Archive of Our Own

"Hmmm. If I could pick anyone?" Arthur asks. Ariadne nods enthusiastically. "Eames," Arthur says decisively, and Ariadne whacks him with a pillow. "Hey! Stop it!" he yelps.

"That was going to be my answer, you asshole," she says, reclaiming her pillow and settling back down on the futon. "You stole my deflower-er."

Arthur rolls his eyes and gets another handful of popcorn from the bowl between them. "That's not even a word. And you don't even know if he likes girls."

"You don't even know if he likes boys," Ariadne counters. "Maybe you should man up and ask him out instead of staring at him like a sad puppy dog."

"If you don't shut up, I won't help you with your econ homework," Arthur says.

Ariadne sighs. "Econ is boring. Can't we just watch Velvet Goldmine again?"

"No," Arthur says. "Okay, yes. But econ first."

--

Coming out to his parents had been nerve-wracking, but in the end his mom just patted his hand and said, "That's fine, dear," before going back to her crossword. His dad had squinted for a minute but then shrugged and offered Arthur another waffle. The best part was that his parents stopped trying to awkwardly chaperone his study sessions with Ariadne, and started letting her stay over when it was too late for her to walk home.

Ariadne's parents think that he's her boyfriend, despite her protestations ("He's gay, mother! G-A-Y, okay, how many times do I have to explain this to you?" Arthur had once arrived early to pick her up on a Friday night, and overheard the end of what was, apparently, a common argument in the Minos household). Luckily, they were still okay with her staying the night at his house. Which, in Arthur's opinion, was weirder than if they believed Arthur wasn’t her boyfriend, but whatever.

The futon in Arthur's basement folds out to a decent-sized (if slightly lumpy) bed, and most nights they fall asleep there, sometimes with the big old TV in the corner still flickering. Arthur is napping a little, sometimes waking up enough to watch Ewan McGregor storm out of the recording studio or Placebo sing in the club. Ariadne is curled up against him, her head resting on his chest.

"You really should ask Eames out," Ariadne mumbles. "I give you permission. As your friend, and fellow Eames-ogler."

Arthur laughs and pets her hair. "He's way out of my league."

"I dunno why you think so. I think you could hit it," she says. "Come on, we should go up to your room before we fall asleep, this bed is covered in popcorn. Last one there has to sleep on the left!" She jumps up from the futon, and Arthur pauses the video and chases her up the stairs.

--

On Tuesdays and Thursdays after lunch, Arthur drives them to the state college's local campus for dual-credit classes. Ariadne is taking an intro architecture class and Arthur's in Postwar British Surrealism. And they both have Calculus 1, which is where they met Yusuf, a foreign exchange student who is great at chemistry and terrible at math.

Their calculus prof always hands back tests starting with the highest grade, and after the third quiz in a row where Arthur and Ariadne got their papers back first, Yusuf came over at the end of class, slapped his quiz with the big red D down and said, "I will pay you a hundred bloody dollars if you can get me a B in this class."

"A hundred each," Ariadne said, cool as ice, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms.

"Done," he said, "and I'll buy you both a drink after the final."

Arthur opened his mouth to say that they were not, actually, legal drinking age, and Ariadne stomped his foot under the table. "You have a deal," she said, shaking Yusuf's hand. "I'm Ariadne, and this is Arthur."

"Yusuf," he said, and Arthur shook his hand. "Now how the fuck does the chain rule work?"

--

They meet up with Yusuf in the student union after class, where he's already tearing into a giant plate of fries. "I hate math," he says, as they sit down at his table. "I hate limits. I hate tangents. I never want to see a definite integral again in my life."

"Well, another six weeks, and you'll be free," Ariadne says, stealing a fry.

"No, I won't, I’ll still have to take Calc 2 and 3, and I won't have you two to drag me through."

Arthur smirks. "You could always switch to liberal arts."

"Please," Yusuf says. "I leave the bullshitting to the professionals, speaking of which, Eames! Over here!" He waves at someone over Arthur's shoulder, and Arthur has to fight the impulse to turn around and stare like - well, like a lovestruck teenager.

Eames is an exchange student, and he has a British accent, and he always smells amazing, and he sits in the back of Arthur's art class and says ridiculous things that seem like they must be wrong on purpose, but then they turn out to be brilliant and incisive. Of course, because the universe hates Arthur, Eames just had to be Yusuf's best friend and roommate, and sit with them while they do calculus almost every week, even though Eames can't even multiply, as far as Arthur can tell.

Basically, Eames is smart and irritating and clever and obnoxious and so Arthur's type that Arthur can't even think straight (ha) in his presence, because his mind gets addled by an absurd haze of lust and annoyance.

Eames pulls a chair up from a neighboring table, flips it around and straddles it, crossing his elbows on the top of the backrest. "Hallo, lovelies," he says, flicking Ariadne's hair off her shoulder. She giggles, and Arthur pointedly opens his textbook. "How are my favorite geniuses today? Solving complicated equations?"

"Maybe we could be, if certain sociology majors weren't interrupting us," Arthur says, but he is incapable of stopping himself from smiling at Eames. It's horrifying.

"As always, Arthur, your biting wit is adorable," Eames says, and winks. Who even does that? Arthur thinks, and tries to convince himself it's not charming. And fails. As usual.

--

"He's totally into you," Ariadne says in the car. Arthur actually has to return her to her house tonight, since he has to be at school early for track in the morning.

"I don't know, maybe he's just - really friendly, or something," Arthur says. “He kept touching your hair the whole time we were sitting there. I think that probably qualifies as hitting on you.”

