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sirona_ficsI've been writing this for two damn months already, and I'm heartily sick of tinkering with it, so I'm going to go ahead and post it already.
Title: The vital importance of fangirls to one's love life
Word count: 5,900
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: a very minor squick at the start (from the camel episode -- you'll know what I mean if you've seen it), possible grounds for sexual harrasment at the workplace (it is Eames), fangirls, a tiny bit of meta. No animals or Eameses were harmed in the writing of this fic.
Disclaimer: If you recognise it, it's not mine. Ultimate Survival and Inception belong to their respective creators.
Summary: Ultimate Survival AU (Man Vs Wild in the States). Follows the trials and tribulations of Eames trying to commit suicide by nature and Arthur tearing his hair out in the process. A judicious application of fangirl squee finally gets them to admit they might feel more for each other than a simple camera man/presenter relationship.
Notes: This assumes prior knowledge of the show's dynamic, but it's not essential to understanding it. This story owes pretty much its entire existence to the "Behind the Wild" episode, which details what actually happens during the filming of an episode/series. I've tried to stick to canon (as it details it) as closely as possible.
The vital importance of fangirls to one's love life
Watching Eames disembowel a dead camel is not really in the top ten sexiest sights Arthur has ever had the pleasure of seeing. Nevertheless, the way those hands grasp the slippery knife handle, the way those ridiculous lips thin in concentration, the way the smooth muscles in those shoulders shift and flex underneath the thin shirt soaked with sweat, well.
Arthur holds the camera as still as he can, years of training kicking in where his arms are trying to weaken. He should be used to sights like this, both gruesome and unbearably sexy. And then Eames opens his mouth and starts explaining what he’s doing and why, and it all gets a little blurry in Arthur’s head. While there’s always a team on hand to do the research on everything Eames and Dom (the producer) want to include in an episode, more often than not Eames has all the information already stored somewhere in that huge brain of his. Honestly, how the hell does he know that thing about a camel’s bladder? Is the man the anthropomorphic personification of Google?
If there’s one thing that gets Arthur more hot and bothered than competence, it’s a competent man who is good with his hands and can recite the anatomy of damn near every mammal out there, as well as their known habitats and how to capture them most effectively. Arthur is one of the few people who know that Eames actually adores animals of all shapes and sizes, and has to struggle with himself every time he needs to hunt and kill them during an episode’s filming. This is doing nothing for Arthur’s self-control.
Eames makes a face, but drinks the water he has unearthed in the camel’s stomach. The entire crew on site cringes as one man; Arthur is torn between horrified laughter and just plain horrified. They finish the shot a few minutes later, with Eames heading on across the desert. Arthur puts the camera down, flexing his arms a little with the weight.
“That was disgusting,” Eames announces to the world. “If I never have to do that again, it’ll be too soon.”
Arthur privately agrees, but what he says is “Oh, stop moaning, you big baby.”
“That is not moaning, Arthur. I’d be delighted to demonstrate what real moaning sounds like later, if you like.” The lecherous smile on his face is a familiar if worrying sight.
Behind Arthur, Ariadne’s giggles are not as muffled as she thinks. Arthur rolls his eyes, with feeling.
“That come-on would be a lot more effective if you didn’t have camel intestines stuck to your shirt,” he opines.
Eames’ eyes snap down to his shirt (a frankly demented yellow-patterned monstrosity that in no way camouflages him), mouth already open in preparation for more wailing. He throws Arthur a murderous look when he sees it has pretty much escaped unscathed (more’s the pity).
“Worth a try,” Arthur shrugs. Ariadne is now howling behind him.
“Why must you be so unutterably cruel to me, darling?” Eames does wail now.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Get. A. Room,” Yusuf groans, walking over to the camel and calling forward a few members of the hired help to take the poor thing away and do whatever they feel is necessary with the remains.
“It’s not for lack of trying,” Eames supplies, but he’s already headed over to where Dom’s conferring with one of the experts on site to discuss the next shot, so Arthur doesn’t bother replying. Eames is... Eames. When he’s not getting battered nearly to death by the elements, flirting with Arthur is his default setting. He doesn’t mean anything by it.
~~
“Now, if you get caught unprepared in the desert when night falls, the best thing you could do is find shelter as soon as you possibly can. This cave I’ve just come across is excellent for just that purpose. I’m going to use the stems of the Devil’s Walkingstick, a shrub that grows copiously in this area, to provide some cover for the opening. The young stems are covered in sharp spines, so this will give me protection from some of the smaller animals; and it gives off a scent that will get rid of any insects in the vicinity. It’s a useful plant, the Devil’s Walkingstick. Just be incredibly careful of the spines, or you’re going to be in a lot of pain until you manage to dig them out.”
The crew watches Eames carefully as he cuts the plant’s stalks and arranges them against the opening of the cave. He’s very cautious, working quickly but thoroughly.
“When you’re in any kind of desert, conserving body heat is absolutely vital. I’m going to show you how to build a fire in a little while, but the best thing really would be if you’re stranded with another person. Sadly, we’re not so lucky 90% of the time. If you are, though, the most effective way of keeping warm is to take your clothes off. A contradiction, yes -- but skin-to-skin contact really is best in these cases.” Eames stops, looks thoughtful, and then grins cheekily, shooting Arthur a glance. Arthur feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “To demonstrate,” Eames goes on, “please welcome my lovely assistant. Arthur, come out here!”
Arthur blanches. “Eames, this isn’t in the script!”
“Come on, Arthur, be a sport,” Eames cajoles.
“Get Yusuf to do it! He’s not holding a camera and shooting your ugly mug!”
“Darling, you wound me if you think I’m going to share body heat with anyone but you!”
Arthur can feel his cheeks warm; it pisses him off and distracts him from his surroundings -- which he realises is a Bad Move when Yusuf grabs the camera off him and pushes him into the frame.
“There he is! Everyone, this is Arthur, the best camera man on TV, and the only person who can keep up with yours truly. Most of the time.”
“You are not seriously going to air this, are you?” Arthur asks, balking.
Dom looks serious enough, but there’s a telltale shake in his shoulders. “It’s good for ratings, Arthur, of course I’m going to air it.”
“I’m not your trained monkey, Eames!”
“Come now, darling, it’s just a demonstration! Think of how many lives we could save if we show the proper method of keeping warm to some poor future struggling tourists!” Eames gives him his best pleading expression.
“I’m not taking my clothes off,” Arthur grunts, but nods his extremely reluctant agreement.
Eames looks disappointed for a moment, but rallies quickly enough, turning back to the camera. “Okay, what you should do for a person suffering from hypothermia is warm them gently, allowing the warming blood to circulate slowly enough so that the person doesn’t go into shock when it reaches the heart. Get as close as you can to them, literally wrap yourself around them, like so.” He demonstrates.
Arthur tries not to squirm when Eames’ hot, solid body presses to him tightly, Eames’ arms solid around his back. Arthur can feel the soft puffs of Eames' breath going in and out, the strong thump of the heart in his chest, the way his exhales ruffle the hair behind Arthur's ear. Eames' arms shift against his back, fingers catching in his shirt and pressing soothing circles against his spine. Eames makes this soft sound in the back of his throat, almost a purr, and rubs his cheek against Arthur's, rough stubble prickling the sensitive skin of his jaw. Arthur has never felt so uncomfortable in his life, and that includes that mortifying time when he’d got a stiffie in biology class when he’d been fifteen.
He has also never felt safer. He tries not to think about that as he closes his eyes and fights not to lean into it.
