tone of voice that’s somewhere between understanding and traumatised, “Just – have the mark’s credit history files for me tomorrow, will you?”
“Oh, I can give them to you today,” Arthur says, leaning against the wall and pinching the bridge of his nose, and why does the universe hate him, he doesn’t deserve this.
“No, no – you have your day off. It’s your free time, I shouldn’t have imposed.”
“It’s really no troub– aaah...”
Arthur gasps and fuck, he should never let Eames out of his sight, he’s a liability, because he’s snuck up behind him and is kissing his neck, and Arthur is on the phone to Dom bloody Cobb and this is so astoundingly embarrassing but holy shit it’s probably the single best thing that’s happened to him all year. Upon a second re-evaluation, Arthur decides to fuck him. Hard.
“It’s fine, really,” says Cobb, and Arthur isn’t even going to try to answer him now, “I’ll – see you tomorrow.”
Arthur hits the off button before he makes an exceptionally pornographic moan. Eames stops kissing him, and why has he stopped, that was fucking amazing.
“God, you really are desperate,” he says, and Arthur just knows he’s smirking, and he is not going to fuck anyone who’s a smug prick, so he pushes himself away from Eames and pretends to busy himself with his phone.
“Go put some clothes on,” he says disinterestedly, not even looking up from his phone.
“Go turn your phone on,” says Eames.
When he comes back Arthur’s working, fingers trailing over sheaves of paper and the keyboard of his laptop. He’s annoyed with Eames, and even more annoyed when he realises he’s wearing his jumper. Even if Arthur does never wear it, it’s the principle of the thing. It takes Eames half an hour to wheedle his way back into Arthur’s favour. It’s not long, and besides, he knows he’s going to win. Arthur wants him to.
They spend the rest of the day talking. They talk about how they met Cobb, how they got into this line of work, their lives before dreams. They make dinner, they eat it, they get out the wine, they talk. They both know it’s a mistake. Purposeless sex is one thing; building an actual relationship is another. Because spending the whole day with someone when you’re not shagging each other senseless is building a relationship.
Eames stays the night. He sleeps on the sofa. Arthur comes out of his bedroom the next morning to find he’s still there.
“Morning, darling,” Eames mumbles, rubbing his eyes sleepily.
Arthur makes coffee and perches on the end of the couch next to a semi-conscious Eames, and drinks it in silence with his fingers in his hair, Eames murmuring contentedly like a purring cat. And maybe it’s not so bad, falling, maybe it’s worth it, when you have this.
That’s when Arthur realises he’s falling in love with Eames.
That’s when Arthur realises he’s fucked.
Eames stays. They don’t say anything about it, he just… doesn’t leave. Arthur tells himself that it’s the last fortnight of the job anyway, that it’s just so Eames can get some sleep, that it doesn’t mean he can’t bear being alone in an empty apartment. And soon this will all be over and he’ll run away to one part of the world and Eames will run away to another and they won’t see each other again. This thing they have doesn’t even matter.
“Are you alright there?” Arthur asks, as Eames starts to settle himself down on the sofa for the tenth night in a row.
“I’m good, thanks,” Eames replies, grabbing the cushions and putting them on one end of the couch.
“That couch can’t be very comfortable, though.”
“It’s fine,” says Eames, spreading out the blanket, “Besides, where else am I going to sleep?”
Arthur doesn’t say anything. Eames turns around, smiling. Then he sees Arthur looking awkwardly at the floor and he stops smiling.
“Oh,” he says eventually.
Arthur bites his lip, because what is he doing, making an offer like that, what is he even thinking, how stupid can you get.
“Just forget it,” he says, a little too abruptly.
“No. I won’t.”
Eames catches his hand and pulls him closer, because is this it, is Arthur finally giving in, are they going to…?
Arthur…” he murmurs.
And Arthur can’t do this, he can’t. He pulls his hand away, and looks at Eames, his eyes cold.
“Go to sleep, Mr Eames.”
It’s a shame, Eames thinks that night, as he lies on the (really quite uncomfortable) sofa. He would have fucked him so gently. He sighs and wonders if he can get away with jerking off in Arthur’s house. In the end, he decides that that’s entering whole new levels of depraved. Still, it’s not like he’s got that great an opinion of himself anyway. Apart from his looks, because, well, he is bloody gorgeous.
Fuck you, Arthur,” he whispers, and hopes he doesn’t dream about him tonight.
He does, of course.
The next morning is pretty awkward. Well, things are going to be awkward between two people who spent last night thinking of each other and touching themselves. They could have just done the traditional thing and had sex. And “Sorry I got jizz on your blanket,” isn’t exactly a great conversation starter. Arthur gets dressed and Eames has a shower and they manage to avoid each other but they have to come into contact at some point because they are kind of living in the same apartment.
