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Port au Prince

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Arthur was standing on the balcony of their hotel room. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his shirt was unbuttoned, and he was barefoot. It was the most erotic thing Eames had ever seen.

“Darling,” Eames said as he followed Arthur out into the Caribbean sunlight, “consider me impressed. I wasn't sure it was genetically possible for you to take a proper holiday.”

“Sometimes I forget how funny you are,” Arthur replied. His tone was dry, but Eames could see the faintest indentations of his dimples.

Eames himself was wearing nothing but a pair of ragged old jeans and a grin, and when he pressed Arthur back against the balcony railing, Arthur rested a hand on his naked stomach. It was exciting to be allowed to touch Arthur this way, to be able to crowd into his personal space and not be shoved back to arm's length. He bowed his head and nibbled on the curve of Arthur's shoulder just because he could.

“God, don't you ever get enough?” Arthur sighed, but the exasperation in his voice was affectionate.

Eames made a throaty, noncommittal sound, and slid a hand into Arthur's shirt, smoothed his palm up Arthur's side and fit his fingers into the notches between Arthur's ribs. Arthur's skin was warm and just a little bit sticky from humidity, and Eames dragged his tongue up the side of Arthur's neck for a taste of soap and salty air.

“Inside?” Arthur murmured.

“Whatever for?”

“Eames.” Arthur sighed and tried to shove him away, but Eames was ready for it and didn't budge. “Eames seriously, it's broad daylight.”

“I know,” Eames replied. He skimmed his hand down Arthur's side and gave his hip a squeeze. “That's the point.”

Arthur looked at him, first with vague disbelief, then with vague irritation. For a split second, Eames was sure he was about to refuse, but then his expression hardened and his eyes narrowed, and it was all Eames could do to keep himself from laughing. The surest way to get Arthur to do something was to turn it into an unspoken dare.

Their hotel room was on the top floor of a four story building, and since the balcony railing was solid stucco, no one could see them from the street. Still, they would have been easily visible from their neighbor's balconies, and for Eames, that was part of the thrill.

“Sit,” Arthur said. He gave Eames a shove backwards, and Eames obediently fell back into one of the wicker chairs they'd dragged outside from the in-suite dining area.

“You know, pet, if I'd known this suggestion would be met with such enthusiasm, I would have brought it up a long time ago.” Eames grinned.

“Shut it,” Arthur said.

Eames' grin faded when Arthur sank to his knees and pushed Eames' legs apart so he could fit between them.

“Oh,” Arthur said, obviously surprised. “You didn't think I'd actually go through with it, did you?” He looked intrigued at first, and maybe a little amused, but then he merely hummed in acceptance and leaned in to drag his tongue across Eames' stomach.

“No, I guess I didn't,” Eames admitted. His voice had already gone a bit hoarse. He carded his fingers through Arthur's hair, trying to focus on something other than the heat threading its way through his veins, but he couldn't stop watching Arthur's tongue. “God,” he breathed, “I think I could come just from watching your mouth, love.”

“Do you?” Arthur chuckled between soft bites to the skin around Eames' navel. “Should I test that?” He shifted so that his lips were nuzzling Eames' cock through his jeans, then flicked a smoldering glance at Eames through his lashes. “Or should I keep going and take it out, right here in broad daylight where anyone could look over and see me playing with your thick, gorgeous cock? Do you want them to watch me suck you off, Eames? See how much of it I can fit down my throat before I choke?”

“Fuck,” Eames cursed with a full-body shiver. He'd been surprised the first time Arthur-- his straight-laced little Arthur-- had spoken that way to him in bed, and the shock had never really worn off. “You're so incredibly hot it's bloody ridiculous.”

“And you're a fucking pervert,” Arthur replied with a fair amount of affection in his voice. He unbuttoned and unzipped Eames' jeans, then tugged them down just far enough to free his cock. Instead of going straight for it, though, he nuzzled his cheek against Eames' inner thigh. “You're getting off on this, aren't you? On having perfect, tidy little Arthur on his knees in his $5,000 trousers, playing with you in public?”

Eames let out a breathless chuckle and reached down to give Arthur's hair a gentle tug. “Sometimes I wonder if you're not actually psychic, pet.”

The smile Arthur flashed him made Eames want to pull Arthur up onto his lap and spend the rest of the afternoon doing nothing but making out in the sun. Arthur seemed to have other ideas, though, because he leaned in to brush his lips and nose against the skin where Eames' balls met the base of his cock, then stuck out his tongue and dragged the tip all the way up the underside of Eames' prick before closing his lips around the head.

