Eames frantically digs through his luggage, hoping that he has something to wear that's appealing to Arthur's eyes. He doesn't want to screw up the first date, but all he has are bright flannels, which are anything but formal. And glancing at his watch, he doesn't have enough time to run out and buy a fitting suit, so he settles with a simple dark green button up and khaki slacks. It doesn't look too bad, but compared to what Arthur usually wears, it's horrible.
Eames shoves that thought out of his head. It shouldn't matter; Arthur has known him for half a decade, so, at the very least, he should be expecting Eames in anything but a three piece suit. Keeping that in mind, the young forger grabs his coat, hustles out of the hotel and makes his way toward the chosen restaurant that they had argued over last night.
After entering the dimly lit place, he immediately spies Arthur sipping a drink at a table for two, and despite the fact that this is a fancy restaurant and all, he's in a suit. He doesn't even have a tie on; instead, he's decked in a simple turtleneck and jeans. Feeling rather foolish, Eames decides to keep his long coat on as he seats himself across from his date.
"Didn't bother waiting, did you?" he asks as a greeting.
Arthur smiles up at him, and he immediately feels accomplished— he finally, finally, managed to get a date with a smiling Arthur. What more can he ask for?
"You're late," Arthur tells him but this time with a gentle smile, making Eames feel accomplished. He finally managed to get a date with Arthur— not the oridinary Arthur either, but a smiling Arthur. What more can he ask for?
"Radiant as usual, Arthur," he replies while picking up the menu and quickly glancing over the items. "What shall we have tonight?"
"I already ordered for us."
Eames peers up, his eyebrows quirked. "Have you been on a date before?"
Arthur blinks for a moment, confused. "Of course I have. I thought it would be convenient that, when you arrive, you wouldn't have to wait a long time for the food."
A bit flattered that Arthur did that, Eames gazes back at the menu. "And what did you order for me?"
The point man answers without missing a beat. "Steak, medium-well."
Oceanic eyes flicker up to meet the brown ones as a light smile dawns on his lips. "How did you know?"
Arthur sniffs lightly. "It's quite obvious, since all the restaurants you recommended last night were steakhouses." Were they? Eames is pretty sure that he said something about Olive Garden. Oh, well. It's not like he's complaining.
The Englishman leans back in his chair, eyes glazed with amusement. "Arthur, I am impressed."
The dimples shine as Arthur ducks his head a bit to conceal his smile. "You're easily impressed."
"Only by you."
As Arthur continues to hide his smile by taking another sip of his drink, Eames glances up and beams at the waitress as she sets their food down. "Thank you, dear."
She returns the easy smile. "Not at all. Enjoy your dinner!" When she saunters off to another table, Eames takes a look at the plate in front of him. The steak seems pretty nice and juicy.
Without another thought, he picks up his fork and knife and begins eating. After taking the second bite, Eames attention draws away from his dinner to tune in on what Arthur is rambling on about.
"—talking to her just the other day, actually—"
He can barely focus, though, since his sights happen to drift down to Arthur's mouth. He's mesmerized, his gaze holding onto the point man's lips as they move to form words. The lips aren't full as his own, but they still seem snoggable. Speaking of snogging, Eames sincerely hopes that Arthur won't push him away when and if he attempts to kiss him. Perhaps he should ask first, but honestly, who asks? Certainly not him, but to be on the safe side—
"Arthur," Eames begins, cutting the other off on whatever he was talking about. "Are you opposed to kissing?"
Arthur pauses in the middle of his word, his mouth hanging open ever so slightly. The look on his face tells Eames that he is considering it, which is good— really good, in fact.
"Depends," he answers at last. "Are you a good kisser?"
The young Englishman grins. "I personally think that I'm an excellent kisser, but you have to see for yourself, hm?"
Arthur laughs. It's not one of the forced laughs either; it's an actual, honest to God laugh. And if that's not the most beautiful sound Eames has heard, then he doesn't know what is.
"We'll see."
Is that a yes?
"I don't disappoint, darling," Eames replies, lifting the glass of champagne to his lips and sampling the content.
"Let's hope that you don't, Mr. Eames."
That is definitely a yes, but Eames doesn't want to press the matter.