“Yeah, but you got a wink,” Ariadne points out.

Arthur sighs. "I would feel like a jerk if I asked him out. Like I was stealing your man or something."

"He's not my man. Ask him out! Do it," Ariadne needles. "Come on, please, I can date him vicariously. You can tell me all the gory details. It'll be great."

"I've never asked anyone out before. I feel like 'hot older foreign exchange student' is aiming kind of high to start out with."

"So? Go big or go home!" Ariadne says. "Give 110%! Score a touchdown!"

"Oh my god, fine, stop inflicting sports metaphors on me," he says, cracking up. "I'll ask him out on Thursday, okay? And if he shoots me down, I officially give you dibs on the next try," he adds.

"Oh, gee, thanks," she says. "That means a lot, that I can have your sloppy seconds."

"What are friends for?" Arthur says, grinning hugely as she punches him in the arm.

--

As it turns out, he doesn't have to ask Eames out, because Eames asks him out. Well, kind of.

"Hey," Eames whispers from behind him during art class, as the professor is getting them to divide into small groups to analyze paintings. "You should join my group."

Arthur picks up his binder and shoulder bag and slips over to Eames' table in the shuffle of people rearranging. Eames kicks out the chair next to him with his foot and grins.

"Hey," Arthur says, trying to be cool as he sits down. A girl and a guy who Arthur doesn't know scoot their chairs over, and the prof drops a Francis Bacon self-portrait on their table.

"Ooh, that's so weird!" the girl exclaims. "I think it's creepy."

"Man, this doesn't make any sense," the guy says, despondently. "It's supposed to be a self-portrait? It doesn't even look like a person."

Eames looks expectantly at Arthur. "A self-portrait seems like something that's always really straightforward, but this one's not. He makes your eyes and your brain work to put a face together. It's supposed to be - hard to look at, I guess," Arthur finishes, feeling stupid, but Eames nods and looks thoughtful.

"I think it represents how we look different to different people, and we can't ever really know what we look like. Our face is always shifting, our identity," Eames says, and the other two people in their group look bored and confused, but Arthur knows exactly what Eames is talking about.

Arthur stays at the table after the groups break up, drawing random shapes in the margins of his notebook as the professor clicks through slides. Eames pokes Arthur with his pen, and points at his notebook, where he's drawn himself, asleep with his head on the desk. This prof is BORING!! is written underneath.

Arthur smiles. Definitely, he writes in his notebook, and pokes Eames. You should teach this class, it would be way more interesting, he continues, feeling brave.

Eames snickers and starts drawing again. He sketches a caricature of himself, wearing round glasses and holding a pointer like the one the professor is using to point out something on the slide.

That's pretty good, Arthur writes. You should be an art major.

No money in it darling, Eames scrawls, and then class is over.

"So I'm having a little get-together this weekend, at mine and Yusuf's," Eames says, as Arthur is packing up his bag. It takes Arthur an almost embarrassingly long time to translate that into I'm having a party at my house, but luckily Eames doesn't seem to notice, and continues, "if you and your girlfriend want to come."

"She's not my girlfriend," Arthur says reflexively. Eames raises an eyebrow. "But, um, yeah," Arthur says, trying to stay cool. "That sounds great."

"Brilliant," Eames says, and claps Arthur on the shoulder.

--

"Bad news," Arthur says glumly, as he sits down next to Ariadne in calculus. "He thinks you're my girlfriend."

Ariadne gasps. "Ohmigod, did you ask him out already? What did he say?"

"No, I didn't ask him out. But he invited us to a party at his and Yusuf's house this weekend."

"Shut. Up," she says. "That's awesome! We're going, right?"

"Yeah, but he wants to add me on Facebook and invite me to the event," Arthur says.

"So what? You're going to be his Facebook friend, we can stalk his pictures, this is great!"

"No, not great," Arthur says, "because if he looks at my Facebook he's going to find out we don’t actually go here.”

--

Operation Make Arthur's Facebook Legit, as Ariadne dubs it, gets underway as soon as class is over. Ariadne tells Yusuf they’ll be late meeting him in the student union and cracks open her Macbook right there in the empty classroom.

“Relax, and let me work my magic,” she says, pushing the computer towards him once the Facebook login page has loaded. “Besides, we actually do go to school here, so it’s not like we’re being dishonest.” Arthur shoots her a skeptical glance. “Okay, kind of. Listen, do you want to go to Eames’ party or not?” Arthur sighs and finishes typing his password before sliding the laptop back. “That’s what I thought,” she says smugly.

“All we have to do is take you off the Cobol High network, put you on this school’s network, un-tag you in anything really embarrassing, and then add a bunch of friends from this school.” Arthur is slightly freaked out by how quickly she came up with the whole thing.

“Ariadne, we don’t really know anyone at this school,” Arthur says.

“So? Do you think anyone knows anyone they add on Facebook? Besides you, you’re weird,” she adds distractedly, busily clicking away in his settings. “Now shut up and let me do this.”

--

They’re almost an hour late to the party, thanks to both of them having wardrobe crises and having to change three times. Then the Google Maps directions on Arthur’s phone turn out to be full of lies, and they have to make three U-turns. Finally, they find a parking space up the block from the duplex where Eames and Yusuf live, pronounce each other fit for company after one last hair-and-teeth check, and climb out of the car.

Eames opens the door an instant after Arthur rings the doorbell, revealing a house full of people and loud music. “Arthur!” he exclaims happily, grabbing Arthur with the hand that’s not holding a beer and giving him a hug. “Ariadne!” he says, and gives her the same treatment.