“Oh my fucking god, Arthur,” Eames gasped, and grabbed hold of Arthur's hair as sparks of pleasure skittered down his spine. “God, don't ever stop.”

Arthur chuckled around Eames' prick and used one hand to squeeze the base, presumably in case Eames had any intention of coming too soon. He used his other hand to stroke the part of Eames' cock his lips couldn't reach, but after bobbing his head a few times, he pulled back and sucked two fingers into his mouth.

“You,” Eames informed him seriously, and not a little breathlessly, “are the sexiest fucking thing I have ever seen, Arthur.”

The way the corners of Arthur's eyes crinkled when he grinned around his fingers made Eames short of breath. Then, because mercy wasn't something that came naturally to him, Arthur pulled his fingers out of his mouth, took Eames' cock as far down his throat as he could get it, and worked his hand between Eames' thighs to rub a wet finger over his hole.

“Oh god, fu- fuck,” Eames groaned and lifted his hips up to give Arthur better access. He'd experimented quite a bit, and after a lot of trial and error, he'd come to the conclusion that he was both bisexual and a top. That didn't keep him from enjoying a finger up his arse, though, because gay or straight, top or bottom, it felt heavenly to have someone rub his prostate.

And Arthur, the bastard, seemed to know exactly what he was doing.

“Ngh'fuck, darling,” Eames groaned, tugging at Arthur's hair again. “Fuck, you're going to make me come so hard.”

Arthur pulled back and rubbed his jaw, then smirked and said, “Am I? Should I stop, then? It would be a shame if you came already.” He let his free hand take over stroking Eames' cock while easing a slick finger into Eames' body. In a purr, he said, “You love having my fingers up your ass, don't you? Do you want me to keep them there while I blow you, until you come down my throat?”

Eames was too out of breath to reply; he let his head loll back and stared down at Arthur with glazed eyes, praying he'd get the message.

Arthur, bless him, had always been a clever boy.

When Arthur slid his mouth over the head of Eames' cock again, closed his free hand around the rest, and pressed hard against Eames' prostate, it only took a matter of seconds before Eames was coming. He grabbed at the arms of the chair and and clamped down on Arthur's clever, beautiful fingers as his cock jerked inside Arthur's mouth. He could feel the muscles of Arthur's throat flexing around the head, working to swallow every drop, and he let out an embarrassing whimper of Arthur's name.

Arthur held Eames in his mouth, unmoving, until Eames gradually began to relax, then drew back and wiped at his lips. They stared at each other for a few seconds, Arthur with a self-satisfied smirk and Eames with what he was sure was utter adoration, until Eames reached down and tugged Arthur up onto his lap.

“You are amazing,” Eames muttered as he wrapped his arms around Arthur and buried his face in Arthur's neck. “You're so bloody amazing, darling, and you don't even realize it.” He let one hand drift down to the front of Arthur's trousers, but Arthur grabbed his wrist.

“Not yet. I need a few minutes or it'll be too much.”

Eames nodded and reached up to card his fingers through Arthur's hair instead. He let his fingertips trail down the side of Arthur's face, caught his breath when Arthur's eyes fluttered closed, and rubbed his thumb over Arthur's swollen lips. “I never thought I'd see you this relaxed, pet.”

“Don't worry, it won't last,” Arthur replied with a barely-there smile. “I'll be restless and ready to move on to the next job before the week is over.”

“I hate to disappoint you, love, but we don't have a next job, yet,” Eames pointed out with a chuckle.

Arthur opened his eyes to stare down at Eames. “Then we'll have to make one, won't we?”

Eames quirked an eyebrow.

“You're always bragging about what an excellent thief you were before you became a forger,” Arthur said with a smirk-- the sharp-edged, trouble-making smirk he must have picked up from Eames. “And I've never stolen anything before real life, but I can imagine that would be a handy skillset to have in our line of work.”

“Oh, now pet,” Eames chided, “I know of at least one thing you've stolen in real life.”

Arthur's expression shifted from confused to affectionately irritated, and he jabbed a finger into the center of Eames' chest. “Don't say it, Eames. Don't say it, or I swear I'll never have another erection for the rest of my life.”

“We'll see about that,” Eames replied, laughing, and pulled Arthur into another kiss.