[ And that's it. No backing down or out now, not when Eames has given his answer. Sure, Arthur could be an ass and renege on the offer, but he isn't going to. Doesn't want to, despite the fact this closer partnership could end up ugly.
They'll be working together from now on. It'll be odd, not being seen as a solo flier or as someone attached to Dom Cobb's heels. He's looking forward to it. ]
I'd write us up a contract but it's probably just more effective to remind you that if I have to shoot you, I will.
[ such romance ]
They'll be working together from now on. It'll be odd, not being seen as a solo flier or as someone attached to Dom Cobb's heels. He's looking forward to it. ]
I'd write us up a contract but it's probably just more effective to remind you that if I have to shoot you, I will.
[ such romance ]
Please, you don't need to flatter me. Mal ruffled my hair and Dom even tried to call me sport.
[ Tried, as in he did it twice and after Arthur bodily cringed, he stopped. Mal, however, continued to muss his hair and then carefully finger comb it back into place. Arthur let her. No one's done that to him since then. ]
Look, someone has to keep on everyone's case. I'd be less of a pain if people stayed on track.
[ Not entirely true but here they are. Being a huge pain is practically in his job description. Arthur takes a careful sip of his tea, mulling everything over. There's a weight that still sits in his stomach, a gnawing worry that he's not going to be able to pull this off. That his damnable defensiveness is going to rear up and spoil it all. Because Eames is right, he's shit at touching and affection and anything that veers towards an emotional category. ]
You think we're gonna be able to do this?
[ Tried, as in he did it twice and after Arthur bodily cringed, he stopped. Mal, however, continued to muss his hair and then carefully finger comb it back into place. Arthur let her. No one's done that to him since then. ]
Look, someone has to keep on everyone's case. I'd be less of a pain if people stayed on track.
[ Not entirely true but here they are. Being a huge pain is practically in his job description. Arthur takes a careful sip of his tea, mulling everything over. There's a weight that still sits in his stomach, a gnawing worry that he's not going to be able to pull this off. That his damnable defensiveness is going to rear up and spoil it all. Because Eames is right, he's shit at touching and affection and anything that veers towards an emotional category. ]
You think we're gonna be able to do this?
Who says I've been attempting to woo you? Obviously competence matters most, otherwise I'd be offering a partnership to someone else, Mr Eames.
I was going to say "hearts, only if they're bleeding" but then, that sounds a bit like a serial killer. Also who says I can't do flowers? I'll have you know my mom was a florist.
Let's not get hasty with the assumptions. Sometimes your ethic makes me want to punch you somewhere vulnerable. But not always.
Let's not get hasty with the assumptions. Sometimes your ethic makes me want to punch you somewhere vulnerable. But not always.
[He smiles behind his tea cup, remembering him. Remembering them. Them has never happened, though. Not the way Eames wants it to. He sighs, sips at his tea.]
I think... we will, if you trust me not to bite, yeah?
[He smiles over at him.] I only bite for special occasions.
I think... we will, if you trust me not to bite, yeah?
[He smiles over at him.] I only bite for special occasions.
I do.
[ Uh, maybe clarify??? ]
Trust you, I mean. If there's a special occasion, just warn me ahead of time, yeah?
[ Maybe that's flirting with some kind of unspoken line, but the words are out and he can't take them back. Hastily, he drains his tea despite it burning a little on the way down. ]
Right, I uh. I'm gonna turn in. [ Very smooth, Arthur. He awkwardly pats Eames on the shoulder as he walks past him to the kitchen, where he sets his teacup in the polished sink.
A few minutes later finds him up the stairs and in the bedroom he'd picked out earlier. It has a good view of the street from the windows, currently blocked by the drawn curtains. Carefully, he sits on the edge of his bed, thinks about the rest of this very long job timeframe, and considers himself completely fucked. He's bad at affection, real or imagined, but more than anything, he's worried about caving. About letting himself get used to it. Because he's not sure he'll want to give it up when everything is said and done.
The two of them have been flirting over the years, tip toeing along the edge of something and he feels like this is just going to tip it into some direction. Whether that will be a good one or not, he doesn't know. Frustrated, he gets ready for bed, lets the small rituals calm his nerves even if his brain is still on overdrive.
Thankfully, he crashes out from the stress close to midnight
When he peels himself out of bed at 8 the next morning, he takes the coldest shower imaginable for reasons, and resolves to leave his personal feelings out of this whole mess. It's a job. He has to focus. True to routine, he makes coffee with the machine on the counter, puts a kettle of water on the stovetop for Eames. He's pouring himself a mug and adding milk when he hears the familiar cadence of the forger's steps down the hall.