"Now," he begins, dutifully changing the subject so that Arthur doesn't have the time to consider a no, "what were you talking about?" he asks while picking up his knife and cutting the steak into bite size chunks.
"You weren't listening?" Arthur appears to be offended, so Eames quickly offers an apologetic smile before popping a piece of steak into his mouth. Arthur heaves a sigh but, nevertheless, answers, "Cheyenne." The forger pretends that the name doesn't make him jealous, because he's on a date with Arthur and Cheyenne's not.
"What about dear Cheyenne?"
"She's married and pregnant."
Eames' eyebrows shoot up in clear surprise. "Is she?"
Arthur nods and takes a bite out of whatever he's having (looks like chicken, but he may be wrong). "She was engaged on the job we had with her."
Oh.
Well, now he's thoroughly embarrassed for getting worked up over nothing.
"She was wondering why you didn't respond to her wedding invitation."
Eames blinks. "I didn't get one."
"That's because you can't stay in one location." Arthur gives him a pointed look. "Honestly, Eames. You should be glad that I have your number, else you would be out of business."
A smile caresses the forger's lips once more. "You keep track of me," he states in an awing manner.
Arthur scoffs. "I keep track of—"
"Shh, Arthur. Let me dwell in happiness for a moment."
When he actually does fall quiet, Eames takes another bite of his steak before beginning once more. "You know what I did last night?" he asks after swallowing what's in his mouth.
"Do I want to know?" Arthur questions, sounding rightfully suspicious.
"I looked up at the stars and matched each one with a reason why I like you."
"You know what I did last night?" Arthur shoots back, obviously ignoring what Eames said.
Eames quirks an eyebrow. "Enlighten me on what you did, dear Arthur."
"I argued with a certain man until two in the morning over which restaurant to meet at." Even though the words seem harsh, the other's smile tells him that Arthur isn't angry.
"And what a marvelous argument it was!" Eames exclaims, slamming his glass of champagne down and accidentally causing a mess. "Whoops." He reaches for a napkin, but Arthur beats him to it.
"Please be more careful, Mr. Eames," he sighs, dabbing at the mess.
Eames flashes a sheepish grin. "Sorry, got a bit excited there."
"I can see that." After cleaning the spill up, Arthur tosses the wet napkin to the side and resumes eating. This time, though, he doesn't bother looking up and starting a conversation.
Eames clears his throat, hoping to snag the other's attention, but Arthur keeps his gaze down. Not giving into the silence, he tries again. "How much does a polar bear weigh?"
"Enough to break the ice," Arthur answers almost automatically. This surprises the young Englishman, but he plays it off with a small smile.
"It depends on the polar bear, actually."
That catches the point man's attention. Arthur peers up, a light grin tinting his lips. "It's just a pick up line, Eames." He laughs, and this time, Eames joins in.
They have their chuckle, but that's about it. They both finish their meals and down the rest of their champagne before deciding it's time to go.
Eames stands and pulls out his wallet, fully intent on paying, but of course, Arthur has to make it into some sort of competition.
"I'll pay. I asked you out," Eames states, jamming the money into the waitress' hands.
"No," Arthur replies sternly, stealing Eames' money back and shoving it into his hands. "I'll pay. I ordered."
Eames sighs. "Let me pay for this, darling."
The waitress clears her throat. "You can each pay for your respective meal," she suggests, but Arthur shoots her down.
"No," he responds sharply, stuffing his money into her hands. "I'm paying."
"I insist," Eames presses, grabbing the waitress' hand to stop her from running away with Arthur's money.
"Eames, let me pay for this."
"Absolutely not."
"You can pay next time." Is Arthur implying another date? Well, Eames can work with that.
"Okay," he agrees, "next time."
He lets go of the waitress' wrist, giving her the freedom to ring them up.
As she does so, Eames shoves his hands into his coat pockets and glances over at his co-worker. "So ... are you opposed to ice cream?"
Arthur quirks an eyebrow in his direction. "Depends."
"Well," Eames stresses, "there's this ice cream place nearby ..."
The other hums a stray note before accepting the change back from the waitress who bids them a good day in an haughty manner.
"Okay, let's go for ice cream," Arthur agrees.
Eames thinks that this night can not get any better.
... ~ ...
