Title: Artie and the Chocolate Factory
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Word Count: 4670
Rating: M for smuttiness and the possibly inappropriate use of chocolate.
Summary: Arthur sets the team up in an abandoned chocolate factory. When Eames finds out about Arthur's deep and abiding love for all things chocolate, hijinks ensue.

It started at the chocolate factory. Well, no, that isn't quite right. It started when Arthur, in charge of securing the team a building to work out of for the duration of their latest job, rented an abandoned chocolate factory.

("This is so you can play out your secret fantasies of being Willy Wonka, isn't it?"

"...Yes. That is exactly it."

"Hrm, you do vaguely resemble Johnny Depp Willy Wonka when I squint."

"Johnny Depp? Fuck you, I'm Gene Wilder!"

"Keep telling yourself that, darling.")

No, truthfully, Arthur had rented the building because it was available and it was cheap—it had nothing whatsoever to do with his deep and abiding love for all things chocolate. He was excited for it anyway. None of them were quite prepared for what they saw when they finally removed the lock from the ancient sliding door and pulled it aside, but Ariadne summed up their collective reaction quite nicely with a breathless, "Wow." The place had been abandoned since it went out of business in the fifties, sidled out of the market by burgeoning pressure from Mars and Hershey, but the defunct factory predated both of those. The architecture was gorgeous, turn-of-the-century art nouveau, with sweeping curved rafters and wrought-iron spiral staircases. The old chocolate-making machinery still sat on the floor like dusty hulking monoliths, huge ovens, mixers, conveyor belts; a myriad of things to distract and fascinate them while they worked.

"Maybe I should have picked someplace a bit more boring," Arthur sighed.

"Are you kidding?" Ariadne squealed as she shouldered him aside and bounded through the echoing space. "This is incredible!" She ran from one piece of machinery to the next, hair flying and arms akimbo. "Aww, there's no chocolate left," she said once she'd examined all the machinery, never mind that it would be sixty years old by now.

"Case in point," Arthur muttered as he, Eames and Yusuf trudged in afterward. He couldn't deny, however, that he was charmed by the place. The light streaming in from skylights in the ceiling kept it from being too gloomy, and the dust swirling in the air sparkled. There was a big, executive-type desk in one sunny corner, and Arthur made a beeline for it to claim it as his. Eames, of course, set up shop on the nearest available table, and when that wasn't close enough, dragged it next to Arthur's desk. The others sniggered discreetly behind their hands at the way Arthur pretended to be annoyed with him. Really, Arthur didn't mind so much—he'd had to give up his dignity a long time ago to date someone like Eames. Still, there was something to be said about professionalism and not making out with your coworkers, even if they were your boyfriend, so he manfully refrained, despite Eames' best efforts.

Regardless of the seating arrangements, or their surroundings, Arthur managed to make good progress on organizing his files by subject and level of relevance; files about the mark, files about who Eames might have to forge, and so on. He made good progress all the way to lunch time, when Eames sat down at his makeshift workspace spreading some dark, creamy substance on a piece of bread.

Maybe he was on subconscious alert, considering they were in a chocolate factory, but Arthur's nose immediately perked up.

"Eames, what is that?" he asked, staring dubiously at the mystery sandwich. "It smells delicious."

Eames raised an eyebrow as he chewed through the first bite. "Nutella sandwich," he mumbled, like it should have been obvious, and of course with his mouth full.

"Give it to me."

Eames frowned and held the sandwich closer to him, alarmed by the way Arthur was suddenly and inexplicably lunging out of his desk. "Why should I?"

"Come on," Arthur wheedled, and for the life of him he couldn't figure out why this was happening, why he was doing this. "I've never tasted Nutella before."

At that Eames looked mildly shocked. "How can I possibly have dated you for so long without—oh, for the love of—just—here." He held out the sandwich to him. "It's a hazelnut spread," he explained, as Arthur took it and began examining the consistency. "They say it's not chocolate, but there's chocolate in it."

