He had those blowjob lips.
He couldn't get them out of his mind. They would curl up into a sarcastic grin or would smooth out completely when he was being contemplative-plump and full.
They were deliciously big and he imagined them not only brushing against his own-hell overtaking his but on all other parts of his body-devouring his skin.
It made him shudder and breakout in goose pimples at the thought.
And his eyes-a grayish blue that were calm yet seriously up to no good-Eames in a nutshell.
His ears, his jaw line, his strong hands, and his shoulders.
Arthur could go on for days.
After all this time they worked together in the warehouse and it was getting steadily worse.
Some days he contemplated running late just so that they could walk in together while catching him tucking in his gaudy shirt that he wore the day before, running a hand through his hair in a lame effort to tame it, throwing his morning cigarette to the pavement, watching him as he runs into the building-his ass in his ill fitting pants.
He realized he was daydreaming, tapping his pen rapidly against the stack of unattended papers on his shoddy desk. He wasn't getting any work done. He sighed hugely. He really had no idea how the intolerable man had invaded his thoughts so fiercely as of late, worming his way in and wrapping himself around the very curves of his brain. In actuality he really couldn't stand him at all and didn't understand him-two things Arthur couldn't put up with.
Everything had its place. Things had to be orderly and put together, to have a purpose. Eames had none of these and Arthur imagined he even prided himself on these "attributes".
He ran a hand through his perfect, slicked back hair; absentmindedly tucking the hair he knew wasn't there behind his ear. He hated the slight curl of his hair and always felt the need to tuck and smooth it-to keep it together.
Knowing he wasn't getting any work done he pushed the papers aside and decided he needed more coffee. It might keep the thoughts out and give him a buzz so he could plow through his work.
The warehouse was surprisingly empty and quiet. Hands on hips he looked around warily wondering where Cobb and Eames went. Was he the only one (trying) to do some work around here?
He pinched the corners of his eyes and stumbled to the coffee machine. Of course the pot was empty. He nearly threw his mug and screamed out in frustration-cursing Eames for taking the last of it and not making more. How many times did he have to be told? He was such a child.
Cobb breezed through suddenly only to mumble to him that he would be in his office making some phone calls and that they would go over the details of their newest job in a bit. He kept on walking as he said it, barely acknowledging Arthur, his eyes trained to some files.
Arthur just sighed again and grunted-letting him know he heard him.
This was by far one of the worst mornings he's had in a while and he was getting a headache.
He made more coffee contemplating putting up a sign that said it was his personal pot and the lot of them can go to hell if they didn't like it but scrapped it.
He got tired of listening to the slow drip, drumming his fingers on the table and decided to get some air. Everyone else seemed to be slacking off why couldn't he?
He pushed open the heavy sliding door. The warm sun met his skin and was immediately absorbed by his dark slacks and equally as dark waistcoat. He shielded his eyes and inhaled the smells of morning deeply. It was comforting and his headache seemed to wane that was until he smelled it.
"Oh for fuck sakes."
Eames peeped his face around the corner of the building, smoke curling up into the air from his nasty smelling cigarette.
He held up his hand to him in acknowledgment.
"Bad morning, luv?"
Eames had arrived two hours late and was all ready outside taking a smoke break. Somehow he was not surprised. He looked hung over-eyes slightly bloodshot and his clothes more rumpled than usual. Did he take anything seriously?
"You're an insufferable asshole you know that?" Arthur turned to leave opening the heavy door.
"And make some god damn coffee once in a while!" he shouted over his shoulder seeing a glimpse of Eames' face drawn up in surprise, ash dangling at the end of his cigarette threatening to spill over before he was stepping inside and shutting the door behind him as hard as he could. He contemplated locking it but didn't at the last second knowing it would only cause more problems and add to his all ready pounding headache.
Anger was coming off of him in rolls now. He stomped his way back to the coffee machine not even sure if he wanted it anymore-his mood totally spoiled.
He poured himself a cup anyway thinking he should have some because of the effort he put in and charged back to his desk, breezing past a smelly Eames in the process.
He sat down hard, too hard with his mug in hand and the scolding hot coffee spilled over splashing on his hand and dribbling on his papers.
The curse words he uttered were one long, loud thing, running together to form one big expletive.
In his anger and flaring pain radiating from his hand he kind of just stood there stunned, non believing what he just did, shaking and seeing red.
He was vaguely aware that Eames had gingerly picked up his coffee mug, wiping it up with paper towel and was wiping up the mess as well, whistling.
Arthur took a few deep breaths to try to calm down and sucked on his throbbing hand in a weak attempt to comfort it. He realized he was staring at Eames as he meticulously worked.
Eames was attempting to straighten his papers and was placing his mug back on the desk. He picked up a couple of the dripping sheets of paper.
Eames turned to him a slight smile on his big lips.
"You've done a doozy on these. No saving these, luv."
Arthur just nodded continuing to suck on his hand, now turning a little red from the burn. He had calmed down significantly.
Eames closed the gap between them and took him in with quiet interest pointing to his hand.
"C'mon, you need some bloody ice or something for that thing."
Arthur let him lead him to the bathroom. He wasn't sure why he was being so complacent. All he could think about was Eames' light touch on his back, his smell-musty, sweat, coffee, cigarettes, liquor, his cheap aftershave and the throbbing pain on his hand.
