[Eames wants him so badly. Not in bed (well... not just in bed.) Him... completely. He's been so wound up over him, for so long, so many years. How could he not take a chance on him now, when they've been through so much, when Arthur might just feel the same things?
He swallows nervously and moves closer, eyes locked on Arthur's deep brown ones. He's so beautiful, hair loose and almost curling. Eames wants to touch it, run his fingers through his hair, but he's got to get this out before he loses his nerve entirely.
He brushes his hand over Arthur's. His stomach is all tied in knots, fluttering nervously. Acting isn't going to cut it, so he's left with being himself. Which really sounds like a horrible idea, but if Arthur wants him, then he's going to want him.]
Arthur... [He presses his hand to Arthur's, glancing back up at him. He puts down his last card and shows his hand.] I'm mad about you. I can't even look at another man or a beautiful woman. You drive me absolutely mad, but every fucking flaw is just a part of you, and you are... the most fascinating, brilliant, incredible man I've ever known.
[He laughs, a short, strangled noise.] And I know you won't let me forget I said that, but I don't care. I had to give this a shot. And I'm just praying you feel the same. I know you're worried, but I mean, I'm not going to leave you because of your job. I can handle myself with any thugs that might try to use us against each other, you know I can.
[He rubs his hand over Arthur's, anxious again.] I'm talking too much. Just... how do you feel, darling? About me? Or questions... Ask me things, if you need to.
[ For a bit, he's able to hold his gaze, feeling steady despite the tension running down his spine.
When Eames puts his hand over his, he glances down, looks at the lines of their palms and wrists intersecting and listens. It doesn't feel real, feels like he could just be dreaming, because they're never been like this. Honest, without the edge of a joke, without the sharpness added to keep themselves protected. Defense after defense, built up over years, even if it was occasionally as transparent as glass.
Arthur surrounded himself with knives, with guns and bullets, made like his bones were steel and his blood simply ran like ice. Untouchable. It was easier that way, not to let anyone too close. And Eames had done something similar, but everything was veiled. Smoke and mirrors. The cushion of velvet before the slice. People underestimated him and didn't understand when they'd walk away bloody.
Yet here they are, with Eames' cards on the table; a royal flush, winner takes all, maybe it wasn't coincidence his totem was a poker chip after all.
(His fingers itch to roll the die he has in his pocket, wondering if it'll be the three white pips over and over again). ]
I know you can handle yourself, I know.
[ Arthur says it low, just above a murmur. Less like a painful admittance and more like a tentative thing, a fawn on unsteady legs. He doesn't want to think about them being used as leverage, even if they're completely capable. It's the idea itself, the possibility that it could happen, it's searing and frightening.
Abruptly, he looks up again, worry etched in every line. ]
I do. Feel the same. I just– what if we destroy each other in the process, Eames? What if we end up like...
[ Like Mal and Dom, so in love. Like Mal and Dom, who dreamt a lifetime together. Who made one mistake and then it was just Dom. Just Dom, who he followed around the fucking world, who carried the shadow of his wife dreaming and awake.
Arthur knows himself, he wouldn't be able to let go, either. ]
[He can feel the glass around Arthur, feel the cracks veining through it as Arthur's walls begin to shatter with his defenses. Eames has never felt so nervous, so breathless and on the edge of the knife, waiting for his fate.
He looks up, and Eames sees every fear, every moment of his time with Cobb coming back to haunt him. And Eames caresses his cheek; he has to touch Arthur or he's going to go insane because he just said he felt the same way. Eames can't be relieved yet, though. There are so many ways this could end without Arthur in his arms, and he can't let that happen.
His voice is strangled when he speaks, his other hand gripping his arm like he's afraid to let go.]
We won't. I promise you, Arthur, we won't. We'll be careful. Hell, if you want me to, I'll quit dream sharing here and now.
[He moves in, to kiss his cheek softly, whisper to him.] But we can't let fear of what we could lose dictate this, when we have so much to gain. Please.
[ He's never been very good with emotional moments. Part of it comes from an adolescence filled with a lot of anger issues and no productive way to let loose. In the military, he learned how to bottle things up, compartmentalize— those lessons stuck, made him good at what he does, running point. Objectivity is important, especially when one is making as many split second decisions as he does on even a normal job.
Most of all, though, he's bad at emotions because they're overwhelming. Years of defense has gotten him a moniker of being some kind of automaton, but he cares. Deeply, without reservation, with the kind of trust attributed to dogs more than people. Easily, he can see it fucking them up completely.
But Eames is promising him, voice hitched and slightly strangled, and Arthur wants to believe every word.
Maybe they won't self destruct. Maybe they won't be another Dom and Mal Cobb, a warning for every person in dreamshare.
