So I've been thinking about glasses, and then this just kind of happened. Enjoy!
Arthur wondered if there had ever been a tyrant like Eames at his middle school. He didn't there was. Jack Malloy was quite annoying, he talked a lot, but he never pissed Arthur off this much.
"Eames. Just...give me the pen." Arthur requested once more, his head in his hands, elbows resting on his desk. Not two feet away from the opposing side of the desk sat Eames, in his backwards shoddy wheely chair, keenly twisting a biro pen between his fingers. The floor around him was sprinkled with similar looking biro pens.
"I would Arthur, honestly I would, but...where would the fun be in that?"
Arthur groaned again, and – for at least the fifth time in the last hour – banged his forehead against his desk. "I swear to God, Eames. That is my last pen. Now just – please – give it back." Arthur raised his head enough so that his chin was resting on the desk, his eyes looking to Eames hopefully. The latter was still sat at his chair, his legs on either side of the back rest, leaning his forearms on the slightly tilted back rest, twiddling the pen. His expression seemed very thoughtful as he stared at the biro, making intrinsic patterns with it in the air, as though painting some beautiful picture that only he could see.
"To be honest, I'm thinking: no. How does that sound?"
"Urgh!" Arthur groaned, taking it from five, to six times that his head had collided with the desk. "Why do you insist on being the bane of my existence?" To this, Eames laughed heartily.
"Because it's hilarious, Arthur! Besides, somebody has to do it. Why shouldn't it be me?"
"Why does somebody have to do it?"
"Because if nobody did, you'd just be plain boring."
"I am not boring!"
"I respectfully disagree."
"Well I don't care what you think." There was a pause where Arthur looked down at what he was writing before Eames decided to ruin his day: an intricate web of ideas spanned the page, everything from 'Divorce' to 'Missing dog' as headings for various series of notes; angles for how to best attack the next mark within the dream. The mark was an investment banker with cash up the yin yang that wasn't paying child support to his ex-wife. She was pissed, so she came to Dominic Cobb to extract the reason why from her ex's mind. Arthur thanked his lucky stars that he was gay: hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Seriously, a woman willing to pay top dollar to businessmen on the wrong side of the law so that they will kidnap her ex-husband, enter his mind, and bully his subconscious into submission, just so she could know why she isn't getting the extra cash each month to pay for her various tennis lessons, manicure session etcetera? That's the kind of situation Arthur wanted to stay away from. Far, far away.
"What're you thinking?" Eames' voice cut into Arthur's internal rambling. Arthur looked up to see that Eames had wheeled his chair closer to the other side of Arthur's desk and was resting his head in his hands, gazing at Arthur.
"None of your business."
"Oh Arthur don't be so blunt with me! You know I need constant attention or I go crazy!"
"You go crazy? I'm going crazy! Eames do you have any idea how annoying you are? How angry you make me?" By this point Arthur was reaching across his desk, feeling no guilt at the fear in Eames eyes as he shouted like an agitated wildcat. With eyes cast down to the floor, Eames wheeled his seat back a few paces.
"I thought we were playing a game." Voice solemn and undeniably frightened, Eames dropped his head even further, shame playing on all of his features.
"You were playing a game Eames. It's just that I wasn't." Arthur returned to his work, trying to figure the best angle and making notes in his head since he distinctly lacked a pen. The noise of rolling wheels filled the air and a quiet 'clck' sound occurred when Arthur's pen was placed before him on his desk. Taking it, Arthur looked up to see that Eames had stood. Arthur considered speaking, saying thanks or something, but before he could, Eames had walked away, out of the warehouse for the night. Arthur sighed, suddenly feeling bad for what he had done.
...
The next day, a similar story took place, this time between Arthur and Eames in the small warehouse kitchenette. Arthur was on his way to get another coffee, and found Eames leaning against the counter in front of the coffee machine. Eames had stayed away from Arthur all day, and while the silence was peaceful, Arthur wasn't exactly grateful for the evasion; there was something about having Eames around that made Arthur feel...important.
"Excuse me." Arthur said, standing just to the side of Eames, holding his mug and eyeing up the coffee machine tiredly.
"Why what'd you do?" Eames replied without a pause.
"Huh?" The question threw Arthur off somewhat, and it took him a moment to figure out Eames' wordplay. "Oh I get it. Very clever Eames, now move please." Eames turned his body to address Arthur, arms folded across his broad chest.
"If I move, you'll get coffee. If I don't, you'll talk to me. Why would I move?"
"Is that some kind of weird riddle I'm supposed to answer?" Arthur asked dully, he was feeling really weary.
"All I'm saying is: a chat every now and then would be nice." Arthur stared at Eames for a long moment before replying.
"What? Are you making sense or am I just that tired?"
"If you're tired why not have a rest, pet?" Tired or not, the 'pet' did not slip past Arthur. He heard it for sure. He was not imagining it. It seemed Eames was surprised by his slip of the tongue as well, if his bulged eyes were anything to go by.
