[Eames comes out of his own desperation long enough to glance at the picture, and he smiles softly, picking up his own teacup.]
Of course I do. Remember that mark? What was his name... Something with a B?
[He steps closer to Arthur than Arthur had intended, smiling down at the photo.]
Christ, we look young. [He looks up at Arthur, grinning, immediately going to exactly that voice he'd used way back then.] What's the difference between me and eggs? Eggs get laid.
[ Something with a B, he asks, as though Arthur would need prompting to remember. It's still there, filled away in his head. ]
Berendorf. He was cheating on his wife.
[ That wasn't what they'd gone to find out, but it'd been uncovered in the process. Arthur ended up tracking all the purchases he made to a very demanding mistress.
He's distracted from recalling the rest, because Eames is suddenly adopting the voice, the dumb joke coming out easily. There's also the matter of him being so close, that smell of his cologne messing all of his senses up at once. No doubt he's blushing, he can feel it crawling up his face and warming his ears. ]
But you're both cracked. [ His jab has no heat, amusement coloring it too much. ]
We were young. That was maybe, what, a year after the military? I was practically a kid to all of you.
[Of course Arthur can produce the name from that brilliant mind of his. His memory is incredible.
It's so nice to see Arthur amused and smiling. He's just... beautiful, and Eames wants more. He outright laughs at Arthur's addition to the joke before listening again, glad they can still do this.
And then he says that, and Eames blurts -] What? God, no. I mean, you were fucking young, but...
[He fades off, feeling embarrassed now.] I mean, I've always thought of you like an equal.
[It's probably the best compliment he's ever given Arthur, so, to soften it, he adds -] Equally as much of a pain in the arse.
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. ]
[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.
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.
[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?
[ 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.]
[ Arthur barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. Of course he'd make that joke. Of course. He smiles a bit into his coffee. ]
Well, after I finished my requisite three cups, I was going to make eggs. [ Please help him he has a caffeine problem. Though from how awkwardly he slept last night, he's really going to need it to be awake today.
Though he does notice Eames shift a little closer, their shoulders nearly touching at the bit of counter they're both occupying. Part of him bristles, but he ignores it. Then there's the light brush of fingers, pushing some of his non-gelled hair away from his face. At the contact, his mind goes a bit blank, mouth dry. He shouldn't have this much power, not with something seemingly insignificant.
Yet, with all of his pushing away and his contact issues, he wants nothing more than to press the side of his face into Eames' palm.
Carefully, he pulls away instead, a light flush appearing along his cheeks. ]
[He feels hot under the collar when his fingers brush Arthur's skin. He's holding his breath, and then Arthur pulls away, and Eames blinks back into the moment. His own cheeks feel a little flush, and he's just hoping Arthur didn't notice anything strange.]
You need to lean into it. Not pull away.
[He clears his throat, tries to look unimpressed, because maybe he can egg Arthur on in this.]
Anyway, I know you're fighting your instincts but you're going to have to do better than that
[ He does, he really does. And he'd been so tempted to do just that a second ago. Truthfully, the temptation remains even now. More than part of him wonders what it would be like to lean into Eames, to nose right in under his jaw. Would he smell like soap and warmth? Or that aftershave he uses sometimes?
For a second, he frowns, mouth turning down at the corners from the response. It sounds like he's being egged on. ]
Eames.
[ It comes out a bit sharp, a warning. But then, isn't he supposed to be learning from this? Arthur breathes out a sigh, expression relaxing away from its severity, shoulders dropping as he forcefully drains the tension. ]
[He gives him a sheepish smirk; It was worth a shot, at the very least, but at least Arthur's trying again.]
Oh. Right, yes. [It takes a minute for Eames' mind to catch up with all this, but then finally he reaches up and trails his fingers over his cheekbone, hardly daring to breath.]
[ Eames tosses him that sheepish look and he has to stop himself from grabbing hold of his chin and kissing him. It's stupid and overwhelming, the urge, because as much as he wants it, he's worried about it at the same time.
Thankfully, Eames takes that possibility out of his hands for a second, the light touch another try. This time, he caves with increments, first turning his cheek into his palm. The forger's hands are big and warm, fingertips a little calloused from working with them as much as he does. Arthur catches his eyes sliding shut as he leans into it more, but doesn't fight it. ]
[It feels like all the breath's been punched out of him when Arthur leans into the touch. This is good; this is what they've wanted. He should be pleased. Instead, he feels heartsick, wanting so badly what he shouldn't.
Arthur's eyes slip closed, and Eames feels brave like this] Good. So good.
[He licks over his bottom lip nervously, his voice quiet but so close.] I'm going to kiss your cheek.
[And then he's leaning in to do so, lips soft and warm on Arthur's cheek, if Arthur lets him. He's so close to him that he can smell him, scents he recognizes from the shower, and he looks far too attractive all put together. It's hard not to just give in to these wants.]