“Nice to see you too,” Arthur says dryly. Eames laughs and waves them inside.

Yusuf is sitting on the sofa with a girl Arthur recognizes from calculus, and he raises his cup to them in a little salute as Eames leads them into the kitchen. “There’s food, and of course copious liquor,” Eames says. “Can I get you a drink?”

Arthur clears his throat awkwardly. “Um, I’m driving,” Arthur says, and Eames nods understandingly.

“There’s some sodas and mixers and whatnot,” he says.

“I’ll just go grab us something,” Ariadne says brightly, and heads for the table that’s been set up as the bar.

“Nice place,” Arthur says, because it is. The furniture’s a little eclectic and mismatched, but it’s bigger than most of the student housing, and pretty new.

“Yeah, we couldn’t stand the residence hall,” Eames says. “Hey, have you met Mal?” He gestures to a girl with curly hair in a black dress, waving her over. “She was in my Surrealism class last semester.”

“’Allo, Eames,” she says, “Who’s this?”

“This is Arthur,” Eames says, presenting Arthur with a flourish.

Mal says, “Ah, yes, I have heard about you, Arthur,” and offers him her hand.

“Nice to meet you,” Arthur says, a little flabbergasted, because what?

A blond guy in a ridiculous tweed jacket comes up and puts his arm around Mal, and oh shit, it’s Dom Cobb, who was captain of the fucking debate team when Arthur was a sophomore, and Arthur hates his life. So much.

“Dom, this is Arthur,” Mal says, and Dom is squinting at Arthur, and he is so, so busted.

“Arthur? No way,” Dom says, shaking Arthur’s hand enthusiastically. “How are you? Are you at State? I thought for sure you would have gotten out of here after you graduated,” he says, laughing, and Arthur manages a weak laugh.

“Still here,” he says.

“Arthur and I were on the debate team at Cobol,” Dom starts, and fortunately Arthur is spared whatever ridiculous story was about to come out of Dom’s mouth when Ariadne comes back with a sketchy red party cup for him, leading to a new round of introductions.

--

“You and Ariadne are seriously not dating?” Eames asks Arthur, with a little bemused smile, after Dom has gone to talk to someone from his psych class and Mal has taken Ariadne under her wing for an enthusiastic whirlwind tour of the party. They’re leaning against the low wall separating the dining room from the living room, looking out into the respectably-sized crowd. “You two are practically joined at the hip,” Eames says.

“Seriously not dating,” Arthur confirms, and takes a sip of his OJ and vodka (minus vodka, courtesy of Ariadne) for a little imaginary Dutch courage before he says, “I’m gay.” He’s proud of how casual he sounds, all no big deal, I tell people all the time.

“Really,” Eames drawls. “Interesting.” Arthur sneaks a glance over at him, but Eames still looks totally relaxed, drinking his weird imported beer. “I’m strangely disappointed,” he says after a minute.

“Why?” Arthur asks, curious.

Eames turns to face him, hip cocked against the wall. “Well, first of all, I’m usually a pretty good judge of these things, so it’s always a blow to my ego to be wrong. Also, I was going to proposition the two of you for a threesome at some point.”

Arthur’s never really understood the concept of a spit-take until that moment, when he has to hurriedly swallow his mouthful of orange juice and ends up coughing. “What?” he asks. “Are you kidding?”

“No,” Eames says with a smirk. “Alas, it can never be,” he says, looking at Arthur sidelong as he turns back towards the party and takes a swig from his beer.

“I don’t see why not,” Arthur says in a burst of courage, heart pounding.

--

Someone turns the stereo on, and there’s a rush of people pushing furniture out of the way, and then a full-on dance party breaks out. Eames grabs Arthur by the hand and pulls him out into the middle of the group. Arthur doesn’t recognize the song, but it’s not hard to find the beat and let his hips take over.

Eames lets go of Arthur for a second and grabs Ariadne around the waist as she passes in the crowd. She laughs as Eames pulls her back against him, putting her between Eames and Arthur. Ariadne looks up at Arthur a little quizzically. Arthur leans down next to her ear and says, loud enough to be heard over the music, “Go with it.”

Ariadne smiles as she settles her hands on Arthur’s hips. He’s danced with Ariadne before, but it’s different with Eames looking at him from over her shoulder. He feels electric with adrenaline, everything sharp and bright. Eames puts one hand on Arthur’s hip, above Ariadne’s, and Arthur feels hyperaware of every place they’re touching. Arthur hooks his finger in Eames’ belt loop, pulling them all closer together.

--

Eventually, Arthur gives up on being self-conscious and takes off his blazer. He feels skinny and weird in just the v-neck he’s got underneath, but it’s ridiculously hot in the house and he’s sweaty from dancing. His hair is starting to fall down from where it had been slicked back, and he brushes the curls out of his face impatiently as he pushes through the crowd to the kitchen, trying to find a place to leave the blazer where no one will spill beer on it.

“Here,” Eames says, right in his ear, grabbing the jacket out of Arthur’s hand. “I’ll put it in my room.” Eames darts away and up the stairs before Arthur can protest.

“You disappeared!” Ariadne says, catching up. “Where’s Eames?”

“He went upstairs for a sec,” Arthur says. “Um, so – remember how he thought we were dating?”

Ariadne rolls her eyes. “Everyone thinks we’re dating.”

“Hewantstosleepwithus,” Arthur says in a rush.

