Work Text:
It was far cooler outside now than on the day Eames had first met Arthur, his upstairs neighbor. Arthur was one of those people who went through heats, or ruts, a few days every month, during which he felt compelled to mate, and knot inside his partner. He also went burning hot all over until his need was slaked, something that especially in summer made him very uncomfortable. His air conditioner was out one evening when they’d first met, and they’d soon become very intimate friends.
Now, however, it was late autumn and Arthur was currently asleep, still inside Eames, his knot gradually going down. Arthur had told him when they’d first fucked that he didn’t knot every time, and that he usually pulled out first. Of course, with Eames not at risk of pregnancy, knotting and pulling out (and condoms, as it happened) weren’t issues. Regardless, he knotted every time with Eames, as if he couldn’t help it.
Oddly, Eames was almost used to this, and to the literal heat Arthur gave off. It had become a joke, even, that Arthur kept Eames warm as a way of paying his rent, considering how often he spent time in Eames’ flat. At first, that hadn’t been the case -- when Arthur’s heat was over that July, and his air conditioner fixed, he’d kept his distance, blushing when he saw Eames, smiling almost shyly. Eames was wild for him to spend the night again, and was baffled when Arthur seemed to avoid him.
Had it been anyone else, Eames would have let the matter drop, but one night he’d gone up with a chilled bottle of wine -- to say hello, of course -- and soon enough they were making out on Arthur’s couch. Non-rut sex was still, well, hot.
In August, when Arthur showed up at his door with his dark eyes glittering and his skin flushed and sweaty, well, Eames didn’t need a second thought to invite him in.
In September, and October, when he wasn’t in rut, Arthur was a bit standoffish, gentlemanly. Eames pressed his luck and kept inviting him over, and found that Arthur easily fell into makeouts on the couch, whether they ended in blowjobs or handjobs or a bit of good old frottage.
Now, Arthur was snoring lightly, having exhausted himself, sweat cooling on his body. These had been some of the best months of Eames’ life; they were certainly unexpected, as Arthur’s kind tended to keep to themselves.
Eames was simply mad for Arthur fucking him. He couldn’t seem to get enough, although he did his best to be casual about it around Arthur -- that is, aside from when he was begging for various things, in the heat of the moment. He wasn’t one of Arthur’s people, after all -- he didn’t have a heat of his own for Arthur to take care of, as he gathered would be the ideal relationship for Arthur. No, he was just a greedy bottom and a bit of a size queen, and unashamed of either of those things.
In a bit, Eames knew, Arthur would wake, gradually withdraw, and they’d get ready for bed and sleep. Like an old married couple.
Eames gave a short laugh. Well, they couldn’t be that -- Arthur had to think of him as a dalliance, a neighbor to have fun with until he found one of his own people, someone who could bear his children, whose heats he could slake. And until recently, Eames would have been perfectly content to be thought of by Arthur as simply the hot neighbor who wanted Arthur’s cock.
Unfortunately, however, Eames had become rather, ahem, attached to Arthur. Stupid, he thought to himself, and yawned.
Arthur murmured in his sleep, shifting, curling a bit more around Eames, who went still, wondering if Arthur would go hard again and fuck him. He was a bit embarrassed to find his heart beating faster as he hoped for it -- that had only happened a few times before, as Arthur usually became contrite about how long his knot took to come down and what a mess he made, once he’d calmed down, and would withdraw.
Eames loved, absolutely loved, Arthur holding him down and fucking him -- on his back, bent over something, on all fours. And now it seemed he might love Arthur as well.
Perhaps Arthur’s dick was driving him mad.
Said dick was hardening again. Arthur sighed, shifted, waking. His hand was flat on Eames’ chest, and that was something Eames had come to… love about Arthur: his protectiveness. For all he fucked into Eames like a crazed demon, he never hurt him in anger in the thick of his heats, and he was considerate to the point that it made Eames blush. Most men Eames fucked were far more casual. Impersonal. Could Eames really be blamed for going a bit quivery in the knees when Arthur asked him, in his low, serious tones, if he minded all the wet Arthur was getting between his thighs and on his sheets, before fucking him? And such things as all that. God, something about his politeness contrasted with how he’d go all sweaty and desperate as he fucked into Eames, helpless with need --
Eames squirmed, and Arthur’s hand slid down to his cock and gave it a firm squeeze. Gasping, Eames turned to look at Arthur over his shoulder. Without missing a beat, Arthur shifted to pull Eames’ top leg back just a bit, and twisted slightly to kiss him, whilst beginning to thrust again, slow and lazy for now, both of them conscious of the mix of lube and rather a lot of come still inside Eames. It was just the sort of uncomfortable Eames liked very much. Eames reached behind himself to cup the back of Arthur’s head, and Arthur sighed into his mouth.