[ Over time, they've grown to trust each other. It had been a pleasant surprise, really, since dreamshare is so rife with drama and double crossing. Inconsistent people. But Eames, despite all of his attempts to look fickle, to look untrustworthy, he could be the exact opposite.
And here, there's another level they're stepping up to. Arthur keeps his eyes closed, knowing the forger isn't going to do anything he'd hate. Or if he does, he can tell him and he won't get pressed about it.
A warm rush slides down his spine at the praise, enough that there's a minute shudder. They shouldn't be so powerful, not with how mundane it is, how odd it is to be called good for such a small action.
(Then again, he rarely hears compliments or praise. And if he does, he doesn't normally take them to heart).
He stays still, heart beating loud enough he thinks Eames might be able to hear it. Especially when he feels the kiss, just a light pressure. It feels like something inside him collapses; his stubbornness, maybe. Before he can doubt his decision, he pulls away slowly, sets his mug on the counter as an absent second-thought. ]
[Arthur shudders close to him, lets him kiss his cheek, and Eames is in so much trouble. Arthur gives that command and his eyes widen before they become hooded, before he lightly pushes him back into the living room.
He's not really sure what's happening, exactly, but his head is spinning with all he wants to do to Arthur, how much he wants to kiss him. He sits down on the couch, looking up Arthur without touching him but with an intensity in his eyes that he's never shown Arthur.]
[ In another time or another moment, the widening of Eames' eyes would be comical. Or maybe it'd be satisfying, catching him so off guard. Instead, he can only think of what he wants and how much he wants. Everything else seems to fall by the wayside.
He follows the gentle push, walks into the living room and watches the forger take a seat. Eames is looking at him with hunger and a touch of something else he can't quite put his finger on.
Briefly, he hesitates, wondering why the fuck he did this. But he did it and he's not going to renege on his decision from nerves. Stepping over, he carefully slides into Eames' lap, hands just lightly on his shoulders. ]
[The hesitation has him worrying, but then Arthur's actually sliding into his lap, and he's breathless. He looks up at him, hands falling gently to his waist. He leans up, brushing his mouth along Arthur's jaw.]
Perfect, [he murmurs, pulling back to see his eyes, his expression. He moves in closer moments later to press his lips to Arthur's gently before he's kissing him harder, more hungrily.]
[ Just a few moments ago, he'd been thinking about Eames' warm palms, how it radiated off of his skin all the way to his fingertips. The sensation doubles as those hands come to rest on his waist and he can't help but notice how big they are in comparison. They can't quite wrap around his waist, but they'd make a good effort and the rush of arousal he feels at that is heady, intoxicating.
Eames leans back then, words a murmur, and Arthur lets him look, keeps his gaze as steady as he can. Even though it feels like his heart is trying to climb up his throat and make itself known. And then they're kissing again, soft at first before it slides into more desperate territory. Arthur angles his mouth a little better, licks at Eames' bottom lip, slides his tongue across the other's. It's been a while since he's done this, but his body remembers with alarming clarity.
Groaning into it, he settles his weight into his lap more, can't help the little shift of his hips. ]
[Eames groans, moving his lips against his, relishing the feel of his tongue against Arthur's. Arthur shifts in his lap, and Eames moans against his mouth, moving up against him.
This is dangerous. Their whole relationship is in limbo. He's scared of losing any part of Arthur, including losing this, because this is... so good. He wants this. And more. But right now, he really wants this.
He shifts up against him with a groan, suddenly very achingly hard. He reaches up, rubbing up his stomach to the buttons of his shirt, unbuttoning them before he can second-guess himself.]
[ Somewhere, he knows this is courting trouble. His instincts as a point man are blaring, the frantic waving of mental red flags matching the uptick of his pulse. They're here to work, to pull a fast one over the mark down the street with no one the wiser. He's playing a role and so is Eames, affection a switch that's flipped on or off depending on who they're around.
And right now, it's no one but them. An audience of two with bated breath, with the rasp of skin against cloth, the wet sound of kisses.
He should pull away before this goes further. Before they both veer off track into something that's less professional and more personal.
But then Eames is groaning into his mouth, slotting hips against his own, and Arthur can barely see straight let alone think about any consequences. Deft fingers undo his shirt and he just lets him, reaching out to untuck Eames' shirt from his trousers. He pushes his hands under the fabric, rucking it up as he slides his palms to the forger's stomach. Taking a second, he ducks away from the kiss to breathe and to grind down into Eames' lap, the friction going straight to his cock. ]
[It was so quick, the moment between him kissing him and then having a lapful of Arthur. He's not complaining, but he hardly knows what to do but let his himself do what he wants, let his hands tug Arthur's shirt out of his trousers after he's finished unbuttoning it.