She stares at him. “He wants to – are you serious?” she says, several decibels too loud, even with the music going in the next room.

“He thought we were a couple and he was going to, you know. Proposition us,” Arthur says.

“Arthur, if you are lying to me, I will set your autographed Justin Timberlake poster on fire,” Ariadne says, poking him in the chest.

“I’m not fucking kidding!” Arthur says.

Ariadne smiles a smile Arthur has honestly never seen before. It’s kind of evil and weirdly hot. “What did you tell him?” she asks.

“I sort of told him we would be game,” Arthur says, and Ariadne throws her arms around him and squeezes.

“You’re a genius!” she says. “This is the best plan ever!”

“Well, hello,” Eames says, as Ariadne pulls away. He’s changed from his t-shirt into a tank top, and Arthur clenches his hands to keep from running them all over the tattoos on Eames’ shoulders. “It’s a bloody sauna in here,” Eames says. “Want to get some air?”

--

There’s a small concrete patio outside the back door, covered in an assortment of plastic lawn chairs and the kind of adjustable beach chair Arthur’s seen beside pools. Clusters of three and four people are standing around talking and smoking. Eames finds an empty corner and throws himself down on one of the loungers, stretching his legs out and pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

“I don’t do this often, but sometimes I just really want a smoke,” Eames mumbles around the cigarette as he lights it. Arthur pulls up a plastic chair, and Ariadne sits down on the concrete beside Eames’ lounger and folds her elbows on it, looking up at him.

Eames takes a long drag and leans back as he exhales, slouching down and tipping his head back. Arthur wants to put his mouth on Eames’ neck and bite. He swallows, mouth suddenly dry.

“Can I have one?” Ariadne asks.

Eames peers down at her. “Hmm, no, but if you come up here, I’ll share,” he offers, patting the spot next to him on the chair.

Ariadne, demonstrating fucking vixen tendencies Arthur didn’t know she had, instead crawls up between Eames’ legs. Eames stares and Ariadne grabs the cigarette out of his mouth. “Thanks,” she says, taking a pull, holding her breath as she puts it back between Eames’ lips. She shamelessly cuddles up against him, leaning against his chest, and breathes out a thin stream of smoke.

Eames laughs, low and dark, and it goes straight to Arthur’s dick. “You want some?” he asks Arthur, holding out the cigarette.

“Arthur never smokes,” Ariadne says. “He’s on the track team.”

“State doesn’t have a track team at this campus,” Eames says suspiciously.

“Um,” Arthur says eloquently.

“We don’t actually go to State,” Ariadne confesses. “We’re enrolled in some courses for dual-credit. We go to Cobol.”

“Where Cobb went to high school? Wait, are you in high school?” Eames asks, before answering himself, “Oh my god, you’re in high school. I’m a dirty old man,” he says, laughing.

“We’re both 18, god,” Ariadne says, grabbing the cigarette. “Calm down.”

“How old are you?” Arthur asks curiously.

“I’m 23,” Eames says, taking the cigarette back from Ariadne. “I’m probably like – making minors delinquent, or something,” he says. “I’ll get deported. It’ll be written up in the papers.”

“We’re not minors, we’re legal,” Ariadne says. “Arthur’s birthday was last week.”

“Happy birthday,” Eames says, and Arthur almost shivers.

--

“This lot is going to clear out pretty soon to start bar-hopping, but you can stay if you want,” Eames says as they head back inside. It’s already less packed than before, and the music has switched from MGMT to Iron and Wine.

Yusuf is shuffling cards at the dining room table. “You want in?” he asks.

“What are you playing?” Ariadne asks.

"Blackjack," Dom Cobb says, "and Eames is not allowed."

"It’s not my fault if none of you are any good at counting cards," Eames says defiantly.

"It is all right, Eames, Dominic is just a sore loser," Mal says, peeking at her card as Yusuf deals.

"Hey!" Dom says, and Eames laughs as they walk into the living room.

The three of them have just sat down on one of the squishy couches when the doorbell rings. "What the bloody hell," Eames mutters, as he gets up.

Eames opens the door and an older guy in a suit who Arthur vaguely recognizes is standing there holding a six-pack of beer. "Professor Saito," Eames says. "Ah, is there something I could help you with?"

"Yusuf sent me a text message informing me there was blackjack," Saito says. Arthur reaches over and closes Ariadne’s mouth.

"Right, yeah, come on in," Eames says. "Yusuf! Professor Saito's here!"

"Brilliant!" Yusuf calls. "We’re back here!"

"That’s my architecture prof," Ariadne hisses. Arthur coughs into his hand to keep from cracking up.

Saito goes into the dining room, and Eames flops down on the sofa between them. "Do professors show up at your house to gamble often?" Arthur says.

"Your condescension, as always, is much appreciated, Arthur, thank you," Eames says, swatting Arthur playfully on the back of the head before stretching his arm out.

"So," Ariadne says, after a minute.

“Yes?” Eames says.

"Arthur said – that you said – " Ariadne is blushing furiously.

"Would you like to see my room? I believe I put Arthur’s coat up there," Eames says, totally cool, but Arthur can feel his fingers drumming on the back of the sofa.

--

Eames leads them upstairs, holding Arthur's hand, and Arthur reaches back and grabs Ariadne's hand. Arthur feels slightly ridiculous, like a kid crossing the street, but mostly he's glad Ariadne is there. It's hard to work up too much nervousness with her around. Some people might think that's weird, but fuck it, Arthur thinks to himself.

