"Are you threatening me?" Sam blurted out.
Eames fixed him with a look, calculating but also humorous. Sam could see the amusement in his eyes. "Course not. I want to help you."
Sam's eyes narrowed. "Help me with what?"
"Your suit."
Sam blinked, unsure if he had heard correctly.
"Listen, that suit looks as if it is made out of polyester and some other dreadful fabric. May I?" Before Sam had a chance to respond, Eames reached out and took the sleeve of Sam's jacket between his fingers. He rubbed his hands over the fabric and it was all Sam could do to not move his chair closer. He stared at Eames' fingers. They were long and capable, well-kept and clean without being feminine. He had a scar running along two of his knuckles and Sam could see the slightest hint of a vein running from his left hand up his arm, hidden by his sleeve and jacket.
Eames pulled away and looked up at Sam. Sam swallowed hard when he saw the darkened look in Eames' eyes. But then the other man smiled, wide and quick and took a long drag on his drink. "You really should look into getting a better suit."
"Why?"
"Nothing feels better against the skin than a good fabric." Eames said and winked.
Sam smiled – he could think of a few better things. First on the list was Eames' mouth.
Eames checked his watch. "Well I've got nothing better to do today. Would you care to come with me to my tailor? Get you a real suit?"
Sam found himself nodding and standing up before he even knew what was going on. Eames pulled cash from his clip and threw it on the bar.
"Shall we take your car?" Eames asked. "I'm staying at the hotel up the street and took a taxi here."
Sam nodded again and led the way to his car. Once they were both settled in the car, Eames gave him a few directions and Sam began to drive.
The car ride was quick and painless. It was remarkably easy for Sam to talk to Eames. He didn't have any of the usual setbacks that other seemed to have around him.
Once at the tailors, the old man had Sam remove his old clothes and try on a sample suit, which he will then use to create a custom jacket for Sam. Standing under the hot lights of the room, Sam felt uncomfortably on display. It didn't help matters that Eames stared at him like he wants to eat him alive.
"You've got quite broad shoulders." Eames commented off-handedly and removed his jacket. When Eames moved closer to converse with the tailor, Sam noticed that one of the buttons on his shirt had come undone. Without knowing what he was doing, Sam reached across the small space between them and hooked the button back in place. Eames caught and held his gaze, something hot and dark in his eyes until Sam looked down at his shoes.
Eames' laugh was dark and sexy, something Sam was shocked to hear outside of the bedroom. Instantly he had a flash of a hotel room, lights off, shades wide open to let the moonlight in. Eames sitting on the bed, his tan skin dark against the crisp white sheets. He looks down at Sam, between his legs, and laughs like that, breathless, satisfied and aroused at the same time.
When the tailor asked Sam to turn around, he blinked, shocked out of his fantasy. Eames' eyes were unreadable, wide and vaguely foggy, as if he had the same vision that Sam just had.
The tailor finished his measurements and Sam changed out of the jacket. He put his own pants and shirt back on. They are instructed to wait until he returns before they can leave.
A few moments later, in the midst of a casual conversation about the various parts of America each of them has seen, the room is suddenly plunged into darkness.
"Bloody hell!" Eames shouted. "D'you think they've forgotten about us?"
Instantly Sam was on high alert. He barely heard Eames talking. He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust, and while Eames was busy yelling for the tailor, Sam grabbed his gun from his jacket and cocked it. Eames stopped shouting when he heard Sam with his gun.
"Oh, you just carry a gun on you at all times, then?" He asked blandly.