(No, it's not weird that he can identify him by how he walks). ]
I boiled water. Not pouring your tea, since I know I fucked it up last time like the dirty American I am.
[ Uh, maybe clarify??? ]
Trust you, I mean. If there's a special occasion, just warn me ahead of time, yeah?
[ Maybe that's flirting with some kind of unspoken line, but the words are out and he can't take them back. Hastily, he drains his tea despite it burning a little on the way down. ]
Right, I uh. I'm gonna turn in. [ Very smooth, Arthur. He awkwardly pats Eames on the shoulder as he walks past him to the kitchen, where he sets his teacup in the polished sink.
A few minutes later finds him up the stairs and in the bedroom he'd picked out earlier. It has a good view of the street from the windows, currently blocked by the drawn curtains. Carefully, he sits on the edge of his bed, thinks about the rest of this very long job timeframe, and considers himself completely fucked. He's bad at affection, real or imagined, but more than anything, he's worried about caving. About letting himself get used to it. Because he's not sure he'll want to give it up when everything is said and done.
The two of them have been flirting over the years, tip toeing along the edge of something and he feels like this is just going to tip it into some direction. Whether that will be a good one or not, he doesn't know. Frustrated, he gets ready for bed, lets the small rituals calm his nerves even if his brain is still on overdrive.
Thankfully, he crashes out from the stress close to midnight
When he peels himself out of bed at 8 the next morning, he takes the coldest shower imaginable for reasons, and resolves to leave his personal feelings out of this whole mess. It's a job. He has to focus. True to routine, he makes coffee with the machine on the counter, puts a kettle of water on the stovetop for Eames. He's pouring himself a mug and adding milk when he hears the familiar cadence of the forger's steps down the hall.
(No, it's not weird that he can identify him by how he walks). ]
I boiled water. Not pouring your tea, since I know I fucked it up last time like the dirty American I am.
[ Truthfully, he never thought he'd be one to settle down. Not because he lacked a desire for it– no, on some level he wanted what Mal and Dom had, before everything went to absolute shit. It's just, his life is all over the place. First it'd been dreamshare, a lucrative business. And a dangerous one. Most of the jobs could be considered a crime. The people weren't always reliable, and more than once he'd fled a country to get away from being riddled with bullets.
Inception happened, probably the craziest job he'd ever do in his life. And then he'd been drafted into COST.
After that, he figured the weird intergalactic military thing wouldn't allow for settling in. Starting families, that sort of deal. But, after the hellscape of spider planet, he'd gotten close to Rey. That fateful conversation that'd drawn them in instead of repelling like incompatible magnets. While COST re-organized itself from the top down, they'd been granted some kind of leave.
Eventually, they'd get called back into action. Arthur knows they won't be able to remain quiet for long. That doesn't mean he's going to stop enjoying the strange domesticity he and Rey have fallen into. On a whim, he'd asked if she wanted to see New York and to his surprise, she agreed.
So, they've been here for about a week and a half, Arthur showing her every touristy site under the sun. Just yesterday, they'd done half of the Met and then walked around Central Park. It was summer but the weather had been generous, sunny and low humidity, a rarity.
Today, Rey had gone to look around the neighborhood, a little street tucked away in a relatively quiet part of Queens. Arthur had elected to stay behind, fix up a few things around the apartment, get back in touch with a couple people (Dom, Ariadne). He'd shed his suit coat earlier, down to rolled up sleeves and a waistcoat.
And apron, since it was getting close to dinner and every time he got to cook in his own kitchen was nice. The dactyl droids couldn't compare. ]
Inception happened, probably the craziest job he'd ever do in his life. And then he'd been drafted into COST.
After that, he figured the weird intergalactic military thing wouldn't allow for settling in. Starting families, that sort of deal. But, after the hellscape of spider planet, he'd gotten close to Rey. That fateful conversation that'd drawn them in instead of repelling like incompatible magnets. While COST re-organized itself from the top down, they'd been granted some kind of leave.
Eventually, they'd get called back into action. Arthur knows they won't be able to remain quiet for long. That doesn't mean he's going to stop enjoying the strange domesticity he and Rey have fallen into. On a whim, he'd asked if she wanted to see New York and to his surprise, she agreed.