His hand moves then, to slide over Arthur's stomach, up to his pecs. And then he's grinding against him again, and Eames loses all thoughts in his head except the one telling him to move up against him.]
Arthur... fuck, I wanna be inside you, [he rumbles against his skin, mouthing hotly at his neck, beyond thinking of professionalism or even of the carefully-built wall between them.]
[ This was why he'd restrained himself before. Why he'd exercised such self control. Arthur had never been worried about hating it, only concerned about the opposite. That he'd spiral, undone, as soon as Eames put his hands on him.
As it turns out, he's right. Right now, he doesn't care. Can't find a single reason to stop, especially not when Eames' hands are so warm on his skin, when they're grinding together, erections pressed against the seams of their trousers. ]
Okay, yeah, yes.
[ He tilts his head away, gives the forger better access to where he's mouthing at his neck and something flares hot in his belly when he thinks about any marks he might leave. Reluctantly, he disentangles himself, sliding out of Eames' lap on shaky legs. If he's going all in, he's not going to get fucked on the couch when there's perfectly good beds upstairs. ]
Come on. [ His tone is low, voice a little rough from lust. Eames looks just as affected and that gives him a thrill, how much he can shred his normally unflappable demeanor. When he gets up to his room, he sheds his pants and underwear, shrugs his shirt off, leaves it all on the floor. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Of course I do. Remember that mark? What was his name... Something with a B?
[He steps closer to Arthur than Arthur had intended, smiling down at the photo.]
Christ, we look young. [He looks up at Arthur, grinning, immediately going to exactly that voice he'd used way back then.] What's the difference between me and eggs? Eggs get laid.
no subject
Berendorf. He was cheating on his wife.
[ That wasn't what they'd gone to find out, but it'd been uncovered in the process. Arthur ended up tracking all the purchases he made to a very demanding mistress.
He's distracted from recalling the rest, because Eames is suddenly adopting the voice, the dumb joke coming out easily. There's also the matter of him being so close, that smell of his cologne messing all of his senses up at once. No doubt he's blushing, he can feel it crawling up his face and warming his ears. ]
But you're both cracked. [ His jab has no heat, amusement coloring it too much. ]
We were young. That was maybe, what, a year after the military? I was practically a kid to all of you.
no subject
It's so nice to see Arthur amused and smiling. He's just... beautiful, and Eames wants more. He outright laughs at Arthur's addition to the joke before listening again, glad they can still do this.
And then he says that, and Eames blurts -] What? God, no. I mean, you were fucking young, but...
[He fades off, feeling embarrassed now.] I mean, I've always thought of you like an equal.
[It's probably the best compliment he's ever given Arthur, so, to soften it, he adds -] Equally as much of a pain in the arse.
no subject
[ 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?
no subject
I think... we will, if you trust me not to bite, yeah?
[He smiles over at him.] I only bite for special occasions.
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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?
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
[ Arthur barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. Of course he'd make that joke. Of course. He smiles a bit into his coffee. ]
Well, after I finished my requisite three cups, I was going to make eggs. [ Please help him he has a caffeine problem. Though from how awkwardly he slept last night, he's really going to need it to be awake today.
Though he does notice Eames shift a little closer, their shoulders nearly touching at the bit of counter they're both occupying. Part of him bristles, but he ignores it. Then there's the light brush of fingers, pushing some of his non-gelled hair away from his face. At the contact, his mind goes a bit blank, mouth dry. He shouldn't have this much power, not with something seemingly insignificant.
Yet, with all of his pushing away and his contact issues, he wants nothing more than to press the side of his face into Eames' palm.
Carefully, he pulls away instead, a light flush appearing along his cheeks. ]
no subject
You need to lean into it. Not pull away.
[He clears his throat, tries to look unimpressed, because maybe he can egg Arthur on in this.]
Anyway, I know you're fighting your instincts but you're going to have to do better than that
no subject
[ He does, he really does. And he'd been so tempted to do just that a second ago. Truthfully, the temptation remains even now. More than part of him wonders what it would be like to lean into Eames, to nose right in under his jaw. Would he smell like soap and warmth? Or that aftershave he uses sometimes?
For a second, he frowns, mouth turning down at the corners from the response. It sounds like he's being egged on. ]
Eames.
[ It comes out a bit sharp, a warning. But then, isn't he supposed to be learning from this? Arthur breathes out a sigh, expression relaxing away from its severity, shoulders dropping as he forcefully drains the tension. ]
Alright, let's try that again.
no subject
Oh. Right, yes. [It takes a minute for Eames' mind to catch up with all this, but then finally he reaches up and trails his fingers over his cheekbone, hardly daring to breath.]
no subject
Thankfully, Eames takes that possibility out of his hands for a second, the light touch another try. This time, he caves with increments, first turning his cheek into his palm. The forger's hands are big and warm, fingertips a little calloused from working with them as much as he does. Arthur catches his eyes sliding shut as he leans into it more, but doesn't fight it. ]
no subject
Arthur's eyes slip closed, and Eames feels brave like this] Good. So good.
