[ few know his name in this community. he's gone by too many to count. eames is one of these few (three, peter thinks, now. a small, sweet, perfect little number. the next person who finds out, he's going to have to kill. just to keep it so.) it doesn't take much convincing on eames' part to get peter to agree. he's bored, looking for the next adventure, lounging on a beach somewhere nameless and hot, so really. what else is there to do that's any better than giving your heart a little rush of adrenaline? the thrill of the kill, as it might be.
peter sees him at the bar, a very blurred image having been all that was given to him and a cheerful little "you'll know him when you see him" before eames had clicked the line dead.
it's one of his "regular" locals in this part of town, the one that knows his favorite way to have a manhattan (a remnant from too long ago, a long ago peter likes to wave away into thin air whenever it creeps back up over his shoulders.) as he walks up, the bartender spies him, already setting to work on his drink as he takes a seat up beside the man, waiting for his drink. he smooths the lean, dark trousers over his legs ending in a pair of heels that look as though they should be impossible to walk in. his shirt is cut perfectly over a narrow silhouette, a material that shimmers like an oil slick in this particular lighting. ]
[ Truthfully, he hadn't known what to expect. Eames had been their go-between and Arthur had been willing to let him handle it. For one, it was unusual for Eames to volunteer to do any kind of footwork. And two, he had a mountain of research to get through at the time.
The tall, slim figure had caught his eye when he'd come in, height alone marking him out. But he'd dutifully kept his gaze at a neutral limit. So it'd been surprising and unsurprising in turn when that stranger came over, all clean, lush lines and a soft click of well-made heels. Arthur doesn't stare but he does take Peter's appearance in, matching it to what he'd been described. Well. Eames had been right; he definitely liked him already. ]
No, not at all.
[ That was the truth. He'd gotten here early, a habit he'd never shaken. The bartender comes over then, sets a drink down in front of Peter. A manhattan, probably perfectly made, judging from the reputation of this place. And what's more, the regularity— Peter comes here often and he doesn't look the type to settle for mediocrity. ]
I suppose we can skip the pleasantries, unless you'd like them.
[ peter takes the glass gently and slides a tip over immediately to the bartender, cash, turning around to face arthur in his seat, though admiring his drink first before his gaze shifts to the man himself. there's a smile curling on the edges of his lips, something that reveals the softest peaking of slightly sharper teeth than usual, fitting of a man who (in whatever notes eames has on him) is referred to affectionately as "a fox in both figurative and literal senses."
arthur himself isn't hard on the eyes either, and peter quite enjoys the cut of his brow, the slope of his shoulders, the way he looks in such a perfectly tailored suit. you want to grab a man by the lapels of that kind of suit and pull him in a corner for something more than paltry chatter.
he takes a sip of his drink and then places it gently on the napkin beside his wrist. ]
No one says we can't enjoy ourselves with a touch of polite conversation. Though I do beg one favor of you, if you wouldn't mind leaning in closely.
[ Here's the moment where it clicks or doesn't. Arthur believes wholeheartedly in first impressions, but not necessarily the "hello". It's in the space afterwards, when they've sized each other up. Like now, with the glint of sharp teeth, as though the internal traits have manifested into reality.
And yet, the placement of the napkin is dainty, a play at polite company. There's something under Peter's skin just like anyone in dreamshare worth their salt– a hunger, wrapped up in charming smiles and perfect tailoring. He's a spark, a lit match, and while Arthur's always been careful, all he wants to do it stick his hand straight in, nevermind the burns. Because then he'll know.
Tilting his head quizzically, he leans in with an air of wariness, the hem of his suit shifting across his thighs with the motion. ]
[ the wariness brings peter to smile just a little more, reaching over to glance fingers along the line of arthur's collared shirt. the touch acts as if to straighten a line that's bent out of shape, but it guides so that soft lips can just barely hover over the shell of arthur's ear. ]
I do hope that Mr. Eames has informed you that, for all intents and purposes, you will not call me by the name he's given you under any circumstances while we work with one another.