Eames' room is smallish and messy, but he has a ridiculously big bed, all old-fashioned dark wood and a thick blue quilt. Eames sits down on the edge of the bed and pulls Arthur down next to him, as Ariadne sits on Eames' other side.

Eames is looking intently at Arthur, and Arthur swallows his nerves and leans forward, brushing his lips against Eames'. At first the kiss is dry, polite, and then Eames winds his fingers into Arthur's hair and Arthur opens his mouth and just fucking goes for it, licking into Eames' mouth and wrapping his hand tightly around Eames' arm.

Arthur loses track of time, focused on the slick heat of Eames' mouth, the sweat on his skin under Arthur's hand. Eventually, they separate for air, and Eames leans their foreheads together, petting the back of Arthur's head.

"Wow," Ariadne says. She's leaning back against the headboard, looking flushed. "That was hot."

Arthur and Eames exchange a look and then simultaneously burst into laughter. It's a little ridiculous, okay, Arthur knows, but he's fine with that. They crawl up the bed together, and Arthur watches as Ariadne climbs on top of Eames and gets her hands in his hair.

Arthur curls himself against Eames' side, and Eames manages to get an arm around him. Arthur listens to the small noises Ariadne makes, the hitch in Eames' breath when she rocks down, watches the wet shine of their lips. Yeah, it's pretty hot. Arthur really isn't into girls, but if there was ever going to be a girl, it would be Ariadne. Also, Eames, and Arthur gives into the urge to fasten his mouth to the side of Eames' neck.

"Oh, fuck," Eames swears, and Ariadne gasps as Eames arches up off the bed. Arthur runs the flat of his tongue over the bite mark he left, and Eames makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a moan. "Do that again," he says, and Arthur is happy to oblige.

--

Ariadne pulls her shirt off first, tossing it across the room carelessly before starting on Eames' belt. Eames' tank top is already rucked up past his belly button, and Arthur decides to push it up to his collarbone, sliding his mouth over the tattoos on Eames' chest before flicking his tongue against a nipple. Eames shudders and pushes Arthur's head to the side. Arthur sits up and pouts, and Eames laughs. "Hold on, just let me -" he says, pulling his shirt off. Ariadne gets his fly open and crooks her fingers under his waistband. He raises his hips helpfully and she pulls his jeans down and off, belt buckle clinking as it hits the floor.

"Well?" Eames asks. They're both looking expectantly at Arthur, who hides his blush by hastily peeling his v-neck off. "Nice," Eames says appreciatively, and so much for not blushing, Arthur thinks. He covers by leaning in and kissing Eames again, pressing his thumb against the mark he left on Eames' neck. Eames hisses and digs his nails into Arthur's arm, and so Arthur bites down on Eames' lower lip. Eames seems to like it, so he does it again.

"I'm going to die," Eames mumbles, "I'm going to die of sex and it's all your fault."

"I'm pretty sure that's not possible," Ariadne says, down to her matching blue bra and lacy underwear.

"What do you want?" Eames asks, looking between them. Arthur doesn't even know where to start.

"I don't even know where to start," Ariadne says, because she is a mind reader. "Everything."

"Ladies first," Arthur says magnanimously.

--

Arthur sits up against the headboard, legs spread and knees bent, and Ariadne leans back against him. She doesn't seem awkward about the fact that his hard-on is pressed against her back, so Arthur decides to go with it.

Eames is on his stomach between her legs, hands and mouth sliding across her ribs, down to her hips. "All right?" he asks, thumbs underneath her underwear. She nods and he pulls them off, then grabs her ankle and pushes her leg up. When Eames runs his lips down the inside of her thigh, Ariadne shudders all over, and Arthur feels it everywhere.

Arthur pushes Ariadne forward, getting enough space between them for him to unhook her bra. The look she shoots him over her shoulder is half-surprised, half-amused, and he answers with a shrug. Smirking, she turns around as he slides the straps down her shoulders before tossing it towards the pile of clothes on the floor. Arthur wraps his arms around her automatically when she settles back against him, the same as a hundred nights on the sofa in his basement. She's soft, and warm, and smells like always when he puts his face in her hair.

"Fuck, you two look good," Eames says darkly. Arthur looks up at him from under his eyelashes and Eames actually fucking growls before he hooks Ariadne's knees over his shoulders and pulls her towards him.

"Holy shit," she says, laughing and gasping at the same time, turning her cheek against Arthur's ribs. "Oh, fuck," she says, as Eames puts his mouth between her legs. Arthur can see the pink, wet tip of his tongue sliding along her clit, and okay, yeah, he's pretty interested in that.

Ariadne is writhing in Arthur's lap, and Arthur gets fed up with trying not to squirm and instead just grabs her by the shoulders and holds her still. Which she seems to like, so he squeezes a little harder and she lets her head fall back and her legs fall open.

Eames looks straight up at Arthur, pupils blown, and Arthur stares steadily back.
Ariadne is breathing hard through her nose, and she suddenly cries out and strains against Arthur's hands, almost levitating off the bed. "Oh god," she says, panting against Arthur's skin. Eames sits up and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, watching Arthur until he bends to kiss Ariadne.

--

"Your turn," Ariadne says brightly, breaking the kiss and smiling at Arthur.

"I think it’s very unfair that you’re still wearing trousers," Eames says to him. "Just awful, Ariadne, don’t you think?"

Arthur has to climb off the bed and stand up to get out of his skinny jeans, because otherwise they’ll get tangled up on his ankles and that’s just undignified. When Arthur straightens, jeans added to the discard pile, Eames has moved to the edge of the mattress. He wraps his hands around Arthur’s hips and pulls him closer. "Like this, yeah?" Eames asks, rubbing his cheek against Arthur’s belly.