So, they've been here for about a week and a half, Arthur showing her every touristy site under the sun. Just yesterday, they'd done half of the Met and then walked around Central Park. It was summer but the weather had been generous, sunny and low humidity, a rarity.
Today, Rey had gone to look around the neighborhood, a little street tucked away in a relatively quiet part of Queens. Arthur had elected to stay behind, fix up a few things around the apartment, get back in touch with a couple people (Dom, Ariadne). He'd shed his suit coat earlier, down to rolled up sleeves and a waistcoat.
And apron, since it was getting close to dinner and every time he got to cook in his own kitchen was nice. The dactyl droids couldn't compare. ]
[Eames has resolved to do the same thing, to focus and keep his personal feelings out of this. He really can't believe how affected he is by this, is terrified to know what touching Arthur casually is like.
Still, he wanders into the kitchen, smiling at Arthur's kind gesture.]
You didn't have to do that.
[He pauses to pat Arthur's shoulder (as awkwardly as Arthur had the night before) before going to the stove to prepare the tea.]
We all have our faults. [He gives him a devious smile before turning back to his tea.] What's on today's agenda?
Still, he wanders into the kitchen, smiling at Arthur's kind gesture.]
You didn't have to do that.
[He pauses to pat Arthur's shoulder (as awkwardly as Arthur had the night before) before going to the stove to prepare the tea.]
We all have our faults. [He gives him a devious smile before turning back to his tea.] What's on today's agenda?
[She's still not really sure why she agreed to go with Arthur once the option was given for them to take some time away from COST, especially not when it meant being restricted to just one planet when she had told herself that wouldn't ever be the case again. But she isn't stranded with no ship, and she isn't alone.
She isn't alone and once she'd let her guard down enough to let Arthur in, she had seen that maybe she wouldn't have to be alone in COST at all anymore. That first time they'd slept together hadn't been the last, and she can't really bring herself to feel unhappy about the fact that they've grown close.
It's nice. She likes it. She's even told him she likes it, which had been an embarrassing study in how to deal with a human who has never had anything go right for her her entire life, but he'd been patient and it had been annoying but-
Nice. It's all infuriatingly nice, and she's not thinking of it as she explores his planet, his city, but as she starts to walk back she realizes she's walking home.
She's going home to someone, and she wishes it was winter on this planet because at least that could account for the redness in her cheeks and splashed across her nose. Walking in the door and finding him making food in an apron does not help.]
Well... that's certainly a look I didn't expect to ever see you trying out.
She isn't alone and once she'd let her guard down enough to let Arthur in, she had seen that maybe she wouldn't have to be alone in COST at all anymore. That first time they'd slept together hadn't been the last, and she can't really bring herself to feel unhappy about the fact that they've grown close.
It's nice. She likes it. She's even told him she likes it, which had been an embarrassing study in how to deal with a human who has never had anything go right for her her entire life, but he'd been patient and it had been annoying but-
Nice. It's all infuriatingly nice, and she's not thinking of it as she explores his planet, his city, but as she starts to walk back she realizes she's walking home.
She's going home to someone, and she wishes it was winter on this planet because at least that could account for the redness in her cheeks and splashed across her nose. Walking in the door and finding him making food in an apron does not help.]
Well... that's certainly a look I didn't expect to ever see you trying out.
[ He hears the front door open and close, the familiar shuffle of Rey's footsteps down the small connecting hall. At this point, it's normalized enough that he doesn't turn, just goes about slicing carrots with dutiful precision. Arthur's never been a great cook, he doesn't have the imagination for it, but he can follow a recipe and hasn't burned anything outrageously.
However, he does pause when Rey speaks up, glancing over his shoulder. She's got a bit of sunburn on her cheeks and nose that make it look like she has a perpetual blush. It's cute. Even if he's refrained from saying so. ]
Welcome back. Also, just because I know my way around a gun doesn't mean I can't pull double duty as a housewife.
[ But god he'd make the worst homemaker. ]
However, he does pause when Rey speaks up, glancing over his shoulder. She's got a bit of sunburn on her cheeks and nose that make it look like she has a perpetual blush. It's cute. Even if he's refrained from saying so. ]
Welcome back. Also, just because I know my way around a gun doesn't mean I can't pull double duty as a housewife.
[ But god he'd make the worst homemaker. ]
I'm awake, the kettle was there.
[ Arthur shrugs, as if it explains everything. He didn't have to do it, but he went ahead with it anyway. Last night they left on somewhat tense terms. In a way, it's like an olive branch. Something to try and smooth over the rocky path.