[He licks over his bottom lip nervously, his voice quiet but so close.] I'm going to kiss your cheek.
[And then he's leaning in to do so, lips soft and warm on Arthur's cheek, if Arthur lets him. He's so close to him that he can smell him, scents he recognizes from the shower, and he looks far too attractive all put together. It's hard not to just give in to these wants.]
no subject
And here, there's another level they're stepping up to. Arthur keeps his eyes closed, knowing the forger isn't going to do anything he'd hate. Or if he does, he can tell him and he won't get pressed about it.
A warm rush slides down his spine at the praise, enough that there's a minute shudder. They shouldn't be so powerful, not with how mundane it is, how odd it is to be called good for such a small action.
(Then again, he rarely hears compliments or praise. And if he does, he doesn't normally take them to heart).
He stays still, heart beating loud enough he thinks Eames might be able to hear it. Especially when he feels the kiss, just a light pressure. It feels like something inside him collapses; his stubbornness, maybe. Before he can doubt his decision, he pulls away slowly, sets his mug on the counter as an absent second-thought. ]
Couch.
no subject
He's not really sure what's happening, exactly, but his head is spinning with all he wants to do to Arthur, how much he wants to kiss him. He sits down on the couch, looking up Arthur without touching him but with an intensity in his eyes that he's never shown Arthur.]
no subject
He follows the gentle push, walks into the living room and watches the forger take a seat. Eames is looking at him with hunger and a touch of something else he can't quite put his finger on.
Briefly, he hesitates, wondering why the fuck he did this. But he did it and he's not going to renege on his decision from nerves. Stepping over, he carefully slides into Eames' lap, hands just lightly on his shoulders. ]
Is this okay?
no subject
Perfect, [he murmurs, pulling back to see his eyes, his expression. He moves in closer moments later to press his lips to Arthur's gently before he's kissing him harder, more hungrily.]
no subject
Eames leans back then, words a murmur, and Arthur lets him look, keeps his gaze as steady as he can. Even though it feels like his heart is trying to climb up his throat and make itself known. And then they're kissing again, soft at first before it slides into more desperate territory. Arthur angles his mouth a little better, licks at Eames' bottom lip, slides his tongue across the other's. It's been a while since he's done this, but his body remembers with alarming clarity.
Groaning into it, he settles his weight into his lap more, can't help the little shift of his hips. ]
no subject
This is dangerous. Their whole relationship is in limbo. He's scared of losing any part of Arthur, including losing this, because this is... so good. He wants this. And more. But right now, he really wants this.
He shifts up against him with a groan, suddenly very achingly hard. He reaches up, rubbing up his stomach to the buttons of his shirt, unbuttoning them before he can second-guess himself.]
no subject
And right now, it's no one but them. An audience of two with bated breath, with the rasp of skin against cloth, the wet sound of kisses.
He should pull away before this goes further. Before they both veer off track into something that's less professional and more personal.
But then Eames is groaning into his mouth, slotting hips against his own, and Arthur can barely see straight let alone think about any consequences. Deft fingers undo his shirt and he just lets him, reaching out to untuck Eames' shirt from his trousers. He pushes his hands under the fabric, rucking it up as he slides his palms to the forger's stomach. Taking a second, he ducks away from the kiss to breathe and to grind down into Eames' lap, the friction going straight to his cock. ]
Oh fuck.
no subject
His hand moves then, to slide over Arthur's stomach, up to his pecs. And then he's grinding against him again, and Eames loses all thoughts in his head except the one telling him to move up against him.]
Arthur... fuck, I wanna be inside you, [he rumbles against his skin, mouthing hotly at his neck, beyond thinking of professionalism or even of the carefully-built wall between them.]
no subject
As it turns out, he's right. Right now, he doesn't care. Can't find a single reason to stop, especially not when Eames' hands are so warm on his skin, when they're grinding together, erections pressed against the seams of their trousers. ]
Okay, yeah, yes.
[ He tilts his head away, gives the forger better access to where he's mouthing at his neck and something flares hot in his belly when he thinks about any marks he might leave. Reluctantly, he disentangles himself, sliding out of Eames' lap on shaky legs. If he's going all in, he's not going to get fucked on the couch when there's perfectly good beds upstairs. ]
Come on. [ His tone is low, voice a little rough from lust. Eames looks just as affected and that gives him a thrill, how much he can shred his normally unflappable demeanor. When he gets up to his room, he sheds his pants and underwear, shrugs his shirt off, leaves it all on the floor. ]