[ the touch strays, one perfectly manicured nail finding the line of arthur's throat and pressing softly.
"peter" is an incredibly common name, but he's spent two decades protecting it, and he won't let it slip now just because mr. eames has seen it fit to give it to one of his colleagues. ]
[ At the touch to his collar, he stays perfectly still. It's not a flinch– he's trained himself out of it, after all, but it's as close to one as he'll get. The intimacy is needful right now, a useful guise in the middle of a public space. ]
Of course.
[ He's a professional first and foremost. Information is something he guards closely, keeps it like a second skin that he's unwilling to shed. So he can understand Peter, can understand driving a point home like the press of his nail to the soft part of his throat.
Voice low, he turns his head minutely, the motion of his mouth hidden by the line of Peter's jaw. ]
[ arthur seems to get it right away, which is good because peter doesn't have time to suffer argumentative fools who want to laugh at their business. the little turn of his head is cute, hell, it's tempting to press his mouth right there to the rise of his cheek and leave a bright stain there on his skin. instead he presses his lips together and hums. ]
Morrigan.
[ the phantom queen. the flat of his finger smooths over the pulse in arthur's neck briefly, not an apology but like sealing a contract slowly over the line he's drawn, thin and red with the pressure of his nail. ]
For the remainder of our partnership. Just Morrigan.
[ They're close enough that Peter– no, Morrigan– might be able to feel the curve of his smile. Brief, but amused at the choice. He isn't laughing at him, he likes the choice. It's fitting of this person, so sharp underneath his skin. ]
A goddess.
[ Maybe some would find it off-putting, the potential ego. But just like dreaming, there's always layers. He's using this alias because he wants to protect something important to him. Names have power, sometimes enough to ruin, especially in this industry where knowledge is key.
He can't really judge, either, because his moniker is Arthur, a name steeped in so much mythos it may as well be on the same level as Morrigan. What a funny pair they make.
Carefully, he pulls away, knows the tap of his finger is an agreement. A contract, without the blood or ink, but the promise of the former if it's broken. ]
I look forward to working with you, Morrigan. [ At that, he picks up his drink and tips the edge of the glass towards him, an air of honesty between them. ]
[ inspiration from a previous associate that peter doesn't find the need to go into. there's a quiet sense of binding here, the way arthur pulls away, how he reaches for his glass and tips it towards him. he's got a good face, boyish in its shape, in the play of his eyes. peter picks up his own drink and holds it out softly until the very rims of their glasses touch. ]
And I, you, Arthur.
[ he takes a sip of his drink, and when he pulls away there is a rich stain of color, but his lips look untarnished. ]
You certainly are much easier on the eyes than I'd thought you'd be. You're already full of surprises, looking as good as you do in that suit.
[ Morrigan picks up where he leaves off, the rims of their glasses clinking softly. After, he takes a sip of his drink, a mirrored image to the man sitting across from him.
At the comment, he raises an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile pulling his mouth up at the corner. ]
And you're different than what I expected. Not in a bad way, of course. [ He lets his gaze drop on purpose, this time really looking. His legs really do look great in those trousers; Arthur has half a mind to ask after his tailor to thank him. ]
Trial and error. [ It's taken him painstaking time to perfect his look. ] What do you say to taking this somewhere else?
[ Private, because job details were best given behind a closed door. ]
[ peter lets arthur have his fill of a look, after all, it's only fair. and he's had less kind eyes on him before - if anything this sort of gaze is quite refreshing, and more than desired. he enjoys his drink with a little smile on his painted lips as he waits for arthur to decide what it is they'll do next.
and he certainly does. ]
I thought you'd never ask.
[ as though they've been here dallying for hours instead of simply minutes. there's a brightness in his eyes lighting up, like a cat that's spotted precisely what little shiny bauble it wants and is already preparing to go after it. he takes his napkin briefly and presses his mouth to it, leaving a bleeding red kiss on it before setting the glass down after and holding out his hand. ]
[ And while they've only known each other for a few minutes, he gets the feeling this is going to work out well. Years in dreamshare have gotten him used to reading people. Or maybe he's always had it, even when he wanted to deny certain facts (like how he'd known he would work well with Eames in the beginning, despite the forger's aggravating attitude).
