( Arthur is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.
Eames stares for a full minute, his mouth slightly parted as he takes all of him in. From the sleep mussed hair to the oddly vulnerable bare feet, every inch makes him ache in a way he doesn't quite understand. It hits like a wave, and by the time he realises Arthur's talking he feels soaked to the bone with it. There's no denying it now, all the terrible literature he was forced to read as a child is right. He's desperately in love, and he'd probably die for this man if he asked.
Which is an entirely too morbid thing to say and so instead he blinks and then turns fully to let Arthur guide him inside. When the door is shut, Eames seems to remember something and pauses to thrust the bouquet at the other man. ) I, uh --.
( There's a brief moment of panic in his expression. He's meant to be good at this. He's smooth, he's charming, he does not lose his fucking head over bare fucking feet. ) I got these for you.
( Oh god, shoot him now. )
I didn't know your colour scheme but you seem to like this shade.
[ Eames is staring at him, that much he can tell. He's not usually the type to be self-conscious, but he rakes a hand through his hair anyway, making a face when the fringe of his bangs falls along his cheek. It would be more irritating if Eames weren't also looking at him like this is the first time he's seeing him. Actually seeing him.
And maybe that's the truth, for both of them. Their relationship has shifted, irrevocably, and there's no going back. Arthur's looking at him as well, a careful measure as he takes in Eames' travel rumpled shirt and pants; the loud pattern is so incongruous because it looks so good on him. He wants to peel it off.
But he's distracted by the suddenness of motion, by the literal bouquet of flowers that's being offered and for a second he stares in shock. Then it registers and even as he carefully takes it, cellophane and tissue paper crinkling, he flushes bright pink. Oh my god. This is happening. It's eleven o'clock at night, Eames is standing in his foyer, and he has flowers in his hand. Part of him wants to die but mostly he's elated above the embarrassment. ]
I can't believe you.
[ His tone is warm all over and he takes the few steps to close the distance between them, slinging his arms around Eames' shoulders and pulling him close. He's smells like anti-bacterial soap from the airport, like stale recycled air, and he just wants to hold onto this moment forever. ]
You're such a romantic asshole and it's going to be my leading cause of death.
[ The words are muffled, murmured against where he's tucked his face into the crook of Eames' neck. ]
( The noise Eames makes probably doesn't sound very manly, but he's too busy wrapping his arms around Arthur to care. He can feel his spine through the thin shirt, smell the paint and cleaning products every time he breathes in. It's fucking wonderful and Eames couldn't give a shit that he's a helpless sap because he will never forget this. )
Arthur.
( He says his name like a prayer, hand coming up to curl in his loose hair, hold him as close as humanly possible. In all his years of working with the other man, in all his more guilty fantasies, he'd never considered how right this would feel. A bloody hug at the end of a fucking awful month. Feeling like someone cares. It's enough to make his eyes a little wet, so he squeezes them shut immediately.
Eames' stance finally evens out, shoulders loosening even though his pulse is going a mile a minute. )
Christ, I've missed you.
( It's only then he pulls back, a hand on Arthur's shoulder to keep point of contact. His gaze sweeps over him, something greedy in it as though he wants to memorise the moment. And then he grins, crooked and real, sleepy eyes crinkling at the corner. )
I thought you said you were going to punch me next time you saw me.
[ That noise sounds a bit pained at first, but then there are strong arms wrapping around his middle and he decides, yeah, it's alright. Eames is warm all over, body heat soaking through his clothes. Arthur's never felt such an urge to lay next to someone, just like that, without the pretense of sex.
When they finally pull away, just a bit, he's smiling wide, eyes curved with happiness, the dimples on his cheeks digging deep into their shape. ]
I missed you too, Mr. Eames.
[ That smile shifts, a little more of a wry twist. ]
Don't count your chickens, that isn't off the table. I'm just biding my time.
[ Reluctantly, he slips out of Eames' hold, taking a step towards the kitchen before he glances towards the nearby staircase. ]
Room's upstairs, second door on the right. You really do look hellishly exhausted.