The biggest improvement, though, is that he doesn't flinch when Eames pats him on the shoulder. Maybe it's because the kitchen is a little smaller, or the fact that they're close– he'd seen the motion coming and told himself to chill out. He sips his coffee and leans against the counter, watches Eames as he pours water and makes his tea. A small part of him notes the prep; three teaspoons of sugar, a dash of milk. He's a bit enamored with the motions of his hands that he almost misses the question. ]
Some back end prep, but mostly getting information without making contact. And um.
[ Jesus, why does this make him so nervous? ]
We should work on that thing you mentioned yesterday.
[ Arthur shrugs, as if it explains everything. He didn't have to do it, but he went ahead with it anyway. Last night they left on somewhat tense terms. In a way, it's like an olive branch. Something to try and smooth over the rocky path.
The biggest improvement, though, is that he doesn't flinch when Eames pats him on the shoulder. Maybe it's because the kitchen is a little smaller, or the fact that they're close– he'd seen the motion coming and told himself to chill out. He sips his coffee and leans against the counter, watches Eames as he pours water and makes his tea. A small part of him notes the prep; three teaspoons of sugar, a dash of milk. He's a bit enamored with the motions of his hands that he almost misses the question. ]
Some back end prep, but mostly getting information without making contact. And um.
[ Jesus, why does this make him so nervous? ]
We should work on that thing you mentioned yesterday.
Back end prep, [he repeats, trying to fight the smile that Arthur can't see right now. But his hands pause at that last part. He's not going to let Arthur notice, though, so he hurries to pick up his tea and rub at his eyes, sleepy despite the fact that his shower should have woken him up.]
We should. Um... Let's make some breakfast first and work on it, hm?
[He's moving closer now, trying to get Arthur used to him being in his space.] What would you like this morning?
[He holds his hand up, slowly, so Arthur can see what he's doing, and moves to brush back a piece of Arthur's hair.]
We should. Um... Let's make some breakfast first and work on it, hm?
[He's moving closer now, trying to get Arthur used to him being in his space.] What would you like this morning?
[He holds his hand up, slowly, so Arthur can see what he's doing, and moves to brush back a piece of Arthur's hair.]
my telltale heart's a hammer in my chest // arthur/eggsy
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pointedlook
2018-06-25 04:39 am (UTC)(link)
[ Eames, much to his bad luck, is off on a job for a couple weeks. Non-dreamshare, utilizing his other shadowy skills. Mainly, theft. The kind that involves a long con, pulling the wool over some poor sap's eyes. Arthur didn't ask for details, didn't expect Eames to give him any even if he did ask. All he's got is an emergency number for a burner phone and an email address.
Well, not just him, Eggsy has the same information.
Because the three of them live in some odd harmonious polyamory. Arthur had never seen himself as the type to share easily, but when it came to the arrangement, it just worked. Maybe it's the fact that they're all criminals. Or maybe their personality traits balance out in the end. He knows he can be a bit married to his work– either Eggsy or Eames are happy to pull him away from his desk when he starts to look a little crazy around the eyes.
Today is actually not one of those days. Because he'd gotten up this morning, dressed very carefully in some very specific items in front of Eggsy before heading off to work on a few things with a nearby architect. He leaves promptly at 5'o'clock, comes home with a bottle of wine and a little bouquet of flowers.
He's feeling a little romantic, so sue him.
Striking a careful balance, he manages to get the door open, drops his keys in the bowl nearby. Kicks his shoes off and goes to find Eggsy, who is likely stretched out on the couch, feet propped up on the arm with her painted toes for all to see. ]
You know, I was half expecting to get tackled as soon as I walked in.
Well, not just him, Eggsy has the same information.
Because the three of them live in some odd harmonious polyamory. Arthur had never seen himself as the type to share easily, but when it came to the arrangement, it just worked. Maybe it's the fact that they're all criminals. Or maybe their personality traits balance out in the end. He knows he can be a bit married to his work– either Eggsy or Eames are happy to pull him away from his desk when he starts to look a little crazy around the eyes.
Today is actually not one of those days. Because he'd gotten up this morning, dressed very carefully in some very specific items in front of Eggsy before heading off to work on a few things with a nearby architect. He leaves promptly at 5'o'clock, comes home with a bottle of wine and a little bouquet of flowers.
He's feeling a little romantic, so sue him.