Arthur is stuffed full from all the rolls, champagne, and chicken. He doesn't want ice cream; just the mere thought of eating it makes him want to puke, but it's ice cream. He used to pig out on cartons of it, so how can he say no? Besides, the last time he had ice cream is, if he's not mistaken, over a year ago. Not to mention, it's ice cream with Eames. Arthur isn't excited; surely not! Okay, so maybe he's a bit jittery, but he blames it on ice cream rather than Eames. It's never Eames; it shouldn't be Eames—
"It is, isn't it?"
Arthur blinks out of his daze and peers up at the small, but brightly lit, ice cream shop. What was Eames saying? He just tuned out for a moment, but luckily, Eames doesn't look for an answer. He pulls the door open and ushers him inside. As Arthur steps in, a sweet scent— caramel, toffee or something— hits him. Whatever it is, he wants it.
"What flavor are you getting?" Eames asks as he hands a ten over to the cashier. Arthur glances down at the flavors. There are so many— and the toppings. He feels like an eager kid as he points to mint chocolate tub with a smile.
After receiving his two scoops of ice cream, Arthur quickly grabs a handful of napkins and a spoon. But of course, he still has some class and waits for Eames to get his ice cream cone before digging in. The sweet treat melts in his mouth, making him slightly tremble with anticipation for the next spoonful.
"Good?"
Arthur nods as he scoops some of the ice cream up with the small spoon again. "How much was it?" he asks, putting the spoonful into his mouth and reaching for his wallet. Eames' hand immediately flies to his wrist, stopping him.
"You paid for the dinner. I'm paying for dessert." Eames gives him a look that dares him to object, and for a moment, Arthur does, but the other cuts him off. "Shush, darling. Just enjoy your ice cream."
Arthur, reluctant as he is, finds himself silent and eating the ice cream moments later. He's nearly done with the first scoop when Eames makes a comment.
"Arthur ... seriously?" The point man pulls out the spoon from between his lips and raises an eyebrow in Eames' direction. Eames, in return, gestures at Arthur's ice cream cone with his free hand. "Not big on licking, are you?"
"Does it matter?" Arthur questions.
"Well, you're eating ice cream from a cone."
"And?"
Eames' eyes rake his face for a moment before glancing away and chuckling. "Never mind."
"Good." Seeing that Eames isn't going to make another comment, Arthur seats himself down at a small table and continues enjoying his ice cream.
After a couple of moments in silence, he plucks up the courage to talk. "So ... orange sherbet."
"A very tasty flavor— want to sample?" Eames offers his cone, but Arthur shakes his head.
"I never liked orange," he admits.
"What a coincidence!" the Englishman exclaims. "I'm not too fond of mint chocolate."
"Well," Arthur drawls, "that's another thing we differ on."
An amused smile crosses the Englishman's lips. "Opposites attract, don't they?"
"In the worst possible ways, yes."
Two scoops later, Arthur attempts to start another conversation. "Why forging?"
He peers up and catches sight of the other mid-lick. Eames appears to be deep in thought as he considers his answer, which makes Arthur pause as well.
It's nearly a minute later when he finally replies. "How a person's mind works and their relationship intrigues me. Pretending to be them is only a plus." Arthur nods a bit before taking another spoonful of his treat. "What about you? I imagine research is a boring task."
"It's not only research," he replies, eyebrows furrowed. "As a point man, I have to know every aspect of dreamsharing, but I suppose it's the thrill that keeps me interested."
"Ah," Eames responds, "the thrill of being a criminal."
A small, barely noticeable smile appears in his lips. "Yes."
Hearing this, the Englishman laughs. "And here I thought you lacked the ability to have fun."
"Mr. Eames," Arthur begins, leaning over a bit. "I can assure you that I do have fun, despite how I am at work. I'm only doing my job."
Eames sniffs. "So, asshole at work and fun after wards? I find that hard to believe by the way you've been treating me."
Arthur bites into the cone before answering. "It's just you."
"Oh, I'm honored."
"It's— well, you're annoying as hell most of the time, especially with your pick up lines. If you're like how you are now, then I wouldn't have to be an ass. Don't get me wrong. I'm quite fond of you and—"
"Arthur! I think I'm about to have a heart attack!" Arthur's gaze immediately snaps up from his ice cream. For a moment, his heart stops, but after seeing that Eames is joking, he frowns. "That's the nicest thing you've said to me!"