Arthur has no idea what Eames is talking about, but he manages a noise that Eames correctly interprets as assent, and Eames sticks his hand into Arthur’s underwear. His hand is huge and warm and amazing, and Arthur is pretty sure his brain is going to short-circuit.

Then Eames pushes Arthur’s underwear down with his other hand, almost at the same time as he wraps his mouth around the head of Arthur’s dick. Arthur grabs Eames’ head without thinking, just to steady himself so he doesn’t fall the fuck over, because shit.

"Mmm," Eames says, so Arthur puts his other hand on Eames’ shoulder and rocks his hips forward experimentally. He's breathing so hard his fingers are tingling, and the soft slick press of Eames' tongue feels ridiculously good.

Eames puts both hands on Arthur's hips and just keeps going down, until Arthur can feel the flutter of his throat working, and then he slowly slides back. "Oh my god," Arthur says faintly, and Eames does it again, and again. It's amazing, but so slow, and Arthur wants – more, something. He takes his hand off Eames' shoulder and wraps it around the base of his cock, and tightens his hand in Eames' hair as a warning before he thrusts forward sharply, until Eames' mouth hits the base of his thumb.

He does it again, harder, and Eames is grabbing at Arthur's hips enthusiastically, so Arthur keeps going, fucking into Eames' mouth over and over, until he's right at the edge and he realizes –

"Shit, Eames, I'm gonna –" he pants, and tries to pull back, but Eames has got him firmly by the ass, and drags Arthur forward as Arthur groans and comes in Eames' mouth.

Eames gives his softening dick a little parting lick, and Arthur melts onto the bed, falling backwards with his feet still on the floor.

"Good?" Eames asks smugly, lying down beside him.

Arthur waves his hand vaguely. "I think my brain exploded," he says, still catching his breath.

"It looked fun," Ariadne says. Arthur cranes his neck to look at her. She's on her side, head propped up on her hand, a row of foil packets in front of her. "Hey, Eames, do you want to –" she holds up the condom packets significantly.

"Darling, I thought you'd never ask," Eames says fervently, almost bouncing across the mattress towards her.

--

"Have you done this before?" Eames asks, suddenly going still. He's propped up over them on one hand, the other holding his cock, about to push into Ariadne.

Arthur answers for them. "No," he says, and Eames looks at him sharply. Arthur's curled up against Ariadne's side, his palm flat on her belly. She's taking huge, deep breaths, but she's not scared. Arthur can tell.

"It's okay," Arthur says. "Just - go slow."

Eames exhales shakily and presses forward, his other hand coming up to grab the headboard. Ariadne gasps, lips parting in a little shocked O, and Arthur strokes her hair. "I'm good. It's good. Keep going," she says, breathless.

Eames nods, his hair falling into his eyes, and moves a little. Ariadne gasps again, but different this time. Arthur slides his hand lower, slowly, until he can feel Eames' cock, the wet place where they're joined. Eames' arms are shaking, a little, and he pulls out and slides forward again. "Yes," Ariadne says, "come on, Eames, please."

Arthur gets his fingers out of the way as Eames thrusts in all the way, sliding them up until they're resting against Ariadne's clit. Ariadne puts her head back and yells. Eames glances at Arthur, who nods, and Eames keeps going, building a steady rhythm.

Arthur works his fingers in a tight circle against Ariadne. It's not any weirder than anything else they've gotten up to tonight, and Arthur doesn't really think about it too much, focused on the steady press of Eames' hips and his quiet grunts in counterpoint to Ariadne's higher gasps.

Arthur loses track of time, until Ariadne bites her lip and moans, grabbing Arthur's wrist and pulling his hand back up to her stomach. Eames thrusts hard, twice, and falls down to his elbow, gasping against Ariadne's collarbone. He leans up to kiss her before turning to kiss Arthur, wet and open-mouthed.

"I'm getting squished," Ariadne mumbles. Arthur slides over and Eames flops onto his back between them, one arm thrown above his head. He rests there for a minute before pulling off the condom and making a hilarious scrunched-up face as he ties it off.

"Hang on a tick," he says, climbing over Ariadne and heading for the little bathroom.

Ariadne rolls onto her side and reaches out into the space he left, and Arthur puts his hand in hers and smiles.

--

Arthur is comfortably tucked against Eames' back and seriously considering taking a nap when someone starts knocking on the door.

"Oi! Eames!" Yusuf calls. "Mal took Cobb home, do you want to come down? We're playing with real money!"

Arthur sits up and glares furiously. "He's busy, Yusuf," Arthur says. On Eames' other side, Ariadne giggles and then claps her hand over her mouth.

"Oh. Oh! Sorry! As you were," Yusuf says, and his footsteps start down the stairs.

Arthur puts his head down, and then almost throws his pillow at the door when he hears Yusuf coming back. "You haven't seen Ariadne, have you?" Yusuf asks.

"Hi, Yusuf!" Ariadne says.

Silence from the other side of the door, and then - "Right. Okay! Have fun! I'm going back downstairs now!"

"Good night, Yusuf," Eames says, and Arthur muffles his laughter against Eames' shoulder.

--

There's an empty glass on the bathroom sink, which Arthur fills and then drinks the whole thing without stopping. He fills it again and brings it back to the bed, delivering it to Ariadne's outstretched hand.

"So when do you finish school?" Eames asks, as Arthur sits down on the edge of the mattress. "You're almost done, right?"