“Okay, once you’ve warmed each other up, you’ll need to keep both of you that way. Wrap every scrap of clothing you have around the other person and stay close by in case you need to share body heat again. Meanwhile, you can start working on keeping yourself warm. Thank you ever so much, Arthur, you’re a star.”
Arthur is released from what could only be called ‘the hug’, and staggers slightly as he regains his balance. His face is absolutely flaming -- from embarrassment, to be sure, and not at all because of the way Eames’ body had felt, pressed so close to him that he could feel every twitch of hard muscle. He walks over to Yusuf as slowly as he can make himself -- he’s not running away. He ignores the smirks on everyone’s faces as he retrieves his camera and settles back into work mode.
“Now, to light the fire, you take two of the Devil’s Walkingstick stems and you...”
Arthur barely remembers the rest of the day’s shoot.
~~
“This cannot be happening,” Arthur mumbles, staring at the computer screen.
“I assure you it is,” Dom says, smirking smugly. Arthur wants to smack it off his face.
“What--this--I--” his mouth opens and closes for a few moments.
“‘Fangirls’ is the word you’re looking for. Ratings have gone through the roof. Through the roof, Arthur. As far as I’m concerned, from now on you’re not to stray further than ten feet away from Eames at all times.”
“I don’t believe this,” Arthur splutters. He feels like rubbing the heels of his hands in his eyes, but he doesn’t think it’ll erase what he’s seen. Fanfiction. What is wrong with people these days?!
“Oh, and here’s another one,” Dom gloats shamelessly as he types into the LiveJournal site search. “There’s a community about the two of you,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
eames_arthur, look, see?”
Arthur needs to sit down.
“I think it’s brilliant,” Eames supplies happily from behind him. “Those girls are certainly observant and creative, and have a hell of an imagination. I like that in a person.”
“You’re encouraging this?!” Arthur squawks.
“Arthur, I’m encouraging this,” Dom says, grinning like a maniac. “This is the best thing that’s happened to the show.”
“Hey, maybe we could put a forum on the website, give them a chance to chat to each other?”
“Excellent idea! I’ll call Saito right now!” Exeunt Dom and Eames, conferring madly.
“How is this my world,” Arthur asks no one in particular.
~~
“Okay, we’ve come to a dead end. The river goes underground from here on, so there’s no way of following it above-ground any more -- and we need to keep an eye on it, or we’re going to get hopelessly lost again. There’s a natural cavern here, where the water falls through; it’s just about large enough. I’m going to try to squeeze through, see if we can keep following the river.”
Eames starts taking his gear off; the crew watches anxiously. They haven’t been able to check this through, because it’s got to either be checked in person or be abandoned. There’s no way of knowing what’s underneath the cavern, or how deep it goes.
“There’s a massive network of caves underneath our feet, going on for miles in either direction. So, theoretically, we should be able to enter through a cavern just like this one.” Eames starts lowering himself through the gap. “It’s an extremely tight fit... I have to compress my ribcage, so I’m going to exhale... and see how far that’ll get me...”
The air rushes out of his lungs, and he starts squirming lower. Arthur’s heart is in his mouth; he almost chokes when it looks like Eames gets stuck, one arm above his head and one pushing at the rock, trying to slide his body further. He lets out an involuntary gasp of relief when Eames slips through.
“Are you alright?” he yells, uncaring of the camera still on his shoulder as he rushes forward, shining the light through the gap in the rock.
“I’m okay, I’m fine,” Eames yells back. He hasn’t dropped that far, but the sound echoes off the walls as if he’s miles underground. “In you come.”
Arthur passes the camera down to him and squeezes himself through the tight cavern. His frame is narrower than Eames’, and it’s easier for him to drop down. This is when his own military training kicks in, and he finds it easy to keep his balance when his feet touch the cave’s floor.
“Don’t ever fucking do that again, you absolute idiot,” he snaps, eyes roaming over Eames’ frame, searching out contusions and bruises, and checking whether he’s favouring any limbs because of a bad landing. He manfully resists the urge to smack him on the shoulder -- or something.
“Christ, Arthur, you worry-hen. I’m fine, look, it’s all good.” Eames spreads his arms to illustrate, like he’s inviting Arthur’s eyes to run over his body.
Arthur huffs, irritated and relieved in equal parts. He re-appropriates the camera and nods at Eames to keep going.
“Just be careful, alright?” he mutters, not meeting Eames’ eye.
Eames’ smile brightens the small, dark place. “Of course, darling. I have you to think of,” he says, eyes warm.
By the time Arthur realises that the camera has been rolling the entire time, it’s already too late -- Dom’s gone ahead and aired the whole thing, including his frantic panicking when Eames had had to dive in the river under a segment of rock, to see if the cave continued on the other side. It had been the five most terrifying minutes of Arthur’s life, thinking that Eames might have gotten stuck underwater, with no air and no way of getting out. His knees had almost buckled when Eames had resurfaced, grinning hugely and giving him two thumbs up while he’d been sucking air in huge gulps.
He hadn’t even been aware of muttering “Come on, come on, please” under his breath the entire time, not until he’d seen the tape on National television. His sister had called him. She had been absolutely merciless in her ribbing. He is going to murder Dom in cold blood; he could so take Mal. Eames is going to be unbearable.
~~
It is, therefore, with some surprise and immediate suspicion that he notices no change in Eames’ behaviour towards him. He’s just as cheerfully obnoxious and annoyingly flirtatious as always. Arthur wants to flat out ask him what gives, but he doesn’t dare question his good fortune for fear of what it might result in.
Later that week he finds Ariadne and Yusuf giggling at the screen of the crew’s official laptop. It’s open on the site’s forum, and Arthur can only imagine what depravity the fangirls have concocted about him and Eames this time. When the forum had gone live the month before, Arthur had logged on purely out of professional interest. He’s the camera man; he needs to keep abreast of the things the fans like, so he could pay particular attention to getting the money shots in there.
What he had found had been eye-opening, to say the least. A particular exchange had burned itself into his brain, never to leave him alone.
Fangirl 1:
OMG OMG DID YOU SEE EAMES’ FACE WHEN HE DRAGGED ARTHUR IN FRONT OF THE CAMERAS AND PRACTICALLY HUMPED HIM ON THE SPOT?!
Fangirl 2:
OMG YESSSSS HE WAS ADORABLE, THEY SO WANT IN EACH OTHER’S PANTS OMG ARTHUR IS SO HAWT
It had gone on for some time. Out of some sort of morbid curiosity, he had tracked down theeames_arthur community that Cobb had been on about, and the things he’d found there didn’t bear talking about. He had blushed furiously, even though he had been all alone in his hotel room at the time. They’d written stories about them; about them falling in love, about Arthur getting hurt and Eames saving him, about Eames getting hurt and Arthur flipping his shit...
There had been porn. It had been like a car crash -- he literally hadn’t been able to stop reading it. Arthur is never admitting to what had happened to the complimentary box of tissues the hotel had supplied.
Ariadne lets out an absolute howl of mirth; Yusuf has his hand over his mouth, but his eyes are dancing with glee. Eames stands a little way behind them, peering down into the screen. The expression on his face is... unsettling. He looks wistful, sad almost. What are they writing about him? Arthur fumes inwardly. They’d better not be slagging Eames off, or they’re going to get a piece of Arthur’s mind that’s going to keep them up at night.