This was new. They usually went fast and hard during heats; when he fucked Eames like this after having come already, they quickly got back to their usual pace. Even face-to-face, the rhythm was nearly brutal. This was almost… tender.
For whatever reason, Arthur had never fucked him outside of a heat. Eames was really beginning to wonder why. They did everything else then, and usually after Eames’ prompting and initiating. They’d even had quite a good time with Eames taking Arthur’s “virginity,” something Arthur had found very eye-opening indeed, and which had been repeated a few times since. Perhaps Arthur’s drive for fucking was drastically lower between ruts unless adequately stimulated. Maybe if Eames were one of Arthur’s kind, he’d be more interested in fucking him at any time.
Well, that was not a fun thing to think about whilst getting fucked. Much better to think about how good this felt. He moaned encouragingly into the kiss, shifting back against Arthur, who gradually went faster, starting to lose it a bit. That was better. And soon enough, Eames forgot to fret about whether he was only serving as a diverting placeholder for Arthur until someone more suited to him came along.
He fretted about it later, though, after they’d properly gone to bed and Arthur had fallen asleep.
The next morning, after a lovely breakfast, Arthur reported he was feeling feverish again, and back they went to the bedroom, Eames on all fours this time and positively howling as Arthur nailed his prostate, body curving over him as they rocked back and forth together, slick with sweat.
(Arthur often took days off from work during his heats; Eames managed to come in late, and gave various casual excuses, half-hoping someone would notice the faint red marks on his neck.)
“Arthur,” Eames moaned. He liked to wait to come as long as possible, or at least try. Arthur’s arms were wrapped around his chest, and Eames was almost struggling to hold them both up under the vigor of his thrusts.
“Come like this,” Arthur commanded, voice hoarse and low. There was no question Eames would come like this, so at first Eames was confused. He shifted his weight with some difficulty so he could grab his cock, as he usually did.
“No,” Arthur almost barked, and startled, Eames put his hand back on the bed. “Like this. Just from this.” As if to demonstrate, he angled his hips anew, pressing so deeply that Eames cried out, and at the feel of Arthur’s teeth on his shoulder, a blurt of come was surprised out of his cock. Arthur’s hips began to slap against his with renewed energy before he could recover, and in the onslaught, Eames kept coming, panting wildly, and absolutely ruining the sheets. He was wringing with sweat by the time Arthur came and then started to swell, breathing hard, exhalations hot on his skin. Arthur kept thrusting, but slowly; even so, Eames found himself coming again. He blinked sweat from his eyes, groaning softly.
“I know,” Arthur said, voice even more wrecked. “I know how much you love it when I fuck you.” Eames shuddered. It was not what he needed to hear, and yet it was exactly what he needed to hear. Had he been younger, he might even have come again.
Arthur was still talking. “I know how much you love my knot.” He shifted, making Eames feel it, knowing he loved that, too, even though he never really said it. Unbidden, Eames remembered Arthur saying, back in July, that he felt like a freak.
Even so, Eames found himself saying “I do, Arthur, I do,” sounding ragged as he did.
Eames sank onto his elbows as Arthur’s thrusts slowed; exhausted, he closed his eyes. Arthur was quiet, breaths gradually calming as he waited out his knot. He wasn’t usually this quiet and still, Eames realized.
After Arthur drew out, he went to the bathroom and turned on the shower without a word. Startled, Eames sat up, wincing a bit, his arse a bit sore and the wet spot rather sizeable and cold. He was still loopy, thigh muscles trembling, and everything in him wanted to nap. By the time he was on his feet and finding his underpants, Arthur was out of the shower and drying off.
“I’ve gotta get going,” Arthur said, brisk, bending with a towel around his waist to pluck up his haphazardly dropped clothes. His expression was closed off.
