War of Endearments
Disclaimer – don't own, none of it, not a thing.
Arthur believed himself to be a man with a great deal of patience and a slow to boil temper, but a man could only take so much before he had to jack someone up. And Eames always seemed to like to tap dance on the last shred of Arthur's nerves.
It started like it always did, with Arthur competently doing his job and in would came Eames, all cocky strut, and slick charm, disarming everyone with his insufferable pet names and tooth ache inducing manners. Well he'd disarm everyone but Arthur who didn't find it charming at all, not even a little bit, whatsoever. In fact Arthur didn't understand why Eames still fooled people, (the more observant part of Arthur though it may be because he had the jawline of a god and the perfect body of an action hero, but that part remained largely ignored). Arthur found it nearly impossible to trust a man who drank his tea hot, honestly what kind of awful person did that.
Arthur knew he could act twice as charming and insufferable if he wanted, everyone knew that not only did Southerners have the most impeccable manners but also the most obnoxious pet names on the planet, and Arthur remained Southern born and bred regardless of his public image. Hell, Arthur didn't think his own grandmother had ever learned his name. She had just called him Moonpie until the day she died-while embarrassing, it was still better than Twinkie Bear, the name his sister got stuck with. Arthur could out pet name Eames any day of the week, he didn't because it seemed unprofessional.
"Pardon me then darling,"
It only took four words to make Arthur finally lose his composure.
"Don't call me darling." He said tersely, noting the slight narrowing of Eames eyes before he smirked at Arthur.
"Terribly sorry love," Eames responded, "I didn't realize my familiarity was bothering you."
"Oh it's not the unprofessionalism, or the implied closeness that bothers me Mr. Eames, it's the fact that you only use the most common endearments on the planet, it just lacks originality." Arthur replied with a brittle smile. Eames looked surprised, Ariadne, looked up from her maze model in interest.
"What are you saying, exactly?" Eames asked.
"I am saying- exactly, that you use three endearments," Arthur replied holding up three fingers ticking them off as he spoke, "Dear, darling and love, and they have gotten old."
"Think you have better then darling?" Eames asked, Ariadne elbowed Yusef into paying attention.
"Of course, I'm from Georgia," obviously pronounced Joe-jah, "terms of endearment are a required class to graduate," Arthur said slipping into a low southern drawl (the part of his brain that Arthur had started to consider traitorous grinned at the small shiver that ran through the other man when Arthur dropped his fake Yankee accent).
"Care to make a small wager?" Eames asked. Arthur leaned back in his chair with a slow smirk, more than confident in his abilities.
"You know it," he said.
"Same prize as last time?" Eames asked with a raised eyebrow. Arthur paused for a moment shuddering at the memory of losing the last bet, of course the embarrassment only served as fuel for this bet.
"But this time when I win you have to wear a cowboy hat too," Eames added, Arthur burst into a guffaw of laughter.
"Same goes for you when I win." Arthur said, while tossing Ariadne a notebook and pen.
"Keep score?" he asked.
"Okay, what's the game?" she asked hesitantly, obviously curious but uncertain if she wanted to get in the middle of it.
"Who ever uses the most pet names wins, no repeats," Eames explained.
"They have to be culturally relevant, distinctly Southern," Arthur motioned to himself, "or British," he added motioning to Eames.
"And it can't disrupt your work," Dom added walking through the area they had chosen to use as an office (squinting again, maybe Arthur should drop hints about reading glasses).
"Of course," Arthur soothed, before raising a hand to Eames, who shook it enthusiastically, gentleman didn't have to resort to squeezing their opponent's hands to rubble, but the idea did occur to both of them.
"Let the games begin, pet" Eames said winning the first point, but Arthur just smiled.
"Sure thing sugar," he responded no longer trying to hide the Deep South accent, figuring it would help led credibility to some of the stranger endearments coming up (traitor brain noted that Eames pupils dilating and his stuttering breathes had nothing to do with the decision at all).
The day seemed to go by quicker after that, boring financial reports on their mark became easier to read when done in an accent, notes on the architecture funnier in the midst of the competition.
"Look there duckie, that last room seems too small."
"Not at all babydoll, it looks just about perfect."
"Do all southern pet names rhyme?" Ariadne pondered aloud to Yusef, who for his part shrugged.
"He spends a suspicious amount of money at the drycleaner don't you think, crumpet?"
"I think, dumplin', that if you ever spent money on decent clothes you would know more about how much it takes to keep them in good repair."
"Well poppet, not all of us can afford Dunhill."
"Oh hun, if you ain't makin' enough money in this line of work maybe you ain't as good as you think."
"On the contrary lambkins, I choose to put my money to a better use than tailored waistcoats and horrendously overpriced cufflinks."