He frowns at the three of them, but only Eames notices that he’s standing there. For a fraction of a moment, he looks almost vulnerable at the sight of him; and then the shutters come down and his face closes off completely. The trademark grin is back, and for the first time Arthur recognises it for the mask it is. The thought that Eames feels the need to keep himself closed off from him unsettles Arthur so much that he has to look away. He gnaws on his lower lip in hesitation -- he wants to say something, but has no idea what.
“Come along, gossip on your own time, will you -- we have to fly to Siberia in the morning,” Cobb barks, rounding them up, and the moment’s gone.
Cobb herds them back onto the current set, and Arthur can literally see work mode settle over Eames like a cloak. Arthur’s restless for the rest of the shoot, though he doesn’t quite know why.
~~
That night, instead of packing his bags like he should be doing, Arthur stares at his laptop’s screen and seriously considers declaring himself delusional. There is no way that what he thought was happening is, in fact, really happening.
nomiko_chan
No no no, really, dude, go watch it NOW. You can’t not have seen it.
kattie_n
It can’t be all that, surely.
nomiko_chan
GIRL, DO IT NOW.
kattie_n
Fine, Jesus. Brb.
kattie_n
THIS CAN’T BE REAL. IT’S GOT TO BE STAGED.
nomiko_chan
IT’S NOT. IT’ SHOT LIVE.
kattie_n
OMG HOLY CRAP!! ARTHUR!!!! *SQUEEEE*
nomiko_chan
IRK???? HE TOTALLY LOVES EAMES!!
kattie_n
AND EAMES, EAMES’S FACE WHEN ARTHUR AS GOOD AS SAYS HE’S WORRIED ABOUT HIM!!!!!1!
nomiko_chan
I KNOOOOOOW!!! :DDDD THEY ARE SO HOT FOR EACH OTHER!!
kattie_n
ARTHUR WANTS EAMES’S ASS!! *GLEEFACE*
nomiko_chan
EAMES THOUGH OMFG THAT MAN IS HEAD OVER HEALS FOR ARTHUR!!
kattie_n
HE TOTALLY IS!!!! OMG ARTHUR IS SO UNBELIEVABLY LUCKY!!
He is not, Arthur thinks, shocked out of his wits. It’s just Eames; he flirts but he doesn’t mean anything by it! And I don’t want his ass, either!
It’s simply unfair how bad he is at lying to himself. His treacherous mind pulls out Eames’ face from that very afternoon; the wistfulness, the longing, the vulnerability. “Oh my god. Eames is in love with me.” His voice sounds choked and his heart stutters, does its best to climb out of his throat. Eames. Is in love with him. Something bursts viciously to life in his chest, so warm, so bright and all-encompassing that it literally makes him choke a little. Oh god. He does want Eames’ ass, and not just his ass, either. He is completely screwed.
~~
Forty hours later, Eames falls into a frozen river. On purpose, the utter asshole.
Arthur hadn’t been able to quite look him in the eye when they’d all piled into the airport the previous morning, all of them bleary-eyed at the ass o’clock hour they’d been routed out of their beds for. Yusuf had promptly collapsed in one of the horrible plastic chairs and immediately dropped off to sleep, Ariadne curled into his side. Eames had slumped in a corner, blinking groggily at Cobb’s rapidly pacing figure. Arthur had been unable to stay still, four hours of sleep and middle-of-the-night earth-shattering revelations notwithstanding. He’d harassed an instant coffee machine until it had yielded a cup of truly despicable coffee that he had nevertheless inhaled greedily. He’d kept throwing surreptitious glances at Eames, trying to see any evidence of him really feeling anything for Arthur besides a mild fondness -- but at half-four in the morning, he’d have been shocked to see anything more than a soul-deep desire for his bed (which had been there, alright).
The three long flights had been gruelling; Arthur had spent them alternating between worrying and trying to work. Only one of those efforts had been successful. Almost twenty-three hours since they’d started out, they’d staggered, utterly and completely exhausted, into the one hotel that the tiny town in the middle of nowhere had been able to provide. They had taken up the entire place -- it had no more than four single bedrooms and one double, which Eames had landed by means of cheating at the draw of toothpicks that Ariadne had insisted on. She had looked as disappointed as the need to faceplant into her bed had permitted, and Eames had been just about as gleeful.
And now they’re alone at the frozen river bank, as the air temperature is absurd and the crew has stayed behind at the hotel so as not to impersonate human icicles. They’ve already scouted the terrain ahead, however, and Eames and Arthur are following a pre-designed route; and besides, their GPS coordinates are being safely transmitted to a laptop in the cozy hotel lobby. Arthur doesn’t hate them. Really.
Especially now, when both of them are naked as the day they were born and Arthur doesn’t even have the time to admire Eames’ beautifully toned body (black tattoos stark against white skin mottled from the cold), much less feel embarrassed about being naked in Eames’ presence for the first time -- because he’s busy freezing his bollocks off, and preparing to jump into the below-zero water right on Eames’ heels, and being abjectly terrified that they are both going to catch their deaths out here in this frozen wasteland, and he will die without ever having known the pleasure of kissing the infuriating, wonderful man.
He’s trembling so hard that he can barely hold the camera up, never mind listen to Eames explain what he’s doing as he’s packing both their clothes away in the backpacks and throwing them across the river so they are still dry when they emerge on the other side. They can survive being wet and naked for a few minutes -- but if their clothes get wet, too, it’s game over for both of them.
Eames takes a few deep breaths, gets himself in his zone, and searches Arthur’s eyes. Arthur nods at him and they both jump straight in. The freezing water makes his skin feel like it’s flaying off; the shock leaves him yelping and swearing with as much breath as he can spare from the way his lungs have locked. The camera gets covered in ice crystals while he struggles to keep it trained on Eames, who is already across the water and scrabbling to climb out on the other side, his teeth chattering so hard that Arthur can hear them over his own.
“Come on, come on,” Eames gasps, turning around immediately and reaching out to help Arthur up. “Pass the camera, come on, I’ve got it, come on up now.” He puts the camera down and pulls Arthur out of the water as quickly as his shaking limbs allow. “You okay? Arthur?”
“Fine,” Arthur manages to push out from behind gritted teeth as Eames rubs briskly at his arms, trying to warm him up.
“Come on, let’s--let’s get you dressed,” Eames stutters, turning and unpacking Arthur’s clothes from the backpack.
“Oh god,” Arthur gasps, shivering violently, muscles cramping and sending him bucking forward to fold himself in half, as if that could keep the bitter cold out. They’d done training in the military for sub-zero temperatures, but they’ve never had to cross a frozen river naked, or keep themselves together when the man they’re in love with is hurrying towards them in all his naked glory, holding a spare t-shirt with which to wipe them dry and push them into their clothes, all while he is himself still shaking from the same cold.
“Fuck this,” Arthur snarls, and pounces.
Eames feels so damn chilled when Arthur wraps himself around him that Arthur is seriously worried about his health.
“Arthur,” Eames breathes against his neck even as his arms clutch at Arthur’s waist, “what--”
“Shared body heat,” Arthur mumbles, and it’s enough; Eames melts in his arms, pressing himself to Arthur’s body as close as he can get without climbing inside.
“You stupid man,” Arthur says in his ear, squeezing his arms around him and burrowing closer. “Why do you persist in trying to kill yourself in new and inventive ways?”
“Didn’t know you cared,” Eames grunts, still shaking, although less than he had done two minutes ago.
“Shut up, wanker, of course I fucking care,” he growls, pulls his face away from Eames’ neck and looks at him for only a moment before leaning forward and kissing him with everything he has.