"Chocolate," smiled Arthur absently, and he opened the sandwich and poked at it with his tongue. Eames watched, keenly interested, as Arthur's eyebrows raised and he licked at the spread a little more.

"Good?"

"Hmm," Arthur hummed in debauched gratification, swirling his tongue around so that he could properly assess all the nuances of flavor. "I'm not sure if 'good' is the right word." And then, without warning, he stuffed the remainder of the sandwich into his mouth.

"Hey!" Eames cried, and he took a step toward the point man, but it was too late. Arthur swallowed, shuddering in the pleasure of it, then stuck his fingers in his mouth to clean them while looking supremely satisfied. Eames stared. "That... that was my lunch."

"You can have my cup of soup," Arthur offered, but both of them knew it wouldn't be the same. "Thanks for the sandwich, babe." Eames blinked at the endearment, and he almost forgot to be angry. In fact, he looked almost contemplative...

By dinnertime the forger seemed to have completely gotten over the slight of having his lunch stolen, but Arthur was paying dearly for it anyway. He'd never known himself to be given over to cravings for anything, but it was like he'd transformed into some monstrous chocolate-were-shark. He'd tasted blood in the water (or chocolate, whatever) and now he wanted more. He couldn't stop thinking about chocolate candy bars, chocolate cake, the chocolate Hanukkah gelt his grandmother used to give him, and it was driving him mad.

"It's this damn factory," he said over Ariadne's desk, where he was currently depositing little foil strips from the Hershey's Kisses he was eating out of her bowl. "Even the air smells like chocolate; it's the spirit of the place. There's just something about it."

"If you say so," said Ariadne with a skeptical shrug, as she snatched a Kiss for herself.

"See? See?" he motioned at her. "You're eating it too."

"Well, yeah," Ariadne stared at him, eyebrow raised. "The bowl is on my desk."

"And why do you have a bowl of chocolates?"

Ariadne pointed at Eames, who was whistling as he reviewed his files on the mark, seemingly oblivious to the nearby conversation. "He gave them to me. Told me to share them with everybody."

Arthur's eyes narrowed as he watched his boyfriend putter around the table. "Hrmm..."

He remained unconvinced that there wasn't actually some kind of chocolate conspiracy going on, and it didn't help that Eames came back that evening with choco-lattes for them both. Arthur positively moaned as he took the first sip.

"Why chocolate?" he asked afterward, as they exchanged cocoa and coffee-flavored kisses. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"I'm sure I've no idea what you're talking about," was Eames' reply, but Arthur was distracted from further pressing the point by Eames' tongue licking into his mouth.

The next morning, there was a three-tiered box of Ferrero Rocher waiting on his desk.

"What is this?" he called out to the empty warehouse, but nobody was there to answer him. He glared at the tray for a moment, willing down the urge to eat all of it, before picking three chocolates out the box and arranging them in a row on the corner of his desk. The rest he brought over to Ariadne's candy bowl and dumped them in. Maybe they'd be less likely to tempt him over there. Ariadne was the next in the factory, and she seemed delighted by the unexplained gift. Yusuf too, if the handful of chocolates he walked away with was any indicator. Meanwhile Arthur was perfectly content (if a little strained and twitchy) with his three pieces. He designated them 'breakfast', 'lunch' and 'dinner', and nothing could make him deviate from this plan.

He had to give himself credit—he lasted until four in the afternoon, at least. 'Breakfast' and 'lunch' had met their demises at the appointed times, but dammit, he wanted that last one, RIGHT FUCKING NOW. Only one issue was strong enough to distract him from committing chocolate massacre, and that was the fact that Eames kept staring at him. He sat less than ten feet from the forger, so it was impossible not to notice. When Arthur had first spotted Eames watching him earlier that day, he'd chalked it up as just another of Eames' routine tactics employed to annoy him. Then he'd gotten self-conscious, and had gone to the bathroom to check his face for smudges. But now he had a theory. The Kisses, the choco-lattes, the Ferreros... Eames was baiting him.