Striking a careful balance, he manages to get the door open, drops his keys in the bowl nearby. Kicks his shoes off and goes to find Eggsy, who is likely stretched out on the couch, feet propped up on the arm with her painted toes for all to see. ]
You know, I was half expecting to get tackled as soon as I walked in.
[ Growing up in a council flat, Eggsy hadn't even had the slightest desire for a partner. Especially not a big bruiser with a thick cockney accent and ugly tattoos all across his shoulders and down his arms. Especially not a fine-boned ponce with beautiful clothes and carefully-coiffed hair.
And yet...
Somehow, at the ripe old age of twenty-seven, she's wound up with not one, but two partners, both in business (in crime) and in love. And both of them are exactly the kind of men she would have sworn up and down weren't her type. Somehow, it works. Not only does it work, but it works beautifully. And not just the sex, although that is something worth writing home about, were she in the habit of scandalizing her mother with lurid tales of her sex life, which she isn't, thanks very much. In some strange twist of fate or kismet or whatever you want to call it, the three of them slot together like puzzle pieces, each of them filling in the others' cracks, good qualities and bad qualities alike. There are fights between them, some serious and some not, some about work and some about everything else, but it's been a very rare night indeed that Eggsy has gone to sleep alone since she washed up in dreamshare, and she's very appreciative of that fact.
She is well aware of how lucky she is. Not just to escape the council block, but to find two separate men to love her, flaws and all.
Eames has fucked off somewhere, and Arthur insisted on going in to work for some stupid reason or other, which has left Eggsy alone for most of the day. Normally, that would mean she would either spend her time alone napping, playing video games, or perhaps keeping her petty thievery skills sharp, but through some bolt of divine responsibility, she's instead spent most of her day off with a binder of notes in her lap, studying everything Arthur has laid out for her in his neat, precise handwriting.
The front door opening doesn't alarm her. She has a gun strapped to the bottom of the coffee table in front of her, and a throwing knife tucked between the edge of the chair and the cushion she's sitting on. If an intruder somehow got through Arthur's security system, she won't be left defenseless.
It's just Arthur, though, and she uses those painted toes to push off from the coffee table, sending the Lay-Z Boy chair she's currently lounging in spinning on its rotating axis so she faces the entryway, allowing her to give Arthur a broad smile. ]
Arfur, darling. I've been working. You should be proud of me.
And yet...
Somehow, at the ripe old age of twenty-seven, she's wound up with not one, but two partners, both in business (in crime) and in love. And both of them are exactly the kind of men she would have sworn up and down weren't her type. Somehow, it works. Not only does it work, but it works beautifully. And not just the sex, although that is something worth writing home about, were she in the habit of scandalizing her mother with lurid tales of her sex life, which she isn't, thanks very much. In some strange twist of fate or kismet or whatever you want to call it, the three of them slot together like puzzle pieces, each of them filling in the others' cracks, good qualities and bad qualities alike. There are fights between them, some serious and some not, some about work and some about everything else, but it's been a very rare night indeed that Eggsy has gone to sleep alone since she washed up in dreamshare, and she's very appreciative of that fact.
She is well aware of how lucky she is. Not just to escape the council block, but to find two separate men to love her, flaws and all.
Eames has fucked off somewhere, and Arthur insisted on going in to work for some stupid reason or other, which has left Eggsy alone for most of the day. Normally, that would mean she would either spend her time alone napping, playing video games, or perhaps keeping her petty thievery skills sharp, but through some bolt of divine responsibility, she's instead spent most of her day off with a binder of notes in her lap, studying everything Arthur has laid out for her in his neat, precise handwriting.
The front door opening doesn't alarm her. She has a gun strapped to the bottom of the coffee table in front of her, and a throwing knife tucked between the edge of the chair and the cushion she's sitting on. If an intruder somehow got through Arthur's security system, she won't be left defenseless.
It's just Arthur, though, and she uses those painted toes to push off from the coffee table, sending the Lay-Z Boy chair she's currently lounging in spinning on its rotating axis so she faces the entryway, allowing her to give Arthur a broad smile. ]
Arfur, darling. I've been working. You should be proud of me.
[ No wonder it was so quiet when he walked in. She's in her favorite chair, the one she and Eames fight over on occasion, leafing through the report he'd tossed onto her stomach on the bed early this morning. Arthur could honestly kiss her and not just for doing work.