"We graduate in June," Ariadne says, setting the cup down.

"Then where are you headed?"

Ariadne hesitates. "Ariadne's going to the École de Beaux-Arts in Paris," Arthur says.

"Impressive," Eames says. "And you?" he asks Arthur.

Arthur opens his mouth, then closes it and shrugs. "Arthur doesn't know what he's doing," Ariadne says.

Eames raises his eyebrows at Arthur. "I might enlist," Arthur mumbles, not meeting his eyes. "I don't know yet. I haven't decided."

"I was in the army, for a bit," Eames says, folding his hands on his stomach.

Arthur looks up. "Really?"

"Wasn't for me, though." Eames grins mischievously. "Couldn't stop talking back," he says. "Or drinking, or gambling, or sneaking out to get tattoos, or doing any of the other wicked things I did during my misspent youth."

"Ariadne doesn't want me to go," Arthur says. She glances at him, then cuts her eyes away just as quickly, staring at the floor.

"You have to go somewhere," Eames says, "and I'm guessing you're not going to Paris."

Arthur shakes his head.

"The military's not all bad. Some decent people, some wankers, like everywhere. The problem is," Eames says, pointing two fingers at Arthur, "sometimes you have to do what the wankers tell you to do."

"Sounds like high school," Arthur says dryly.

Ariadne sits up and wraps her arms around him. "Can't I just put you in my suitcase and take you to France?" she mumbles.

"He wouldn't fit in the overhead bin, love," Eames says.

--

They eventually turn off the light and settle in under the covers, Arthur with his arm wrapped around Eames, Ariadne doing her usual bed-hogging starfish impression.

Arthur is floating on the edge of sleep when Eames rolls over to face him, their noses an inch apart. "Hi," Arthur says blearily.

"Hiya," Eames whispers, hooking his leg over Arthur's hip and pulling them closer together. "How're you?"

"I'm good," Arthur says, amused. Eames rocks his hips forward, and Arthur inhales sharply. "Do that again."

"Bossy," Eames says, and bites down on Arthur's lower lip. "I like it," he says, nosing under Arhur's jaw before sucking on a spot just below Arthur's ear. Arthur swallows a whimper and presses against Eames, sliding his cock against the soft skin of Eames' belly.

Eames nudges Arthur's shoulder, and Arthur lets himself fall onto his back, Eames landing solidly on top of him. It feels nice, Eames' weight pressing him down into the mattress, and Arthur sighs and lets Eames kiss him for a while.

Eames fumbles off to the side with one hand, and comes back holding something that Arthur can't quite make out in the dark. "Yeah?" Eames asks, and Arthur realizes he's holding a bottle of lube.

Arthur swallows and nods, mouth too dry to speak.

"Roll on your side for me," Eames says, climbing off so Arthur can move. Eames puts his hand on Arthur's hip and settles in behind him, kissing the back of his neck, the top of his shoulder.

Ariadne is awake, and smiles when Arthur meets her eyes. He crooks his finger at her, come here, and she slides over, sitting up against the headboard. Arthur puts his head on her thigh and wraps his hand around her calf. Leaning down, she kisses his cheek, fingers brushing his hair off his forehead.

"Hello, Ariadne," Eames says warmly. Arthur hears the snap as he pops the cap on the lube open. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"I'd be pissed if you hadn't," Ariadne says.

Arthur takes a deep breath when he feels Eames' slick finger against his ass, exhaling slowly as Eames pushes forward.

"Let me guess," Eames says, low and amused. "You haven't ever done this before?"

"Not this," Arthur says.

"I think I'm about to set the world record for 'teenage American virgins fucked in one night'," Eames says, and twists his wrist.

Arthur gasps and tightens his grip on Ariadne reflexively. She squeaks in protest and he unclenches his hand. "The world record?" Arthur asks, trying for skeptical but ending up mostly sounding breathless. "Really?"

"A personal best, at least," Eames says, and adds a second finger. Arthur bites his lip to keep from making a truly embarrassing noise when Eames curls his fingers and finds Arthur's prostate.

--

Eames fucks him steadily with his fingers, until Arthur is pushing back desperately and panting, and then he stops. "Eames," Arthur says, "what –"

"Patience," Eames says. "Ariadne, would you fetch me –"

"On it," she says, leaning over and grabbing a condom off the nightstand. She hands it to Eames, and Arthur hears the distinctive crinkle of the wrapper.

"Wait," Arthur says, and Eames freezes. "I want to see you."

Eames exhales. "Yeah," he says, and they all rearrange: Ariadne sitting up cross-legged, Arthur on his back with his head in her lap, Eames putting one of Arthur's knees over his shoulder and leaning down as Arthur wraps his other leg around Eames' hip.

"Okay," Arthur says.

It hurts for a second, enough to knock a noise out of his throat. "All right?" Eames asks, watching him intently.

Ariadne brushes the sweaty hair off Arthur's forehead with cool hands. Arthur takes a deep breath and opens his clenched fists, flattening his palms against Eames' ribs. "Keep going," Ariadne says.

Eames pulls back and thrusts again, and Arthur groans.

Eames moves slowly but steadily, his eyes closed and a little furrow in the middle of his forehead. Arthur can feel the heat coming off his skin, their bodies sliding slickly together from sweat wherever they touch. Eames leans down onto his forearms, pressing Arthur's thigh back against his chest, bending him in half. Their lips brush together over and over, not quite a kiss, just breathing in the same space.