Eames took his arm carefully, heat flaring through his body at his close proximity and touch, turning on the cold water with his other hand and instructed him to run it under the water while he got some ice.
He hissed in pain as the icy cold water ran over the red blotchy area on his scorched skin.
Eames was turning to leave, whistling absentmindedly again.
"Wait. That's not necessary, it feels better all ready," he lied. He had put out his other hand reaching towards him to stop him.
Eames, hands deep in the pockets of his wrinkled pants twirled around, eyebrows slightly raised, his gorgeous lips still pursed together from whistling.
He took a couple steps towards him narrowing his eyes.
"You sure? It looked nasty, darling."
Arthur ran a thumb over the red, raised area, still holding it under the rushing water nodding his head realizing he was being stupid and rude.
He was glad for the pain it kept him from thinking the nasty thoughts about the other man that kept cropping up in his mind. When he got back to his desk he would keep his head down and work he decided. He would work well into the night and push away all distractions and Eames was definitely a big distraction. So why wasn't he yelling at him to get away or stop watching him?
He felt the other man's calm but curious eyes on him making him blush a little.
He needed but hated his attention.
He shut the water off, hands dripping wet. Eames pumped the paper towel machine and handed some to him, keeping his eyes lowered.
"Thanks," Arthur mumbled. He knew he owed Eames an apology for his outburst earlier but he knew he wouldn't want to hear it.
They both had established a repoire of sorts one where they bantered and got on each other's nerves easily. Eames making obvious passes at him, Arthur getting spitting mad at first but then just letting them roll off his back accepting that that was just Eames being Eames. It was his other habits that got to him-he was messy, constantly late, he was always mumbling to himself, whistling or humming, and he talked louder than necessary-wanting attention. His jokes were wildly inappropriate or Arthur just didn't understand them- his British humor eluding him. He was always trying to distract him too-sitting on the corner of his desk, tossing paper clips at him until he told him off.
He was a child but he had to admit that through his shortcomings he was damn good at what he did, being a forger, and he knew it.
"What's got you so hot and bothered this fine morning?" His eyes sweeping to his hurt hand before resting on his face a second later. "Pun intended," he laughed lightly. He was leaning up against the sink sloppily his eyes roaming over him completely now. Arthur felt his skin flush at his intense look.
Arthur exhaled through tightly closed lips. "Nothing," he wrapped the paper towel around his hand, lowering his gaze.
"Sure didn't seem like nothing. You were positively fuming, luv."
He could tell from his peripheral vision that he was reaching out to touch him but Arthur moved out of the way, sidestepping him.
"Don't," he said under his breath, probably a little too harshly.
He had his eyes to the floor but when he didn't hear Eames shoot him another snarky remark he looked up. He wasn't expecting Eames to look hurt. His beautiful lips slightly pouting, shoulders slumped and eyes lowered.
"Right. See you later at the meeting then," he said way too hurriedly. He jammed his big hands into his pockets and slouched out of the room.
Arthur was stunned and a jumble of emotions but mostly was mad at himself. Eames was just trying to help in an attempt to apologize for grating on his nerves which Arthur realized was stupid to begin with-he did nothing wrong-he was only in Arthur's path of rage.
He stood in the bathroom for a while looking around bewildered feeling his hand throb. Half thinking he should charge right up to him to apologize not caring if he didn't want to hear it and half thinking of slinking back to his desk and do what he set out to do before-get some god damn work done. He decided on the later.
Arthur slinked out of the bathroom, reaching his desk as quietly as he could only peeping up from keeping his eyes trained the floor to see Eames sitting in the far corner, ankle at his knee, eyebrows furrowed, brooding over a file. He knew damn well that he wasn't really reading it; he was just trying to avoid Arthur. The man never sat still and he most certainly avoided doing any actual work.
Eames avoided looking at him all the rest of day even as they gathered together to discuss the extraction job they were working on-only speaking to him directly when he needed to ask a question, scribbling incoherent notes down with his horrible handwriting.
Once they adjourned he went right back to his corner and feigned working again saying he was planning out his routes to tail the mark.
Arthur just sighed heavily and tried to keep his focus on his own work failing miserably. He could only think of Eames' sad eyes and lowered gaze as he snapped at him after he was showing him a kindness. He was mad at himself for caring too-it was a vicious cycle-guilt turning into anger over and over again.
He had gotten absolutely nothing accomplished-only successfully hurting himself physically and emotionally.
He was caught in a daydream when he heard a PLOP on his desk and saw a file folder in front of him. Eames mumbled some instructions on what he would be doing tomorrow to tail the mark and turned away suddenly, quickly-all business finished.
"Wait, Eames."
Eames turned around, unlit cigarette all ready dangling from his mouth, coat half put on.
He didn't look in the least bit pleased.
"I'm in a rush to be off, darling," it was curt, clipped.
Eames had never denied him anything before. He had never treated him in this way. Usually he would laugh off Arthur's protests, being shot down or him saying "No" but would always come back and give him his full attention but now…
This brought up Arthur short, heart racing and he was helpless to find his words. He studied his feet, struggling for what he wanted to say.
Just as Arthur muttered: "Eames I'm sorry for earlier," he glanced up and saw the door closing shut, Eames for once hadn't waited for him. He was gone.