Eames makes a surprised sound in his throat, followed by what sounds suspiciously like a whimper as he opens to the kiss. Arthur licks his way into that gorgeous mouth, wanting Eames to kiss him back so desperately that it takes him a while to process that he is. It’s warm in Eames’ mouth, such a drastic difference from the temperature of the air that it makes Arthur dizzy, makes him grip Eames’ broad, solid shoulders for dear life.
“Idiot,” Arthur manages again, when they feel considerably warmer. “I can’t believe it took you this long.”
“Hey, you weren’t exactly Mr Perceptive yourself,” Eames counters, pressing another quick kiss to Arthur’s no-longer-blue lips before pushing him away, and proceeds to poke and prod him into his clothes. “Come on, let’s finish this shoot and get the hell back to the hotel, the daylight’s going as it is and I’m already heartily sick of this place.”
Arthur picks up the camera obediently and trains it steadily on Eames, swollen pink lips and all. He barely spares a thought of how this is going to look when Cobb gets his hands on that tape, but he discovers to his surprise (and smug satisfaction) that he could care less. Eames is his, and it’s time that everyone knows that he is off the market for good.
~~
The hot water feels absolutely blissful on his cold-numbed skin. He drops his head back and lets it flow over his stiff muscles, chasing away the last of the bone-deep chill he’s been fighting ever since they’d gotten dressed and filmed the last of the river sequence. Eames had kept shooting him those cautious looks, as if he’d expected Arthur to turn around and tell him it’s all been a big mistake. Every time Arthur had smiled softly at him instead, Eames’ own smile had turned wider and wider, until at the end of the day’s filming he’d been positively beaming. Arthur has discovered that he likes that look on Eames very, very much indeed.
The door opens behind him and Eames sneaks his way into the shower stall, which is definitely not big enough for two grown men. Neither seems to mind. Eames is shaking a little, holding himself tucked into his core for warmth -- but when the hot spray hits his skin he groans and relaxes, unfurling his limbs and leaning into it and the other occupant of the shower. Arthur smiles and reaches for his nape to tug him closer; he kisses him softly, deeply, pressing into his rapidly warming body and running wet hands all over his back. Eames leans into the kiss, shifting them so the spray is hitting both of them equally.
It’s slow, messy, perfect -- wet skin slipping together, stroking chests and arms and nipples and thighs, half-hard cocks rubbing languidly. They’re both too exhausted for anything more energetic, but Arthur can’t remember the last time when he’d felt so blissfully content just holding someone and shifting their bodies together. Eames breaks the kiss and slips his mouth along Arthur’s jawline, down his neck, sucking a little and licking the rest of the way. Arthur lets his eyes drift closed, savouring the delicious way their stubble catches, the way Eames’ strong shoulders feel under his hands.
Eames kisses the spot behind Arthur’s ear and buries his nose there, using his extra bulk to pin Arthur to the tiles. Arthur smiles fondly at Eames’ tired-but-happy humming, rubs the bar of woodsy-scented soap over the washcloth until it’s foaming nicely, and proceeds to wash all of Eames that he can reach. Eames hisses a little when Arthur presses over the ribs on his left side, and Arthur immediately pushes him away to look. There’s a vicious bruise blooming about a palm’s width across his side; Arthur hisses himself when he sees it, remembering the way Eames had slammed against the rocky river bank in his haste to get out of the water.
“Jesus, that’s nasty,” he winces and draws the washcloth over it again, much more gently. Eames inhales sharply, but doesn’t stop him.
When they’re both clean, and the water is starting to cool, they rub each other dry and reconvene in front of the tiny space heater allocated to the bigger double bedroom (even though it’s barely a few inches wider than the standard single). Arthur’s bags have miraculously appeared on the other side of the bed -- so that’s what Eames was doing while Arthur claimed dibs on the shower. That slightly uncertain look is back in Eames’ eyes; Arthur decides he hates it with a passion.
“Eames, stop,” he tells him sternly. “Stop questioning yourself, this. I’m here, of my own free will -- I’ve made my choice, and it’s you, us, together. Please don’t second-guess me. This is all there is to see,” he finishes, arms spread open, nothing between them but air. He can’t even feel embarrassed about that little speech, not when the truth of it fills him so completely.
Eames beams like he’s finally got everything he could wish for; it lights up the whole room and warms Arthur more than all the hot water in the world. He buries his hand in Arthur’s hair and pulls him closer, and Arthur lets him -- lets him press their lips together again, makes no protest when Eames draws him down on the bed and tosses their towels away. He insinuates himself between Arthur’s thighs and starts rocking forward, rubbing their hardening cocks together until Arthur’s buckling into him and he’s panting harshly into Arthur’s open mouth, grabbing onto his shoulders for leverage and thrusting against him violently. Arthur lets go of the death grip he has on Eames’ ass with one hand and wriggles it between them to squeeze their cocks together, slicking water and precome along both shafts and tugging hard. Eames muffles groans of Arthur’s name into Arthur’s shoulder, drags his plush, kiss-bruised lips over the salty skin and bites down on the spot between shoulder and neck, jerking fitfully as he spills over Arthur’s hand and splatters his lower belly.
Arthur strokes him through his release before letting him slip through his fist; Arthur looks wrecked, hair tousled over the pillow, pupils lust-blown until there’s only the tiniest ring of brown around the black. Eames kisses him deeply, still a little out of breath, and wraps sure fingers around Arthur’s, smearing come over the length jumping between their hands. Arthur throws his head back, letting out a groan through his teeth that the rest of the hotel would be hard-pressed to ignore. He feels Eames add a twist to the frantic strokes, looks down to see the reddened head of his prick peek through their fists and weep precome at every stroke, and he can’t help the way his hips lift to push it further into the tight grip. Eames drags a thumb through the slit, presses inside as he sucks one of Arthur’s nipples between his lips -- and that’s it; Arthur’s tired stomach muscles spasm and he curls forward with the violence of his orgasm, bites his lip hard to keep his moans from waking up the village.
When Eames lifts his wet hand to his mouth and sucks Arthur’s come off his fingers, Arthur swears he blacks out for a moment from the sheer eroticism of the sight. Eames outright collapses on top of him when he’s done, and it feels so good to have Eames’ weight press him into the mattress, to have him tuck his face into Arthur’s neck, to feel him exhale open-mouthed content over sweat-damp skin, that Arthur can do little else but breathe into it and marvel at just how ridiculously happy it makes him. Eames shifts to lie half-off him after a moment, gropes for one of the discarded towels and wipes them off unhurriedly, then tugs at the covers until he can draw them over both their prone bodies. And then, he pillows his head on Arthur’s shoulder, insinuates a leg between Arthur’s and drops off to sleep like a log without managing to utter a single word bar a few pleased little purrs through smiling lips.
Arthur strokes his fingers through Eames’ damp strands and tries to stop grinning like a loon. He keeps trying until he follows Eames under not long afterwards, but he’s pretty sure he fails.
~~
Arthur isn’t too surprised when he finds out that the camera had managed to capture most of their ‘shared body heat’ experience, as well as the entirety of the dialogue thereof. He doesn’t dare to look at the forum after Cobb airs it -- but Eames does, and he reports a fairly even show of bashing and squeeing, so Arthur counts that as a success. If he’s lucky, it might even stop Cobb displaying every private moment he and Eames ever catch on set all over National television; that would be a flat-out win in his book.
He forgets all about it the next time Eames tries to get himself killed, crossing the Everglades. Once he’s crawled his way out of the swamp and Arthur has finished yelling himself hoarse at him, he puts the camera away and proceeds to kiss the living daylights out of the stupid man. He doesn’t even care who might be watching.