Slowly, very slowly, Arthur reached for the third Ferrero. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Eames subtly watching him. As soon as his fingers brushed the surface of the foil wrapper, Eames perked up. Arthur stifled his initial reaction—to jump up and yell, "AHA!" and casually began unwrapping the confection instead. Eames' eyes were glued to him now. Two could play this game.

Arthur held the unwrapped chocolate close and touched it tentatively with the tip of his tongue. The combined chocolate and hazelnut was so rich and delicious that he didn't have to fake the way his eyelids dropped in delight. Oh, he was going to savor this. He closed his lips around his fingers and the chocolate and began to suck. The chocolate melted away, leaving the chunks of hazelnut, which he nibbled at to get to the layer of gianduja. He let out a moan, a little for effect, a little because it was just that good, and out of his peripheral vision he could see Eames shifting in his chair and licking his lips in vicarious pleasure. Arthur sucked the creamy stuff out of the shell, letting his body sink pleasurably into his chair, just for the hell of it. His eyes were closed, so he heard rather than saw the scrape of Eames' chair as he got to his feet.

"Darling," he said a little shakily, right next to Arthur's ear. "I think Operation Seduce Arthur with Chocolate has just failed."

Arthur did a double take and bit clear through the hazelnut at the center. "...Seduce Arthur with Chocolate... Operation SAC?"

"Yes, well."

Arthur wanted to be angry that Eames had so blatantly manipulated him, but had a smear of chocolate on his lip and Eames moved in to lick it off before he could think of an argument. "What exactly was the goal of the operation?" he asked muzzily into Eames' mouth.

"Well," said Eames, as he pulled Arthur up out of his chair and flush against his body, "how about I show you?"

Yusuf was the last one besides them in the warehouse, and when Eames dragged Arthur through the lab by the wrist to the cabinets along the wall, something like horror dawned over his face. "I'll, uh, I'll just come back and finish this tomorrow," he stammered, shut off his microscope and hastened out.

"Yusuf knows," Eames grinned as he stooped in front of one of the cabinets. "I enlisted his help in designing the perfect formula."

"Oh my god, you had Yusuf in on this? Is that why I kept smelling–"

"Yep. And Ariadne." Eames popped the combination lock off the cabinet handle and slid it open to reveal a large, unmarked jar with a dark brown substance in it.

Arthur stared. He blinked. He chewed thoughtfully at his lip. Then he let out a low noise of realization and turned to his boyfriend. "Eames. Eames, is that. Is that chocolate body paint?"

"And how," said Eames.

Arthur's voice was taut with want and surprise when he said, "And you thought you'd have to bait me into agreeing to use this?"

It was Eames' turn to be surprised as Arthur promptly pushed himself to his feet and attacked him with a fierce, biting kiss. His hands tangled in Eames' hair possessively, his tongue ravaged him, his knee ground into Eames' crotch. Then just like a sexy, lust-fueled tornado he was off again, leaving a shell-shocked Eames behind. Arthur began closing off all the exits to the laboratory. Some of the half-walls had frosted glass windows, but Arthur pulled the shades down and voila, they had a private chocolate sex den.

"Arthur, I–" Eames started. "Just. Wow."

"Shhh," Arthur grinned, and he backed Eames all the way into one of Yusuf's unused tables.

"Oh, Yusuf is gonna–"

"Shhh." Arthur planted his hands squarely on Eames shoulders and pushed until the other man was forced to brace himself against the table. "Stay there," he directed him, and moved to retrieve the jar of chocolate. Eames watched with eyes like saucers as Arthur set the jar on the table and began fumbling with the forger's belt. He made short work of it and tossed it on the floor, with nary a hint of the care for clothing he showed when they did these things at home. Maybe it was the public setting, but Arthur felt... wild. Eames gasped when Arthur yanked his pants down, exposing him to the air—Eames never wore underwear, and never had it been more convenient. Arthur unscrewed the top of the jar and stuck his fingers in.

"I apologize if this is a little cold. It'll... heat up." He spread it around on his fingers, checking the color and consistency. "And if it ruins your pants...oh, fucking well, because I'm pretty sure you bought them at Walmart."