"I don't think losing your whole paycheck in a Sri Lankan back room poker tournament is a better use baby-cakes."
"I suppose not, those haven't rhymed at all," Yusef told the architect, who for her part shrugged and marked the words down. She seemed to have little to do aside from make marks on the paper until lunch time. Yusef had brought back Chinese food from around the corner it happened as they huddled around separating their orders.
"Pass the duck sauce snuggle-bunny," Arthur glared at Eames for a second.
"Here you go snuggle-bear," Eames grimaced.
"Hold on you both used a snuggle based endearment, which is disturbing by the way, do they count?" Ariadne broke in.
"Yeah I don't think the snuggle-bunny," Yusef stuttered, "is a British native either."
"Hmm, you wanna erase them both from the books?" Arthur suggested.
"They were both despicable, we should be ashamed really," Eames agreed.
"Move to strike from the record." Arthur said, Ariadne nodded and marked through something in the notebook.
"We should try to keep this civil cupcake," Eames said to Arthur.
"I completely agree sweet pea."
"Oh that one rhymed."
Even Arthur had to admit that arguing became much more interesting like this, making him both homesick and slightly aroused at the same time.
"I don't really think you understand the plan poopsey."
"I understand just fine darlin'."
"Then why do you still have this problem angel?"
"Oh I understand, but I still think it's a stupid plan, sweetheart."
"You just lack the proper vision Sweetie."
"You're gonna lack proper vision in just a minute… doll-face."
"Oi bring it on then sweetkins."
"Consider it brought schnookems." Never before had the word schnookems sounded so much like a declaration of war.
Dom demanded that they separate and calm down, so they went to separate sides of the office for a little while. Arthur did apologize he had forgotten how short tempered he became when he wasn't pretending to be a Yankee. Not that he wanted to pretend, unfortunately no one seemed to take you seriously when they found out you come from the South. It quickly deteriorated into jokes about chicken and biscuits, and questions about whether his family had owned slaves or if his high school had still been segregated.
He didn't care much for biscuits, but he never turned down cornbread.
"Sorry doll, for getting all hot under the collar earlier."
"Ain't no problem, sweet thang." Arthur instinctively knew that sweet blush edging up Eames cheeks was not anger based. Oh hell, he thought I'm not suppose to notice that outright, my sly inner monologue should catch that while I refuse to note my growing attraction. Arthur might have forgotten that his inner monologue was a product of his fake Yankee mannerisms. Southerners tend to just say whatever they thought, and rarely lied to themselves about what they want. This could become a problem Arthur noted before sequestering himself at his desk for a little while.
Hours passed and they both stayed neck and neck, though it had taken Ariadne half and hour on the internet before she would allow Eames the use of trouble and strife, as an endearment. Arthur had just laughed and called him wifey.
Eames swallowed hard at the word, several years' worth of repression and desire seemed to flash across his face, not that Arthur noticed, not at all, whatsoever. But it was too late, the straight forwardness of his roots were finally unfurled and refused to let him indulge in his own denial any longer. Walking in a near bow-legged slouch that he had trained out of himself years ago Arthur made his way over to Eames.
Eames leaned back against his desk watching Arthur intently, eyes wide. Arthur sidled over to him, hip resting on the edge of the desk, chest pressed to the larger man's side. He knew he had interpreted all the signs correctly when Eames swallowed hard and leaned into him instinctively, he smirked to himself as he moved in closer.
"If you like wifey, you'll love these," he whispered nipping at Eames ear lobe, "boo," he nuzzled his nose against Eames perfect jaw, "little mama," Arthur's hand swept up his chest and settled in the crook of his neck, "baby." The last word whispered so close to Eames lips that enunciating too much would have made them kiss.
"I couldn't hear," Ariadne said in a rough voice, "how many was that?"
"Three," Arthur said moving away from the other man, who remained there, statue solid, leaning in for the kiss that didn't come. Arthur raised his fingers to count the words off but Eames slapped a hand over his mouth.
"He won," Eames admitted, tugging Arthur steadily toward the door.
"Honey bee, Sugar Britches, Pumpkin, Peach, Cutie Pie and Shug," Arthur hollered over his shoulder, "I got more if that's not enough."
"Ain't that right baby?" Arthur said, voice low so only the other man could hear.
"Please Lord tell me you really have a cowboy hat," Eames said hoarsely.
"Um," Arthur said making a face, "I'm not Texan, but I do have a John Deere hat with a fishing hook in it if that would help."
(A/N- Am I Southern? Yes. Do I personally believe everything Arthur thinks about being Southern? No. Have I met people who do believe that way? Yes. Am I using them for plotty goodness? Um, maybe.)