Yeah well, that's kind of on both of us, isn't it?
[ Neither of them were good at saying how they felt. Eames hid himself with layers of nonchalance. Brushed things off like they were a joke, inconsequential. And Arthur was no better, finding it easier to lean into the barbed words, on the tension that existed in their working relationship.
Never address anything deeper than that. Except now they have and they're here, standing in his bedroom and Eames has flown basically across the world to be here. There's flowers in the kitchen downstairs, Eames in his arms, and he feels full to bursting.
Tilting his head, he presses into the kiss, not even bothering to answer. This is enough. Sighing, he pulls away, flicking a warm gaze to the forger's face as he tugs him towards the bed, hand in hand. ]
( He only lets go to pull his shirt free from his waistband, not even bothering to unbutton it before he's tugging it over his head. His undershirt goes next, leaving his hair a mess that he doesn't try to fix because he's working on his belt. Eames undresses with ease - it's nothing Arthur hasn't seen before, and honestly he's just glad to shed as much of his travel as he can.
He does leave his pants on, because he's not a hooligan.
Well, at least not today. )
You know, you say things like that and I'm not entirely sure I didn't hit my head somewhere halfway across the globe.
( He's teasing, grinning with a flash of teeth as he lets himself relax. )
[ Already in a fair state of undress, Arthur just tugs his pants down and off, kicking them away inelegantly. He does take a moment to watch Eames pull his shirt off, appreciating the view even if things aren't going in that direction. Because hey, he can do that now. Without the expectation that it's going to lead to them fucking.
He finds he likes this new facet immensely. Not because he tires of their sexual relationship—not at all, because despite his complaints otherwise, Eames is very good when he puts his mind to things. But more that this is something else for them both. The ability to be vulnerable without worry.
Stepping over to the bed, he folds the blankets down and slides under them on one side, sinking into the pillows. ]
Don't worry, you might've hit your head and scrambled some things, but this is real.
[ Arthur grins boyishly with the teasing; their banter has always been one of his favorite things. ]
( Oh, but that smile. Eames would raze cities and burn down monuments to keep that smile on Arthur's face. He quickly forgoes being even the slightest bit demure and strips the rest of his clothes off, slipping into bed beside the other man. When he turns on his side to look at him, head pillowed against his arm, he's sure he has the stupidest look on his face.
But he doesn't try to hide it, not anymore. This is important. )
Do you know how lovely you look when you smile, Arthur?
( He lifts a hand, thumb tracing the outline of his bottom lip before his palm cups Arthur's jaw. It's gentle, and soft, and he feels a little exposed with it, but it has to be said. )
The first time I saw it I knew there'd never be anything prettier.
[ It's odd, to have the bed dipping on the other side, without there being the expectation this will lead elsewhere. He's thought it before and he knows he'll keep circling back to it until he's used to it. And isn't that something on its own? That they could last for this to be a habit? It makes something warm bloom in his chest. ]
What?
[ Well, he has some idea. Arthur's always considered himself to be self-aware, knows the effect he has on people with his personality, with the way he dresses. Knows he looks particularly boyish and young when he smiles, so he does it rarely– youth was seen as inexperience, and that's the last thing he wants people to see in this field.
He leans into the touch though, head tilted just so, soaking up the warmth of Eames' palm, the softness of his regard. ]
You– you're such a sap, you know that, right?
[ But ok, maybe he's blushing. Because when has he ever been called lovely or pretty? He has half a mind to shove Eames out of the bed so he can deal with his embarrassment by sticking his head under a pillow. ]
i am so late so if you want to ignore these two tags i owe you can, sorry!!
( He's always been a helpless romantic, really. No amount of burying it deep has ever cured him of the reality. And something about Arthur brings that out in him. He wonders if the other man knows quite the effect he had, or quite how much of it he resuscitated.
But the thing between them is new, and delicate, and Eames may have gone about this all wrong but he wants to do it right now. He smiles a little, at the blushing, leans over to press his lips to Arthur's hot cheek before he settles back. The bed is soft, the sheets just the nice side of newly cool, and he can already feel himself losing the remainder of his tension. )
Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain.
[ For the record, he still wants to stick his head under the pillow, but he won't. He suffers through the embarrassment until he can feel his face cool– though the kiss Eames plants on his cheek doesn't do much to help.
Rolling over onto his stomach, he slings an arm around Eames' middle, chin tucked down as he settles. It's strange, because he can already tell he'll be able to relax without much of a problem. That should be alarming, considering how much effort he's spent in not being taken by surprise or just being a living tension rod.
