A/N-I probably won't warn you guys again, fearing I'm beating a dead horse BUT: the chapters are going to be long from here on in, just too much to try to get in before its not night anymore. Consider yourself warned :)

Also: I do not own the song used in this fic.

5am- Eames knows he has one hour to pull this shit off

"We need to talk."

Between his serious tone and using his first name Eames knew that Arthur meant business.

Eames was snapped out of his sleepiness, feeling rattled by his words and he focused his attention on his partner.

Arthur released their handhold and Eames felt immediately cut off and more concerned. He wanted his closeness.

"Shoot," Eames clasped his hands together.

Arthur took a deep breath.

"I've been trying to figure out all night long what you've been up to and I've been trying to get you turned on so you would tell me since you wouldn't tell me the truth otherwise, I know you too well," he had his hands intertwined, knotted in his lap, studying them.

"I've been teasing you. I'm sorry," Arthur looked up at him suddenly.

"I've been doing the same, trying to turn you on so, well, you know," his words came out in a fumble; he didn't want to meet his eyes.

"I know."

They sat in silence, both listening to the words of the song, realizing it hit close to home.

But where do you go to my lovely...

When you're alone in your bed.

Tell me the thoughts that surround you.

I want to look inside your head.

They both needed to get better at discussing things, especially about things that bothered them.

Eames didn't want to discuss it anymore however. It could wait for another day. He looked over at the other man who looked contemplative.

"Let's go to bed."

Arthur met his eyes, looking surprised.

"No."

Eames was beginning to think it was the other man's favorite word. Arthur got up and shot out a hand to a baffled Eames. "Dance with me again. You don't want to lose the deal do you?" He was smiling.

"Arthur..."

"Don't worry about it now, just dance with me," a laugh in his voice.

Eames shook his head a little and suppressed a laugh. Their relationship was the very definition of nonconventional, bordering on the brink on insanity as of late but he could never deny him. They fought heatedly and often, they got on each other's nerves constantly, they couldn't agree on most things, they nearly never talked about "them"-throwing caution to the wind and then there was Arthur's even colder behavior towards him as of late.

But the sex, oh God the sex. Eames always lost his mind, the way he felt, the way Arthur looked at him, like he was looking through him, they way he straightened his hair, tucking it absentmindedly behind his ear when he thought no one was looking, his goofy, lopsided grin reserved especially for when Eames told him some stupid story or joke, the way his eyebrows furrowed when he was reading or concentrating, his deft hands that could do a million things better than Eames but would never admit to, his sharp intellect and whit, the way he carried himself, head held high in the dreams and otherwise, did he mention the fantastic, mind blowing, knee buckling sex?

He took Arthur's hand; he led them around the coffee table back to the "dance floor".

Eames wanted to see if Arthur would take the lead. To his surprise Arthur positioned his hands correctly and led them in a slow twirl.

He wasn't half bad. Eames again felt baffled.

"Where did you learn to dance?"

"Ariadne has been giving me lessons..."

There was more to the explanation Eames felt. He let Arthur take his time; the point man rested his head on his shoulder, leading them around the room.

You're in between twenty and thirty,

A very desirable age.

You're body is firm and inviting,

But you live on a glittering stage.

"I've been preparing...I wanted to surprise you."

Eames felt a surge of love and affection for him swell up, he rode it. He had practiced dancing for him? But he hated dancing.

"For what?" Eames' voice was a hesitant whisper, not wanting to ruin the tender moment.

They say that when you get married,

It will be to a millionaire.

But they don't realize where you came from

And I wonder if they really care, or give a damn

"For our wedding, Dan. I want to marry you someday too. I can't rightfully not know how to dance for our first dance as a couple."

So look into my face Marie-Claire

And remember just who you are.

Then go and forget me forever

But I know you still bear the scar deep inside, yes, you do.

Maybe he didn't hear him right. Eames wanted to believe it was another trick, another tease but the way he said it, it definitely was not. He felt so many things he didn't know how to feel. His words had successfully done the impossible-stunned him into silence.

He stopped their dance and Arthur looked up at him.

"You look surprised."

"That's because I am."

"Why? Do you think you're the only one capable of thinking those kind of thoughts?"

Eames ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head slightly, blinking rapidly, heart beating fast. He again was reminded of their lack of serious discussion about them.

"Maybe I did."

Arthur grabbed him by the collar and crushed his lips to his own, wet, hot and searching. He still felt marvelous, maybe a little too marvelous and he still tasted faintly of nicotine and also his wine.

They clung to each other desperately, Eames letting Arthur explore his mouth.

The song ended and started again, a constant loop-something out of a dream. The two lovers were caught in a sweet embrace, exploring mouths, not even hearing the song anymore however, letting everything dissolve away.

Surprisingly Eames was the first to break away, gasping for breath, lungs working hard. Arthur shot him a smoldering look.

"Just know that I'm saying this in the nicest way possible: I love how ignorant you are of my thoughts and feelings and that means I get to show you instead of tell you," he smirked and reached around Eames for his wineglass. Arthur downed the rest, definitely not ladylike Eames observed.

