A/N-Yes I did do research on Tom and JGL in case anyone was wondering-for their respective ages and heights. I like to have the details right. I always thought JGL was a lot shorter but in fact he's 5'10! And Tom is 5'11! I think in Inception they made Leo look a lot taller than JGL, probably because he was the protagonist, the "hero" and all that. Funny how that works since Leo really isn't much taller than either of them, like 5'11-6 feet! Just little bits of random info for ya.

3 am

Arthur was thankfully not trying to kill himself with a mixed drink and was opening a bottle of wine, struggling with it.

"I'm sorry," he tugged at the cork, Eames trying not to think it was an extremely sexual gesture. "Did you say 'dress up'?" He managed to finally get the cork out and was opening the cabinet for a wine glass.

Eames made a point to come along right beside him, barely making contact but letting him feel his heat.

"Yes, luv." He was deciding want drink he wanted, liking the way Arthur was sweating, trying to move away from him and seeing the little nervous smile play on his face.

He was enjoying this to a degree though he wouldn't admit it to Eames directly.

"You mean like what little ten year old girls do at slumber parties?"

"Why have you been to one of them?"

Step two in getting Arthur incredible horny was to play into what turned him on. Unfortunately for Eames it was well dressed men. Eames definitely wanted to dress better for him but didn't know how so he was going to delve into his closet and wear his clothes. He also had plans for what Arthur would wear.

He was reaching into their liquor cabinet for his Crown Royal, grinning hugely.

"I know that smile. You're up to no good."

Now Arthur was standing as close as he dared without touching him, beating Eames at his own game. He was good. He could feel that Arthur was radiating heat now-most likely from all the alcohol and their fondling on the couch. Eames was pleased.

Arthur swirled his wine in his glass with deft fingers and bony wrist, bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply. It was just one of dozens of things that Eames didn't understand about him-like he lived in a different time and marched to the beat of a different drum. He took solace in the finer, richer things where Eames would be content with shooting dice in an alley, telling stories and singing at the top of his lungs to a song he didn't even know. He made his own fun. They definitely had different upbringings and backgrounds though this was the longest and best relationship he had ever had and didn't want to mess it up. He hoped Arthur felt the same.

Arthur was watching him, doing his wine tasting thing, a peek into a life that Eames had no business witnessing and he seemed content with him watching.

"Do me a favor and stay here for a moment," he was putting back his materials for his drink.

"Is this another fantasy?" He was mocking him.

Eames took a long shot of his drink; he would need some liquid courage for this one.

"Yes, will you stay rooted here?"

Arthur released a disappointed sigh. When Eames chanced a look at him he nodded his head, wineglass elevated and he didn't look entirely happy.

Before he could lose his nerve he made a beeline for their bedroom and went straight to their closet, well it was mostly Arthur's really. Eames didn't possess quite as many outfits as his partner and opted for putting his things in the dresser instead since his things were "always wrinkled anyway".

The walk in closet reeked of him-his cologne, his shampoo, mint, and leather, always clean and crisp. He inhaled deeply loving the smell. Arthur organized his suits by color and Eames went to the blues remembering Arthur told him he looked good in navy and that it "brought out his eyes."

He knew which one he wanted-a navy with subtle white pinstripe. He would match it with dark blue shirt of his own and a gold tie. In his growing tiredness and half drunkenness he found it very hard to get his belt and pants off and tripped and fell into the nightstand nearly toppling it.

"What are you doing in there? Is ruining our place part of the fantasy?"

"Har, har. No, I'm fine, really, thanks so much for your concern." He rubbed at his injured legs and knew it would have hurt more if he wasn't feeling the effects of the alcohol.

"Well, bring your English ass out here then."

Eames had managed to get his pants off finally and was desperately trying to find his blue shirt in his mess of clothes.

"You're cute American ass can wait a moment. Why are Americans so impatient anyway?"

They often poked fun at one another's nationalities always complaining loudly about such and such ridiculous, overused stereotype but both confessing they loved each other's accents. It was a running joke that neither got tired of.

While rummaging yet again through the same drawer he thought he did four times all ready he found it, it was slightly wrinkled of course but he was a mess with an iron, always burning things so it would have to do.