[ Briefly, he reaches out, combs some of the mussed hair off of Eames' brow, hand pulling away a second later. ] Go on, get comfortable. I'm gonna put these in water and I'll be up.
( Those dimples will be the death of him. Eames knows he's staring like a dump sap, but he doesn't want to stop. Arthur is unfairly beautiful. )
All right.
( He flashes Arthur another small smile before moving to the stairs, letting his heavy tread take him up. It takes a little bit of poking around to find the bathroom - he'd call down but he doesn't think it'll be much minded if he goes looking - and after taking a piss and splashing his face with water he feels a lot better. Less like he'll never get the smell of other people off his skin at least.
The room is nice, comfortable looking, though Eames thinks he'd find a park bench comfortable right now. Tomorrow he'll let his eyes actually look at the decor, at finding the little bits and pieces that he knows from Arthur's quirks.
He's toeing his shoes off when he hears footsteps in the hall and he looks up, suddenly grinning. )
[ He doesn't really have any vases laying around in the cabinets, because why the heck would he? Eventually, he does manage to fish a mason jar out from the back of the glasses, trims the stems with a pair of scissors before dropping them in the jar. It's stupid, how much he likes the flowers, but he sets it on the kitchen table so they'll get some sun in the morning.
Downstairs, he makes his rounds and clicks off the lights, checks the locks on the door and then heads upstairs. Eames has probably settled at least a little bit and the thought makes his heart jump in his throat. Because Eames is here, in his house, in his room. There's a bit of trepidation behind it all, but mostly he's happy with this development. ]
Shouldn't that be my line? You were the one traveling.
[ Arthur steps further into the room, shutting the door behind him and then stripping off his shirt, letting it land on the floor. Truthfully, he's more than content if they just. End up falling asleep together. He won't say no if Eames decides he's up for something else, though. ]
( He's a series of obscene and strange noises tonight, it would seem. Because Arthur takes off his shirt and Eames almost swallows his tongue. He can't help it - he's seen Arthur in various states before, yes. This is different. This is him being allowed. To look, to want, to be there. And it's not how he imagined this would go, but then again, maybe it's for the best. It's definitely better than Eames' lurid fantasies. )
I'd put up with any number of shootouts and shitty boat trips if you were the thing greeting me after each one.
( He can't help but reach out to grab Arthur by the hip, tug until he's stood between the vee of Eames' legs and all he has to do is tip his head up to smile at him. It's a soft look, ridiculous for all the years he's spent trying to come across as aloof. There's nothing uncaring in it. )
Look at you.
( Instead of flirtatious his words come out awed, gaze wondering. And then, because this time he isn't drunk. Tired, but completely sober, he licks his lips and clears his throat. )
Hello Arthur. I'm completely and utterly in love with you.
[ There's a strangled sort of noise coming from Eames and when Arthur turns to look, he raises an eyebrow at the bit of shock written across his face. They've seen each other shirtless. Actually, completely stark nude. And in many cases, with his legs spread wide without a single care in the world.
He's about to make some comment on that but then he's reeled in, going easily with the tug and glancing up. Whatever sarcastic remark he had just dies then, completely killed by the soft words and softer look. Swallowing, he feels his face heat up, embarrassed and flattered all at once. Ducking his head, he leans in to set his cheek on Eames' shoulder, both arms wrapping loosely around the forger's waist. ]
Asshole, why do you have to be good with words.
[ It's murmured, no heat behind it because this is his version of vulnerable, the hard edges filed away to let himself just enjoy the embrace. To let any of the touching happen to begin with. ]
I, uh, am too. [ Wait. ] In love with you, I mean.
( Instead he poked fun, and hid away from the truth of the matter. But Eames is tired of shadows and secrets. He's too old for them, and when Arthur blushes like that he wonders what he was so scared of in the first place. Certainly not this, because even in it's sweet agony it's perfect.
When Eames pulls back, his grin is more real, more familiar. It's easy to lift a hand to cup Arthur's jaw, to stroke his thumb along the sharp edge of his cheekbone. Easier still to lean in. )
I'm going to kiss you now, if that's all right.