END
Title: The vital importance of fangirls to one's love life
Word count: 5,900
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: a very minor squick at the start (from the camel episode -- you'll know what I mean if you've seen it), possible grounds for sexual harrasment at the workplace (it is Eames), fangirls, a tiny bit of meta. No animals or Eameses were harmed in the writing of this fic.
Disclaimer: If you recognise it, it's not mine. Ultimate Survival and Inception belong to their respective creators.
Summary: Ultimate Survival AU (Man Vs Wild in the States). Follows the trials and tribulations of Eames trying to commit suicide by nature and Arthur tearing his hair out in the process. A judicious application of fangirl squee finally gets them to admit they might feel more for each other than a simple camera man/presenter relationship.
Notes: This assumes prior knowledge of the show's dynamic, but it's not essential to understanding it. This story owes pretty much its entire existence to the "Behind the Wild" episode, which details what actually happens during the filming of an episode/series. I've tried to stick to canon (as it details it) as closely as possible.
The vital importance of fangirls to one's love life
Watching Eames disembowel a dead camel is not really in the top ten sexiest sights Arthur has ever had the pleasure of seeing. Nevertheless, the way those hands grasp the slippery knife handle, the way those ridiculous lips thin in concentration, the way the smooth muscles in those shoulders shift and flex underneath the thin shirt soaked with sweat, well.
Arthur holds the camera as still as he can, years of training kicking in where his arms are trying to weaken. He should be used to sights like this, both gruesome and unbearably sexy. And then Eames opens his mouth and starts explaining what he’s doing and why, and it all gets a little blurry in Arthur’s head. While there’s always a team on hand to do the research on everything Eames and Dom (the producer) want to include in an episode, more often than not Eames has all the information already stored somewhere in that huge brain of his. Honestly, how the hell does he know that thing about a camel’s bladder? Is the man the anthropomorphic personification of Google?
If there’s one thing that gets Arthur more hot and bothered than competence, it’s a competent man who is good with his hands and can recite the anatomy of damn near every mammal out there, as well as their known habitats and how to capture them most effectively. Arthur is one of the few people who know that Eames actually adores animals of all shapes and sizes, and has to struggle with himself every time he needs to hunt and kill them during an episode’s filming. This is doing nothing for Arthur’s self-control.
Eames makes a face, but drinks the water he has unearthed in the camel’s stomach. The entire crew on site cringes as one man; Arthur is torn between horrified laughter and just plain horrified. They finish the shot a few minutes later, with Eames heading on across the desert. Arthur puts the camera down, flexing his arms a little with the weight.
“That was disgusting,” Eames announces to the world. “If I never have to do that again, it’ll be too soon.”
Arthur privately agrees, but what he says is “Oh, stop moaning, you big baby.”
“That is not moaning, Arthur. I’d be delighted to demonstrate what real moaning sounds like later, if you like.” The lecherous smile on his face is a familiar if worrying sight.
Behind Arthur, Ariadne’s giggles are not as muffled as she thinks. Arthur rolls his eyes, with feeling.
“That come-on would be a lot more effective if you didn’t have camel intestines stuck to your shirt,” he opines.
Eames’ eyes snap down to his shirt (a frankly demented yellow-patterned monstrosity that in no way camouflages him), mouth already open in preparation for more wailing. He throws Arthur a murderous look when he sees it has pretty much escaped unscathed (more’s the pity).
“Worth a try,” Arthur shrugs. Ariadne is now howling behind him.
“Why must you be so unutterably cruel to me, darling?” Eames does wail now.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Get. A. Room,” Yusuf groans, walking over to the camel and calling forward a few members of the hired help to take the poor thing away and do whatever they feel is necessary with the remains.
“It’s not for lack of trying,” Eames supplies, but he’s already headed over to where Dom’s conferring with one of the experts on site to discuss the next shot, so Arthur doesn’t bother replying. Eames is... Eames. When he’s not getting battered nearly to death by the elements, flirting with Arthur is his default setting. He doesn’t mean anything by it.
~~
“Now, if you get caught unprepared in the desert when night falls, the best thing you could do is find shelter as soon as you possibly can. This cave I’ve just come across is excellent for just that purpose. I’m going to use the stems of the Devil’s Walkingstick, a shrub that grows copiously in this area, to provide some cover for the opening. The young stems are covered in sharp spines, so this will give me protection from some of the smaller animals; and it gives off a scent that will get rid of any insects in the vicinity. It’s a useful plant, the Devil’s Walkingstick. Just be incredibly careful of the spines, or you’re going to be in a lot of pain until you manage to dig them out.”
The crew watches Eames carefully as he cuts the plant’s stalks and arranges them against the opening of the cave. He’s very cautious, working quickly but thoroughly.
“When you’re in any kind of desert, conserving body heat is absolutely vital. I’m going to show you how to build a fire in a little while, but the best thing really would be if you’re stranded with another person. Sadly, we’re not so lucky 90% of the time. If you are, though, the most effective way of keeping warm is to take your clothes off. A contradiction, yes -- but skin-to-skin contact really is best in these cases.” Eames stops, looks thoughtful, and then grins cheekily, shooting Arthur a glance. Arthur feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “To demonstrate,” Eames goes on, “please welcome my lovely assistant. Arthur, come out here!”
Arthur blanches. “Eames, this isn’t in the script!”
“Come on, Arthur, be a sport,” Eames cajoles.
“Get Yusuf to do it! He’s not holding a camera and shooting your ugly mug!”
“Darling, you wound me if you think I’m going to share body heat with anyone but you!”
Arthur can feel his cheeks warm; it pisses him off and distracts him from his surroundings -- which he realises is a Bad Move when Yusuf grabs the camera off him and pushes him into the frame.
“There he is! Everyone, this is Arthur, the best camera man on TV, and the only person who can keep up with yours truly. Most of the time.”
“You are not seriously going to air this, are you?” Arthur asks, balking.
Dom looks serious enough, but there’s a telltale shake in his shoulders. “It’s good for ratings, Arthur, of course I’m going to air it.”
“I’m not your trained monkey, Eames!”
“Come now, darling, it’s just a demonstration! Think of how many lives we could save if we show the proper method of keeping warm to some poor future struggling tourists!” Eames gives him his best pleading expression.
“I’m not taking my clothes off,” Arthur grunts, but nods his extremely reluctant agreement.
Eames looks disappointed for a moment, but rallies quickly enough, turning back to the camera. “Okay, what you should do for a person suffering from hypothermia is warm them gently, allowing the warming blood to circulate slowly enough so that the person doesn’t go into shock when it reaches the heart. Get as close as you can to them, literally wrap yourself around them, like so.” He demonstrates.
Arthur tries not to squirm when Eames’ hot, solid body presses to him tightly, Eames’ arms solid around his back. Arthur can feel the soft puffs of Eames' breath going in and out, the strong thump of the heart in his chest, the way his exhales ruffle the hair behind Arthur's ear. Eames' arms shift against his back, fingers catching in his shirt and pressing soothing circles against his spine. Eames makes this soft sound in the back of his throat, almost a purr, and rubs his cheek against Arthur's, rough stubble prickling the sensitive skin of his jaw. Arthur has never felt so uncomfortable in his life, and that includes that mortifying time when he’d got a stiffie in biology class when he’d been fifteen.
He has also never felt safer. He tries not to think about that as he closes his eyes and fights not to lean into it.