"Show me," Eames felt invigorated, taking a step closer to him, getting his second wind.

Arthur released a gentle laugh, looking at his wineglass, his adorable dimple showing on his young face.

He looked up at him. "Let me get us drinks and I will."

He stopped the song on the way to the kitchen, Eames was a little relieved, he liked it but was getting tired of it at the same time.

Eames joined him in the kitchen, pushing him aside, telling him he was shit at bartending and didn't trust him making him a drink. They laughed, sharing another kiss. They were sweet on each other now-after airing out the dirty laundry, reveling feelings and true intentions in their masculine, roundabout ways without really delving too deep. Eames believed Arthur could enjoy himself more now. He knew he was going to, it was like the curtain was lifted.

Eames really did not want to drink anymore; he was going to let Arthur win the second deal. He all ready got to do a lot to him this evening and felt better about their relationship, feeling closer to him, his fears of him growing bored subsided for the time being. He poured himself a shot size in his glass, hoping Arthur wouldn't notice but knowing him he would.

Arthur was rosy cheeked and smiling, a genuine smile as he poured himself a decent size glass.

"Let's play scrabble. You want to get it out?" He was busy corking his bottle.

Eames felt something stir inside him at Arthur's request. It was so simple but not at the same time. He knew. Without them ever uttering those precious three words he knew deep down that they both felt it. This again should have bothered Eames but it did not. They would say it when the time was right and the way Arthur looked at him sometimes-it spoke volumes, sometimes going infinitely deeper than: "I Love You."

He watched him put the bottle away. He came up behind him while he was distracted, pushing him up against the counter, planting a kiss on his cheek, nuzzling it. Arthur cupped his stubbly face sweetly and kissed him, he tasted like his wine. He could feel that Arthur was very warm. Eames wrapped his muscular, yellowing, nicotine stained fingers around his delicate, exposed throat and deepened the kiss and for a change Arthur didn't resist but reciprocated. Thankfully Arthur had placed his glass on the counter behind them; Eames was brushing his bony collarbone lightly, dusting his fingertips on his pale skin. Arthur reacting by slowly sliding a hand down Eames' spine. Eames felt something uncurl and release at his intimate touch and became hard, much too hard. They had been dancing around this all night long, both men teasing, leading the other on; he didn't know how much longer he could hold out.

Eames kissed his jaw breathing in the slightly musty scent of the dress that had been in the garment bag for too long. It smelled of old antiquity, a dying time. That was Arthur in a nutshell, a rare, dying bread.

He moved to his neck, Arthur reacting with a sharp intake of breath. Eames nipped him there, grazing him with his teeth and Arthur cried out a little in alarm and pleasure, making Eames' cock throb. Arthur pulled at his jacket as if to steady himself, looking flushed. "You still up for the third deal?" he breathed shakily, trembling slightly as Eames brushed his earlobe with his lips.

Eames met his eyes begrudgingly and blinked several times thinking he didn't hear him correctly.

"Arthur, I wasn't being serious," a lie. Of course he was serious but this again was to make Arthur think it was his idea, that he was in control. Game on.

"Well I am."

Step five in getting Arthur incredibly pent up and begging for it: play scrabble. Why? Eames had no fucking clue either. Apparently arranging little tile squares into words was really sexy. Arthur was all about puzzles, Sudoku, riddles and anything else that made you use the left portion of your brain. That's probably why he was a superb point man and loved the Penrose steps so much. He probably added up all the steps and divided by four and it was the answers to all the intimate questions of the universe but knowing Arthur he would just laugh, keep it to himself and tuck the answers away in even more riddles and complicated math equations for the next lucky fuck to try to figure out.

So all necessary steps to get him horny were in play-the drinks, the suit, the dress (for the 40's vintage feel), the idea he was in control and now scrabble.

Oh Lord, wasn't he just the most complicated, freakish, adorable creature?

Arthur came to his ear, whispering. "Go get the game," he slapped Eames' arse for good measure just to bring home how serious he was. Eames had to suppress the urge to tackle him to the ground and a huge grin that was threatening to appear when he saw the familiar look in Arthur's, half lidded eyes. He was horny.

Hook, line, sinker.

He fetched the game from the closet, not wanting to waste anymore of their precious time.

He brought out the game, sitting down on the living room carpet, Indian style, liking the warmth on his skin from the fireplace.

He watched as Arthur approached; long dress swishing on the carpet. He insanely wished Arthur had pants on so he could see how hard he was for him. He wanted to yank down the dress and wrap his tongue and mouth around his cock and suck, suck until he was bone dry and screaming. His own bulge was pretty evident in the too tight pants but he was way beyond caring, knowing Arthur was probably used to it. It didn't take much.

Arthur sat; knees swept to the side in true ladylike form and fashion, wineglass in one hand and he adjusted the dress with the other so it covered his long, slender legs more.

Eames tried not to get distracted as he set up the game.