( He doesn't wait for an answer. Arthur's fumbling was enough of one, and they've already wasted years. So he kisses him instead of pausing, a firm press of his mouth, fingers moving to thread through his hair. It's not like any of his fantasies, and that's what makes his pulse kick, because they're in Arthur's home, half dressed, somewhat exhausted, and Eames hasn't tried to ply him with expensive wine and cheap flirtation. Frankly, it's fucking amazing. )
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. ]
( 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
Date: 2018-07-13 09:45 pm (UTC)Eames stares for a full minute, his mouth slightly parted as he takes all of him in. From the sleep mussed hair to the oddly vulnerable bare feet, every inch makes him ache in a way he doesn't quite understand. It hits like a wave, and by the time he realises Arthur's talking he feels soaked to the bone with it. There's no denying it now, all the terrible literature he was forced to read as a child is right. He's desperately in love, and he'd probably die for this man if he asked.
Which is an entirely too morbid thing to say and so instead he blinks and then turns fully to let Arthur guide him inside. When the door is shut, Eames seems to remember something and pauses to thrust the bouquet at the other man. ) I, uh --.
( There's a brief moment of panic in his expression. He's meant to be good at this. He's smooth, he's charming, he does not lose his fucking head over bare fucking feet. ) I got these for you.
( Oh god, shoot him now. )
I didn't know your colour scheme but you seem to like this shade.
( Fuck. )
no subject
Date: 2018-07-13 10:19 pm (UTC)And maybe that's the truth, for both of them. Their relationship has shifted, irrevocably, and there's no going back. Arthur's looking at him as well, a careful measure as he takes in Eames' travel rumpled shirt and pants; the loud pattern is so incongruous because it looks so good on him. He wants to peel it off.
But he's distracted by the suddenness of motion, by the literal bouquet of flowers that's being offered and for a second he stares in shock. Then it registers and even as he carefully takes it, cellophane and tissue paper crinkling, he flushes bright pink. Oh my god. This is happening. It's eleven o'clock at night, Eames is standing in his foyer, and he has flowers in his hand. Part of him wants to die but mostly he's elated above the embarrassment. ]
I can't believe you.
[ His tone is warm all over and he takes the few steps to close the distance between them, slinging his arms around Eames' shoulders and pulling him close. He's smells like anti-bacterial soap from the airport, like stale recycled air, and he just wants to hold onto this moment forever. ]
You're such a romantic asshole and it's going to be my leading cause of death.
[ The words are muffled, murmured against where he's tucked his face into the crook of Eames' neck. ]
no subject
Date: 2018-07-13 10:36 pm (UTC)Arthur.
( He says his name like a prayer, hand coming up to curl in his loose hair, hold him as close as humanly possible. In all his years of working with the other man, in all his more guilty fantasies, he'd never considered how right this would feel. A bloody hug at the end of a fucking awful month. Feeling like someone cares. It's enough to make his eyes a little wet, so he squeezes them shut immediately.
Eames' stance finally evens out, shoulders loosening even though his pulse is going a mile a minute. )
Christ, I've missed you.
( It's only then he pulls back, a hand on Arthur's shoulder to keep point of contact. His gaze sweeps over him, something greedy in it as though he wants to memorise the moment. And then he grins, crooked and real, sleepy eyes crinkling at the corner. )
I thought you said you were going to punch me next time you saw me.
no subject
Date: 2018-07-15 04:15 am (UTC)When they finally pull away, just a bit, he's smiling wide, eyes curved with happiness, the dimples on his cheeks digging deep into their shape. ]
I missed you too, Mr. Eames.
[ That smile shifts, a little more of a wry twist. ]
Don't count your chickens, that isn't off the table. I'm just biding my time.
[ Reluctantly, he slips out of Eames' hold, taking a step towards the kitchen before he glances towards the nearby staircase. ]
Room's upstairs, second door on the right. You really do look hellishly exhausted.
[ Briefly, he reaches out, combs some of the mussed hair off of Eames' brow, hand pulling away a second later. ] Go on, get comfortable. I'm gonna put these in water and I'll be up.
no subject
Date: 2018-07-30 05:37 pm (UTC)All right.