All she's wearing is one of his shirts– he can tell, it's not as loose in the shoulders as one of Eames'– and a pair of panties. His mouth goes a little dry and it takes him a second to pull his eyes up to a respectable altitude. One that isn't the line of where the shirt hem sits on her nicely shaped thighs. ]
I'm always proud of you. But I'm especially so, in this moment.
[ Walking over, he bypasses Eggsy and her chair, takes a seat on one of the nearby stools from the breakfast bar. ]
Hey, got you some presents.
All she's wearing is one of his shirts– he can tell, it's not as loose in the shoulders as one of Eames'– and a pair of panties. His mouth goes a little dry and it takes him a second to pull his eyes up to a respectable altitude. One that isn't the line of where the shirt hem sits on her nicely shaped thighs. ]
I'm always proud of you. But I'm especially so, in this moment.
[ Walking over, he bypasses Eggsy and her chair, takes a seat on one of the nearby stools from the breakfast bar. ]
Hey, got you some presents.
( His mother was a florist. Eames has to pause long enough to recover from the spasm of delight that gives him, carefully tucking away the information in his mental Arthur folder. )
there are far easier ways to get your hands on my balls, arthur.
( IF ONLY YOU LOVED HIM. )
but i'll be on my best behaviour. wouldn't want to damage your reputation.
there are far easier ways to get your hands on my balls, arthur.
( IF ONLY YOU LOVED HIM. )
but i'll be on my best behaviour. wouldn't want to damage your reputation.
Oh, don't complain. I'm sure people would kill for your genetic makeup. Just wait until your face looks like peeling paint on an abandoned piss stained wall, then you'll miss those days where you constantly had to whip out your I.D.
( Arthur's face is lovely. Eames doesn't even think that old age would suit Arthur poorly. He's probably going to be stunning up until the worms start eating him.
It isn't fair. For several reasons.
Eames listens as Arthur talks, surprise crossing his face. His mouth eases into a smile, something fond and sweet. He's pleased for Arthur. )
Really? I always thought you'd be the type to vacation while a team of skilled employees did the dirty work. ( A pause. ) No, of course you'd probably stay behind hovering over everyone's shoulder making sure they did their job with precision.
( Of course he's a DIY man. )
( Arthur's face is lovely. Eames doesn't even think that old age would suit Arthur poorly. He's probably going to be stunning up until the worms start eating him.
It isn't fair. For several reasons.
Eames listens as Arthur talks, surprise crossing his face. His mouth eases into a smile, something fond and sweet. He's pleased for Arthur. )
Really? I always thought you'd be the type to vacation while a team of skilled employees did the dirty work. ( A pause. ) No, of course you'd probably stay behind hovering over everyone's shoulder making sure they did their job with precision.
( Of course he's a DIY man. )
Oh, are you offering?
[ this is a bad idea and he really shouldn't be opening this door but here he is. ]
Look, if we're being honest, I'm not really worried about you damaging my rep. You're good at what you do, Eames.
[ this is a bad idea and he really shouldn't be opening this door but here he is. ]
Look, if we're being honest, I'm not really worried about you damaging my rep. You're good at what you do, Eames.
[ Arthur lets out a laugh at the retort– a real one, not the usual breathed out amusement. It lights up his face, mouth curved up happily, dimples showing in full. He usually keeps himself restrained in this sense, knows how his happiness can be misconstrued.
Knows, on some level, how devastating it can be when wielded in specific situations.
Normally, Cobb dealt with the fast talking and charming, but occasionally he'd stepped in, flashing an easy smile and watching as defenses lowered in shock.
Some part of him worries about showing too much in front of Eames. Another part says fuck it. They've known each other too long at this point. And if he somehow charms him with this side, he'll deal with the fallout. ]
Please, I'm not that bad. I'd be directing from the couch, it's much more comfortable. [ He wouldn't, but that's part of the joke, something he loops in with that same honest smile directed towards the forger. ]
There's something satisfying about doing all the work. I can just turn my brain off. [ In a way, it resembles those times where he's stuck compiling reams of information for jobs. But with the added bonus of working with his hands. Tactile in a way his normal work isn't.
After a bit of hesitance (internal, simple silence on the outside), he glances at Eames, gaze steady despite his nerves. ] Come by sometime, I'll give you the tour.
Knows, on some level, how devastating it can be when wielded in specific situations.
Normally, Cobb dealt with the fast talking and charming, but occasionally he'd stepped in, flashing an easy smile and watching as defenses lowered in shock.