Eames didn't normally play by Arthur's rules and tonight was no exception. As Arthur wrapped his coated fingers around Eames' dick and stroked it, he let out a strangled, "Jesusfuckingchrist" and his knees buckled dangerously.

"Steady on, old chap," Arthur grinned and recommenced his ministrations. He re-dipped his fingers halfway through to make sure that the coverage was even, slathering the head and the underside until Eames was completely coated in the stuff.

"Nngh, Arthur, oh–oh fuck," he gasped as Arthur finally leaned in and wrapped his lips around Eames' cock. And then Arthur was moaning too, because holy shit, he had never tasted anything so delicious in his life. He was going to give Yusuf a fucking award when he saw him again. He'd buy the man an entirely new set of lab equipment—hell, an entirely new lab back in Mombasa for more of this.

"Ah, Arthur?" Eames said after a moment, and Arthur's eyes snapped back upward. "Not that the noises you're making aren't... fffff-entirely lovely, but maybe could you try moving?" Arthur tried to make excuses about the chocolate being just that good, but his mouth was full of cock, so he settled for flipping the forger off. Then he tried a little suction experimentally, pleased that the chocolate hadn't all come off in one go. He knew without being told that Eames liked this, for his knees shook a bit and his fingers began threading into Arthur's hair. And as amazing as it was to wrench these obscene noises out of Eames normally, it was better with the added bonus of chocolate. He hummed into the blowjob and felt the resulting shudder go all the way up Eames' body until it tore out of him in another moan.

"A-Arthur," Eames choked out. "I—shit—I'm gonna come." His fingers tightened spasmodically in Arthur's hair, trying to pull him away, but Arthur took Eames' hands by the wrist, and with years of practice, relaxed his throat. He took Eames all the way down to the root, swallowing around him as Eames moaned like a whore and came, and fucking hell, they weren't lying about the combination of chocolate and salt being somehow delicious.

He was interrupted from his ruminations on why exactly he'd never tried that before when Eames' legs started to quake. "Up," Arthur commanded him, and Eames braced his palms on the table and levered himself onto its surface. "And take your clothes off while you're at it." Eames looked wrecked, eyes sort of vacant, but he moved to comply anyway, fingers tripping over his shirt buttons. Meanwhile Arthur slipped quickly out the door and to Eames' forgery supply bag. He had a variety of pens, inks and papers, which he used in the real world applications of his jobs, but he also carried with him a nice set of paintbrushes, which is what Arthur was after. He picked a large, fanned brush intended for oil paints, and a condom (oh Eames, always so prepared), and sauntered back to where Eames was sitting on the edge of the table waiting for him. Naked. Arthur growled appreciatively in the back of his throat and strode over, picking at his tie. Had it gotten hotter in here?

Eames spied the brush in Arthur's hand and whistled. "That brush cost two hundred pounds, you know," he said, but it didn't look much like he cared.

Arthur slotted himself in between Eames' legs and leaned in to kiss the smirk off his face. "Your body's already a canvas," he whispered, biting at Eames' lip and ghosting his fingers lightly over the thick black stripes of ink on his arm. "Only now it'll be a delicious one."

"Mmm, I'm always delicious," Eames argued, but it was only halfhearted and his body shuddered through it.

"Hold still." Arthur, quick thinking as he always was, opened one of Yusuf's bunsen burners and set the jar of chocolate on it.

"Good idea." Eames watched him as he stirred the jar with the wooden handle of the paintbrush, lifting it out every now and then to see how much the chocolate had softened. "And you know what else would be a good idea?"

"Hmm?"

Eames ran his tongue along his teeth and raised an eyebrow. "Taking off your clothes. You're wearing far too many."

"...You're right." Arthur let the brush handle sit in the slowly liquefying chocolate and turned back to Eames. "But you have to stay where you are."

Eames shifted on the table and whined, actually whined at him. "I can't help?"

"Nope." The forger made an aggrieved noise somewhere between a growl and a whimper, but he made no move to disobey. "Good boy."

