A/N: When attempting to come up with a one-word prompt for my secret Santa gift request, the word "trajectory" popped in my head. Then this followed right behind it, so I'm gifting this one to myself.
"How can you not like this game?" Eames asked, setting his beer on the edge of the table.
Arthur shrugged, unmoved.
"Maths was never my strong suit, but you, you ought to love the fuck out of this game." Eames stalked towards him, taking the cue out of his hands. "It's all angles and trajectories."
"I don't know, Mr Eames. I guess I'm just bad at it."
Eames frowned at him, standing there in his waistcoat, with his sleeves rolled to the elbow.
"You're setting it up wrong. Look, come here, let me show you." He handed the cue to Arthur and steered him to the pool table.
Arthur proceeded to perch one cheek on the edge and lean forward over the cue stick, his body long and lean in the bar neons. "Like this?"
Eames shook his head, forcefully. "No, no, no. Here, stand like this," he said pulling Arthur hips round, "and hold the cue here." Eames curled around him, settling his hands around Arthur's. He momentarily lost his train of thought when Arthur pushed back against him, his arse pressed against the front of Eames's trousers.
"Like this?"
Eames swallowed. "Yeah," he said, his voice thick.
"And then I do this," Arthur said, pulling back the cue, his voice low in the loud bar.
"Yeah," Eames agreed, not seeing anything but the way Arthur's forearms rippled when he moved and the stretch of his shirt over his shoulders.
Arthur shot and sank the eight-ball straight into the corner pocket.
"Good lesson," Arthur said.
Eames's hand drifted down to Arthur's hip. "Yeah."
Arthur stood, but Eames stayed where he was, pressed against Arthur's back, his lips deliciously close to Arthur's neck.
"Game's over. We should go home," Arthur said huskily.
"Yeah," Eames rumbled in his ear, then ran his nose down the side of Arthur's neck, from his hairline to his collar.
Arthur shivered.
Eames yanked himself away and grabbed their coats from the booth, shoving Arthur's at him and hastily pulling on his own.
As he whistled for a cab, Arthur's smile looked awfully smug in the moonlight.
"Pool isn't so bad, I guess. I could use a few more lessons though."
Eames smirked at him. "Yeah."