Some part of him worries about showing too much in front of Eames. Another part says fuck it. They've known each other too long at this point. And if he somehow charms him with this side, he'll deal with the fallout. ]
Please, I'm not that bad. I'd be directing from the couch, it's much more comfortable. [ He wouldn't, but that's part of the joke, something he loops in with that same honest smile directed towards the forger. ]
There's something satisfying about doing all the work. I can just turn my brain off. [ In a way, it resembles those times where he's stuck compiling reams of information for jobs. But with the added bonus of working with his hands. Tactile in a way his normal work isn't.
After a bit of hesitance (internal, simple silence on the outside), he glances at Eames, gaze steady despite his nerves. ] Come by sometime, I'll give you the tour.
[ At one point, Meliorn had warned him this would happen.
Arthur, never one to turn down a warning, had simply put in a few more hours at the gun range or the occasional trip into a dream to make sure his fighting skills didn't wane. Because for as many jobs that had violent projections he needed to fend off while running point, there were about an equal amount where he didn't need to lift a finger. Pleasant projections, completely unaware that someone or someones were poking around in the mark's head.
So he stays sharp, avoids a few specific sections of New York City– places Mel pointed out when they'd be walking around.
In the end, it pays off, because they're on their way back to his apartment when they're cornered by a few shadowhunters. They'd offered him a job, pulling out all the stops to make it as enticing as possible. Underneath it all, Arthur had seen it for what it was; they weren't going to take no for an answer. After his first few hardline refusals and an attempt to walk away, they'd gone from pretend genial to threatening. And he'd taken the nice gloves off, much more at home with the air of violence than the fake cordiality.
Mel, unfortunately (or was it fortunately) had gotten dragged in as a result of being in Arthur's proximity. And probably for being just as stubborn with regards to giving him and his dreamwalking over to the hunters. The fight really doesn't last long, not from lack of skill on either side– quite the opposite. Properly trounced, the shadowhunters slither back to their headquarters, leaving Arthur and Mel to lick their wounds in the relative privacy of the alley.
Panting with exertion, he wipes blood away from his nose with the back of his hand. That's gonna smart tomorrow. Actually, every muscle will, he's pretty sure. He skirts over to Mel, who's eyeing the turn where the hunters disappeared with an expression bordering on murderous. Reaching out, he pushes back the sheaf of hair that's fallen across the one side of Mel's face. There's a gash on his temple that looks pretty nasty. Both of them desperately need to get cleaned up, but all he can think of is the glint of the seelie's teeth, the easy flicker of a sword. All the adrenaline is still sliding along his nerves and he just wants to kiss the fuck out of him, alley be damned. ]
Hey, doing alright?
Arthur, never one to turn down a warning, had simply put in a few more hours at the gun range or the occasional trip into a dream to make sure his fighting skills didn't wane. Because for as many jobs that had violent projections he needed to fend off while running point, there were about an equal amount where he didn't need to lift a finger. Pleasant projections, completely unaware that someone or someones were poking around in the mark's head.
So he stays sharp, avoids a few specific sections of New York City– places Mel pointed out when they'd be walking around.
In the end, it pays off, because they're on their way back to his apartment when they're cornered by a few shadowhunters. They'd offered him a job, pulling out all the stops to make it as enticing as possible. Underneath it all, Arthur had seen it for what it was; they weren't going to take no for an answer. After his first few hardline refusals and an attempt to walk away, they'd gone from pretend genial to threatening. And he'd taken the nice gloves off, much more at home with the air of violence than the fake cordiality.
Mel, unfortunately (or was it fortunately) had gotten dragged in as a result of being in Arthur's proximity. And probably for being just as stubborn with regards to giving him and his dreamwalking over to the hunters. The fight really doesn't last long, not from lack of skill on either side– quite the opposite. Properly trounced, the shadowhunters slither back to their headquarters, leaving Arthur and Mel to lick their wounds in the relative privacy of the alley.
Panting with exertion, he wipes blood away from his nose with the back of his hand. That's gonna smart tomorrow. Actually, every muscle will, he's pretty sure. He skirts over to Mel, who's eyeing the turn where the hunters disappeared with an expression bordering on murderous. Reaching out, he pushes back the sheaf of hair that's fallen across the one side of Mel's face. There's a gash on his temple that looks pretty nasty. Both of them desperately need to get cleaned up, but all he can think of is the glint of the seelie's teeth, the easy flicker of a sword. All the adrenaline is still sliding along his nerves and he just wants to kiss the fuck out of him, alley be damned. ]
Hey, doing alright?