“Okay,” Eames said, slowly. He scratched at his chest. “Any particular reason?” He was feeling blown off indeed, very unusual coming from Arthur.
Arthur shook his head briefly. “I just… have to go,” he said, putting on his shorts and trousers. As he pulled his t-shirt over his head, he glanced at Eames, and Eames saw a flash of disappointment and hurt before Arthur looked away again. It cut him to the core.
“Arthur, what--” he said, but Arthur was hastily putting on his shoes and making his way to Eames’ front door. Eames clumsily followed only to see the door slamming. He opted not to follow Arthur upstairs, and immediately started to regret it.
Arthur had to still be in rut, Eames thought the next day, but he didn’t communicate with Eames about it at all. Was he up there wanking, Eames wondered, or had he gone out to find someone to take his knot, let him fuck the heat away? Was it one of his kind, his perfect man or woman at last?
Well, if he was disappointed in or hurt by Eames, he could bloody well tell Eames that instead of stomping off in a strop. He didn’t hear from Arthur for a few more days. He was up there, but he wasn’t speaking to Eames. If he was honest, Eames missed him rather a lot. It was cold alone in his bed. True, he could pick someone up, fuck them, make Arthur hear it -- it was a tempting thought, and one he was almost ready to give in to, that night when he put on a coat and stepped outside, only to see Arthur making his way to his door.
“Arthur,” Eames said with a curt nod, making his face as impassive as possible -- perhaps with a note of anger, though.
“Eames.” Arthur stood in his way, looking drawn, his cupid’s-bow mouth slightly downturned. There were bags under his eyes, and he wore a hangdog expression. “I need to talk to you.”
“About what?” Eames said, toneless, folding his arms.
“Can we go inside?” Arthur gestured to Eames’ door.
Eames shrugged. “I’m on my way out to have a bit of fun, Arthur, can you blame me?”
Arthur sighed. “It won’t take long. Please.”
Shrugging again, Eames paused before finally saying, clipped, “All right.” He was wildly curious as he led the way back to his door.
Inside, Arthur stood with his hands in his coat pockets, looking at the floor. “Eames, I’m sorry. I’m going to have to end this.” It was like a punch to the gut.
“Oh?” Eames said. “I’d assumed you were ending it when you left without a word and never spoke to me again.”
Arthur flushed, looking up, guilty. “That was wrong of me. It’s just….” He laughed suddenly, bitter, and shook his head. “For years,” he said, turning and walking slowly to Eames’ window, “I felt like my knot made me a freak. That no one, outside of my own kind, would want me for it. But my family wasn’t close to others like us.” He stood looking out at the garden, and then turned to look at Eames. “Now,” he said, “that’s all you want me for.”
“Sorry?” Eames said, not sure he’d heard correctly.
“I’m just… a knot delivery system to you.”
“Arthur.” Eames blinked. “The idea that I value you only for your knot is… insulting at worst, shortsighted at best.”
Arthur shrugged. “That’s all you seem to care about.”
Eames folded his arms. “It’s true that I am very… enthusiastic about your knot. It is one of my favorite things about you.” Damn it all, he sounded so stiff. He sighed. “But I think you’re not seeing the complete picture here.” He stepped closer. “Don’t you remember the other things we’ve done? Not just sex things,” he added hastily, Christ he was ballsing this up, “breakfasting, making dinner, watching telly? Do you think we’d do all that if I just wanted your knot? Besides, I’m not one of your kind, I can’t mate properly with you. I didn’t think you were fussed.” There, that was out. Eames swallowed, and looked away.
Arthur was quiet. “Eames,” he said finally, “remember how I told you I didn’t usually knot, and that my body was trying to claim you?”
Looking back at him, Eames nodded.
“That… means something to me. That’s unusual, especially with someone who’s… not one of us.”
Eames had to ask. “Yeah? What does it mean?” Arms still folded, Eames watched him.
“I’m not sure. But it’s significant.” Arthur sighed, combing a hand through his hair. He looked tired. It was difficult for Eames to keep himself from going to him and holding him. “But… I can’t keep being involved with you if you just see me as a walking knot.”
“What? Arthur, you prat, I’ve just told you I don’t see you as that.”