So he takes Morrigan's hand after sliding off the stool, other arm slanted in a "go ahead" gesture. ]
Ladies first.
[ Once they're properly out of the lounge, he might even offer an elbow, the two of them surely looking beautiful (and lethal) on the short walk to the hotel he has just for this occasion. ]
[ peter immediately smiles at the gesture, slipping away from the bar and waiting for arthur to come to his side. they walk arm in arm, an easy pace that looks like it's languid and meant for something more. he really couldn't ask for a better partner to put on that kind of a convincing show. it's clear to patrons around that they're likely not to be doing any sort of wholesome business in the confines of a room.
that's the best part of the game really. wide eyes or jealous ones, ones that can't help but peek over their magazines or periodicals.
peter leans in gently as they close in on the hotel, as if to place a kiss softly on his cheek. ]
[ Naturally, he notices the stares. The people's eyes that linger or the ones that try hard to be indiscreet, gazes flicking up from their phones. Of course, he also knows what this looks like. Their pace isn't hurried, borders on sensual, like they have a lot of time on their hands. Or they're drawing something out, a slow simmer underneath the skin.
No one would assume business, only pleasure.
Morrigan's lips are nearly pressed to his cheek, the words a hum he feels more than hears. The corner of his mouth quirks up as they pass the doorman. ]
My mom raised me right.
[ Is that too personal a detail? Or just an answer to fill the space of "yes"? Up to the other to decide.
He reaches for the door then, holding it open for Morrigan before following and heading for the elevators. From there it's a quick trip, up twelve floors and down a hall, soft carpeting muffling their steps. Arthur keys open the hotel room, lets Morrigan in first; when the door shuts with a mechanically softened click, he doesn't drop the act, not really. It's the first time in a while he's felt this comfortable playing up the side that likes people. ]
[ peter enjoys the walk they take up the stairs, through the finer wings of the hotel and into a rather neat and intimate room. he makes himself comfortable here almost immediately, leaning down in one graceful arc to remove one heel and then the other. they dangle carelessly at their backs by his fingers as he makes his way slowly towards the bed and has a seat without much prompting.
this will do.
he glances at arthur and tilts his head. ]
Well, I suppose more than just the basics would be fair, don't you agree? Mr. Eames was kind enough to give me the gist of what we're dealing with - a wealthy heiress and her just newly attained surveillance corporation. They're hired by some of the most cagey, mean billionaires around these days.
[ his fingers drum lightly on the bed sheets as he lingers on the words. ]
Which means there's quite a lot there to gain access too if we obtain the right parameters from her. She's apparently quite the dealer in secrets.
[ A wealthy heiress is an understatement. She's loaded and widowed, ambitiously building a security corporation that would cater to a specific clientele.
Arthur comes further into the room, taking a seat in the chair by the desk, one leg primly crossed over the other. ]
Yes, she's hired us on to do some snooping. Ms. Vicenzo is somewhat of a paranoid type, though she divulged she has reason to believe there's employees in her payroll that are leaking information. Namely, the ones in charge of keeping files on her clients.
[ It goes without saying that could be a complete disaster. ] Which means our directive is to figure out who. Moreover, she has a suspicion that someone on the outside is paying for the info to begin with, so this'll be a double pronged ousting.
[ arthur speaks and nureyev glances idly at his nails. it might seem like a lack of attention is being paid, but this is simply how he is, softly polishing lacquered fingers against his shirt as he finally lifts his head up with a knowing smile, brow cocked a little bit over his glasses. the kiss curl between his eyes is tossed just slightly against his temple. ]
Sounds like way more fun than I signed up for. Perfect. I was afraid this whole affair was going to be a waste of my time.