Eames has been trying to think of something to say to Arthur but when he sees him making coffee in the kitchen, he forgets it. He just crosses the room and wraps his arms around Arthur’s waist and kisses an apology into his neck, because everyone has weak points and he knows now, that’s his. Arthur sighs and folds his arms, reluctant but won over. But why are they doing this, they aren’t even a couple, they haven’t even kissed, Eames only wanted sex in the first place and now he’s got some kind of fucked-up bond thing with this guy and he doesn’t even know what it is.
Because Eames can’t understand this, can’t understand Arthur, can’t understand himself. He normally goes with his first instinct but with Arthur it’s all wrong. It’s like he’s been broken. So he lets go of Arthur and Arthur gives him an are we friends again look and says, “Coffee?” and Eames smiles and nods even if he does prefer tea but he knows no American who can make a half-decent brew and this is what he and Arthur just do, it’s a habit they’ve got into now. And Arthur watches him and thinks that four days isn’t long enough to make someone fall in love with you.
Eames tries to assess the situation logically. It isn’t something he does often, which probably explains why he’s so bad at gambling. After serious deliberation he decides that he needs to get off with Arthur already. But he’s not too sure how to put that to him. “I’ve examined our circumstances from every possible angle and reached the conclusion that it is essential for us to fuck,” doesn’t quite do it. Honestly, that sounds like something Arthur would say. Actually, he wouldn’t say we should fuck. It’d be more like engage in sexual intercourse with me. Oh God, why does he like this guy again?
“Er, Eames?” Eames is suddenly aware of Cobb standing next to him, “I know that you and Arthur are, um, how do you say, fucking like rabbits, but the job’s on tomorrow, so if you could just focus on your work and not stare at Arthur, that’d be really great.”
On their last night before the job, Eames tries to seduce Arthur. Note the use of the word tries. He’s got a mental list of reasons as to why they should sleep together, including for the good of the nation and we owe it to the furtherment of sex (he doesn’t think they’re all good reasons) but the real reason is so I can just do this and then forget about you like I do with everyone else. He wants this to be over, he wants this to be sordid and worthless and unremarkable like all the other times he’s had sex.
“So,” Eames says, one arm slung round the back of the sofa and thus around Arthur, “Where are you going next?”
Arthur shrugs and takes another sip of wine.
“I don’t know.”
“Where do you like to be?” Eames asks, “No, let me guess. I bet you love New York. All those straight lines and rows.”
“You know me too well,” Arthur says ruefully, “Hmm, I bet you like… Paris?”
“I’ve never been.”
“Me neither.”
“I’d like to go sometime.”
“Me too.”
A we should go hangs in the air, but no-one cares to say it.
“Are you going to miss me?” Eames asks suddenly.
Arthur thinks about it, thinks about the annoying comments, the mess, the smiles, the mess, the touches, the snoring, the mess, and everything that’s so wonderfully Eames and yes, he’s going to miss it, he’s going to miss it like something he never really had, of course he is.
“I’m sure I’ll survive without you, love,” he says.
I’m sure I’ll survive without your love, he means.
Eames hums haughtily, in a I don’t believe you way. He gets up, sets his glass down, and moves behind the sofa.
“What are you doing?”
“You won’t miss this?” says Eames, and puts his hands on Arthur’s shoulders.
It takes him about three seconds to turn him into a garbling heap. He’s shuddering and mumbling profanities, and Eames loves this, loves making Arthur lose control.
“Oh, fuck me, Eames, shit.”
“About that,” says Eames, and, to hell with it, he licks at Arthur’s neck.
Jesus, I – oh fuck, no, I can’t, I, shi-it…”
“What was that, darling?”
And Arthur wants this but he just can’t, because they’re leaving tomorrow and this might just be sex for Eames but it’s not for Arthur, it’s not, it’s not because it’s breaking his heart. And somehow he pulls himself away and turns around to face Eames and looks at him, and he’s not cold, not distant, just sad.
“Why not?” Eames says.
Arthur tries to think, tries to say something, tries to make Eames understand, but the words in his head are chaotic and confused, and there’s only one thought that’s clear, that makes sense, and he grabs onto it.
So he says something stupid.
He says, “I’m in love with you.”
Because he is.
Eames says, “Oh, shit.”
And he reels back and runs a hand through his hair and looks at Arthur like he’s just broken something precious. Like he’s just ruined something.
Fuck,” he says.
And then he leaves.