Arthur flushed. “Okay, well… Don’t,” he said. It seemed Arthur had expected his fears to be well-founded and hadn’t thought much beyond the break-up speech.
“Do you want us to be serious, then?” Eames held his breath.
Arthur nodded slowly. He looked so worried that it made Eames’ heart clench. “If that’s what you want,” he said.
Eames sighed. He’d wanted to go out for a drink by himself; this was unexpected and it was overwhelming him. “Look, can we talk about this later?” He craved a walk, alone, to clear his head in the cold.
Arthur’s face fell. “Yeah, you were going out, weren’t you? Sure, we’ll… talk later,” he said with a shrug. Eames watched him straighten himself up, nod, and walk toward the door, looking like he was steeling himself. “Have a good night,” he said, and opened the door.
Eames waited until he heard the door upstairs slam before he took his walk. A good bit down the street, he realized Arthur must be thinking he’d be going out to a bar, hooking up. And maybe he should, after all. Bring a casual fuck back to his. Knowing Arthur could hear them. Or going to the other bloke’s, knowing Arthur would know he was out all night. He knew, however, just knew, that whoever he fucked would have him missing Arthur in short order. And not just because of his knot, whatever Arthur assumed.
It was very cold out, and Eames hastily made his way back to his flat once it was too much for him. He closed the door the way he always did, knowing Arthur would hear.
It was cold in his bed, as well, once again. He piled on an extra blanket or two, and with some difficulty fell asleep, only to dream about Arthur.
Arthur was plastered against his back, skin smooth and hot and dry, his big hands roaming over Eames, his teeth nipping at Eames’ skin as he murmured words of rough affection. Eames, on his stomach, felt him enter, felt him thrust and swell.
Eames was very startled to suddenly wake up on the floor, sweaty, his hands in his pajamas. He didn’t know when exactly he’d fallen off, but one hand was on his spent cock and one was wedged between his cheeks. Worst of all, Arthur wasn’t there.
There was a knocking, however, at the door. Disoriented, Eames got to his feet, hastily washed his hands, and went to look through the peephole. It was Arthur, of course.
Eames opened the door, aware he must look a mess: hair sticking up every which way, no doubt; unshaven, flushed, sheet marks on his cheeks, and -- he glanced down -- stains on his pajama trousers. Too late now.
“I heard a loud noise down there. Did you fall?” Arthur said, voice rough with sleep. He had smudges under his eyes and was wearing a faded old soft t-shirt and pajama trousers, with a robe over it.
Eames cleared his throat. “I fell out of bed, yes.”
“Are you okay?” Arthur’s hair was wild, curls everywhere. Eames’ fingers twitched to reach out and touch it.
“I am. Would you like to come in?” Eames’ Englishness kicked in and wouldn’t allow Arthur to stand out in the cold.
“If that’s all right,” Arthur said, looking relieved. Eames stood back to let him in. With the door closed, he went hastily to the kitchen. “Would you like some tea?” he called back.
Arthur had followed him to the kitchen. “Yes, please,” he said, leaning against the counter.
As Eames put the kettle on, Arthur watched him, quiet. When he went to get the cups, Arthur spoke, saying quietly, “I’ve missed you.”
Eames paused, and resumed getting the cups. “Mm,” he replied, attempting to indicate the feeling was mutual without actually saying so.
Arthur sighed. “I’ll go back upstairs soon, I guess, my heat will probably start up again after I drink the tea. Hot liquids can worsen it. Better to get it over with, I guess, it would have happened anyway.”
“Aren’t there things you can take for it?” Eames wondered.
“We have herbs that can help with it, but only to an extent, and they taste horrible,” Arthur replied. “They can get expensive, too. Plus it’s not clear whether long-term use damages the nervous system.”
Of course Arthur would have researched these things. “I’m sorry,” Eames said, and meant it.
Arthur shrugged. “It goes away. Eventually. Like menopause. Those of us who don’t carry, of course, have to deal with it longer than those who can. But… I’ll make it. It’s only a few days a month.” Arthur cleared his throat, and was quiet again as Eames went on making the tea. Suddenly he added, “If we knot with a mate regularly, though, our heats are still intense, but don’t last for as many days.”