[ the smile on his lips is genuine, a little pull of teeth made visible behind blushed lips. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
peter sees him at the bar, a very blurred image having been all that was given to him and a cheerful little "you'll know him when you see him" before eames had clicked the line dead.
it's one of his "regular" locals in this part of town, the one that knows his favorite way to have a manhattan (a remnant from too long ago, a long ago peter likes to wave away into thin air whenever it creeps back up over his shoulders.) as he walks up, the bartender spies him, already setting to work on his drink as he takes a seat up beside the man, waiting for his drink. he smooths the lean, dark trousers over his legs ending in a pair of heels that look as though they should be impossible to walk in. his shirt is cut perfectly over a narrow silhouette, a material that shimmers like an oil slick in this particular lighting. ]
Have I kept you waiting long?
no subject
The tall, slim figure had caught his eye when he'd come in, height alone marking him out. But he'd dutifully kept his gaze at a neutral limit. So it'd been surprising and unsurprising in turn when that stranger came over, all clean, lush lines and a soft click of well-made heels. Arthur doesn't stare but he does take Peter's appearance in, matching it to what he'd been described. Well. Eames had been right; he definitely liked him already. ]
No, not at all.
[ That was the truth. He'd gotten here early, a habit he'd never shaken. The bartender comes over then, sets a drink down in front of Peter. A manhattan, probably perfectly made, judging from the reputation of this place. And what's more, the regularity— Peter comes here often and he doesn't look the type to settle for mediocrity. ]
I suppose we can skip the pleasantries, unless you'd like them.
no subject
[ peter takes the glass gently and slides a tip over immediately to the bartender, cash, turning around to face arthur in his seat, though admiring his drink first before his gaze shifts to the man himself. there's a smile curling on the edges of his lips, something that reveals the softest peaking of slightly sharper teeth than usual, fitting of a man who (in whatever notes eames has on him) is referred to affectionately as "a fox in both figurative and literal senses."
arthur himself isn't hard on the eyes either, and peter quite enjoys the cut of his brow, the slope of his shoulders, the way he looks in such a perfectly tailored suit. you want to grab a man by the lapels of that kind of suit and pull him in a corner for something more than paltry chatter.
he takes a sip of his drink and then places it gently on the napkin beside his wrist. ]
No one says we can't enjoy ourselves with a touch of polite conversation. Though I do beg one favor of you, if you wouldn't mind leaning in closely.
no subject
And yet, the placement of the napkin is dainty, a play at polite company. There's something under Peter's skin just like anyone in dreamshare worth their salt– a hunger, wrapped up in charming smiles and perfect tailoring. He's a spark, a lit match, and while Arthur's always been careful, all he wants to do it stick his hand straight in, nevermind the burns. Because then he'll know.
Tilting his head quizzically, he leans in with an air of wariness, the hem of his suit shifting across his thighs with the motion. ]
What kind of favor?
no subject
I do hope that Mr. Eames has informed you that, for all intents and purposes, you will not call me by the name he's given you under any circumstances while we work with one another.
[ the touch strays, one perfectly manicured nail finding the line of arthur's throat and pressing softly.
"peter" is an incredibly common name, but he's spent two decades protecting it, and he won't let it slip now just because mr. eames has seen it fit to give it to one of his colleagues. ]
no subject
Of course.
[ He's a professional first and foremost. Information is something he guards closely, keeps it like a second skin that he's unwilling to shed. So he can understand Peter, can understand driving a point home like the press of his nail to the soft part of his throat.
Voice low, he turns his head minutely, the motion of his mouth hidden by the line of Peter's jaw. ]
Who are you today?
no subject
Morrigan.
[ the phantom queen. the flat of his finger smooths over the pulse in arthur's neck briefly, not an apology but like sealing a contract slowly over the line he's drawn, thin and red with the pressure of his nail. ]
For the remainder of our partnership. Just Morrigan.
no subject
A goddess.
[ Maybe some would find it off-putting, the potential ego. But just like dreaming, there's always layers. He's using this alias because he wants to protect something important to him. Names have power, sometimes enough to ruin, especially in this industry where knowledge is key.
