![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
winter_rogueThis isn’t something you hold (it can’t be broken)
By:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
winter_rogue
Rating: R for sex
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Words: 700
Summary: for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
love_bingo prompt: how do you mend a broken heart?
There is nothing to mend if there’s nothing broken. You can’t break something that does not exist. He doesn’t have to tell himself this is not love. Between their bodies, in the inches and the feet and the continents between them, there was never love. He built a career on delusion, learned the seductive curves and shapes of lies, constructed and tore weaker individuals apart at the seams of their fantasy. He knows the folly of making this into something it isn’t--wasn’t, couldn’t, never shall be--
They so talk-- well they argue. They argue and push each other and fuck, and the next morning Eames always wakes up to an empty hotel room, a pristinely put together Arthur on the job and no delusions.
It’s been almost six months since the last time. Before Mal took a dive off the side of a fourteen story building, when things were shaky, stretched thin sure, but not quite fucked all to hell. Dom did not inspire a great deal of confidence these days. In Mombasa he had been impassioned but his voice edged a little too close to desperation for Eames’ comfort. He came anyways, he liked the challenge. Why would he do any of this except for the little rush of adrenaline.
He knows this is why Arthur always shows up--for the rush, like this is just another thing he’s getting away with.
It’s practically an act of violence when they finally came together in Eames’ Paris hotel room. Arthur’s all sharper edges than he remembers, wound tighter. Their mouths clash, a tangle of wet tongues. He pinned Arthur inelegantly to the closed door, strong hands gripping his shoulders, flexing until it almost hurt. His own hands moved down to stake claim to the topography of Arthur’s slender hips, hauling him close and tight until there was barely breathing room between them.
They kissed and grappled. Arthur made a wreck of his slick hair and pulled too hard. Eames sucked immodest bruises across his collarbone, laving the tender skin after. They stumbled back through the sweetly decorated antechamber to the bed, collapsed in a tangle of straining limbs. They didn’t pause, Arthur wrestled off their pants with single minded determination, unwilling to give himself a moment to think. Eames obliged him, lube and condoms fumbled out of the bedside table, carefully prepping that delicious ass until Arthur grumbled into the stubbled skin of his neck.
Arthur gripped too tight with his hands, pulling and scrabbling, and his legs squeezed until Eames moved less with passion and more desperation. They worked their bodies furiously against each other until the way was made easier, a hot glide of skin on skin slick with sweat. Moved until they came. Arthur gasping and closing his eyes, biting the bow of his lower lip almost bloody.
Eames pulled out and collapsed into the wrecked bed sheets. They didn’t kiss or touch in the aftermath. A breath of space separated their rapidly cooling bodies while they each sucked in air, waiting for the rhythm of their hearts to settle. Arthur rolled away and out of the bed first, tripping silently into the shower. He emerged ten minutes later, slid into his clothes--washed clean and pressed smooth again. Eames watched from his sprawl through slitted eyes.
Tomorrow they would go back to work on Dom’s insane scheme--inception. Eames wasn’t sure what it said about any of them that they were so willing to rewrite how another person thought.
In another moment he is alone in the close dark. Because this isn’t love between them. It isn’t even friendship. Certainly isn’t very professional. Arthur isn’t even a cruel man and neither is Eames. For them, this is as close as it gets to safe; something like trust, where Arthur can take the relief he needs in a strong pair of shoulders he knows well enough. And Eames--he tells himself he is more than happy going along for the ride. There is nothing more in Arthur that he wants.
If that is a lie, a bit of self delusion--
Make no mistake, this is not the moment when he breaks.
END
By:
winter_rogueRating: R for sex
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Words: 700
Summary: for
love_bingo prompt: how do you mend a broken heart?There is nothing to mend if there’s nothing broken. You can’t break something that does not exist. He doesn’t have to tell himself this is not love. Between their bodies, in the inches and the feet and the continents between them, there was never love. He built a career on delusion, learned the seductive curves and shapes of lies, constructed and tore weaker individuals apart at the seams of their fantasy. He knows the folly of making this into something it isn’t--wasn’t, couldn’t, never shall be--
They so talk-- well they argue. They argue and push each other and fuck, and the next morning Eames always wakes up to an empty hotel room, a pristinely put together Arthur on the job and no delusions.
It’s been almost six months since the last time. Before Mal took a dive off the side of a fourteen story building, when things were shaky, stretched thin sure, but not quite fucked all to hell. Dom did not inspire a great deal of confidence these days. In Mombasa he had been impassioned but his voice edged a little too close to desperation for Eames’ comfort. He came anyways, he liked the challenge. Why would he do any of this except for the little rush of adrenaline.
He knows this is why Arthur always shows up--for the rush, like this is just another thing he’s getting away with.
It’s practically an act of violence when they finally came together in Eames’ Paris hotel room. Arthur’s all sharper edges than he remembers, wound tighter. Their mouths clash, a tangle of wet tongues. He pinned Arthur inelegantly to the closed door, strong hands gripping his shoulders, flexing until it almost hurt. His own hands moved down to stake claim to the topography of Arthur’s slender hips, hauling him close and tight until there was barely breathing room between them.
They kissed and grappled. Arthur made a wreck of his slick hair and pulled too hard. Eames sucked immodest bruises across his collarbone, laving the tender skin after. They stumbled back through the sweetly decorated antechamber to the bed, collapsed in a tangle of straining limbs. They didn’t pause, Arthur wrestled off their pants with single minded determination, unwilling to give himself a moment to think. Eames obliged him, lube and condoms fumbled out of the bedside table, carefully prepping that delicious ass until Arthur grumbled into the stubbled skin of his neck.
Arthur gripped too tight with his hands, pulling and scrabbling, and his legs squeezed until Eames moved less with passion and more desperation. They worked their bodies furiously against each other until the way was made easier, a hot glide of skin on skin slick with sweat. Moved until they came. Arthur gasping and closing his eyes, biting the bow of his lower lip almost bloody.
Eames pulled out and collapsed into the wrecked bed sheets. They didn’t kiss or touch in the aftermath. A breath of space separated their rapidly cooling bodies while they each sucked in air, waiting for the rhythm of their hearts to settle. Arthur rolled away and out of the bed first, tripping silently into the shower. He emerged ten minutes later, slid into his clothes--washed clean and pressed smooth again. Eames watched from his sprawl through slitted eyes.
Tomorrow they would go back to work on Dom’s insane scheme--inception. Eames wasn’t sure what it said about any of them that they were so willing to rewrite how another person thought.
In another moment he is alone in the close dark. Because this isn’t love between them. It isn’t even friendship. Certainly isn’t very professional. Arthur isn’t even a cruel man and neither is Eames. For them, this is as close as it gets to safe; something like trust, where Arthur can take the relief he needs in a strong pair of shoulders he knows well enough. And Eames--he tells himself he is more than happy going along for the ride. There is nothing more in Arthur that he wants.
If that is a lie, a bit of self delusion--
Make no mistake, this is not the moment when he breaks.
END