Of course he started with the tie. He tugged sharply at the knot until it gave, then hooked his fingers in it and began unraveling it. The only sound in the room was the slide of silk on silk and Eames' ragged breathing. Arthur let the strip of fabric slip through his fingers and fall to the floor in a pool of shiny blue. Next were his shirt buttons, which he attacked one by one, starting with his cuffs.

"C'mon, love, just rip it off," Eames prodded. If he leaned any farther forward, Arthur was sure he'd fall off the table. So Arthur took a step back.

"Nope." He very calmly (Eames was twitching now) went back to undoing buttons, moving from his collar down his chest until he was able to slide the shirt down his shoulders. He did this as slowly as possible, grinning all the while. Next was his belt. This he did the slowest of all, letting Eames hear the clink of metal on metal as he undid the buckle, and the hiss when he pulled the leather from his belt loops. He quickly toed off his shoes and pulled his socks off, wincing a bit at the cold concrete floor, and finally he was in nothing but his pants.

"Can I just...?" Eames pleaded, jerking his head toward the offending article of clothing. "Just those?"

Arthur sighed. "Alright." He moved back into the space between Eames' legs, and Eames locked their lips together as his hands did their work undoing his pants. Arthur groaned a bit at the way Eames still tasted of salt and chocolate from where he'd kissed him before, when suddenly there was a hand down his briefs, stroking him. "Hey," he growled, and smacked at Eames' hand. "I said just the pants." Eames frowned into him but the hand withdrew, and then his pants were being tugged down over his ass. "...Alright, and the briefs." Eames chuckled and hooked his thumbs in the waistband, yanking those down as well and baring Arthur's ass to the air. Arthur reached to assist him in getting them the rest of the way down, and then his pants were kicked off into the corner next to Eames'.

"Now." Arthur moved to retrieve the jar of chocolate, which had liquified quite nicely during his striptease. His forbearance as he carried the jar over to Eames and did not pour all of its contents in his own mouth was nothing short of heroic. He set the jar next to Eames and opened the condom packet with his teeth—first things first. Eames watched him with undisguised interest, half-hard despite the fact that he'd already come.

"I'll just let you take charge, shall I?"

"Wise choice," Arthur agreed. He was already rock hard, and he had to stifle a groan as he rolled the condom down over his cock. The condom was lubricated, but not enough, so he spit into his hand—between Eames and the chocolate on the table, he had plenty of saliva. Eames got the message, leaned back on his elbows and spread his legs to give Arthur better access. His pupils were blown, his mouth slack and kiss-bitten, begging for it, so Arthur didn't waste any time. He circled Eames' entrance with his slick fingers before pushing two of them in. Eames keened at the intrusion, half surprise and half pleasure, but it wasn't long before his breathing began to hitch and he was pushing himself back down into Arthur. Arthur added a bit more spit to his other hand and worked his thumb in, opening Eames up in preparation—he couldn't hold off much longer himself.

"Come... come on," Eames grunted. "I don't care, that's good enough." Arthur doubted that, but who was he to argue? He spit once again, used it to slick his cock even more and then pulled Eames' hips till they were flush against him.

"I hope you're ready," said Arthur, and then he pushed into him.

Eames' head fell back, and he gritted his teeth, but his body took Arthur easily enough. Still, he went slowly, inch by inch until Eames was panting his impatience. "Just... fucking... aaah." And then Arthur was buried to the hilt and they sat that way for a moment, just adjusting. When Eames' breathing had slowed to a regular cadence again, Arthur released his hold on Eames' thighs and dipped the paintbrush into the body paint. He tested it quickly on its tongue, and finding it to be at a reasonable temperature, he smirked down at Eames, contemplating where to paint first.

"Having you lick that off me might be worth the two hundred pound paintbrush," Eames breathed, his eyes half-lidded. "Show me what you can do with it."

"Alright," Arthur grinned. He let the paintbrush hover just over the dark, inky swath of tattoo on Eames' shoulder before touching it to the skin.