“Okay, once you’ve warmed each other up, you’ll need to keep both of you that way. Wrap every scrap of clothing you have around the other person and stay close by in case you need to share body heat again. Meanwhile, you can start working on keeping yourself warm. Thank you ever so much, Arthur, you’re a star.”
Arthur is released from what could only be called ‘the hug’, and staggers slightly as he regains his balance. His face is absolutely flaming -- from embarrassment, to be sure, and not at all because of the way Eames’ body had felt, pressed so close to him that he could feel every twitch of hard muscle. He walks over to Yusuf as slowly as he can make himself -- he’s not running away. He ignores the smirks on everyone’s faces as he retrieves his camera and settles back into work mode.
“Now, to light the fire, you take two of the Devil’s Walkingstick stems and you...”
Arthur barely remembers the rest of the day’s shoot.
~~
“This cannot be happening,” Arthur mumbles, staring at the computer screen.
“I assure you it is,” Dom says, smirking smugly. Arthur wants to smack it off his face.
“What--this--I--” his mouth opens and closes for a few moments.
“‘Fangirls’ is the word you’re looking for. Ratings have gone through the roof. Through the roof, Arthur. As far as I’m concerned, from now on you’re not to stray further than ten feet away from Eames at all times.”
“I don’t believe this,” Arthur splutters. He feels like rubbing the heels of his hands in his eyes, but he doesn’t think it’ll erase what he’s seen. Fanfiction. What is wrong with people these days?!
“Oh, and here’s another one,” Dom gloats shamelessly as he types into the LiveJournal site search. “There’s a community about the two of you,
eames_arthur, look, see?”Arthur needs to sit down.
“I think it’s brilliant,” Eames supplies happily from behind him. “Those girls are certainly observant and creative, and have a hell of an imagination. I like that in a person.”
“You’re encouraging this?!” Arthur squawks.
“Arthur, I’m encouraging this,” Dom says, grinning like a maniac. “This is the best thing that’s happened to the show.”
“Hey, maybe we could put a forum on the website, give them a chance to chat to each other?”
“Excellent idea! I’ll call Saito right now!” Exeunt Dom and Eames, conferring madly.
“How is this my world,” Arthur asks no one in particular.
~~
“Okay, we’ve come to a dead end. The river goes underground from here on, so there’s no way of following it above-ground any more -- and we need to keep an eye on it, or we’re going to get hopelessly lost again. There’s a natural cavern here, where the water falls through; it’s just about large enough. I’m going to try to squeeze through, see if we can keep following the river.”
Eames starts taking his gear off; the crew watches anxiously. They haven’t been able to check this through, because it’s got to either be checked in person or be abandoned. There’s no way of knowing what’s underneath the cavern, or how deep it goes.
“There’s a massive network of caves underneath our feet, going on for miles in either direction. So, theoretically, we should be able to enter through a cavern just like this one.” Eames starts lowering himself through the gap. “It’s an extremely tight fit... I have to compress my ribcage, so I’m going to exhale... and see how far that’ll get me...”
The air rushes out of his lungs, and he starts squirming lower. Arthur’s heart is in his mouth; he almost chokes when it looks like Eames gets stuck, one arm above his head and one pushing at the rock, trying to slide his body further. He lets out an involuntary gasp of relief when Eames slips through.
“Are you alright?” he yells, uncaring of the camera still on his shoulder as he rushes forward, shining the light through the gap in the rock.
“I’m okay, I’m fine,” Eames yells back. He hasn’t dropped that far, but the sound echoes off the walls as if he’s miles underground. “In you come.”
Arthur passes the camera down to him and squeezes himself through the tight cavern. His frame is narrower than Eames’, and it’s easier for him to drop down. This is when his own military training kicks in, and he finds it easy to keep his balance when his feet touch the cave’s floor.
“Don’t ever fucking do that again, you absolute idiot,” he snaps, eyes roaming over Eames’ frame, searching out contusions and bruises, and checking whether he’s favouring any limbs because of a bad landing. He manfully resists the urge to smack him on the shoulder -- or something.
“Christ, Arthur, you worry-hen. I’m fine, look, it’s all good.” Eames spreads his arms to illustrate, like he’s inviting Arthur’s eyes to run over his body.
Arthur huffs, irritated and relieved in equal parts. He re-appropriates the camera and nods at Eames to keep going.
“Just be careful, alright?” he mutters, not meeting Eames’ eye.
Eames’ smile brightens the small, dark place. “Of course, darling. I have you to think of,” he says, eyes warm.
By the time Arthur realises that the camera has been rolling the entire time, it’s already too late -- Dom’s gone ahead and aired the whole thing, including his frantic panicking when Eames had had to dive in the river under a segment of rock, to see if the cave continued on the other side. It had been the five most terrifying minutes of Arthur’s life, thinking that Eames might have gotten stuck underwater, with no air and no way of getting out. His knees had almost buckled when Eames had resurfaced, grinning hugely and giving him two thumbs up while he’d been sucking air in huge gulps.
He hadn’t even been aware of muttering “Come on, come on, please” under his breath the entire time, not until he’d seen the tape on National television. His sister had called him. She had been absolutely merciless in her ribbing. He is going to murder Dom in cold blood; he could so take Mal. Eames is going to be unbearable.
~~
It is, therefore, with some surprise and immediate suspicion that he notices no change in Eames’ behaviour towards him. He’s just as cheerfully obnoxious and annoyingly flirtatious as always. Arthur wants to flat out ask him what gives, but he doesn’t dare question his good fortune for fear of what it might result in.
Later that week he finds Ariadne and Yusuf giggling at the screen of the crew’s official laptop. It’s open on the site’s forum, and Arthur can only imagine what depravity the fangirls have concocted about him and Eames this time. When the forum had gone live the month before, Arthur had logged on purely out of professional interest. He’s the camera man; he needs to keep abreast of the things the fans like, so he could pay particular attention to getting the money shots in there.
What he had found had been eye-opening, to say the least. A particular exchange had burned itself into his brain, never to leave him alone.
Fangirl 1:
OMG OMG DID YOU SEE EAMES’ FACE WHEN HE DRAGGED ARTHUR IN FRONT OF THE CAMERAS AND PRACTICALLY HUMPED HIM ON THE SPOT?!
Fangirl 2:
OMG YESSSSS HE WAS ADORABLE, THEY SO WANT IN EACH OTHER’S PANTS OMG ARTHUR IS SO HAWT
It had gone on for some time. Out of some sort of morbid curiosity, he had tracked down the
eames_arthur community that Cobb had been on about, and the things he’d found there didn’t bear talking about. He had blushed furiously, even though he had been all alone in his hotel room at the time. They’d written stories about them; about them falling in love, about Arthur getting hurt and Eames saving him, about Eames getting hurt and Arthur flipping his shit...There had been porn. It had been like a car crash -- he literally hadn’t been able to stop reading it. Arthur is never admitting to what had happened to the complimentary box of tissues the hotel had supplied.
Ariadne lets out an absolute howl of mirth; Yusuf has his hand over his mouth, but his eyes are dancing with glee. Eames stands a little way behind them, peering down into the screen. The expression on his face is... unsettling. He looks wistful, sad almost. What are they writing about him? Arthur fumes inwardly. They’d better not be slagging Eames off, or they’re going to get a piece of Arthur’s mind that’s going to keep them up at night.
He frowns at the three of them, but only Eames notices that he’s standing there. For a fraction of a moment, he looks almost vulnerable at the sight of him; and then the shutters come down and his face closes off completely. The trademark grin is back, and for the first time Arthur recognises it for the mask it is. The thought that Eames feels the need to keep himself closed off from him unsettles Arthur so much that he has to look away. He gnaws on his lower lip in hesitation -- he wants to say something, but has no idea what.
