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Arthur makes his way to the overcrowded bar and tries to catch the bartender’s attention. He is neutral about crowds until he is forced to make his way through them. It changes his mind about what he is going to order. Cocktails are not going to cut it anymore. He definitely needs some whiskey to get him through the night.
“Darling,” a man’s voice brushes his ear, sounding like too many cigarettes and yet too patient for a crowd, “let me buy you a drink.” A hand squeezes his butt and then slides up the curve before closing itself over his hip. Arthur needs his drink right fucking now.
He snaps his head to the side to tell off whatever drunken lecher has decided to paw at his ass. He is not at a gay club but he has spent the better part of the evening drinking and making out with Mikael till the Cobbs and Ariadne joined them here. He has received more than a few interested looks throughout the evening but no one had dared to touch him so blatantly yet. Arthur knows he is good looking but he also looks much too severe to be on the receiving end of unwarranted groping.
However, the sharp words die in his throat as he is greeted with pale blue eyes and plush lips smiling engagingly at him. Okay, so Arthur has already had a few too many cocktails and he should have taken Mikael’s advice and not gone to get more because he has an insane urge to press his own mouth against those insanely kissable lips.
Arthur knows the guy by sight – he is gay and a regular at the club as well. The first time Arthur saw him, he had been checking Arthur out from afar. Arthur had drawn to his intense gaze against his will. It had been near impossible to look away every time he met his eyes. However, Arthur was a committed man and he had never acted on those feelings. Every time he had seen the other man, he had been here with a different guy, so Arthur assumes that unlike him, the stranger is free to make a move.
Slowly, Arthur realises that he is, indeed, pleased that the other man has finally made a move. This is not good, the small rational part of his mind worries, this is not good at all. In fact, it is frankly a bad thing.
He groans and tries to pull away but there isn’t much space to shift around. The hold around his waist relaxes and the blue-eyed stranger leans forward over the bar. Soon, the bartender makes a beeline in their direction. “Eames,” the bartender greets the pervert next to Arthur. “The usual today?” he asks, barely sparing Arthur a look.
“Blake, love, hello,” Eames says, turning his charming smile towards the bartender. “I think I’m feeling adventurous tonight so I will try your special Negroni and my beautiful companion here would like…”
“A whiskey,” Arthur tells Eames, his eyes fixed on Eames’ visage, unaware of the jealous glare Blake casts his way. “And I’m Arthur,” he adds as he stares into Eames’ eyes as he glances at him.
“Your best bourbon,” Eames finishes with a dazzling smile, “for Arthur here.” As Blake goes to get their drinks, Eames pulls Arthur closer against his side and speaks into his ear. “You look a little tipsy, darling, you should stay with me. I’ll take good care of you.”
Arthur’s gaze flickers over Eames’ strong nose, the smooth clean shaven cheeks and the lips prompting more and more obscene thoughts in his head every second. “I’m fine,” he scowls at his lips but makes no move to back away from the obvious bulk of muscles underneath Eames’ dark red shirt and black jeans. The cologne wafting off him is unfamiliar and makes him heady. “It’s just bloody hard to get drinks,” he adds, making no sense even in his head and is completely fixated on Eames’ strong jaw and muscular neck.
He doesn’t register what Eames replies but once the whiskey is in his hand, Arthur recalls that his boyfriend and friends must be waiting for him. He tears himself away from Eames and it is easy to lose him in the crowd near the bar as he rushes back towards his table.
Mikael is still deep in conversation with Dom when Arthur returns to their booth. Mal is chatting with a guy who must have joined them after Arthur left to buy his drink. He doesn’t recognise him. Ariadne is slumped over the table, head buried in her arms. Arthur kisses Mikael’s neck, distracting him for a moment.
“Babe,” says Mikael, looking disapprovingly at his drink, “I told you that you mustn’t. You’re not going to be able to keep it down.”
However, before Arthur can club together more than a sound of indignation, a warm body slides into the booth next to his.
“Arthur, you dropped your phone, love,” says Eames as Arthur feels irrationally warm under the collars even though he hasn’t had a sip of his bourbon yet. Arthur looks dumbly at the iPhone Eames places on the table in front of him and recognises it as his own, indeed, in its customised Japanese art case. He gives Arthur a fond smile when Arthur glances at him and then turns to meet the company who is looking curiously at him. “You must be Arthur’s friends and ah, Dom, of course.” Arthur glances at Dom in some surprise and then back at Eames, who is exchanging pleasantries with the rest of the people at the table now. Ariadne pulls herself out of her drunken stupor and squints at Eames.
Soon, Eames is one of them, his hand resting inconspicuously on the small of Arthur’s back as he talks across him to Mikael and Dom. Arthur cannot remove it without letting the entire table know that it is there.
Arthur takes a sip from his glass and wrinkles his nose. He had forgotten he didn’t like the way whiskey tasted, not even the best of them. He glances towards Eames’ beautiful orange-red drink and picks up the other glass instead. The first sip bursts bitter in his mouth but Arthur can’t stop. So he decides that he will just pretend that Eames bought him the Negroni instead of the bourbon. Eames looks too busy laughing and chatting to even notice the switching of drinks anyway. Arthur gets quieter as he gets drunker. So he settles for throwing occasional glances at Eames’ animated face and relaxes into his body beside him.