Then again, whatever he can't handle, he knows the forger will. There's a weird safety net in knowing that. ]
( It comes out soft, because Arthur's arm around his stomach has a soothing weight that Eames had not anticipated before. His pulse picks up regardless, but the rest of him feels secure. He even feels his eyes closing, fingers drifting to rub a pattern over the bony knob of Arthur's wrist before they fall to the mattress again. )
As if they'd question how you know. You're the keeper of secrets, darling. You could say anything you wanted about me and they'd assume you were just clever enough to steal the answers.
( He's a house surrounded by a forest of lies and yet Arthur still manages to creep in. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ Neither of them were good at saying how they felt. Eames hid himself with layers of nonchalance. Brushed things off like they were a joke, inconsequential. And Arthur was no better, finding it easier to lean into the barbed words, on the tension that existed in their working relationship.
Never address anything deeper than that. Except now they have and they're here, standing in his bedroom and Eames has flown basically across the world to be here. There's flowers in the kitchen downstairs, Eames in his arms, and he feels full to bursting.
Tilting his head, he presses into the kiss, not even bothering to answer. This is enough. Sighing, he pulls away, flicking a warm gaze to the forger's face as he tugs him towards the bed, hand in hand. ]
Get out of all that and come to bed.
no subject
He does leave his pants on, because he's not a hooligan.
Well, at least not today. )
You know, you say things like that and I'm not entirely sure I didn't hit my head somewhere halfway across the globe.
( He's teasing, grinning with a flash of teeth as he lets himself relax. )
no subject
He finds he likes this new facet immensely. Not because he tires of their sexual relationship—not at all, because despite his complaints otherwise, Eames is very good when he puts his mind to things. But more that this is something else for them both. The ability to be vulnerable without worry.
Stepping over to the bed, he folds the blankets down and slides under them on one side, sinking into the pillows. ]
Don't worry, you might've hit your head and scrambled some things, but this is real.
[ Arthur grins boyishly with the teasing; their banter has always been one of his favorite things. ]
no subject
But he doesn't try to hide it, not anymore. This is important. )
Do you know how lovely you look when you smile, Arthur?
( He lifts a hand, thumb tracing the outline of his bottom lip before his palm cups Arthur's jaw. It's gentle, and soft, and he feels a little exposed with it, but it has to be said. )
The first time I saw it I knew there'd never be anything prettier.
no subject
What?
[ Well, he has some idea. Arthur's always considered himself to be self-aware, knows the effect he has on people with his personality, with the way he dresses. Knows he looks particularly boyish and young when he smiles, so he does it rarely– youth was seen as inexperience, and that's the last thing he wants people to see in this field.
He leans into the touch though, head tilted just so, soaking up the warmth of Eames' palm, the softness of his regard. ]
You– you're such a sap, you know that, right?
[ But ok, maybe he's blushing. Because when has he ever been called lovely or pretty? He has half a mind to shove Eames out of the bed so he can deal with his embarrassment by sticking his head under a pillow. ]
i am so late so if you want to ignore these two tags i owe you can, sorry!!
( He's always been a helpless romantic, really. No amount of burying it deep has ever cured him of the reality. And something about Arthur brings that out in him. He wonders if the other man knows quite the effect he had, or quite how much of it he resuscitated.
But the thing between them is new, and delicate, and Eames may have gone about this all wrong but he wants to do it right now. He smiles a little, at the blushing, leans over to press his lips to Arthur's hot cheek before he settles back. The bed is soft, the sheets just the nice side of newly cool, and he can already feel himself losing the remainder of his tension. )
Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain.
comes in a century later with starbucks
Rolling over onto his stomach, he slings an arm around Eames' middle, chin tucked down as he settles. It's strange, because he can already tell he'll be able to relax without much of a problem. That should be alarming, considering how much effort he's spent in not being taken by surprise or just being a living tension rod.
Then again, whatever he can't handle, he knows the forger will. There's a weird safety net in knowing that. ]
Saying anything would damn myself too, you know.
/holds arms open
( It comes out soft, because Arthur's arm around his stomach has a soothing weight that Eames had not anticipated before. His pulse picks up regardless, but the rest of him feels secure. He even feels his eyes closing, fingers drifting to rub a pattern over the bony knob of Arthur's wrist before they fall to the mattress again. )
As if they'd question how you know. You're the keeper of secrets, darling. You could say anything you wanted about me and they'd assume you were just clever enough to steal the answers.
( He's a house surrounded by a forest of lies and yet Arthur still manages to creep in. )