He runs into Eames again in a dive bar about half a mile from the hotel they're staying at, the night before their third con together. Eames has changed little in the year since he'd first met him – still far more suave than any man has a right to be, still cocky, still capable of getting under Arthur's skin and making him reevaluate all he thought was true. Arthur's seated at a table near the back of the bar, away from most of the crowd. It's hardly quiet, but it's the closest thing to private he can find. He sees Eames walk in, tries to pretend he doesn't notice Eames noticing him, and debates escaping into the bathroom when Eames heads his way. Leaving, however, would mean giving up his table and he's not prepared to do that just yet.
"Really, darling, couldn't you have picked a better establishment? It's like it's your first time in Paris."
Too many responses spring to mind, it's hard to pick just one. He goes with the most pressing, and prioritizes from there. "I told you not to call me that. I didn't ask you to join me, and it is my first time in Paris."
Eames tskes at him, but takes a seat at the opposite end of the table. He produces a pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his jacket and meets Arthur's eyes. "Do you mind?"
Arthur hardly sees the harm in a little more smoke added to the already foggy bar. He could say no just to make Eames go away but that would be childish and he's hoping to avoid sinking to that level. "No. It's fine."
He regrets it as soon as Eames pulls his cigarette out. He leaves the pack on the table, puts the butt in his mouth and shields it with one cupped hand as he flicks his lighter. The tip blazes to life. Eames pockets the lighter and smiles, aware that Arthur is staring. He can't help himself. There's an elegance to the way Eames moves that Arthur instantly envies despite knowing he'd never be able to match it himself. He's too gangly, too awkward, to ever make smoking look that good and he hates Eames all the more for adding that to the long list of Arthur's insecurities.
Eames's fingers close around the cigarette, pinning it between the pointer and middle finger of his left hand as he pulls it away. He exhales a small cloud of smoke and leaves his hand resting against the table. Arthur can't help but compare. Eames's hands are larger than his own, though not by much. Thicker, likely stronger, and he's pretty sure he saw calluses underneath. Eames lifts the cigarette. Arthur's eyes follow. He's so distracted that he misses Eames's right hand sliding across the table and gently prying Arthur's left off of his glass.
"Eames..." He's cut off by a smile, far too knowing for Arthur's taste. Eames's hand is warm around Arthur's. His thumb rubs circles in Arthur's palm and all he can do is stare, helpless, at the joining of their hands.
"You have remarkable hands, you know that, dear?" Arthur nearly chokes on air, disturbed at how close Eames's words reflect Arthur's thoughts. "So soft." His thumb trails up along Arthur's index finger and then back down to do more circles around Arthur's palm. The sensation goes straight to Arthur's groin. He blushes, and hopes the darkness hides it. "So gentle. There are a lot of things those hands could do."
Arthur does choke then and pulls his hand away to cover his cough. Eames shoots him an apologetic look and slides Arthur's drink closer to him. The alcohol is barely a match for the fire already stoking inside of Arthur. He folds his hands under the table, out of Eames's reach but that barely helps because he can still feel the warmth of Eames's hand around his own.
"Sensitive, too, I see." Arthur's blush deepens, enough that he's sure it would be impossible for Eames to miss it, but he doesn't deny Eames's observation. He hadn't realized just quite how sensitive until now. It's possible that the only reason he's reacting this way is because it's Eames. He's never had problems with his hands before.
Eames smiles like he's won something and smothers his cigarette in the ashtray between them. It had burned nearly to ash before Eames could take a second drag. Arthur takes that as a sign that he's not the only one affected. Arthur's eyes follow Eames's hands as he taps out another cigarette and lights it. Arthur had never been envious of an inanimate object before, but he envies the way Eames's lips close around the cigarette and the careful way he holds it.
The con cannot be over soon enough. Regardless of whatever default setting he was born with, Arthur has come to the conclusion that he definitely is not straight.