Eames looked happy.
And that, Arthur thought, is what hurt him the most.
He stood, dressed in a tight fit chef's outfit, not nearly as storybook cliche as Arthur pictured a chef's attire, but white and slimming, with a burgundy apron tied slack around his front.
He looked good. And happy.
And for some reason, that hurt excruciatingly worse than the guy he was flirting with.
Arthur had done much, much more than flirt with other men, so he couldn't possibly blame him. But he just looked so carefree, so fucking joyful, so happy without him, suddenly Arthur forgot completely how to breathe. His lungs heaved in and his chest felt this crushing pressure, and from the outside, he would have looked completely normal.
But on the inside, he was void of all warmth.
"Yeah, so, thank you, I'm glad you enjoyed the meal. And uh," Eames slipped him, (a gorgeous, blond, muscular guy, with a chiseled jaw, and strong shoulders) a piece of paper across the table, with a wink and a half smile, "let me know about that movie."
And Eames left, smirking to himself on the way to the kitchen.
"Can I help you sir?"
Arthur turned, giving a quick, automatic smile. "Yes, please. Um. Table for two?"
~xxx
Eames saw him from the kitchen, while he was showing one of the newer bus girls where to go.
He looked beautiful.
Hair slicked back, skin tanner than it was before, probably still just as smooth. He wore a fine, fine suit, one obviously tailored to his measurements, black and sharp, and it literally took Eames' breath away.
"Jesus," he muttered to himself, steadying his weight on the counter next to him.
"What's wrong?" One of his co-workers, Lacey, came around a corner, frowning.
"Nothing."
"You sure? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Eames laughed in spite of himself. "Right..." He made his way into the kitchen.
He needed to take a breath.
~xxx
"Arthur."
In that one word, it was love.
It was love, it was lost, it was heartbreak, it was anger, it was passion, it was 'I love you' and 'I loved you' and 'baby I miss you' and 'I want you' all in one word, two lifts of syllables, six letters of regret and sorrow, one name of everything that could have been, but never was.
Eames whispered it, after he slipped into the seat opposite him, eyes wet and warm.
Arthur could feel everything in his name then.
Everything.
But he said nothing. He kept his eyes fixed on his plate of fries in front of him.
"Arthur." Eames stared at him. "What are you doing here?"
Arthur smiled halfway.
"Did he let you know yet?"
Eames paused, frowning. "What?"
"The male model that you gave your number to," Arthur finally met his eyes then. "Did he let you know about the movie?"
Eames just stared, incredulous.
"Arthur, darling, I-"
"You. Don't. Get," Arthur fumed, slamming his fist down on the table, and leaning close to Eames. "To call me darling anymore."
His mouth was curled up in anger, but his eyes were soft.
The diner was empty, thankfully.
Eames bit down on his lip, eyes wide with concern.
"You got a table for two."
"My date never showed up."
Eames couldn't tell if he was serious.
"I loved you, Arthur."
The confession struck the point man like lightning, his heart hammering against his chest. He tried to contain himself, swallowing down feelings he didn't want to feel at the moment.
Why the fuck did he even come here?
He knew Eames would have moved on, he knew he wasn't going to take him back, he didn't know why Ariadne lied to him, but she must have.
He loved him.
Loved.
Arthur choked down a sob, and blinked away the wetness in his eyes, staring at the red and black tiles that made up the table. He breathed in. He breathed out.
"I have to go. Break's over. If you ever want to talk. You know where I am."
Arthur kept his head down.
Eames looked at him, a long look, one trailed down his jaw, and across his cheeks, to his thin, pursed lips.
He nodded to himself, and then left.
"Oh, and Arthur?" He called out, "I told the 'male model' he could save it for some other time. Said I was still getting over someone who once meant a great deal to me."
All Arthur could do was listen to his heart threatening to rip itself out of it's chest.
He suddenly remembered what this was called.
La douleur exquise.
Noun. The heart wrenching pain of wanting someone's affection who no longer feels the same.
He grimaced.
What a beautiful, painful bunch of letters.
~xxx
Eames always had been a heavy sleeper. It would take him several minutes to be fully awake, to be pulled out of his usually Arthur injected dreams.
And so when he felt his bed dip in front of him, hesitant weight shifting on top of his covers, he did not realize his dream had ended.
"Mmm.." he hummed, body arching up immediately, finding toned arms in the dark, pulling them close.
"Arthur, baby, come here," eyes closed, his lips found other lips, mouth open and willing, he devoured him. The sweet smell of his cologne wafted up into his senses as he found his waist in the dark, bringing him flush as him.
"Eames," Arthur melted into his touch, moaning loud and uncensored, "Fuck." He thrust his hips down, and spread his legs, straddling his waist so tightly there was not an inch of space between their clothed erections.
Eames shuddered, finally opening his eyes, and seeing Arthur's in the blackness, before the realization swam through his mind.
"Arthur, goddammit, we're not together anymore, we're not-" he ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "We're not doing this again. Get- get off of me."
The forger pushed Arthur off, maybe a bit harsher than he should have, and Arthur just looked at him, hurt.
"Arthur, bloody hell, how did you get in here?"
"I- uh- came here just to talk. I still knew where your key was and I- I'm sorry." He stared at Eames dejectedly. "You were saying my name in your sleep, and I wanted to wake you up, but you sort of just..." He trailed off, motioning between them.
"Arthur, you need to leave, I'm sorry-"
"I love you, goddammit!" Arthur yelled, furious and happy and passionate all at once. "I love you, and I've been trying to get the courage to tell you, and I know I've been a prick all this time, but it's not about the sex, Eames, it was never just about the sex."
Eames stared, pupils blown out wide by lust and astonishment.
"Eames, you're the most gorgeous man I've ever met, and one of the kindest, and funniest, too, and I want to know you, more than I should, Christ, I just want-"
Arthur took a deep breath.
"I just want you."
Eames collided into him, their kisses nothing but a collision of tongue and teeth, moving languidly and lovingly, tasting all that they had wanted to taste but had never thought right.
"About damn time." Eames said, smiling, before leaning in again.
They stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity, hands roamed, and tongues explored, until they finally came up for air.
"Fuck me." Arthur commanded, growling, purring into his ear.
"As you wish." Eames murmured, voice low, and beyond sensual. It sent chills up Arthur's spine like a bullet.
"I really love you, you know." Arthur whispered, the palms of his hands resting on the fabric surrounding Eames' crotch.
"I know." He leaned up to kiss him. He caught his token in the corner of his eye, but he tore his gaze away.
If this was real life, great.
If this was a dream, he really didn't want to know.
~xxx
He laughed at my dreams, and I dreamt of his laughter.
Author's Note: Thank you all so very much for keeping up with this and for commenting/alerting/favouriting/everything. It's meant the world.