"What did you just call me?"
"Um..." He faltered! Eames' voice, genuinely faltered. He didn't even try to amend himself: he was at a loss for words. Eames was silent! He wasn't speaking! He was stuttering and mumbling, looking down at his feet and...blushing?
EAMES WAS BLUSHING!
"Are you blushing?"
"No!"
"You are! You're totally blushing!" Arthur was part smug and part shocked as all Eames could do was fumble and toy with the hem of his – expectedly ugly – shirt. "I've never seen you lost for words Eames; I have to say: it's rather endearing." Eames' eyes shot up to meet Arthur's, curiosity and smitten obvious in his hues. "Especially with the blush, absolutely adorable. You should-" Arthur's sentence was cut short when Eames placed a firm hand on his upper arm, reaching out and pressing his lips to the other man's softly. Gasping, Arthur's eyes fluttered closed at the proximity of the larger man, but before he could protest, Eames pulled back and left the kitchenette, brushing shoulders with Arthur as he passed. Arthur stood for a minute, touching his lips gently, as though they were fragile [which, admittedly, they felt]. He could still feel Eames' lips, still faintly taste them on his own: they were sweet, something Arthur couldn't register properly. That taste needed a name. Arthur wanted to find out more about that taste so that he could file it away in his mind for future use.
It was at this point when Arthur realised just what he was thinking. Shaking his head thoroughly, Arthur turned and left the room, heading back to his desk to work; completely forgetting about coffee: he felt plenty awake now.
...
It wasn't long after the kitchenette incident that Arthur and Eames were once again in an enclosed space alone. This time though, it was a car. Cobb had suggested they head over to the selected hotel to book their room [because they had to share, much to Arthur's irritation]. As the two men descended the seven flights of stairs from the warehouse to Eames' rented car, Eames began to speak.
"Arthur?" Arthur jumped at the sound: Eames hadn't spoken in the week following their kiss, and Arthur was beginning to fear he'd never hear that joyous, cheery voice again.
"Yes?" Arthur replied tentatively: this conversation was going to be difficult.
"I want to talk to you. About the kitchenette."
"What about it?"
"I wanted to apologise. I didn't ask if I could kiss you, which was purely rude and not at all gentlemanly of me. I've been pestering you for a while now and I realise it must be, well it must be significantly more than irritating and I'm sorry. The thing is, I kind of fancy you, rather a lot actually. You've been very understanding with me and you've, really grown on me in the years I've known you. You're – frankly – really sweet and, quite adorable. I really like it when you smile, you have lovely dimples, and your ears are positively darling. I'm sorry, I'm rambling. I'll stop now; I must be making you feel really uncomfortable." A nervous laugh followed the moving speech, and Arthur was lost for a response. They walked the rest of the way to the car in silence, but Arthur could still feel Eames' eyes burning holes in the side of his head.
As he climbed into the passenger side, Arthur registered Eames' shirt: it was a very tasteful grey, almost metallic. Upon closer inspection, Eames was wearing nice black pants too, black Italian leather shoes. He looked good. Arthur had never acknowledged Eames' looks before, refusing to both for professionalism's sake and his pride's sake: clothes that ugly would not get Eames into Arthur's internal list of hotties.
Sitting in the car, Arthur watched his fingers play with one another as he listened to Eames' fumbling in the driver's seat. After a moment passed and the car hadn't started yet, Arthur looked over to Eames, only to be shocked: Eames was wearing glasses. Eames; the forger who was physically perfect; who was stronger than anyone else both in mind and body, had a disability. Eames needed the crutch of glasses so he could drive. Arthur had never known.
"You wear glasses?"
"Yes. When I drive: I'm short sighted. I need them to read road signs and such." Eames blushed shyly and touched one arm of his glasses, somewhat self-consciously, Arthur's heart sang a little. He could not deny, the man in front of him was certainly some kind of wonderful.
"They're nice." They weren't nice. They weren't cool, frameless glasses, the lightweight kind that modern opticians offered. They were the thick black rimmed kind that somewhat shrunk Eames' features with their chunkiness, rendering him an absolute nerd. Or – more accurately – an absolutely adorable nerd.
"Please," Eames scoffed, looking down again. "They're the geekiest things ever: I got them when I was fifteen. Back when they were 'cool'." The pair laughed together and suddenly the tension from Eames' heartfelt confession evaporated. Arthur smiled at Eames, waiting for their eyes to meet again before he spoke once more.
"Well I like them. I think they're cute. They make you look like a puppy...and a sexy puppy at that." Arthur's voice lowered towards the end, causing Eames to visibly shiver as his blush spread across his cheeks, his eyes bulging slightly.