Read Part 3 here.


This is so many levels of brilliant.

The sexual tension is built up amazingly and so is the reluctantly budding relationship. And the narration style has so much sass. I love it :)
Thank you very much! :D Wow, that's a really lovely comment :) Haha, having a narration style with sass sounds awesome! I'll be putting part 3 up soon :) Thanks again <3
Oh nooo! How could you leave it hanging there???
I'm sorry! It was for tension's sake! lol :P
Loved the first part so much and now this second part is all sexy and funny and sweet and, with that last line, gutwrenching... I absolutely loved this the most, though:

“I’m sure I’ll survive without you, love,” he says.
I’m sure I’ll survive without your love, he means.

Just lovely use of the words and the sentiments. Poor Eames. He doesn't even know yet how in love with Arthur he truly is and I cannot cannot cannot wait to see what happens when he figures it out.
Awh, thank you for the love! :D

I'm glad you liked that line :) I think originally it was just I'm sure I'll survive without you but my wonderful proofreader PalindromeIsntOne suggested changing you to your love and I thought it worked better :) I liked the idea of Arthur calling Eames love, they're normally so one-sided with endearments, haha :)

Awh I think it's cool that you're sympathising with Eames, even if he is a bit of a naughty so-in-so in this part, and Arthur's all vulnerable and hurt!
Ooohhh. Cliffhanger. I really like how you've built up the relationship between Eames and Arthur in this.

Want to know if it has a happy ending!
Ah I know! :P Writing that part killed me. LoL, I get far too involved in my own fanfiction! :P Thank you, I'm glad you like their pretty messed-up relationship :)

I'll put part 3 up soon so you can find out what happens :D
OMG. This is great!!!! The tension!!! the love... the kisses!!! everything!!!!! I really love it!!!!
Awh I'm really happy you liked this! :D Haha, much tension... And Eames really does have a thing about kissing Arthur's neck in this chapter! Thank you so much, I'll put part 2 up soon :D
This is so fantastic - I love it. The way this ends is just so powerful and I can't wait to read more. You write the two of them so well I can't get enough. : )
Awh thank you! :D I'm glad you liked the ending - even if I was mean and ended it on a bit of a downer! Awh that's really nice of you, thanks :D I'll put part 3 up soon :)
The passage from funny to beautiful/erotic/romantic/heartwrenching was excellent :)
Oh thank you! I was worried that this fic changed tone too quickly - part 1's kind of silly, and most of part 2 is as well - so it's lovely to hear that it turned out alright :)
How does something this perfect exist, how have you done this to me? I can't even
I just
I LOVE this, that's not even enough, just. PERFECTION
OMG, thank you! That is such an amazing comment to receive for something I've written! :D THANK YOU!!