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When Eames first met Arthur, he’d thought he was the mirthless ex-army stick in the mud robot he was touted as by past business associates. He was all business with his slicked hair and ever present furrow in his brow, which Eames half wondered he’d acquired from his time working exclusively with Dominic Cobb. On the job he was ‘on’ the job, with little time for smalltalk and pleasantries, and when he wasn’t filling the dual position of both Cobb’s whipping boy and handler, he was usually going over his meticulous notes in prep for the job.
Eames had noticed that while Arthur always began the day well dressed, likely trying to age himself with the dull earth tones and somber greys he usually swaddled himself in, by noon his jacket was always gone and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. None of his dowdy checked shirts or fussy vests could mask the boyishness of that face though, and despite having ears that stuck out and the build of a skinny sixteen year old, Eames almost begrudgingly found him quite lovely. Arthur had flawless skin, pouty cupid’s bow lips, and soulful dark eyes, and like a schoolboy with a crush Eames almost gleefully anticipated their full attention, even if it was steeped in irritation.
Arthur wasn’t that easily ruffled, but Eames always had been adroit at pushing buttons. He didn’t exploit his skill, but when he opportunity presented itself to poke at Arthur, Eames was hard pressed to waste it. This was how he found himself in a crowded bar, huddled around a small table with Ariadne, Yusuf, Cobb, and of course Arthur, a single shot in the middle of the table.
Arthur hadn’t wanted to go out with them, had claimed he had too much to do, the PASIV to clean and arrangements to be made for their next job. Ariadne had begged him though, insisted it was the first time they’d be able to properly celebrate together, and added after that she wanted to see Arthur let loose a little just one time. Eames had chimed in that he’d buy Arthur’s drinks, hoping to entice him and encourage said “loose” behavior. He’d bought everyone a shot for their first round, which Yusuf and Ariadne had happily accepted, but Dom and Arthur still looked unsure about the whole situation, both wound tighter than two dollar watches. After the first shot Eames had insisted he get Arthur another as they’d forced him to come out, and he’d prowled to the bar already knowing what he’d get.
But then it was sitting on the table in front of them in all its whipped cream glory, and Ariadne’s eyes are bulging out of her head like she’s pretty sure this is how Eames is going to die, Cobb’s squint has widened and he looks primed and ready to hold Arthur back, and Eames finally wonders if ordering Arthur a Blow Job shot was skirting the edge of taking it too far. He’d done it though, so Eames wasn’t about to back down, even added a quick “no hands, darling” with a sly wink.
Yusuf was the only one who wasn’t braced for impact, amused by Eames’ impending demise maybe even to the point of being gleeful. “You’ve done it now, mate,” he says, just loud enough for Eames to hear over the hum of the crowd about them.
Eames was waiting for the usual withering stare, practically thrumming for it, and about to offer further instructions he figured Arthur would never in a million years take him up on when Arthur rolled his eyes and scoffed out “yeah I know, this isn’t my first Blow Job.” And then he purposefully clasped his hands behind his back, the graceful line of his neck exposed by the open collar of his dowdy tan shirt as he bent forward and opened his mouth.
All of Eames’ blood made a hasty migration south as he watched Arthur’s lips wrap around the top of the glass and slide down, taking practically half the shot glass into his mouth. Eames realized he was holding his breath when his lungs burned a little, like when he inhaled too hard on a cigarette, but he could scarcely do anything about it as Arthur stood straight and tilted his head back. Eames blood hammered through his veins as Arthur’s throat worked around the mouthful of liquor and whipped cream when he swallowed, his lips sealed tight around the glass in his mouth ensuring he wouldn’t miss a drop.
He gripped his own drink so hard he was surprised the glass didn’t break in his hand as he watched Arthur lean back down and open his mouth wider still to allow the now empty shot glass slip out back onto the table.
“Jesus Christ,” Ariadne murmured beside him, though Eames was loathe to tear his eyes away to see the likely slack-jawed expression on her face and miss the tip of Arthur’s tongue snake out and flicker over the corner of his mouth.
Arthur looks him dead in the eye and makes a show of dragging the backs of his fingers across his mouth, obviously more for Eames’ benefit than out of a need to tidy himself. Eames immediately took the bait, picturing Arthur wiping cum off his face after giving Eames head back at his hotel room. Eames felt his cock twitch at the very idea, and had to fight the urge to reach down and adjust himself in his pants.
“Thanks for the shot, Eames.” Arthur said, ignoring the stares from Ariadne and Cobb and excusing himself to go get another drink.
Eames watched him go, relishing the way Arthur’s pert little ass moved beneath his well tailored trousers. He almost started with a jerk when two fingers pressed beneath his lax jaw and pushed up, and as he swatted the hand away he looked over to find Yusuf smirking at him. “You’ve got a little….” Yusuf said, indicating Eames chin, but when Eames checked it for drool found none.
“Cheeky,” he snorted at Yusuf, rubbing his chin again just to be sure. “Very cheeky.”
“And you’re hopeless, my friend,” Yusuf returned. “When it comes to that one, completely hopeless.”