Arthur is perched on Eames' bed, back against the headboard, he is doing a crossword puzzle and listening to the news in Russian, Eames is sitting at the foot of the bed eating left-over curry and not so much listening to the news as he is watching the reporters. When the program ends Arthur flicks off the television and waits for Eames to begin.
"I have a tentative idea, I'll have to compile a better profile once I get hired, but judging from Sheppard's commitment issues, it's likely this Meredith wanted more from him than to just give him a job in high clearance government contracting. He was near to bolting from the car just reliving the situation." Arthur looks up mid-way through Eames' statement. "Eight letters, a Shanghai Cocktail Ingredient." Arthur prompts, frowning.
"Anisette. I think I might try to forge your Sheppard, where did you pick him up anyway Darling, he seems hardly reliable." Arthur can hear the words spoken underneath the amiable drawl "I am jealous, he's dangerous, I don't like the way he looks at you." Arthur fills out the word, feeling a sense of accomplishment as the entire lower half of the puzzle is neat and orderly, complete.
They have been doing this for so long, lying and masking the truth, it's who they are now, and Arthur will not be the one to end the dance, he ignores Eames' displeasure. "Mexico." He states, only giving the barest details, it was none of Eames' business anyway.
"What can you tell me about him?" Eames prompts and Arthur puts down the crossword, stretches his legs out along the bed, avoiding Eames. "He's been erased from records, he served in the Air Force but has been expunged from the system. He is another ghost. He also has no idea who implemented the wipe. No birth records, nothing." Arthur knows there is no such person as E. Eames either, just more ghosts. "He is highly intelligent, you know that, and capable." Arthur adds, John may be a little unstable but he had far more of a moral compass than he liked to think. At least more of one than the two men currently talking about him, Arthur mused.
Eames who had tried to extract Arthur's identity from him after the third job they worked together, and then there had been the inception. No, out of the three of them, the only reason John might not be reliable would have to do with pushing some moral boundary. Whereas Eames would gamble away everything, and Arthur would drop anyone but Cobb in a moment's notice.
Arthur lets his eyes shut, rests his head back against the headboard and is quiet. "Have you fucked him?" He can feel the heat of Eames' breath ghost over his lips, feels the weight of the man's legs settling on either side of his own. He doesn't bother opening his eyes, he knows how this game will go. "If I have?" Arthur can drawl too, a soft gravelly sound. "I don't think you have Darling, if he had you, I can't imagine anyone would want to let that go." Eames doesn't mask the hunger in his statement, it is raw and rough. Arthur feels the brush of Eames' hands as they settle to either side of his head, pinning him against the headboard. "Maybe you are the only one who I haven't fucked Mr. Eames." Arthur lets the statement burn, puts enough cruelty into the words that Eames is rolling off of him.
Arthur doesn't open his eyes till he hears the bathroom door shut, he isn't sure why they bother to play anymore. Isn't sure when it's so blatantly obvious that they want each other, and it's so obvious to everyone who bothers to really look. But if anything, Arthur knows how flighty Eames can be, running and hiding, lying, forging, flying away. He doesn't know anymore why Eames pulls away when Arthur has all but offered everything up to him like a sacrifice. But he will not be the one to break, wont be the one to beg Eames to just do something, anything, to stop tormenting them. Eames started this game, and Arthur will win it, even though now winning was starting to feel a lot like loosing.
He starts to gather his things when he hears the shower turn on. Picking up newspaper pages, his discarded coat, paperwork and sketchbook. He can imagine Eames in the shower, strong lines, dark tattoos against tanned skin. Water pouring rivulets down dark indentations. He steadies his breathing, tries to lock down his responses, but it's not that easy in the waking world. Fuck Eames and this stupid game, and everything else.
The cold of the hallway is like a slap of ice to the face when compared to the warm cocoon Eames' hotel room had been. He goes up two flights of stairs, and hates himself for not turning the heat on in his own room before settling down in Eames'. He burrows under the blankets, fully clothed, watches the lights on the water outside his window glittering stars of light in the night, and waits for the heater to warm up the chill. It's just sex, it's always just sex, and why can't Eames just give in, what were the stakes, what were they playing for, and why did Arthur even think it was a good idea to gamble with an addict?
Despite it all though, he wants Eames, has wanted him for so long, and it's never really gone away, not after a hundred stabs in the back. Maybe he's just a masochist, maybe it's some kind of self-punishment. He hasn't gotten laid in so long though, even though he probably could have with Ariadne, but she was brittle and too-young, and it's too dangerous to fall in love, and she was the kind of person who would have fallen fast and hard.
He missed Mal, not as much as Cobb did, and a lot of his memories were now beginning to be tinted by all the times Cobb's shade of her had killed him as some kind of demonstration of internal guilt. He didn't want anyone to loose as much as she had, didn't want to put anyone through that, or go through the pain Cobb had gone through himself. Eames was safe, Eames was a thief and a liar, and wouldn't loose himself in Arthur, wouldn't love Arthur.
Which hurt all on it's own, and made Arthur hate himself a little bit, because despite all the fear, all the self-restraint, he sort of wanted Eames to love him. Even though that would be it, that would be the end of them ever working together again, he wanted to taste that just once.