“Come along, gossip on your own time, will you -- we have to fly to Siberia in the morning,” Cobb barks, rounding them up, and the moment’s gone.
Cobb herds them back onto the current set, and Arthur can literally see work mode settle over Eames like a cloak. Arthur’s restless for the rest of the shoot, though he doesn’t quite know why.
~~
That night, instead of packing his bags like he should be doing, Arthur stares at his laptop’s screen and seriously considers declaring himself delusional. There is no way that what he thought was happening is, in fact, really happening.
nomiko_chan
No no no, really, dude, go watch it NOW. You can’t not have seen it.
kattie_n
It can’t be all that, surely.
nomiko_chan
GIRL, DO IT NOW.
kattie_n
Fine, Jesus. Brb.
kattie_n
THIS CAN’T BE REAL. IT’S GOT TO BE STAGED.
nomiko_chan
IT’S NOT. IT’ SHOT LIVE.
kattie_n
OMG HOLY CRAP!! ARTHUR!!!! *SQUEEEE*
nomiko_chan
IRK???? HE TOTALLY LOVES EAMES!!
kattie_n
AND EAMES, EAMES’S FACE WHEN ARTHUR AS GOOD AS SAYS HE’S WORRIED ABOUT HIM!!!!!1!
nomiko_chan
I KNOOOOOOW!!! :DDDD THEY ARE SO HOT FOR EACH OTHER!!
kattie_n
ARTHUR WANTS EAMES’S ASS!! *GLEEFACE*
nomiko_chan
EAMES THOUGH OMFG THAT MAN IS HEAD OVER HEALS FOR ARTHUR!!
kattie_n
HE TOTALLY IS!!!! OMG ARTHUR IS SO UNBELIEVABLY LUCKY!!
He is not, Arthur thinks, shocked out of his wits. It’s just Eames; he flirts but he doesn’t mean anything by it! And I don’t want his ass, either!
It’s simply unfair how bad he is at lying to himself. His treacherous mind pulls out Eames’ face from that very afternoon; the wistfulness, the longing, the vulnerability. “Oh my god. Eames is in love with me.” His voice sounds choked and his heart stutters, does its best to climb out of his throat. Eames. Is in love with him. Something bursts viciously to life in his chest, so warm, so bright and all-encompassing that it literally makes him choke a little. Oh god. He does want Eames’ ass, and not just his ass, either. He is completely screwed.
~~
Forty hours later, Eames falls into a frozen river. On purpose, the utter asshole.
Arthur hadn’t been able to quite look him in the eye when they’d all piled into the airport the previous morning, all of them bleary-eyed at the ass o’clock hour they’d been routed out of their beds for. Yusuf had promptly collapsed in one of the horrible plastic chairs and immediately dropped off to sleep, Ariadne curled into his side. Eames had slumped in a corner, blinking groggily at Cobb’s rapidly pacing figure. Arthur had been unable to stay still, four hours of sleep and middle-of-the-night earth-shattering revelations notwithstanding. He’d harassed an instant coffee machine until it had yielded a cup of truly despicable coffee that he had nevertheless inhaled greedily. He’d kept throwing surreptitious glances at Eames, trying to see any evidence of him really feeling anything for Arthur besides a mild fondness -- but at half-four in the morning, he’d have been shocked to see anything more than a soul-deep desire for his bed (which had been there, alright).
The three long flights had been gruelling; Arthur had spent them alternating between worrying and trying to work. Only one of those efforts had been successful. Almost twenty-three hours since they’d started out, they’d staggered, utterly and completely exhausted, into the one hotel that the tiny town in the middle of nowhere had been able to provide. They had taken up the entire place -- it had no more than four single bedrooms and one double, which Eames had landed by means of cheating at the draw of toothpicks that Ariadne had insisted on. She had looked as disappointed as the need to faceplant into her bed had permitted, and Eames had been just about as gleeful.
And now they’re alone at the frozen river bank, as the air temperature is absurd and the crew has stayed behind at the hotel so as not to impersonate human icicles. They’ve already scouted the terrain ahead, however, and Eames and Arthur are following a pre-designed route; and besides, their GPS coordinates are being safely transmitted to a laptop in the cozy hotel lobby. Arthur doesn’t hate them. Really.
Especially now, when both of them are naked as the day they were born and Arthur doesn’t even have the time to admire Eames’ beautifully toned body (black tattoos stark against white skin mottled from the cold), much less feel embarrassed about being naked in Eames’ presence for the first time -- because he’s busy freezing his bollocks off, and preparing to jump into the below-zero water right on Eames’ heels, and being abjectly terrified that they are both going to catch their deaths out here in this frozen wasteland, and he will die without ever having known the pleasure of kissing the infuriating, wonderful man.
He’s trembling so hard that he can barely hold the camera up, never mind listen to Eames explain what he’s doing as he’s packing both their clothes away in the backpacks and throwing them across the river so they are still dry when they emerge on the other side. They can survive being wet and naked for a few minutes -- but if their clothes get wet, too, it’s game over for both of them.
Eames takes a few deep breaths, gets himself in his zone, and searches Arthur’s eyes. Arthur nods at him and they both jump straight in. The freezing water makes his skin feel like it’s flaying off; the shock leaves him yelping and swearing with as much breath as he can spare from the way his lungs have locked. The camera gets covered in ice crystals while he struggles to keep it trained on Eames, who is already across the water and scrabbling to climb out on the other side, his teeth chattering so hard that Arthur can hear them over his own.
“Come on, come on,” Eames gasps, turning around immediately and reaching out to help Arthur up. “Pass the camera, come on, I’ve got it, come on up now.” He puts the camera down and pulls Arthur out of the water as quickly as his shaking limbs allow. “You okay? Arthur?”
“Fine,” Arthur manages to push out from behind gritted teeth as Eames rubs briskly at his arms, trying to warm him up.
“Come on, let’s--let’s get you dressed,” Eames stutters, turning and unpacking Arthur’s clothes from the backpack.
“Oh god,” Arthur gasps, shivering violently, muscles cramping and sending him bucking forward to fold himself in half, as if that could keep the bitter cold out. They’d done training in the military for sub-zero temperatures, but they’ve never had to cross a frozen river naked, or keep themselves together when the man they’re in love with is hurrying towards them in all his naked glory, holding a spare t-shirt with which to wipe them dry and push them into their clothes, all while he is himself still shaking from the same cold.
“Fuck this,” Arthur snarls, and pounces.
Eames feels so damn chilled when Arthur wraps himself around him that Arthur is seriously worried about his health.
“Arthur,” Eames breathes against his neck even as his arms clutch at Arthur’s waist, “what--”
“Shared body heat,” Arthur mumbles, and it’s enough; Eames melts in his arms, pressing himself to Arthur’s body as close as he can get without climbing inside.
“You stupid man,” Arthur says in his ear, squeezing his arms around him and burrowing closer. “Why do you persist in trying to kill yourself in new and inventive ways?”
“Didn’t know you cared,” Eames grunts, still shaking, although less than he had done two minutes ago.
“Shut up, wanker, of course I fucking care,” he growls, pulls his face away from Eames’ neck and looks at him for only a moment before leaning forward and kissing him with everything he has.
Eames makes a surprised sound in his throat, followed by what sounds suspiciously like a whimper as he opens to the kiss. Arthur licks his way into that gorgeous mouth, wanting Eames to kiss him back so desperately that it takes him a while to process that he is. It’s warm in Eames’ mouth, such a drastic difference from the temperature of the air that it makes Arthur dizzy, makes him grip Eames’ broad, solid shoulders for dear life.