"Don't do that again," he grumbles, digging into his ice cream cone and scooping the remainder out.
"Sorry, sorry. But you do realize that I'm extremely happy to hear that, right?"
"Yes," Arthur sighs, putting his spoon down and taking another bite out of his cone.
"Quickly, what day is it?"
"The eighteenth, I believe."
"Okay. December 18th at eight thirty-four— the time Arthur confessed his undying love for me." Though he's supposed to be annoyed, the young point man can't help but allow a soft smile to cross his lips.
"I said fond, Mr. Eames."
"It's the first step," the forger responds, finishing his cone with glee.
Arthur shakes his head and stuffs the remainder of the cone into his mouth. After swallowing, he wipes his mouth on a napkin. When he lowers it, he finds Eames peering his way ... with a bit of ice cream stuck at the corner of his mouth.
"What?" he asks innocently. "Do I have something on my face?" Arthur just knows that Eames is aware that there's something on his face, but nevertheless, he folds his napkin in half and leans over to wipe the mess off. He tries not to stare at the lips as he does this, but it's nearly impossible when they look so damn kissable. Swatting away this idea, his gaze switches to the oceanic eyes, but that doesn't help him either— they are absolutely gorgeous compared to his chocolate brown ones, but now's not the time to dwell on that.
Arthur pulls away and stands up hastily. "Ready?" Eames nods and gets to his feet. After tossing the napkins away, Arthur makes his way out of the small ice cream shop.
The night air is crisp— perfect for a walk. And honestly, he doesn't want the date to end quite yet. He actually enjoys Eames' company; it will be a shame if they depart here.
Arthur gazes over at Eames in a hesitant manner, pondering if he should ask him to walk with him somewhere or not. After all, the other is standing around idly, as if waiting for a command.
Deciding that he wants to take the chance, Arthur clears his throat to get Eames' attention, and when he has it, he extends a hand in his direction with a gentle smile. "Mind holding this while I go for a walk?" He did his research on pick up lines, and he doesn't regret it when Eames returns his soft smile before lacing their fingers together.
Arthur can't lie— his heart is racing at the moment, and his cheeks are tinted a slight pink, but Eames soothes him before massaging the back of his hand with his thumb.
And so they walk.
It's a quiet walk, but Arthur doesn't mind; he's too fixed on trying to calm down his thundering heart.
Moments later, he finds himself having a squeezing contest with Eames, but that all stops when they arrive at Arthur's hotel. He hastily removes his hand from the other's grasp and peers up at him. "Thanks for dinner and ice cream. I had a nice time."
Eames nods once. "Not at all, Arthur. Perhaps we can do this again?"
The point man smiles. "Of course. Good night, Eames."
"G'night, darling."
Arthur moves away, but before he can enter the hotel, Eames calls out to him, stopping him in his tracks. Arthur then turns back without a second thought.
"What are you in dire need of, Mr. Eames?"
"Well," the Englishman drawls as he closes in, "I'm writing a new kissing program and I'm wondering if you would like to join the beta-testing?" And he pouts. How can Arthur say no to that?
"Eames, you are one insufferable bastard," he murmurs, stepping closer and leaning in to seal their lips together. He knows he shouldn't have done that, but it's too late to turn back now.
The kiss is a slow and gentle one. Eames' plush lips dance along with his own, not hesitant, but rather, striking. When tilting his head in a different direction, Eames presses forward, as if telling Arthur that he's not pulling away— that he's never going to pull away. He also nibbles on Arthur's lower lip before periodically grazing it with his tongue.
Feeling the temperature rise dramatically in his cheeks, Arthur pulls away and sucks in air. Eames, on the other hand, breathes lightly against his lips, but appears to be equally out of breath.
"I should go," Arthur murmurs at last.
Eames pecks his mouth once more before letting out a soft sigh. "Alright ... alright. Good night."
"Good night."
Arthur pulls away and quickly ushers into the hotel while trying to tone down the flush on his cheeks. It goes away easily, but what continues to linger on his face is a smile.
Notes;; Okay, so I lied. This was supposed to be a short and the last chapter, but alas! it is not. I extended this one so I can write chapter ten, which will be the last chapter. So bear with me ~ c;
