"You need to be careful Eames." Arthur is mending Eames' waistcoat where he had managed to rip a button off. He still is sore that Cobb had let go that little secret on his skills in clothing repair, ever since he had a feeling Eames saved up all his mending for their jobs together. "Arthur it was hardly my fault, besides one button isn't so taxing is it?" Eames is fiddling with the window, trying to get it to shut all the way after he'd thrown his cigarette out, the bitter cold air is already stinging Arthur's cheeks.
"I meant over this new change in our plans, you are -not- a trained bodyguard, despite your ability to pretend to be as such." Arthur puts the waistcoat down as Eames slides to sit close beside him. "Are you worried about me Darling?" Eames' breath is hot against Arthur's ear, and it doesn't turn him on as much as it pushes warmth back into him. "Yes." Arthur is truthful for once, turning his face ever so slightly to take in Eames' surprise. "Come now, I know how to take care of myself." Eames' words do very little to comfort him. "You could have been the one shot." Arthur offers and wishes he hadn't spoken, because this is giving too much. They both live this life, too dangerous, too harsh, Eames could get shot over more banal things than stopping a gunman. Or it could be the same thing, but on a subway system, because Eames is a good person, and the world around them isn't.
Of course Arthur knows that to anyone else, Eames wouldn't be seen as a good person, but they'd never felt the Forger's touch gentle and caring, holding him down, stitching up a knife wound in Arthur's side that could have been fatal. Really dangerous, everything they did was, everyone they worked with, and when it all came down to it, really Arthur would rather be the one taking those risks, running point.
Eames cards his fingers through Arthur's hair, gently, petting through it, and Arthur relaxes a little. His hair is still a little wet from the shower he'd taken an hour prior, and Eames' hand is hot and feels good against the chill. "Love I'll be careful, here, come here." Eames tugs Arthur sideways, and he goes. He presses his face against the curve of Eames' neck and shoulder, closing his eyes and breathes in the clean scent of the forger's skin. It's so nice, just resting here against Eames, and he doesn't want it to end, doesn't want to let go of the moment, which is dangerous itself. "There now, I wouldn't do something that stupid, how would I bother you constantly if I did?" Eames' words force levity back into the situation. Arthur pulls away then, collects his sewing kit and moves from the bed. Too close to something nice, too close to something he might want a little too much, this was safer, just sex, Eames couldn't be anything else, he couldn't let that happen. Eames wouldn't want it anyway, too flighty, such a bird, never telling the truth.
When Arthur turns back to Eames he catches something in the Brit's eyes, something fleeting and soft, and then it's gone, and the smirk that replaces it is enough to wipe the memory of it away. It's sultry, seductive, Eames' has overwhelmingly sexy lips, and Arthur would very much like to see them wrapped around his cock. "Bright and early tomorrow Mr. Eames." He gathers his things together, pulls on his jacket and overcoat. "Wouldn't miss it for the world Darling." Eames is already stretched out on the bed, thick blankets covering up a very fit form.
Arthur doesn't go back to his room at first, instead starts to jog through the halls, the tinkling sound of his coat's zipper an accompanying note to his steps. He puts in his ear-buds before exiting the building and then does a circuit of the block. The air instantaneously tries to shut down his lungs, it's cold and bitter and it burns through him. Each breath, each step taken, is like a stab, reminding him how bad this could all be. How dangerous Eames was, how much it would hurt to let him in. He still has the college student's music library on the iPod, and the counterpoint to his pain is obscure indie, violins and depressed male vocals, and this is his life. Panting he stops in front of the warehouse they are working at, rests his forehead against freezing metal, and just breathes. It's painful, it hurts so much just to -breathe- and he feels so alive, and most of all he hates it. He's come undone, is a mess, his slacks are mussed with snow, his hair is messy with melting snowflakes, with the remnants of Eames' touch. He isn't perfect, and will never be perfect, not like in the dream, where he was efficiency and locks and what he always felt he should be, untouchable.
He wants Eames and wants so much and can never let himself have any of it. It would mean stopping all this, and Eames would never go for it, which is why Eames is safe to want to begin with, because Eames would never want a life with him. He isn't allowed to want something he can actually have, because that would just fuck everything up.
Arthur moves into the silence of the warehouse, his breath condensing in the air as he forces his heart-rate to steady. He sits down at his work station and boots up, no one bothers breaking into a warehouse that looks this horrid unless they knew what was in it to begin with, and no one would know so they just leave their work there. If it was a higher-security session, or further into the plan, he'd just sleep there on folding lawn chairs, but for now it's safe to leave everything laying around.
He works through the night and when John arrives in the morning their new architect and chemist have already unpacked. With Eames gathering what he needs of McKay's life straight from the source, they finally can enter the developmental phase, and Arthur can stop thinking so much about himself, stop thinking so much about things he isn't allowed to have.