When it happened, Arthur hadn't been in control of anything.
Maybe that's why he'd let it happen so easily.
It had been late in the day; the sun had long since set across the city-scape of Dubai; and he was supposed to be typing up a fake email to close off their day of success. Himself, Cobb, Ariadne, and, most importantly, Eames, had been involving themselves in an important task of extraction.
The day had gone smoothly, Arthur's pre-planning, perfect; as ever; and he'd been pleased with his success.
So, apparently, was Eames.
At around eleven o'clock at night, he'd found himself, back down on the sheets of the expensive hotel bed, being roughly taken by the Forger.
By Eames.
He was so shocked by the fact that it was, in fact, the strongly built, egotistical British man, he was letting use him like this, that he genuinely could not abstain from cursing himself at the situation he'd stumbled haplessly into.
But it always came out as more of a strangled, pleasured moan, oppose to an aggressive bout of swearing.
Not to say he wasn't swearing anyway.
It had gone like this. As far as he could remember.
Thin fingers danced atop the Macbook's keyboard, lips pursed with concentration on the glowering screen. It had only been a short report; but it was something Arthur was ensuring to get finished. His specific persona of the day; Louis Barker; had to send this email. It was all very complex, and couldn't exactly be summed up in such short words.
In a more helpful sentence, Arthur was importantly busy with it, and busying himself with nothing else aside from listening to some track by Brian Crain through white, in ear headphones.
That is, until his hotel room door had been discreetly opened, half silent, and closed, without even his knowing.
Half silent footsteps carried the Forger through the room. Eames found it somewhat amusing that Arthur was still, still, in his full suit. Well; aside from the grey jacket. Initially, he had come simply to annoy the Point man; as he so often enjoyed doing.
Initially.
When the Forger finally stopped, he leaned against a protruding wall in the room, arms folding across his chest, a smirk tugging at the corner of his full lips as he watched the younger man type furiously.
Oh, he couldn't resist himself.
Glancing around, he hunted for something he could throw at him; finding a pen next to his bed; and silently, picking it up, moving back across;
"Ah-"
A stunned Point man whirled around in his seat, and upon sighting the Forger, leaped in his seat with a strangled yelp, earphones flying out.
"What the Hell, Eames?!"
"For fun. Your expression was priceless, darling."
Damn that childish man, as he stood there, laughing shamelessly.
Nostrils flaring, Arthur bit the inside of his cheek sharply, just to give him something to bite. He was suitably angry about Eames' trespassing; but he also wanted to know what it was entailing.
"What do you want? I'm busy."
Eames had slowed laughing at this point, though that triumphant smirk still hatefully remained. A shrug passed his shoulders.
"I wanted to see what the wonderful and majestic Arthur does after jobs."
"You already know what I do after jobs."
"Well, I wanted to know more. And hopefully be a part of that."
Brows furrowing at the slightly rough-looking British man; he wasn't drunk, was he?; Arthur paused the music with a swift keypress, and leaned against the black glass desk. "I wouldn't want you to be a part of my relaxing time."
"Relaxing time?" he repeated, laughing again, feet carrying him just a little closer to the Point man, who could only look on with confusion. "I should have known. Silly me. You never stop working."
"No, I don't. Now, if you don't mind, I want to get this fini-"
"You look stressed, Arthur."
"shed-… what?"
Now that got the point man looking a little worried. He batted Eames' words away with his hand, disappearing to the bathroom to look in the mirror. Well-… he wasn't wrong.
Hair slightly out of place, and messed at the back from where Arthur had been unable to see it head on and keep track of it's appearance, eyes somewhat bloodshot, Arthur did have a slight look about him. Eames had followed, and was standing in the door frame, a hand gripping the other side casually.
"I'm not stressed," he assured the other man, turning to face him, and stepping toward the door, in a bid to make Eames move; to which, to Arthur's surprise, he did not.
He was still smirking.
"What are you smiling at?"
"You."
"Eames, I don't have time for this. I'm busy as fuck, and I don't care how bored you are. Go get drunk or something. Get out my way."