Maybe this will work out, because they both have feet planted firmly in reality. This reality, the one that feels slightly surreal but is all the same. Eames brushes a kiss on his cheek and Arthur caves slowly, leans in and presses his forehead to the forger's shoulder. He slides his other hand over top of Eames' where it's set on his lap, laces his fingers in the spaces between. ]
Don't quit. [ The words are muffled by fabric and muscle and bone. Like this, he can almost make out his heartbeat, a steady thrum. He's afraid but he wants this, wherever this leads. ]
I'm not gonna let you loose after this, I hope you realize.
[God, it's real. This is real and he's holding Arthur and Arthur... has feelings for him. He breathes in easy for once, for the first time in a long time. Closing his eyes, he holds on to Arthur like he's the only thing tethering him to the earth.
Eames smiles, cards his fingers through Arthur's soft hair.] It's okay. I'm holding on to you too.
[He lets the silence carry on for a bit, running the tips of his fingers over the soft hair at the nape of his neck.] Stay with me tonight? I promise you can leave as bright and early as you need to.
[ As Eames combs finger through his hair, he relaxes in increments. It's been a while since he's just indulged in this, touching without the promise of taking his clothes off.
He's so chilled out by the time he gets that question, he's not even considering rejecting it out of hand. The words are there though. Because he's busy, he's got a million things to do and—
Whatever. Fuck it for now. ]
Yeah, okay. If I wake up late, I'm making you do the edits to the mazes.
[Grinning in victory, he attempts to pry Arthur from his shoulder-] There are a lot of legitimate reasons to wake up late. I might argue the terms of this deal tomorrow. [-to press his lips to Arthur's.] But deal.
[It's so... weird to be at this point with Arthur. To be able to be affectionate without making himself vulnerable. Or maybe he still is. Maybe he just knows Arthur won't hurt him because of it.]
[ Lucky for Eames, he's managed to pull himself away from the comforting warmth of his shoulder. Mostly so he can raise a very questioning brow at the idea of "legitimate reasons to sleep in".
Granted, his skepticism doesn't last too long, since he's smiling a bit into the quick kiss. ]
Should I be worried if you argue? Will your fans hear it and come fawning?
[ The last time Eames argued with all of his fervor, he ended up with something like a spider attaché. It was, quite frankly, amusing. ]
[He chuckles, just hovering near his mouth.] God, I hope not. Although they seem to be advertising John's odd little pipes fairly well.
[He gives him another quick kiss before disappearing into the crook of Arthur's shoulder, kissing the skin there softly and mouthing his way up his neck.]
On second thought, if I manage to get you to sleep in, I'll take the bloody punishment.
[ They've been close before. Obviously, because Arthur's been stripped down under Eames' hands, nothing between them but sweat and skin.
And somehow, these sweet close-mouthed kisses are more intimate. Personal. Arthur feels even more exposed, defenses crumbling to the ground. He leans into it, lets Eames kiss a line along his throat, hums a bit at just the warmth.
It seems to spread, blooming to fill his lungs, his rib cage expanding with it. Happiness, threatening to bubble over like a bottle of champagne shaken and uncorked. He's smiling, dimples clearly showing, eyes crinkling right at the corners. Somewhere, he feels like maybe this is stupid, that he's stupid, for letting this affect him so much.
But right now, he's finding it hard to care. Gently, he brings his hands to either side of Eames' face, silently getting him to make eye contact. ]
I think if I'm exhausted, that's possible. [ His smile goes from beaming to a curve of a smirk, implicating. ] Think you can do that, Mr. Eames?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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He swallows nervously and moves closer, eyes locked on Arthur's deep brown ones. He's so beautiful, hair loose and almost curling. Eames wants to touch it, run his fingers through his hair, but he's got to get this out before he loses his nerve entirely.
He brushes his hand over Arthur's. His stomach is all tied in knots, fluttering nervously. Acting isn't going to cut it, so he's left with being himself. Which really sounds like a horrible idea, but if Arthur wants him, then he's going to want him.]
Arthur... [He presses his hand to Arthur's, glancing back up at him. He puts down his last card and shows his hand.] I'm mad about you. I can't even look at another man or a beautiful woman. You drive me absolutely mad, but every fucking flaw is just a part of you, and you are... the most fascinating, brilliant, incredible man I've ever known.
[He laughs, a short, strangled noise.] And I know you won't let me forget I said that, but I don't care. I had to give this a shot. And I'm just praying you feel the same. I know you're worried, but I mean, I'm not going to leave you because of your job. I can handle myself with any thugs that might try to use us against each other, you know I can.
[He rubs his hand over Arthur's, anxious again.] I'm talking too much. Just... how do you feel, darling? About me? Or questions... Ask me things, if you need to.
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When Eames puts his hand over his, he glances down, looks at the lines of their palms and wrists intersecting and listens. It doesn't feel real, feels like he could just be dreaming, because they're never been like this. Honest, without the edge of a joke, without the sharpness added to keep themselves protected. Defense after defense, built up over years, even if it was occasionally as transparent as glass.
Arthur surrounded himself with knives, with guns and bullets, made like his bones were steel and his blood simply ran like ice. Untouchable. It was easier that way, not to let anyone too close. And Eames had done something similar, but everything was veiled. Smoke and mirrors. The cushion of velvet before the slice. People underestimated him and didn't understand when they'd walk away bloody.