He did brush Arthur's fingers on purpose as they both were picking their tile letter pieces out of the bag, he couldn't resist trying to get him to react. He smiled warmly at his touch.

Arthur was concentrating on arranging his tiles on the little holder, presumably to make out some clever and elaborate words.

Eames wasn't really much for this game but liked to make as many crude words as possible to piss Arthur off since he took it so seriously. But they had another deal, the third deal that Eames didn't want to particularly lose so he thought it would be better to give it the old college try.

Even though Eames drew out an "M" as his first letter and Arthur drew out an "R" he didn't want to go first. With a: "Ladies first" he let Arthur take the first turn. Arthur shook his head a little but grinned at the stupid joke.

Arthur arranged the word: "retreat" on the board. Of course he would have the letters for a word like that. He seemed very pleased as he reached into the bag to draw out more letters. He was always really effing good at this game.

Eames didn't have much to go on, he didn't have many vowels. He did have one clear word though but knowing Arthur he would argue that since it was abbreviated it didn't count.

He built upon his "retreat" by spelling out: "meth" to the snigger of Arthur. "And you say I have no imagination!"

"Well, at least it makes sense, there are meth retreats you know, maybe on some cruise ship somewhere?" he really had no idea what he was talking about and chuckled a little as he dug his hand into the bag for more tiles. Arthur was snorting with laughter, focused on his holder again. He loved this-them doing something completely stupid and making joking together.

Even though Eames complained loudly he thought the game was rigged he had fun and he knew Arthur did too. It had been awhile since the two of them had played any sort of card or board game. Eames was always better at cards.

Arthur beat him horribly. Eames was going to clean up, preparing himself for the barrage of questions he knew he was going to get when he saw Arthur approach him, crawling on hands and knees, pushing the box and tile holders out of way.

This was anything but what Eames expected. His face drew up in surprise and he was opening his mouth to question him when his mouth was suddenly very busy, covered by his lover's.

Arthur was still on his knees, hands on the floor but his mouth was so hungry, sweeping his tongue over his teeth and lips, massaging his tongue with his own. Eames released a pent up moan, leaning into him, going on his knees as well, deepening their contact, one hand on his soft cheek the other on his back. Arthur pulled at him quickly as Eames leaned forward and Eames lost his balance, both men toppling over. He landed on top of Arthur, letter tiles scattering and flying everywhere. If either man felt any discomfort they didn't show it, they grinned, Arthur laughing a little. God, he missed that sound.

Eames brushed a letter "W" off of Arthur's cheek, chuckling, positioning himself so that Arthur could feel the length of him. In their closeness he finally felt how hard Arthur really was, his cock beneath the expensive fabric of the dress digging into his pelvis and Eames nearly lost his control. His breath was ragged and he liked how flushed and pink Arthur looked-like a baby. He shot him a look of wanting that nearly threw him over the edge again.

Arthur came in for a kiss but Eames evaded it and took his face in his hands and nipped his lower lip, the little bites turning into sucking, his tongue sweeping and teasing. He wasn't going to make this easy for the other man. If he wanted it he would have to do more than throw some looks his way.

Arthur squirmed under him, his breathing hard, and his fingernails digging half moons into his back.

It still wasn't enough for Eames, for either of them.

Arthur struggled against him and crushed their lips together into a needy kiss-wet and desperate, arching his hips and curling one leg around his for deeper contact. That was more like it.

Arthur pulled at Eames' shirt, untucking it as Eames pulled away from his lips going for his jaw, swirling his wet tongue around and getting a startled moan from Arthur.

Eames sucked underneath his chin, moving to the softer parts by his throat as Arthur slid a hand up his shirt, feeling his stomach.

He was going to have to regrettably pull at the reins. Arthur definitely was not turned on enough.

He was getting lost though as Arthur explored his abdomen and pecs with one smooth hand, the other hand had somehow managed to reach down his tight pants, dangerously close to his cock.

Thankfully something happened then to help him bring him back down to reality like a kick. Eames' stomach growled loudly. Arthur pretended he didn't hear it and continued to explore but Eames stopped. It was as good as chance as any. Arthur seemed confused.

Eames rolled off of him and came up to a sitting position; he was still breathing hard , sweat glistening off his brow. He couldn't wait to get the tight suit off, he felt he was suffocating. Arthur watched him with wide eyes as he lay on the floor, panting, chest moving rapidly through the lush fabric of the dress.

"You hungry? I'm going to make some dinner. I'm in the mood for fish."

Arthur threw him an incredulous look.

"I just had my hand down your pants and now you want to eat?"

Eames wiped sweat from his brow, smiling.

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

Arthur moved so he was elevated a little, resting on his elbows, staring at him hard.

"You've never chosen food over sex. And it can't rightfully be dinner now. Fish, really?"

Eames rested his face in a hand and stared right back at him.

"There's a first time for everything I suppose," he let that sink in and started to get up.

Arthur reached over and shot a hand out, gripping his leg.

"Don't you dare move," he growled lowly.