( He flashes Arthur another small smile before moving to the stairs, letting his heavy tread take him up. It takes a little bit of poking around to find the bathroom - he'd call down but he doesn't think it'll be much minded if he goes looking - and after taking a piss and splashing his face with water he feels a lot better. Less like he'll never get the smell of other people off his skin at least.
The room is nice, comfortable looking, though Eames thinks he'd find a park bench comfortable right now. Tomorrow he'll let his eyes actually look at the decor, at finding the little bits and pieces that he knows from Arthur's quirks.
He's toeing his shoes off when he hears footsteps in the hall and he looks up, suddenly grinning. )
You good, poppet?
no subject
Date: 2018-08-09 08:00 pm (UTC)Downstairs, he makes his rounds and clicks off the lights, checks the locks on the door and then heads upstairs. Eames has probably settled at least a little bit and the thought makes his heart jump in his throat. Because Eames is here, in his house, in his room. There's a bit of trepidation behind it all, but mostly he's happy with this development. ]
Shouldn't that be my line? You were the one traveling.
[ Arthur steps further into the room, shutting the door behind him and then stripping off his shirt, letting it land on the floor. Truthfully, he's more than content if they just. End up falling asleep together. He won't say no if Eames decides he's up for something else, though. ]
no subject
Date: 2018-08-09 08:13 pm (UTC)I'd put up with any number of shootouts and shitty boat trips if you were the thing greeting me after each one.
( He can't help but reach out to grab Arthur by the hip, tug until he's stood between the vee of Eames' legs and all he has to do is tip his head up to smile at him. It's a soft look, ridiculous for all the years he's spent trying to come across as aloof. There's nothing uncaring in it. )
Look at you.
( Instead of flirtatious his words come out awed, gaze wondering. And then, because this time he isn't drunk. Tired, but completely sober, he licks his lips and clears his throat. )
Hello Arthur. I'm completely and utterly in love with you.
no subject
Date: 2018-08-09 08:33 pm (UTC)He's about to make some comment on that but then he's reeled in, going easily with the tug and glancing up. Whatever sarcastic remark he had just dies then, completely killed by the soft words and softer look. Swallowing, he feels his face heat up, embarrassed and flattered all at once. Ducking his head, he leans in to set his cheek on Eames' shoulder, both arms wrapping loosely around the forger's waist. ]
Asshole, why do you have to be good with words.
[ It's murmured, no heat behind it because this is his version of vulnerable, the hard edges filed away to let himself just enjoy the embrace. To let any of the touching happen to begin with. ]
I, uh, am too. [ Wait. ] In love with you, I mean.
[ Holy fuck why is this so hard??? ]
no subject
Date: 2018-08-09 09:05 pm (UTC)( Instead he poked fun, and hid away from the truth of the matter. But Eames is tired of shadows and secrets. He's too old for them, and when Arthur blushes like that he wonders what he was so scared of in the first place. Certainly not this, because even in it's sweet agony it's perfect.
When Eames pulls back, his grin is more real, more familiar. It's easy to lift a hand to cup Arthur's jaw, to stroke his thumb along the sharp edge of his cheekbone. Easier still to lean in. )
I'm going to kiss you now, if that's all right.
( He doesn't wait for an answer. Arthur's fumbling was enough of one, and they've already wasted years. So he kisses him instead of pausing, a firm press of his mouth, fingers moving to thread through his hair. It's not like any of his fantasies, and that's what makes his pulse kick, because they're in Arthur's home, half dressed, somewhat exhausted, and Eames hasn't tried to ply him with expensive wine and cheap flirtation. Frankly, it's fucking amazing. )
no subject
Date: 2018-08-09 09:29 pm (UTC)[ 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
Date: 2018-08-09 09:50 pm (UTC)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
Date: 2018-08-09 11:04 pm (UTC)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
Date: 2018-08-26 02:50 pm (UTC)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
Date: 2018-08-31 12:14 pm (UTC)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!!
Date: 2018-10-02 03:56 pm (UTC)( 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
Date: 2019-05-01 04:33 am (UTC)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
Date: 2019-05-01 03:59 pm (UTC)( 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. )