The second time Eames kissed Arthur he blamed it on the heat.
Dubai during the end of April was, in a word, miserable. The sun beat down, sending forth gusts of wind that sweltered across the city and sucked the moisture from even the darkest crevices. The addition of the crowd that swarmed the sidewalks made the dusty, sand covered blacktop a smothering hell.
"Give me London fog any day." Eames scowled, swiping his shirt cuff across his forehead as he jostled through the throngs of people, following well behind Cobb and his architect. Even after living in Mombasa for years, the forger still found the dry desert heat unbearable. It mushed his thoughts together, twisted them to the point where he nearly yelled out to demand that Ariadne turn the temperature down. Then he stopped, brushed his fingers across his pocket and felt the familiar shape of the gambling chip, reminding himself that the job was finished and the mark was still back at the spa resort. They were already back in reality.
Grey eyes squinted and he glanced towards Arthur. The point-man had stripped off his vest and jacket at some point, carrying them slung over his arm instead. He still managed to look professional though, with his white shirt fully buttoned and his collar folded in just the right fashion. Someone who hadn't studied him as extensively as Eames had probably wouldn't notice the sheen of sweat on his temples or the way he was pursing his lips to avoid panting in the heat.
"You feeling alright darling?" the forger tried to sound casual, but concern crept into his tone when he noticed the tired droop of Arthur's eyelids as the point man glanced towards him. Arthur nodded, the motion a little less precise than usual. He didn't display any of the normal irritation at the nickname. Heat exhaustion, Eames' mind suggested, the point man probably didn't have the kind of experience needed to handle that type of weather.
The forger halted at one of the street venders,exchanging few words as he counted out and passed over a handful of dirham. Then he hurried after the point man. He caught his arm and turned Arthur until they were facing. In the middle of the crowded sidewalk he gently brushed their lips together, feeling his chapped limps and inhaling the point man's put upon sigh. They're so close that he can smell his sweat, and the pleasant spice of his aftershave.
"Mr. Eames." The name is drawn out and the eyes that blink up at him are weary.
"Drink something would you pet?" he pressed the water bottle into Arthur's hand, "If you die here Dom will have to find another point man, and there's no way he'd be able to find a stick in the mud of your caliber in time for our next job." But the carelessness of his words did't match the worry in his eyes, and even though he moved away to give the younger man space he still watched to make sure he drank it all.
The third time Eames kissed Arthur, he failed to see the smile Arthur gave him afterwards.