"We're used to getting our way," his voice sounded closer.

Eames threw his shirt off in a fluid motion; he would worry about cleaning up later. He donned the new shirt, buttoning as fast as he could and threw on the navy jacket, it was tight but it would work for what he needed it for. Arthur's pants were going to be more of a problem. Though Eames was only an inch taller than him, Arthur was a lot smaller around the waist. He was jealous of his naturally slim figure. He could eat anything and everything he wanted and he never gained an ounce. Arthur called it a blessing and a curse but Eames just shook his head and watched him eat heaping portions of whatever, whenever. He worked out though, he was basically one big muscle and zero fat, hence why he got so cold all the time. Of course Eames had to work out as well and couldn't eat junk all the time. He tried to limit his alcohol intake too but that usually went out the window, hell it always went out the window especially on these cold winter nights when there was nothing to do and his partner wouldn't give him sex.

He was more self conscious of his body around him and he didn't like that about himself. Though Arthur complemented him many a time and said he looked and felt good he was always uneasy, wanting to look good for him. Hence stuffing himself in a suit that was a couple sizes too small.

He had wild hopes of getting him fatter so that they were the same size and could share clothes but that was just not happening.

Arthur would be the same weight until he died.

Through sucking in his gut, struggling feebly and feeling like a 16 year old girl that was in denial about her weight he was able to wrestle the pants on, fearing he would rip them and if that was the case he would be a dead man-this suit was definitely not cheap and was tailored just for him. He ran to the bathroom mirror and inspected himself. He ran a hand through his hair, sweeping it more to the side, slapping himself on the cheek for good measure, meeting his reflection with a smile and a wink. He ran back to the closet and through Arthur's electric, revolving tie rack until he got the gold one. He was rubbish at tying a good tie and he knew Arthur would fix it for him later. He was regrettably feeling more of the oncoming's of tiredness. He was a night owl by nature but it was creeping up on him slowly, sinking into his skin and bones, crawling all over him. He gave himself a pinch to revive himself. He didn't want Arthur to win. He had more he had to do.

"Are you masturbating in there? You know I don't like you doing that on the duvet," thankfully he sounded like he was back in the living room, not meandering through the hall.

"Sod off. I'm almost finished."

Eames found his best black belt, almost feeling breathless from the much too tight pants and found his least scuffed pair of black oxfords-the ones he knew Arthur approved of in the past, completing the look.

He charged out of the bedroom not letting him doubt himself anymore or give himself any more second thoughts.

Arthur was seated on the couch, tired, reddening eyes trained to the window, watching the slow flying snow. When he heard Eames approach he turned his attention on him and his face was priceless. Eames wished he had a camera. It was a Kodak moment-as the American expression went. He was picking up on more and more of those from him.

Arthur's smooth, pale face was drawn up in surprise and dare he think "delight". It may have been a trick on his eyes but even in the low light of the dimly lit room he could tell he was generally shocked and pleased.

He inspected him like he was a rare species. Eames just leaned into the wall, propping an elbow and resting his face in his hand. He shot Arthur a smoldering look.

Arthur was leaning forward, on the very edge of the sofa now and motioned for Eames to come closer. Eames liked the gesture a little too much.

He straightened Arthur's suit and strutted towards him, doing a little spin like he was on a catwalk.

Eames saw Arthur suppress a small smile. The bastard was enjoying this.

Arthur got up from his position on the couch when he was right before him.

He tugged his sleeves down, picking at this and that, looking him over again. He knew what was coming next. Arthur reached for his tie, a look in his eye that Eames couldn't quite place.

"You're 33 and can't tie a tie. You're a sad Englishman. Don't they teach you how to do it in grammar school?"

Arthur's cheeks were flushed and his dark eyes were reflecting the fire still slowly burning he noticed in their close proximity. Arthur loosened the shoddy knot and undid it. His hands were fumbling and not up to par with his usual deft authoritativeness. He was drunk.

"I am a sad Englishman. I don't drive a James Bond car, wear a bowler hat or drink tea throughout the day either."

"Well," he was busy trying to redo the tie, forehead furrowed, concentrating much too hard. "I would think they would teach you all the same."