“Well,” Eames said lightly as he poured, “whoever that person is will be lucky to have you.” There, he’d managed to sound polite and detached.
“I’ve already been doing that, Eames,” Arthur said, sounding a little impatient, “with you. And I can tell it’s working. You make my heats better. In every sense of the term.”
Eames stirred milk into the tea, feeling his face go red. God, he wanted nothing more than for Arthur to manhandle him back to the bedroom and take him. “Arthur,” he said gently, “I’m not one of your people.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Arthur said, a stubborn expression fixed on his face. “If you meant what you said, that you don’t just… have a fetish for my knot, then… give us a chance. Please.”
Eames sat, and took a long drink of tea. “You want me to be your mate, then,” he said, finally.
Arthur sat across from him, and nodded. He picked up his cup and drank, still watching Eames. He looked dreadfully nervous but hid it well.
His free hand lay flat on the table. Eames reached for it, and it felt good to touch him again. Arthur grasped his fingers, and squeezed.
“Don’t you think you won’t feel complete, if I’m not one of your people?” Eames asked, low, and immediately drank some more tea.
Arthur shook his head, his brow creasing. “We’re not that different, Eames. Our version of horniness and fertility is just more extreme. You might not catch all my pheromones, but you know when I’m aroused, and you respond to me. I can smell it in your sweat when you want me. I respond to you.”
And there’s the whole thing where males of your kind can get pregnant, Eames thought. “But… won't you want to sire children, someday?”
“My body might want it, but I’m not my body, Eames. I don’t want children,” Arthur said, firm.
Eames sighed. “I missed you,” he said, finally. “I think I need to be with you, right now.”
“Right now?” Arthur said, and grinned over his cup. There was a brightness in his eyes. “I can arrange that. That can arrange itself, in a minute.”
“Well, I meant ‘at this point in our lives,’ but… as it happens, literally right now works too.” Eames downed the rest of his tea. “I was dreaming of you when I fell out of bed,” he confessed, standing as Arthur stood, cups forgotten.
“Were you?” Arthur shed his robe, letting it fall to the floor, and got out of his shoes. “Tell me.”
“You were fucking me, touching me everywhere, biting me. You were so hot I woke up all sweaty.” Arthur crowded into his space, swift and efficient, pressing against him and kissing him.
“Your mind knew what it wanted,” Arthur observed, color high in his cheeks, hands smoothing possessively down Eames’ back. He kissed him again, hands working to divest Eames of his now rather uncomfortable pajama trousers. Eames stepped out of them, and tried to tug off Arthur’s t-shirt at the same time; Arthur scrambled to accommodate. Arthur’s trousers were soon lost to the floor as well.
Arthur was by now in quite a state; he was as hard as Eames had ever seen him, cock flushed red and already leaking. “I don’t want to wait to get to the bedroom,” he said, sounding strained. “Please tell me you still have lube in the living room.”
“I believe I do,” Eames said. He got on his hands and knees to search among the cushions and under the couch, and Arthur was on him, kissing his back, cock nudging against his thighs and arse-cheeks.
Desperate, Eames clumsily grabbed the bottle he found, nearly dropped it, and handed it off to Arthur, who snatched it and wasted no time getting slick all over his cock. “Now. Now,” Eames said, not exactly ready but not caring.
“Oh, fuck,” he sighed, loud and low, as Arthur pushed into him, inexorable. He grabbed the cushions to brace himself. “Arthur, Arthur, please, yes, oh, I missed you so,” he babbled.
Arthur actually growled, sinking deep, hands tight on Eames’ hips. Usually he’d speak at this juncture; Eames had a sense he was beyond words now. Eames sank into the couch and took it, letting his head drop forward, groaning.
Arthur draped himself over him again, flush against his back, making little desperate noises low in his throat as if he couldn’t get close enough to Eames. Eames reached back to touch his hair, and Arthur leaned into him, teeth worrying the join between his neck and shoulder, breath hot and damp on his skin. He fucked into him with brutal economy, short, sharp, fast thrusts.
“Take me, I’m yours,” Eames panted after a good bit of this, intending it as a joke, a throwaway remark; but Arthur made a sound almost like a stifled sob, and pressed so deep that Eames exclaimed in surprise.