After a while, he notices the glass of whiskey in Eames’ hand and the very next moment, he catches Eames’ eye who gives him an amused secret look. Arthur is just finishing with the cocktail.
“What,” Arthur frowns at him, holding the cocktail protectively.
Eames smirks harder, rubs his lower spine and settles his arm around Arthur’s waist. Arthur looks away. Mikael has got into an argument with Mal’s friend over the war in Middle East and is completely oblivious of Eames’ designs on Arthur. Arthur takes another sip of the stomach churning bitter drink.
“Mikael,” says Eames suddenly, while Arthur is engaged in a staring contest with Ariadne, “can I borrow Arthur for a dance?”
Ariadne snorts, loses the staring contest and rubs her nose. Arthur frowns at Eames. “I don’t dance,” he tells him and then looks at Mikael who has either not noticed Eames’ around him still or doesn’t think that it is a big deal. Knowing Mikael, it is probably the latter. Arthur is the possessive half of the couple. Mikael complains sometimes that he is too serious. Well, sorry for acting like we’re in a committed relationship like I am supposed to, Arthur grumbles in his head but never says out loud. He is also the more diplomatic half.
“Of course not,” Mikael says cheerily and Arthur rolls his eyes as he winks at him. “If you can actually get him to dance, tell me what tricks you used,” he jokes and kisses Arthur’s lips. “Go on, babe,” he urges him. Arthur sighs in exasperation and pushes at Eames who quickly moves out. Ariadne gives him a knowing grin and a thumbs-up as leaves. Arthur makes a face at her.
They lose sight of their table as they head towards the dance floor. As Arthur is engulfed by the growing surge of bodies and music, his head swimming in alcohol, he almost begins to believe that he is here with Eames alone, free to give in to any urges that have started welling up in him ever since he first set his eyes on Eames. In his inebriated state, it is hard to feel guilty about it, too. It is easy to stop thinking about Mikael and focus solely on Eames and Eames’ bulkier body, tight ass and thighs, and there’s just something about Eames that has Arthur hungering for him – animal attraction, he thinks to himself. It has been there from the first day he set his eyes on Eames, growing in degrees, until Eames finally couldn’t help himself and came and sought him out.
He puts a hand on Eames’ arm and looks at him.
“I really don’t dance,” he tries to yell over the din of the music, sways a little on his feet and presses closer to Eames who immediately places both hands on his hips. They are standing still among a sea of bodies and the music is too loud, Arthur can feel it shaking his insides and making his hair stand on end.
“You dance,” Eames puts his mouth to Arthur’s ear and starts moving to the beat. “When you are with me, you dance.”
It’s not so much dancing as frottage is what Arthur wants to say as Eames’ body rubs up against his, chest to chest, stomach to stomach. Eames is straddling Arthur’s thigh, his groin heavy and close to Arthur’s. However, Arthur’s tongue lies heavy and useless in his mouth. The salacious pressure between their bodies finally tips him over the edge. Arthur’s hands wander over Eames’ body underneath his black jacket. The hard planes of his muscled body are maddening and inviting under Arthur’s fingers.
Arthur feels wet tongue against his neck and pushes away from Eames.
A sly drunken grin on his face, Arthur moves his body to the music and holds Eames’ gaze as he runs a hand down his body, turns and presents his back to Eames. Laughing when Eames presses up against him on cue, Arthur wastes no time rubbing his ass over Eames’ shameless bulge. He takes Eames’ hand and places it low over his stomach as he continues to grind against him. Eames slips his fingers underneath Arthur’s shirt, stroking his taut muscles but going down no further. He laughs as Arthur whimpers in need. He bites his jaw and ruts against his ass but refuses to touch Arthur where he needs him to.
Their movements grow faster and more urgent. Eames turns Arthur around again to face himself and Arthur puts his arms around Eames’ neck, his eyes filled with lust as he looks at Eames. Eames cups his ass as they keep moving. Arthur wants to tell Eames how badly he needs to fuck him when another body presses into Arthur’s back from behind.
“Baby, I’m jealous,” Mikael’s deep voice speaks into his ear as his familiar sinewy arm wraps around Arthur’s waist. “I thought you never danced.”
Arthur is so shocked that it almost pulls him out of his pleasantly drunken state. Eames is now looking at Mikael behind him with a smirk and when Arthur tries to pull his arms away from Eames’ neck, Eames squeezes his ass and grinds their crotches together.
“Arthur is a wonderful dancer,” Eames yells out over the music and Mikael’s laugh fills Arthur’s ear. Arthur’s heart is beating wildly in his chest, his arousal in overdrive with Mikael rubbing into his ass and Eames on the front. He isn’t sure if this real or if he is dreaming after passing out on the overdose of alcohol.
Mikael says something about moving to a more private place and Arthur is thinking holy shit, holy shit over and over because as far as he can tell, Mikael means for them to have a threesome – with Eames.