Yet here they are, with Eames' cards on the table; a royal flush, winner takes all, maybe it wasn't coincidence his totem was a poker chip after all.
(His fingers itch to roll the die he has in his pocket, wondering if it'll be the three white pips over and over again). ]
I know you can handle yourself, I know.
[ Arthur says it low, just above a murmur. Less like a painful admittance and more like a tentative thing, a fawn on unsteady legs. He doesn't want to think about them being used as leverage, even if they're completely capable. It's the idea itself, the possibility that it could happen, it's searing and frightening.
Abruptly, he looks up again, worry etched in every line. ]
I do. Feel the same. I just– what if we destroy each other in the process, Eames? What if we end up like...
[ Like Mal and Dom, so in love. Like Mal and Dom, who dreamt a lifetime together. Who made one mistake and then it was just Dom. Just Dom, who he followed around the fucking world, who carried the shadow of his wife dreaming and awake.
Arthur knows himself, he wouldn't be able to let go, either. ]
no subject
He looks up, and Eames sees every fear, every moment of his time with Cobb coming back to haunt him. And Eames caresses his cheek; he has to touch Arthur or he's going to go insane because he just said he felt the same way. Eames can't be relieved yet, though. There are so many ways this could end without Arthur in his arms, and he can't let that happen.
His voice is strangled when he speaks, his other hand gripping his arm like he's afraid to let go.]
We won't. I promise you, Arthur, we won't. We'll be careful. Hell, if you want me to, I'll quit dream sharing here and now.
[He moves in, to kiss his cheek softly, whisper to him.] But we can't let fear of what we could lose dictate this, when we have so much to gain. Please.
no subject
Most of all, though, he's bad at emotions because they're overwhelming. Years of defense has gotten him a moniker of being some kind of automaton, but he cares. Deeply, without reservation, with the kind of trust attributed to dogs more than people. Easily, he can see it fucking them up completely.
But Eames is promising him, voice hitched and slightly strangled, and Arthur wants to believe every word.
Maybe they won't self destruct. Maybe they won't be another Dom and Mal Cobb, a warning for every person in dreamshare.
Maybe this will work out, because they both have feet planted firmly in reality. This reality, the one that feels slightly surreal but is all the same. Eames brushes a kiss on his cheek and Arthur caves slowly, leans in and presses his forehead to the forger's shoulder. He slides his other hand over top of Eames' where it's set on his lap, laces his fingers in the spaces between. ]
Don't quit. [ The words are muffled by fabric and muscle and bone. Like this, he can almost make out his heartbeat, a steady thrum. He's afraid but he wants this, wherever this leads. ]
I'm not gonna let you loose after this, I hope you realize.
no subject
Eames smiles, cards his fingers through Arthur's soft hair.] It's okay. I'm holding on to you too.
[He lets the silence carry on for a bit, running the tips of his fingers over the soft hair at the nape of his neck.] Stay with me tonight? I promise you can leave as bright and early as you need to.
no subject
He's so chilled out by the time he gets that question, he's not even considering rejecting it out of hand. The words are there though. Because he's busy, he's got a million things to do and—
Whatever. Fuck it for now. ]
Yeah, okay. If I wake up late, I'm making you do the edits to the mazes.
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[It's so... weird to be at this point with Arthur. To be able to be affectionate without making himself vulnerable. Or maybe he still is. Maybe he just knows Arthur won't hurt him because of it.]
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Granted, his skepticism doesn't last too long, since he's smiling a bit into the quick kiss. ]
Should I be worried if you argue? Will your fans hear it and come fawning?
[ The last time Eames argued with all of his fervor, he ended up with something like a spider attaché. It was, quite frankly, amusing. ]
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[He gives him another quick kiss before disappearing into the crook of Arthur's shoulder, kissing the skin there softly and mouthing his way up his neck.]
On second thought, if I manage to get you to sleep in, I'll take the bloody punishment.
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And somehow, these sweet close-mouthed kisses are more intimate. Personal. Arthur feels even more exposed, defenses crumbling to the ground. He leans into it, lets Eames kiss a line along his throat, hums a bit at just the warmth.
It seems to spread, blooming to fill his lungs, his rib cage expanding with it. Happiness, threatening to bubble over like a bottle of champagne shaken and uncorked. He's smiling, dimples clearly showing, eyes crinkling right at the corners. Somewhere, he feels like maybe this is stupid, that he's stupid, for letting this affect him so much.
But right now, he's finding it hard to care. Gently, he brings his hands to either side of Eames' face, silently getting him to make eye contact. ]
I think if I'm exhausted, that's possible. [ His smile goes from beaming to a curve of a smirk, implicating. ] Think you can do that, Mr. Eames?
no subject
That won't be a problem, [he says confidently, and he kisses him like he wants to, like he's always wanted to. Softly and lovingly.]