Arthur’s hips slowed, and Eames realized he was coming. He bit at Eames’ skin, exhaling gustily through his nose, arms wrapping around him. The biting evidently over with, he slumped onto him, shuddering a bit, chest still heaving against Eames’ back. Then the swelling started. Eames held his breath, starting to bear down a bit.
“Breathe,” Arthur slurred, and pressed messy kisses to the skin he’d marked. Eames did, and shifted his hips, feeling the growing knot. Arthur groaned.
“Fuck, I want to come right when you’re at your fullest,” Eames said, and Arthur’s hand was almost immediately tight around his cock, giving it a tug. Eames went a bit mad then, and he began to fuck himself on Arthur’s knot, as Arthur wanked him in time, and breathlessly muttered against Eames’ skin things like “Fuck, Eames, you take me so good, so good.”
At some point, Eames let go of Arthur’s hair and gripped the cushions for dear life, because Arthur was overwhelming him just the way he wanted, the way he’d missed. He wanted to say something to that effect, but was only capable of brokenly moaning Arthur’s name under his breath.
Arthur suddenly gave him a squeeze. “Now, it’s now,” he said in a low, urgent voice, and Eames hazily understood that he meant he was at his fullest. Collapsing forward a bit, Eames closed his eyes and let his jaw fall open, shuddering as Arthur made him come. It seemed to pull from the center of him and lasted long enough to hurt, a little shock of nerves that he didn’t really mind at all.
Arthur rested his cheek on Eames’ back, or so Eames realized some time later. His breathing was even and deep, and he was quiet, but he wasn’t asleep, Eames sensed.
When Arthur’s knot went down, he withdrew slowly; Eames winced as he did, but truth be told he somewhat enjoyed the discomfort, the reminder.
“Can you get up?” Arthur said.
“I’d rather lie here for a bit,” Eames said, muffled, deliciously exhausted.
Arthur chuckled, low and indulgent. “Stretch out on the couch,” he said.
“Not wide enough,” Eames half-protested, even as he pulled himself upright and somehow got onto the couch.
Arthur lay in front of him, facing him, nestling Eames against the couch’s back. He put one leg over Eames’, and an arm over him. He was beaming; with a shock, Eames thought he might even detect tears in his bright brown eyes. Compared to the careworn look he’d had lately, he seemed years younger.
“We should shower,” Eames ventured, unsure what else to say. “When I can stand.”
“Not yet,” Arthur replied, gaze traveling his face. “I want to look at you.”
Eames couldn’t help preening a bit. “You can look at me in the shower, you know,” he said, and grinned.
“Mm, I know. I will,” Arthur said, grinning back. He moved his hand to attempt to tame Eames’ cowlick (unsuccessfully, Eames guessed). “I’ve never had a mate before,” he continued, quieter, resting his hand on Eames’ side. “I… haven’t talked about it, but it’s not easy being an alpha who’s attracted to men. There aren’t many omega males, and with your people, well, it’s either a no-go or they think of you as… well. You know.” He looked away, and the sudden vulnerable curve to his mouth made Eames cup his jaw and kiss him. “I never really… had anyone to bond with.”
“I love your knot, darling,” Eames said, “but you are much more to me than that, you know.”
“I know,” Arthur said, tucking his face into the curve of Eames’ sweaty neck with a contented sigh. Perhaps they could indeed wait a bit longer to shower, Eames allowed as he stroked his fingers soothingly down Arthur’s back. He dozed off, waking when Arthur kissed his forehead.
In the shower -- Eames realized they’d never showered together before -- Arthur actually washed him, taking care with the places where he was sore. “I’ve never been… No one’s ever done this for me,” Eames commented, face hot.
“Well, you’re my mate,” Arthur said matter-of-factly, lathering up some shampoo with which to wash Eames’ hair. “It’s my job to take care of you. I’m an alpha, I keep things in order and look after what’s mine.”
“I do rather well at taking care of myself, you know,” Eames said gently, kissing Arthur’s wet cheek. “And I’m only yours in the sense that I’m your mate.”
“I know,” Arthur said with a shrug, before lathering up Eames’ hair. “But like you said, no one’s ever washed you in the shower like this before. Little things, that’s all I need.”
“I think I can sacrifice here and there to keep you happy,” Eames allowed, with a chuckle.