"I didn't have a father figure, luv."

His face seemed to flush brighter and he lowered his glowing eyes further looking embarrassed. He muttered: "Sorry, I forgot", mumbled something else about being drunk and was nearly done but was lingering, straightening it, making it tighter. He smelled of booze and faintly of cigarettes.

Eames tried to get him to look at him. When Arthur finished he finally did, he was definitely getting drunk. His eyes had that glassy, faraway look.

"You haven't been smoking have you?"

Arthur cleared his throat, taking a step back and crossed his arms. "No. It's disgusting."

Eames didn't believe him. He was a bad influence on him in certain ways but he didn't think he was that impressionable or that he would steal his fags though the smell of smoke was palpable. He should have been angry but the idea of him smoking was incredibly sexy.

Arthur wouldn't meet his eyes and since he wasn't confessing he decided he wanted to fish for a compliment. "How do I look?"

Arthur looked at him finally and smiled, his dark, shiny, glassy eyes roaming all over him. He came up to him again, pulling at the suit coat and looking at his sleeves. "Do you even have to ask? I'm not sure why but the suit looks better on you, especially now that the tie is tied correctly. I like," he stole a kiss.

Eames felt extremely vindicated and pleased. He tasted the nicotine on his breath, furthering his suspicions but was very turned on all the same. He wanted to fuck that nicotine mouth, just fuck it right out of him. As he felt new warmth spread all over his body at the idea he was again struck with the thought of who was playing who in all these deals they struck. Was Arthur doing this to mess with him? He was getting himself successfully, horribly turned on but was Arthur?

Eames wrapped his arms around him and moved in to kiss him deeper, wanting to explore him and suck out that nicotine.

Arthur thwarted him though by putting his head on his shoulder, a sneaky gesture.

"So this is the fantasy where you want to wear my clothes?"

"Partially," he lied.

Arthur moved from his position on his shoulder and drew away a little, looking at him curiously.

Eames looked at him deeply. "It's your turn."

Arthur laughed fully making him look youthful and gorgeous-his pink cheeks burning in the firelight.

"There is no way I am wearing your ridiculous clothes."

Eames chuckled. "Oh no, Arthur dearest we're not swapping clothes I have something better for you."

That sobered the other man up quickly and he was back to his curious, doubting look.

Eames released him and turned to walk back to the bedroom motioning with his head for Arthur to follow.

He heard Arthur walking behind him. Eames immediately went to his dresser and wrenched the bottom drawer open; it was crammed to the brim with a hodge-podge assortment of random clothes. Arthur was leaning against the door frame, looking afraid or wary to come in further. "You're not gonna make me wear a police or firefighter outfit, something kinky are you?"

All sorts of wild ideas ran through Eames' alcohol, liquefied, turned on mind and although it was tempting to have Arthur use handcuffs on him he dismissed it. He still wanted to stick to his original plan though it was proving to be more and more difficult. His hard on was beginning to feel like torture.

In his drunken, horny state he was having a hard time finding what he was looking for. All he could think about was how good Arthur felt and tasted and the way his eyes roamed all over him as he wore his suit. He was going to get it out of him one way or another, he was going to get him to confess that he was smoking for whatever reason and he was going to have to start counting his fags, keeping better track of them.

He sensed Arthur's impatience and knew his OCD cleaning tendencies were probably kicking in wanting to clean up the mess he left earlier of his scattered clothes around the bedroom.

He rooted around a little more until he found it, it was a black garment bag that he actually took the time to fold up neatly, for once, and tuck away. He had tried to be neat and orderly thus confusing himself further since he usually was never organized or gave a shit about the condition of his clothes.

Eames came up from his crouched position and presented the garment bag to Arthur, trying not to grin.

Arthur took it from him, afraid to touch it, wrinkling his nose and winching.

"I know I'm not going to like this."

"Just remember, you have to keep an open mind."

"If this is what I think it is I'm going to slaughter you."

Eames watched him closely as he made a face and gingerly unzipped the garment bag just a little, peeking inside. His face screwed up in horror as he took it in.

"No, it's definitely worse than what I thought."