He can't really judge, either, because his moniker is Arthur, a name steeped in so much mythos it may as well be on the same level as Morrigan. What a funny pair they make.
Carefully, he pulls away, knows the tap of his finger is an agreement. A contract, without the blood or ink, but the promise of the former if it's broken. ]
I look forward to working with you, Morrigan. [ At that, he picks up his drink and tips the edge of the glass towards him, an air of honesty between them. ]
no subject
And I, you, Arthur.
[ he takes a sip of his drink, and when he pulls away there is a rich stain of color, but his lips look untarnished. ]
You certainly are much easier on the eyes than I'd thought you'd be. You're already full of surprises, looking as good as you do in that suit.
no subject
At the comment, he raises an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile pulling his mouth up at the corner. ]
And you're different than what I expected. Not in a bad way, of course. [ He lets his gaze drop on purpose, this time really looking. His legs really do look great in those trousers; Arthur has half a mind to ask after his tailor to thank him. ]
Trial and error. [ It's taken him painstaking time to perfect his look. ] What do you say to taking this somewhere else?
[ Private, because job details were best given behind a closed door. ]
no subject
and he certainly does. ]
I thought you'd never ask.
[ as though they've been here dallying for hours instead of simply minutes. there's a brightness in his eyes lighting up, like a cat that's spotted precisely what little shiny bauble it wants and is already preparing to go after it. he takes his napkin briefly and presses his mouth to it, leaving a bleeding red kiss on it before setting the glass down after and holding out his hand. ]
Take me away.
no subject
So he takes Morrigan's hand after sliding off the stool, other arm slanted in a "go ahead" gesture. ]
Ladies first.
[ Once they're properly out of the lounge, he might even offer an elbow, the two of them surely looking beautiful (and lethal) on the short walk to the hotel he has just for this occasion. ]
no subject
that's the best part of the game really. wide eyes or jealous ones, ones that can't help but peek over their magazines or periodicals.
peter leans in gently as they close in on the hotel, as if to place a kiss softly on his cheek. ]
Do you treat all your dates this nicely, Arthur?
no subject
No one would assume business, only pleasure.
Morrigan's lips are nearly pressed to his cheek, the words a hum he feels more than hears. The corner of his mouth quirks up as they pass the doorman. ]
My mom raised me right.
[ Is that too personal a detail? Or just an answer to fill the space of "yes"? Up to the other to decide.
He reaches for the door then, holding it open for Morrigan before following and heading for the elevators. From there it's a quick trip, up twelve floors and down a hall, soft carpeting muffling their steps. Arthur keys open the hotel room, lets Morrigan in first; when the door shuts with a mechanically softened click, he doesn't drop the act, not really. It's the first time in a while he's felt this comfortable playing up the side that likes people. ]
Where'd you like to start?
no subject
this will do.
he glances at arthur and tilts his head. ]
Well, I suppose more than just the basics would be fair, don't you agree? Mr. Eames was kind enough to give me the gist of what we're dealing with - a wealthy heiress and her just newly attained surveillance corporation. They're hired by some of the most cagey, mean billionaires around these days.
[ his fingers drum lightly on the bed sheets as he lingers on the words. ]
Which means there's quite a lot there to gain access too if we obtain the right parameters from her. She's apparently quite the dealer in secrets.
no subject
Arthur comes further into the room, taking a seat in the chair by the desk, one leg primly crossed over the other. ]
Yes, she's hired us on to do some snooping. Ms. Vicenzo is somewhat of a paranoid type, though she divulged she has reason to believe there's employees in her payroll that are leaking information. Namely, the ones in charge of keeping files on her clients.
[ It goes without saying that could be a complete disaster. ] Which means our directive is to figure out who. Moreover, she has a suspicion that someone on the outside is paying for the info to begin with, so this'll be a double pronged ousting.
no subject
Sounds like way more fun than I signed up for. Perfect. I was afraid this whole affair was going to be a waste of my time.
[ the smile on his lips is genuine, a little pull of teeth made visible behind blushed lips. ]
How soon can we get started?