"A-Arthur I-" But Eames' words were cut off as Arthur leant across the gear stick and pressed their lips together softly. Eames gasped, allowing Arthur's tongue open access into his mouth, a right which Arthur abused somewhat immediately. Moaning, Eames melted into the feeling, his dream for the last three years finally being fulfilled. Arthur caressed the side of Eames' face gently with his hand and pulled away with his mouth, leaving roughly six inches between their lips.
"A really sexy puppy." He kissed Eames again, more chastely this time. "Eames." Arthur panted. "I really like you. Actually, I kind of fancy you." Eames laughed against Arthur's lips, loving the way his American accent twisted the word 'fancy'.
"I, had no idea."
"Honestly? Neither did I. But you've been really nice lately, and I have to admit, you're usually all I think about, you're always on my mind. When you dress nice, like today – take note Eames, the clothes you're wearing now are nice – you look really hot. And those glasses are just the icing on the cake."
"Wow. That's, very romantic. I didn't say so earlier because I didn't want to make you more uncomfortable but, I think you're really hot too."
"I'm about to get a whole lot hotter." Arthur replied as he climbed over onto Eames' lap, putting a hand on either side of Eames' face and reconnecting their lips. A purely indecent moan ripped through Eames as he squeezed Arthur's thighs and pulled them closer. Their lips touching, tongues tangling, teeth tearing. Arthur's hands went to Eames' neck, stroking his stubble and purring at the feeling, heat rushing through him as Eames growled and gripped his hips. Next Arthur pulled on the collar of Eames' shirt, demanding more with both his hands and his tongue his fingers trailed down Eames' pectorals and tightened into fists, grasping the shirt's material in his hands. Pulling roughly, the satisfying sound of buttons being torn from stitching filled the car as Eames' shirt was ripped wide open.
"Hey!" Eames protested, pulling back from Arthur's lips. "I thought you said this was a nice shirt?"
"It is, but this is nicer." Arthur moaned, adoring Eames' muscles and tattoos, leaning down and kissing down Eames' chest until he heard Eames head hit the headrest and his satisfied sigh. "Besides, since I've ruin this shirt, I owe you a new one. We can go shopping tomorrow; maybe I'll buy you lots and lots of clothes."
"Arthur? Are you going to treat me like your own personal mannequin?"
"If that's alright with you?" Arthur leaned back, using his hands on Eames' abs to keep himself up.
"Anything you want darling. I will do anything you want." They shared a smile, Eames simply adoring the angel before him.
"Darling?"
"Oh, sorry."
"Don't be. I kind of love it." Arthur winked at Eames' blushing face, leaning forward again to kiss the living daylights out of Eames, stroking his ink and beginning a rhythmic motion with his hips.
"Weren't we," Kiss "Supposed to," Kiss "Go to the hotel?" Eames asked, having to speak between Arthur's hot, wet kisses.
"Fuck the hotel, I'm offering you sexy, steamy car sex Eames. Take it or leave it."
"Oh darling I'll take it! I'll take it for sure. One detail: are you offering me sex right now, or are you offering me the relationship we both know I want?"
"The relationship, I'm not stupid. Just sex would make work so awkward. Plus, with a relationship I can dress you, and do your hair, and sleep next to you, and wake up next to you, and make you breakfast, and share romantic baths with you, and be with you on your birthday and at Christmas and on Valentines' day. Right?"
"Right." Eames beamed. "Now c'mere, I want car sex with your beautiful self, and when I don't get what I want, I get angry."
"Oh really?" Arthur purred, one hand trailing down Eames' torso to his belt, undoing it with one hand. "Because angry sex is fun too."
"Well I'm sure we'll be getting plenty of that: not only do I annoy you, but I'm also possessive and easily jealous."
"Wow, you're every girl's dream." Arthur deadpanned.
"Will you be okay with that?"
"Well...what would you do if you saw me in a bar, talking to another man?"
"I'd rip that bastards head off, throw you over my shoulder and take you home, where we would have very angry sex, and I'd mark your skin all over so everybody knows that you're mine, and no-one else's." Arthur felt a thrill from Eames' chilled tone and tightened grip on his hips.
"Yeah, I think I could take that. Maybe I could get a preview of that marking now?" Eames raised an eyebrow at Arthur's request, and then leant forward to begin marking his darling all over...
...
Forty minutes later, back in the warehouse, Cobb turned to Ariadne.
"Shouldn't Eames and Arthur be back from the hotel by now?"
"Maybe they were tired; I know Arthur's been working hard lately. And you know Eames, wherever Arthur is, he's not far behind."
"Yeah. None the less, I should probably call to check on them."
"Why call them? We know they'll be fine," Ariadne began walking towards Cobb's desk. "We finally have some time alone," She stood before his desk. "And I have something really great to show you." In one fell swoop, Ariadne brushed everything off of Cobb's desk, climbing on top of it and pulling him to her...
Thanks for reading! I have an obsession with nerdy glasses. When I see someone who I already find attractive wearing nerdy glasses, I just melt! Please let me know what you think of this story ;D