A/N: This is just a drabble that came to my mind while I'm still working on longer fics. I got this idea from a vid on youtube, but unfortunately I can't find it anymore. Sorry! Nevertheless, enjoy :)
The most addictive drug
Eames could tell that Arthur was frustrated, although the man didn't show it openly. Eames could tell by the way Arthur downed one cup of coffee after the other. It wasn't even good coffee, only instant powder with hot water. Eames could tell by the almost aggressive way Arthur typed on his laptop's keyboard. He could tell by the way Arthur snapped more often than usual; by the way he still combed his hair back, although they played tourists in the wilderness of Scandinavia; by the way he was obsessed with the PASIV's cleanliness.
The only thing Eames was confused about was why Arthur was so on edge. Of course this job was nothing compared to the Fischer job, just boring extraction and merely one level deep. But Arthur had agreed to this job knowing what it would entail.
Maybe it was their location. A cheap motel in the nowhere of Norway could clearly drive you insane, all along Arthur, who was used to five star hotel suits. But their mark came here every Thursday to meet her lover. Perfect opportunity. Arthur knew this.
There were only three on this team, so they could play the role of adventurous tourists, who normally lived in a big city and were seeking the loneliness on purpose. They even managed to have a meeting in the woods once, but they had to cancel any other due to constant heavy rain. But that had gotten everyone in a bad mood and was actually no excuse for Arthur to bitch more than the rest of them.
Eames' guess was that it had to do with the occupancy of their rooms. The motel had only two rooms left that were unoccupied for the period they needed to do this job. So of course Eve, their extractor, got one room for herself while Eames shared with Arthur. But that couldn't be the reason either, because Arthur himself made that suggestion. And Eames did really everything to give Arthur his personal space. He didn't make comments; he would let Arthur use the shower first, so he could get into bed before Eames and feign sleep, so they wouldn't have to talk; he tried not to walk around half-naked as he would at home; he tried not to stare at Arthur each morning, when he rose with ruffled hair and sleepy eyes. Eames thought he acted perfectly civil.
Maybe the problem was the bed, as they had to share one. But it was king-size, large enough for both of them and with two separate duvets.
Eames lay awake with his thoughts, listening to the rain that plattered against the window in a constant murmur. He sighed and opened his eyes. Sleep wasn't about to come, although it was nearly four in the moring by now.
Arthur lay beside him, for once facing him instead the door. He looked pale in the milky light from the lamp outside; his hair was a dark nest, bangs falling across his forehead and eyes. He looked younger, unworried and relaxed.
Eames reached out and brushed Arthur's hair back, out of his face. Arthur didn't move. The hair was as soft as it always looked like. Tentatively he touched Arthur's skin, following the line of Arthur's profile with his index finger: from his forehead over his straight nose down those lips that could smile so beautifully and did so rarely. Eames brushed his thumb over the bottom lip, mesmerized as Arthur's lips parted slightly. He couldn't stop looking, he couldn't stop touching. Tenderly he caressed Arthur's neck, his strong shoulder and scarred arm.
This one moment was his alone, because Arthur never would allow this if he were awake. Eames bit his own lip, tempted to move closer and get a taste of Arthur. Just this one time. Just to know what Ariadne already knew. Just to add some reality to his dreams.
He slid closer and flashed a reassuring glance upwards to Arthur's closed eyes –
He froze like a deer in the headlights. Arthur's eyes were open, watching him intently.
Eames expected to be faced with a gun immediately. Or at least to be hissed at with hatred.
Arthur didn't do anything like that. Instead Eames was touched by Arthur's own finger that drew a soft line down his face, all the way from his forehead to his chin. Arthur's eyes that followed the motion, weren't sleepy or dazed, so he had been wide awake and felt every of Eames' caresses.
Eames didn't dare to breathe. His heart was hammering at an unhealthy speed. Arthur's fingers caressed the stubble at Eames' chin, but his eyes finally met Eames'.
Eames didn't believe in fate or magic (the only magic that he acknowledged were cons skilfully played out), but something had happened or was about to happen that he neither could describe nor explain. Something had shifted.
As if to prove this, Arthur leaned over and kissed him on the lips. Eames didn't hesitate as he returned the kiss. There were no tongues, no clash of teeth, no underlying urgency or haste. It was plain and simple and the sweetest kiss Eames had ever shared with someone (if you exclude the kiss with his kindergarten friend Harriet when they were four).
Eames pulled back to look at Arthur, ready to finally receive his rejection. But the faintest of smiles played on Arthur's lips, so Eames dared to take a risk and kissed Arthur again. Short, but tender. He wrapped his free arm around Arthur to pull him closer and as he felt Arthur's own arm coming up and stroking his back, there was nothing in the world that could stop him now. He kissed Arthur again, more fiercely this time. He cradled a hand behind Arthur's head and Arthur pressed himself against Eames.
Eames stopped long enough to prod at Arthur's nose playfully and Arthur's smile widened. Eames stilled, breathless, and Arthur took his chance to kiss Eames softly and slowly as though he tried to memorize every detail of Eames' lips, their taste and nature. Eames' breath hitched and as if this was a silent command, they both intensified the kiss, getting lost in each other, calming down again just to spark the flame anew.
They lay in the sheets with tangled limbs, savouring the presence of each other. Arthur withdrew a little to look down on Eames, stroking his hair and Eames couldn't resist to press his lips again at Arthur's, pushing him back, caging him with his arms as though he wanted to protect him from all evil in the world. And without any hesitation he would.
Eames fell back on his pillow, watching Arthur and petting his hair. Arthur's eyes were on half-mast, glistening in the dark. He suddenly looked so vulnerable. Eames cradled him close again, kissed his nose, his cheek, his eyebrow, his nose again, his forehead, his hair.
He couldn't name the feeling that exploded in his chest, but he felt warm with Arthur, safe, happy. Arthur sighed, as Eames tucked his head in the crook of Arthur's neck, burying his nose in Arthur's scent. He felt soft touches of warm lips as Arthur returned the tender kisses. All of a sudden Arthur was taking care of Eames, protecting him and making Eames feel small for the first time in a very long time. Eames was ok with that.
Eames looked up to him again. Slowly he stretched his neck to capture those lips one last time in a chaste kiss. He couldn't help the smile that spread across his face as he felt Arthur's lips stretch into a similar beam. They lay there, foreheads touching, fingers entwined. The room was silent; the world itself didn't make a single noise. It felt like a dream, but Eames knew for certain that it was none. No dream felt this perfect.
Arthur slid lower and tucked his head under Eames' chin, hair tickling, but Eames just wrapped his arms around Arthur more tightly. He dropped a goodnight kiss on Arthur's hair and only minutes later they both were asleep.