“Idiot,” Arthur manages again, when they feel considerably warmer. “I can’t believe it took you this long.”
“Hey, you weren’t exactly Mr Perceptive yourself,” Eames counters, pressing another quick kiss to Arthur’s no-longer-blue lips before pushing him away, and proceeds to poke and prod him into his clothes. “Come on, let’s finish this shoot and get the hell back to the hotel, the daylight’s going as it is and I’m already heartily sick of this place.”
Arthur picks up the camera obediently and trains it steadily on Eames, swollen pink lips and all. He barely spares a thought of how this is going to look when Cobb gets his hands on that tape, but he discovers to his surprise (and smug satisfaction) that he could care less. Eames is his, and it’s time that everyone knows that he is off the market for good.
~~
The hot water feels absolutely blissful on his cold-numbed skin. He drops his head back and lets it flow over his stiff muscles, chasing away the last of the bone-deep chill he’s been fighting ever since they’d gotten dressed and filmed the last of the river sequence. Eames had kept shooting him those cautious looks, as if he’d expected Arthur to turn around and tell him it’s all been a big mistake. Every time Arthur had smiled softly at him instead, Eames’ own smile had turned wider and wider, until at the end of the day’s filming he’d been positively beaming. Arthur has discovered that he likes that look on Eames very, very much indeed.
The door opens behind him and Eames sneaks his way into the shower stall, which is definitely not big enough for two grown men. Neither seems to mind. Eames is shaking a little, holding himself tucked into his core for warmth -- but when the hot spray hits his skin he groans and relaxes, unfurling his limbs and leaning into it and the other occupant of the shower. Arthur smiles and reaches for his nape to tug him closer; he kisses him softly, deeply, pressing into his rapidly warming body and running wet hands all over his back. Eames leans into the kiss, shifting them so the spray is hitting both of them equally.
It’s slow, messy, perfect -- wet skin slipping together, stroking chests and arms and nipples and thighs, half-hard cocks rubbing languidly. They’re both too exhausted for anything more energetic, but Arthur can’t remember the last time when he’d felt so blissfully content just holding someone and shifting their bodies together. Eames breaks the kiss and slips his mouth along Arthur’s jawline, down his neck, sucking a little and licking the rest of the way. Arthur lets his eyes drift closed, savouring the delicious way their stubble catches, the way Eames’ strong shoulders feel under his hands.
Eames kisses the spot behind Arthur’s ear and buries his nose there, using his extra bulk to pin Arthur to the tiles. Arthur smiles fondly at Eames’ tired-but-happy humming, rubs the bar of woodsy-scented soap over the washcloth until it’s foaming nicely, and proceeds to wash all of Eames that he can reach. Eames hisses a little when Arthur presses over the ribs on his left side, and Arthur immediately pushes him away to look. There’s a vicious bruise blooming about a palm’s width across his side; Arthur hisses himself when he sees it, remembering the way Eames had slammed against the rocky river bank in his haste to get out of the water.
“Jesus, that’s nasty,” he winces and draws the washcloth over it again, much more gently. Eames inhales sharply, but doesn’t stop him.
When they’re both clean, and the water is starting to cool, they rub each other dry and reconvene in front of the tiny space heater allocated to the bigger double bedroom (even though it’s barely a few inches wider than the standard single). Arthur’s bags have miraculously appeared on the other side of the bed -- so that’s what Eames was doing while Arthur claimed dibs on the shower. That slightly uncertain look is back in Eames’ eyes; Arthur decides he hates it with a passion.
“Eames, stop,” he tells him sternly. “Stop questioning yourself, this. I’m here, of my own free will -- I’ve made my choice, and it’s you, us, together. Please don’t second-guess me. This is all there is to see,” he finishes, arms spread open, nothing between them but air. He can’t even feel embarrassed about that little speech, not when the truth of it fills him so completely.
Eames beams like he’s finally got everything he could wish for; it lights up the whole room and warms Arthur more than all the hot water in the world. He buries his hand in Arthur’s hair and pulls him closer, and Arthur lets him -- lets him press their lips together again, makes no protest when Eames draws him down on the bed and tosses their towels away. He insinuates himself between Arthur’s thighs and starts rocking forward, rubbing their hardening cocks together until Arthur’s buckling into him and he’s panting harshly into Arthur’s open mouth, grabbing onto his shoulders for leverage and thrusting against him violently. Arthur lets go of the death grip he has on Eames’ ass with one hand and wriggles it between them to squeeze their cocks together, slicking water and precome along both shafts and tugging hard. Eames muffles groans of Arthur’s name into Arthur’s shoulder, drags his plush, kiss-bruised lips over the salty skin and bites down on the spot between shoulder and neck, jerking fitfully as he spills over Arthur’s hand and splatters his lower belly.
Arthur strokes him through his release before letting him slip through his fist; Arthur looks wrecked, hair tousled over the pillow, pupils lust-blown until there’s only the tiniest ring of brown around the black. Eames kisses him deeply, still a little out of breath, and wraps sure fingers around Arthur’s, smearing come over the length jumping between their hands. Arthur throws his head back, letting out a groan through his teeth that the rest of the hotel would be hard-pressed to ignore. He feels Eames add a twist to the frantic strokes, looks down to see the reddened head of his prick peek through their fists and weep precome at every stroke, and he can’t help the way his hips lift to push it further into the tight grip. Eames drags a thumb through the slit, presses inside as he sucks one of Arthur’s nipples between his lips -- and that’s it; Arthur’s tired stomach muscles spasm and he curls forward with the violence of his orgasm, bites his lip hard to keep his moans from waking up the village.
When Eames lifts his wet hand to his mouth and sucks Arthur’s come off his fingers, Arthur swears he blacks out for a moment from the sheer eroticism of the sight. Eames outright collapses on top of him when he’s done, and it feels so good to have Eames’ weight press him into the mattress, to have him tuck his face into Arthur’s neck, to feel him exhale open-mouthed content over sweat-damp skin, that Arthur can do little else but breathe into it and marvel at just how ridiculously happy it makes him. Eames shifts to lie half-off him after a moment, gropes for one of the discarded towels and wipes them off unhurriedly, then tugs at the covers until he can draw them over both their prone bodies. And then, he pillows his head on Arthur’s shoulder, insinuates a leg between Arthur’s and drops off to sleep like a log without managing to utter a single word bar a few pleased little purrs through smiling lips.
Arthur strokes his fingers through Eames’ damp strands and tries to stop grinning like a loon. He keeps trying until he follows Eames under not long afterwards, but he’s pretty sure he fails.
~~
Arthur isn’t too surprised when he finds out that the camera had managed to capture most of their ‘shared body heat’ experience, as well as the entirety of the dialogue thereof. He doesn’t dare to look at the forum after Cobb airs it -- but Eames does, and he reports a fairly even show of bashing and squeeing, so Arthur counts that as a success. If he’s lucky, it might even stop Cobb displaying every private moment he and Eames ever catch on set all over National television; that would be a flat-out win in his book.
He forgets all about it the next time Eames tries to get himself killed, crossing the Everglades. Once he’s crawled his way out of the swamp and Arthur has finished yelling himself hoarse at him, he puts the camera away and proceeds to kiss the living daylights out of the stupid man. He doesn’t even care who might be watching.
END
no subject
Date: 2011-01-15 01:40 pm (UTC)