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It isn’t as awkward as Arthur expected, going into the makeup section of a department store to buy lipstick.
He takes his time, declining help from the saleswoman, and picks out three different shades that he likes, taking care to pick out colors he thinks Eames will like as well.
The salesclerk smiles at him when he goes to the register to pay. “A gift for someone?”
Arthur just nods, letting her assume what she wants about the situation. He has the lipsticks giftwrapped, because it is a gift of sorts, after all.
That night, Arthur takes the box from where he had hidden it in the bottom drawer of his dresser. He walks down the hall to the back of their house where Eames’ office is. Eames’ head is bent down, attention focused on what is before him. Arthur sets the black box down on the desk, sliding it closer to Eames.
Eames looks from the box, to Arthur, then back down at the box. “What’s this, then?”
“Open it,” Arthur encourages, a flutter of nervous excitement coursing through him.
Eames looks up at Arthur once more before lifting the small square box off the desk. It’s black and tied simply with a red ribbon. Eames tugs at the ribbon, pulls it away and tosses it on the desk. Arthur feels impatient as he watches Eames carefully take the lid off. He has to force himself not to tear the box out of Eames’ hands and pull the lipstick from within the tissue paper himself.
When the contents of the package are unveiled, Eames stills. “Oh,” he breathes out.
“I thought,” Arthur begins, “that you could pick out which color I should wear.”
Eames is lifting each lipstick out of the box, looking at the color sample on the outside of the packing and humming, thoughtful.
“Darling, you’ve done so well,” Eames says, his voice soft with fondness.
Arthur can’t help it; he beams, dimples showing.
Eames stands, box in one hand, and takes Arthur’s elbow in the other, directing him to the doorway. “Let’s move this to the bedroom,” he purrs.
In the bedroom, Eames tells Arthur to strip down to his underwear and sit down on the bed. Eames goes into the bathroom, and he returns with his buttons undone, shirt hanging open, and a mirror in his hand. He sits down beside Arthur, dropping the mirror and one lipstick onto the bed between them.
He brushes the backs of his knuckles against Arthur’s cheek, and Arthur, grateful for the contact, leans into the touch. They kiss, slow and a little messy, Eames licking into Arthur’s mouth. A promise of what’s to come.
When Eames pulls away, he holds up a tube of lipstick. He takes the cap off and presents it to Arthur. “I’d like to see you in this one.”
It’s the merlot-colored red, Arthur’s favorite of the bunch.
“Okay,” Arthur says, reaching out to take it from Eames, but Eames pulls it out of reach.
“No, I,” he starts. “May I?”
“Of course,” Arthur replies. Eames leans forward, giving Arthur a quick peck to his forehead that leaves Arthur biting the inside of his lip in an effort not to grin.
One of Eames’ large, warm hands cups the side of Arthur’s head. “Open up a bit, love,” he instructs, and Arthur’s lips part for him.
He likes having Eames this close, his gaze focused and heated. Arthur feels it like a weight on his shoulders, pressing him down. He’s going lax already, pliant, and Eames hasn’t done much more than tip Arthur’s head back slightly for better access to his mouth, his eyes never leaving Arthur’s face.
At the first careful swipe of the lipstick over his bottom lip, Arthur’s eyes fall shut and a soft sound rushes out of him. He concentrates on Eames’ breathing, the puffs of air as they brush across his face, and the delicate, precise way Eames fills in Arthur’s lips with the makeup.
“There,” Eames says, and his hands leave Arthur’s face. Arthur opens his eyes when he hears the click of the cover being placed back on the tube.
Arthur rubs his lips together, feeling the unfamiliar way they slide against each other. It feels noticeably different, but not uncomfortable. The lipstick doesn’t have an overpowering odor, and when he darts his tongue out to lick at his lip, no unpleasant taste either. For which he is grateful.
“Christ,” Eames says, and Arthur’s attention snaps back to the man in front of him. “You are a sight.”
“I want to see,” Arthur tells him, and Eames holds up a small mirror for him.
“Huh,” Arthur says, taking in the sight of himself with shiny, stained lips. It’s nice, he thinks, the way it emphasizes them.
He looks past the mirror Eames is holding and smirks. “Well, Mr. Eames,” he says, tugging at Eames’ collar to bring him closer. “How do you want me?”
The mirror clatters to the floor, the lipstick rolling away with it, when Eames pounces and pins Arthur to the bed. He looms over Arthur, broad and beautiful, sending a jolt of desire straight to Arthur’s cock.
“I might have an idea or two,” Eames murmurs, and now he’s smirking right back at Arthur, a wolfish look in his eyes.
Arthur pushes up on his elbows, whispers, “Come on, mess me up.”
Eames growls, surging down to kiss Arthur. The kiss is surprisingly gentle. Eames’ lips bump up against Arthur’s just enough for Arthur to feel the heat of them. There’s only a hint of smudged lipstick on Eames’ lips when he pulls away, but Arthur’s stomach flips over at the image of it.
His impatience makes a return then. He tugs at Eames’ shirt, wanting it out of the way. “Come on,” he repeats, and Eames presses a hand to the center of his chest and pushes Arthur against the mattress.
“Hush, kitten. I’m getting there.”
Eames sits up on his knees, tugs his shirt the rest of the way off and tosses it to the floor. He reaches over Arthur and snatches up a pillow, which he tucks underneath Arthur’s head.
Eames is watching him, and Arthur’s gaze flickers between Eames’ face and his hands where they are quickly undoing his trousers. Eames takes his cock out, the vee of his undone zipper framing him. Arthur’s mouth waters. He bites his lip, then remembers the lipstick and stops.