"Warm." Eames let his eyelids drop shut and bit at his lip. His breathing stuttered as Arthur trailed the brush along the lines, following the swirls before moving to the tattoo on his other arm. He painted in broad, sure strokes, across the ink on Eames' collarbone, then up the lines of his neck, just for the hell of it, all the way to behind his ear.

"Now I get to ruin my masterpiece," Arthur growled before moving in Eames once again and folding himself into the other man. His thrusts were slow, languorous, sensual. Eames was moaning even before Arthur touched his tongue to the first chocolate tattoo, but the noise he made at the contact was positively obscene. Arthur dragged his tongue across the surface of Eames' skin as he fucked him. Eames' body heat kept the chocolate deliciously melted, necessitating several swipes across it to clean each area—not that either minded. The warmth of Arthur's breath feathering across the skin and the moisture left behind in the cool air made goosebumps rise in their wake, and Eames shivered. Arthur suckled on the paint just behind Eames' ear and the forger arched into it, over-sensitized.

"Aah, Arthur, oh god, shit, I'm too close," Eames bit out. He pulled Arthur in by the neck for a quick kiss before looking him in the eye. "Hold up for a second, love," he panted, one of his hands snaking unnoticed down to Arthur's. "'S'my turn."

"What-" Arthur started, confused, and then Eames snatched the paintbrush from him. "O-oh." Eames pushed gently in the center of his chest until Arthur was upright, grinning cautiously down at him. "What are you going to..."

"Let me show you how it's done." Eames touched the paintbrush to Arthur's skin and Arthur gasped, unable to stop his hips from snapping into Eames. Eames shuddered, as Arthur resumed his slow, careful thrusting, but he kept up the steady trail of the paintbrush, inscribing swirls and lines across Arthur's chest, around his nipples, at the base of his throat. He pulled Arthur to him once again, nuzzling and licking every bit of chocolate in reach, and Arthur's pace went erratic. It was enough to make Eames drop the paintbrush, and he cursed softly into Arthur's skin. The jar of chocolate was still within reach, though, so he fumbled blindly for it until his fingers made contact with the warm jar. The digits came back coated with the sticky sweet substance, and he trailed them across Arthur's jaw to the corner of his mouth. Arthur made a surprised, pleased noise at the contact and sucked a finger in, rolling it around and laving it with his tongue, and Eames inhaled sharply. "A-Arthur, shit." Eames had started off half-hard at best, but now his cock was aching where it lay untouched against his belly. "Please."

And Arthur got the hint. He braced himself against the tabletop with one hand splayed wide and reached down to jerk Eames with the other. Eames' head fell back against the table with a thud, and there wasn't any stopping the moans Arthur tore out of him. He watched Arthur watching him, his expression fond and harried and contented all at once. All in all, Eames didn't think he'd ever had a better idea than this one. "Arthur," he beamed, pulling his spit-slicked fingers from Arthur's mouth and trailing them across his cheek.

The furrow between Arthur's brows grew sharp and his toes began to curl, signaling his approach to orgasm. His eyes dropped closed, his thrusts gone wild and it was entirely possible he couldn't even hear the keening spilling forth from his lips. Eames, on the other hand, went totally quiet, the calm before the storm. Arthur's hand pumped him once, twice, and then he was coming over his own stomach in a torrent of curses and gasps. His whole body convulsed around Arthur, and if Arthur had had self-restraint before, he didn't now. He sank into Eames as his orgasm rocked him in waves, leaning into the other man because he didn't quite trust his legs to hold him up.

There was a moment or two of blissed-out, hazy silence before Eames brushed a hand along Arthur's spine, chuckling. "Well." And as Arthur's higher brain functions were currently impaired, and he couldn't put together a sentence anyway, he thought that was a pretty good way of summing things up. "Shall we get up and start cleaning this ridiculous mess we've made of Yusuf's lab?"

"Fuck you," said Arthur, with feeling.

When Yusuf came in the next morning, however, every bit of evidence of the previous night's chocolate debauchery was gone. Everything, that is, but a perfect pair of chocolate handprints on his spare table. Yusuf raised his clenched fist into the sky and screamed his fury.

"EEEEEEEEEEEAMES!"