"I'd like to see you make me, darling."
Mouth open to respond, Arthur found, for the first time, no words. He had no response to that; and Eames was just gobbling that fact up. So much so that he took a step in; closer to the younger man; forcing Arthur to take one conscious step back.
"I will shoot you."
"For what? Being senselessly depraved of entertainment? Oh, Arthur, you know you couldn't ever shoot me." He was still smirking. "Is it so wrong to want to sate myself?"
If Arthur's scowl could develop anymore, it just did, in this moment, and he stepped backward again. What did Eames mean? What was he even talking about? Arthur was beginning to lose his grip on control; and he knew it.
He wouldn't give it up without a fight, however.
"That depends on how you want to 'sate' yourself," he said, tightly, completely unamused by that obvious reference, and completely missing Eames' actual reference.
It was enough to make Eames laugh at him again. Because he was so obviously out of control here; and Arthur hated being out of control. The Forger advanced a step.
"There are so many ways to do it, really," he mused aloud, one hand sitting on his hip, the other by his side. An eyebrow raise, sent toward the Point man, continued to attempt to make his intention obvious; but Arthur; Eames was convinced; was being deliberately naïve.
"I could do it myself, or I could have someone help me. It's always better to have a helping hand."
Arthur stared him down; but he still refused to understand the implied meaning. "What do you need help with?"
"Well," Eames sighed, stepping twice toward Arthur; forcing him to step back; the back of his waist coming into surprised contact with the bathroom counter. Half confused, half nervous, a hand gripped at it for stability.
"I'm horny, and you're cute. I think we should have sex."
That sentence was so blunt even naïve Arthur couldn't ignore it; and when it aired; his eyebrows shot skyward, his jaw dropping.
Unfortunately for Arthur, in the time of his lips parting with shock; Eames had already swooped in; their lips colliding together.
Where Eames closed his eyes immediately, Arthur was still stood, shocked beyond recognition at the sudden turn of events, and despite the large man, half pinning him against the bathroom sink, he just- just- managed to push Eames away.
"What the fuck, Eames?!" he retorted, slipping to the side with haste; though he was clumsy, at that moment, and very, very nearly, stumbled. Instead, he put as much distance between himself and the grinning Forger as possible. "Are you fucking high, or something?!"
"I can be if you'd like that, darling," he purred, only stalking after the retreating Point man, eyes full of intent. "Whatever you're into."
"N-… no! I'm not going to-… have-… sex-… with you!" he could barely even talk. Because he could still feel Eames' lips against his own. Those full, full lips; pressing with arousal and haste against his own; Arthur couldn't get that sensation out his head. He was lost to it. That was obvious.
It's not that he enjoyed it; it's that he-
… okay, yes, he enjoyed it. But only a little.
"Alright, then."
Wait.
What?
"-… -what?"
Eames' entire demeanour had changed. He no longer looked lustful. He just looked tired. Bored, almost. "Alright. I'll leave you alone. Your wish is my command."
With that, the Forger had turned, and was making his way out.
"I-… Eames, w-…"
And he's stopped.
Well, what do you want to say?
"Ah-… wait. Just a second."
"What for, Arthur darling? I'm busy."
Oh. That's his game. Arthur could hardly abstain from the frustrated growl that passed him consciously.
Those lips, though. Imagine those lips on your neck. On your chest. Your… abdomen. Your…
No. No way are you thinking about Eames kissing you there. No fucking way. This isn't okay.
God, he wanted to know what that would be like now, though.
No. No he didn't.
Oh, but he did.
Stop it.
"Arthur? You were saying?"
Shit.
"What I was saying, what I wanted to say, was… why me? There's plenty of other-"
Eames had turned around, at this point, and had begun advancing again. "No one compares to you, Arthur."
That sentence was so ridiculously romantic, for some reason, that when Eames kissed him again; Arthur didn't even protest.
Didn't push him away, either.
Both sets of shamefully lust filled eyes closed, and for once in Arthur's life; he legitimately thought;
Fuck it.