Arthur can rub his cock against Eames if he arches, pushes himself down as Eames comes forward. Arthur reaches back and holds on to Ariadne's knee for purchase, driving his hips up harder, faster. Eames opens his eyes and leans down, sucking a bruise beneath Arthur's collarbone.

Arthur can feel himself getting close, losing the rhythm and just desperately rubbing against Eames, gasping every time Eames brushes his prostate and sends sparks up his spine. "You're lovely," Eames says, his lips brushing the shell of Arthur's ear. Arthur shudders and comes all over his own stomach, all over Eames as he pushes in again, and again, and fastens his mouth over Arthur's, staying buried inside him for a long, tense moment.

Eames pulls out and sprawls on his back while Arthur is panting up at the ceiling, feeling wrung out in the best way. Ariadne lies down beside him, hand resting in the center of his chest. "Fun, right?" she says, smiling smugly.

"Mmm," Arthur manages.

Eames laughs. "You say the sweetest things," he says.

--

Arthur wakes up to the sound of the shower running. Sunlight is coming in between the slats of the blinds, and he squints at the clock on the nightstand: 11:52.

Eames makes a little grumbling noise and pulls the covers up as Arthur slides out of bed. Eames is sprawled out on his stomach, face squished into the pillow, hair sticking up wildly, and Arthur feels warm down to his toes just looking at him.

The bathroom door is open, and Arthur can hear Ariadne humming from behind the shower curtain (which is an eye-burning shade of pink paisley). "Good morning," he says, grabbing a bottle of mouthwash off the edge of the sink. He takes a swig as he eyes the hickey on his collarbone in the mirror.

"Good morning!" Ariadne says. "Eames has, like, five kinds of shampoo."

Arthur spits in the sink. "Interesting," he says.

"Do you want me to leave the water running?" she asks, sticking her head out from behind the curtain.

"Yeah, thanks," he says. He pulls the towel off the rack and hands it to her as she steps out of the shower.

"Is Eames awake?" she asks, wrapping up in the towel.

"Nope."

"Hey," Ariadne says. She leans up and kisses him on the cheek. "Thanks."

"For the towel?" he asks, amused.

"For sharing Eames," she says, and smacks him on the ass on her way out.

--

Arthur is deciding between the Mystic Forest Rain shampoo and the Garden Fresh two-in-one when Eames climbs into the shower, looking like he's still mostly asleep.

"I'm not a morning person," Eames mutters, as Arthur slides past to let him get under the spray.

"I'm pretty sure it's afternoon," Arthur says. Eames flicks water at him. "Why do you have five kinds of shampoo?" Arthur asks.

"I like variety," Eames says. "For example: sex standing up, sex in a bed, sex in the shower –" he raises his eyebrows significantly.

"Isn't it kind of slippery?" Arthur asks doubtfully.

Eames laughs. "Darling, that's rather the point," he says, grabbing Arthur's hips and pulling him closer until they're both under the hot water.

Arthur leans in and licks into Eames' mouth, sliding his hands down Eames' back and grabbing his ass. Eames makes a low, approving noise and slips his hand between them, wrapping his hand around both of their cocks and rubbing his thumb over the top.

Eames keeps him on the edge for what feels like forever, stroking slowly and pausing sometimes with his hand tight around the base of their cocks. But Arthur's feeling patient, so he holds himself back until his thighs tremble and then exhales in a shaky rush and spills over Eames' fist.

Eames turns him around and Arthur presses his palms against the cold tile as Eames wraps his arm around Arthur's waist. Eames slides his dick in the crack of Arthur's ass, and Arthur arches his back helpfully, Eames breathing harshly in his ear until he groans and Arthur feels him come against his lower back.

Laughing, Eames rests his forehead against Arthur's neck. "What's funny?" Arthur asks.

"Ariadne's going to be upset we left her out," Eames says.

"Nah," Arthur says. "I think we're good."

--

Ariadne is trying to flip a pancake by shaking a frying pan when Arthur comes down the stairs into the kitchen.

"Yes!" she yells triumphantly as she succeeds, and Yusuf applauds politely.

"I give it an 8.3 for style," he says.

"Whatever, that was amazing," Ariadne protests. "I give it a nine."

"If you can get the next one on the first try, it'll be a ten," Eames says, brushing his hand against Arthur's back as he goes to steal one of the finished pancakes off the plate beside the stove.

Yusuf whacks Eames in the wrist with a spatula. "I was telling Ariadne about our spring break plan," Yusuf tells Eames, who stops pouting and brightens up instantly.

"Yeah?" he says enthusiastically. "We're going on a road trip," Eames explains to Arthur.

"Where to?" Arthur asks, amused.

"We want to see the ocean," Eames says.

Arthur arches an eyebrow. "The ocean? Which one?"

Eames waves his hand vaguely. "Details, Arthur."

"Forgive me for wanting a little specificity, Eames," Arthur says.

Specificity? Eames mouths. Arthur gives him his very best unimpressed face, which is probably ruined by how hard he has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.

"I don't know why you want to drive," Ariadne says. "It's just truck stops and Waffle Houses."

"What's a Waffle House?" Eames asks.

"Oh boy," Ariadne says. "I take it back," she says, tilting the pancake onto the platter and scooping batter for a new one. "It's greasy food and cigarette smoke. You'll love it."

"We just have one problem," Yusuf says.

"What's that?" Arthur asks.

"We don't have a car," Eames says, looking directly at Arthur.

Arthur sighs. "Yeah, okay."

"Shotgun!" Ariadne says gleefully.

----------