[ It's been a very long time since he's felt this--it's his caste, he knows, it's who he is--but fighting has always made him feel alive, and just a little more in tune with nature and the world. He feels alive, he feels like he's fulfilling some cosmic purpose, and it doesn't help that he's told Shadowhunters to fuck off with the tip of his sword to one of their throats. It's not like they mattered, they weren't Isabelle, and he was able to see Arthur in action.
He's seen him, of course, but while asleep, and that's very different. The adrenaline doesn't flow through him as freely, he doesn't feel nearly as alive, and from the looks of it, it may be the same as Arthur.
This is the first time, he realizes, they've actively fought together. It sends a surge through him he didn't know he was capable of feeling. ]
Better than before.
[ He's still catching his breath, a trickle of green blood running down his face from his temple. Not enough to worry, but enough for his sweat soaked hair to sting once Arthur moves it away. Meliorn blinks, but otherwise his gaze is fixed on the other's. ]
Your apartment is close, is it not?
He's seen him, of course, but while asleep, and that's very different. The adrenaline doesn't flow through him as freely, he doesn't feel nearly as alive, and from the looks of it, it may be the same as Arthur.
This is the first time, he realizes, they've actively fought together. It sends a surge through him he didn't know he was capable of feeling. ]
Better than before.
[ He's still catching his breath, a trickle of green blood running down his face from his temple. Not enough to worry, but enough for his sweat soaked hair to sting once Arthur moves it away. Meliorn blinks, but otherwise his gaze is fixed on the other's. ]
Your apartment is close, is it not?
[ At Mel's comment, he quirks an eyebrow, slightly baffled. Sure, the adrenaline is a thing, but there's cuts and scrapes that he can feel the sting of. Bruises that he knows for sure will feel like hell come morning.
(But maybe, maybe something about that resonates with him). ]
Couple blocks. Come on.
[ Arthur pulls away with some reluctance, carefully moves his hand so Mel's hair doesn't brush too harshly against his wound. It's not a far walk at all, just a little over a couple blocks. Then it's up the stairs, through the mailroom and lobby, and another set of stairs to the second floor. The jangle of his keys is loud in the quiet hallway, but only long enough to unlock the front door. He leans in, flicks on the light and gestures for Mel to go first.
After, he follows him in, shuts and re-locks the door, and deposits his keys in the dish nearby. There's tension here, enough he could probably cut it with a knife. But he doesn't know where to displace the energy, the leftover nerves. Unthinking, he steps closer to Mel, encroaches on his personal space. He brings his hands up to either side of his face, presumably to get a better look.
Instead, he pauses, initial scrutiny forgotten. ]
Can I–
(But maybe, maybe something about that resonates with him). ]
Couple blocks. Come on.
[ Arthur pulls away with some reluctance, carefully moves his hand so Mel's hair doesn't brush too harshly against his wound. It's not a far walk at all, just a little over a couple blocks. Then it's up the stairs, through the mailroom and lobby, and another set of stairs to the second floor. The jangle of his keys is loud in the quiet hallway, but only long enough to unlock the front door. He leans in, flicks on the light and gestures for Mel to go first.
After, he follows him in, shuts and re-locks the door, and deposits his keys in the dish nearby. There's tension here, enough he could probably cut it with a knife. But he doesn't know where to displace the energy, the leftover nerves. Unthinking, he steps closer to Mel, encroaches on his personal space. He brings his hands up to either side of his face, presumably to get a better look.
Instead, he pauses, initial scrutiny forgotten. ]
Can I–
[ It's charmingly mundane, but Meliorn is having focus on things like that--there's no petty remarks, no snide comments as they walk. They're probably stepping closer than they usually do, though Meliorn only notices because at one point their shoulders bump. They say nothing until they're at Arthur's house.
He imagines it's one of many in New York.
The problem is that Arthur speaks and Meliorn realizes he's not ready for the silence to be broken, not when he's impossibly close. Meliorn can feel it, that tension, that energy, and he cuts him off two syllables in by leaning in, closing the gap between them to kiss him with both hands placed firmly on Arthur's hips. ]
He imagines it's one of many in New York.
The problem is that Arthur speaks and Meliorn realizes he's not ready for the silence to be broken, not when he's impossibly close. Meliorn can feel it, that tension, that energy, and he cuts him off two syllables in by leaning in, closing the gap between them to kiss him with both hands placed firmly on Arthur's hips. ]
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