“God, Arthur,” Eames voices, scooting up further on the bed. Arthur strokes his hands up and down the fabric covering Eames’ thighs, not breaking eye contact with him. Arthur wants him so much, can hardly breathe with the weight of it.
Eames gives his cock a few languorous strokes, and holding it at the base, trails the crown over Arthur’s lips, tracing it. Arthur’s mouth falls open, his breath rushing out against Eames, and he hears Eames inhale as Arthur’s tongue comes out to meet him, lapping at the velvet skin of him, tasting.
Arthur moans, his tongue rolling over the head of Eames’ cock. This is easy for Arthur, familiar. He loves this.
Arthur feels satisfied further when Eames’ hips push forward and his cock slips deeper, Eames seemingly unable to hold himself back from the heat of Arthur’s mouth.
Arthur swirls his tongue around, running the pointed tip of it along the underside of Eames’ cock. Eames shudders, and disappointingly, pulls out from Arthur’s mouth. Arthur sees that there is lipstick staining the head of Eames’ dick, and he wonders what his mouth looks like now.
Eames thumbs at the corner of Arthur’s mouth, rubbing at the lipstick and smearing it down his chin.
“Want me to fuck your mouth, hmm?” Eames asks him.
Arthur nods. “Yes, yes,” he says, eager, his mouth falling open for Eames as he tries to pull him closer, hands on the back of Eames’ thighs.
Eames curls a hand in Arthur’s hair; his other hand lines his cock up and pushes it past Arthur’s lips. Eames isn’t as gentle this time, and Arthur groans as Eames sets about fucking his mouth at a sharp pace.
Arthur looks up at Eames through his lashes. He’s flushed, sweat sliding down his temples, and Arthur whimpers as he watches him, all of Eames’ strength pushing forward into his mouth. It makes Arthur’s cock throb.
“Fucking. Gorgeous,” Eames grunts. Arthur, with his hands still clutching at Eames’ thighs, can feel him tensing and knows Eames is getting close.
Arthur savours the heavy slide of Eames’ cock on his tongue, the way the head brushes the back of his throat.
“Arthur,” Eames grits out, and then pulls his cock from Arthur’s mouth with a wet-sounding pop. Arthur barely has time to make a disappointed noise before Eames is wrapping his hand around the base of his cock and coming all over Arthur’s lips and chin as he strokes himself through it.
Arthur licks at his lips, swiping at the come covering them. Eames makes a broken sound and rubs at the mess with two fingers, smearing what is left of the come and lipstick all around Arthur’s mouth.
Eames scoots back on his knees, bends down to kiss Arthur, and licks inside of his mouth, planting small, wet kisses around his swollen lips.
Eames flops onto the mattress next to him, rolling onto his side. Arthur wipes the back of his hand over his mouth and turns to grin at Eames. “Everything you wanted it to be?”
“And more,” Eames hums, leaning in for a kiss. He drags his fingertips down Arthur’s chest, his touch light enough to tickle as he rubs over the path of hair leading down past Arthur’s navel. Arthur arches into the touch as Eames’ hand rubs at the swell of his cock through his underwear.
“Anything you want, Arthur.”
“Your hand, just your hand,” Arthur gasps out as Eames rubs at him. He tucks his fingers into the waistband of his underwear and pushes it down with Eames’ help, and kicks them off his legs.
Eames spits into his hand and takes hold of Arthur’s cock, stroking it while he spreads around the precome gathered at the head. Arthur whines and pushes up into the touch.
Arthur babbles Eames’ name as Eames tightens his grip on him, stroking fast and rough, just how Arthur likes it. Arthur fists the sheets on either side of himself, his whole body tensing. He’s so close. He feels heat rush over him just before he comes, spreading all the way to his ears.
Eames says, “Let me feel you come. Go on, then,” and leans down to lick at Arthur’s lips. Arthur gasps, his whole body going tight all over as he comes in Eames’ fist and splashes over his belly.
“There you go.” Eames hums, stroking him through it. Arthur sags back against the mattress, and Eames’ strokes turn softer before he releases Arthur’s cock. He swipes his hand through the mess on Arthur’s stomach, idly rubbing it into his skin.
As Arthur catches his breath, Eames levers himself off the bed, rids himself of his trousers, and goes into the bathroom. He comes back with a warm washcloth that he uses first on Arthur’s mouth, cleaning off the remnants of come and lipstick, and then flips it over and cleans up Arthur’s stomach and groin. After Eames discards it in the bathroom sink, he tucks himself up against Arthur’s side, a leg thrown over him and his head pillowed on Arthur’s chest.
They lie there quietly, Arthur’s hands stroking through Eames’ hair, until finally Arthur breaks the silence by saying, “Fuck, I’m hungry.” Eames laughs at him, delighted.
He rolls off of Arthur and gets to his feet. “Why don’t you go put your face back on, and I’ll go to the kitchen and make you a sandwich.” Eames bends down and kisses the corner of Arthur’s mouth. “You look ever so lovely in that shade, darling.”
Arthur flushes happily. Eames leaves the room, and Arthur scrambles off the bed, hunting around on the floor for his underwear and the discarded tube of lipstick, all the while grinning to himself. He feels the same flutter of excitement from earlier that night when he thinks of going into the kitchen with his lips pouty and dark again, a hint of shine to them, and letting Eames back him up against the counter and kiss him until his lips are bruised and Eames’ mouth is smeared with red.
This was definitely one of Eames’ better ideas, Arthur thinks.