Fic: Tendery, Tenderly Please Take My Breath from Me
Title: Tenderly, Tenderly Please Take My Breath from Me
Author: five_of_five
Team: Angst
Prompt: Innocence
Word count: 2550
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Major Character Death
Summery: AU, Arthur and Eames meet in a bar. Eames doesn't know how this night will end. Arthur does.
Notes: Title taken from Neko Case song “Twist the Knife”. With many thanks and much praise to my brilliant beta gelbwax, I don't know what I'd do without you bb ♥
Eames walks into the hotel bar and spots him immediately, sitting alone in the farthest corner near the kitchen doors and the exit signs. He’s purposefully removed from the hustle and bustle of the other patrons and the blare of the television droning out the results of various sporting events, alternately staring into his drink and surveying the crowd.
He’s about Eames’ age, maybe a few years younger, dark hair slicked back and eyes older than his face. The man’s dressed impeccably, the expensive cut of his suit speaking to exacting standards and a strict sense of self. Eames desperately wants to peel away those costly layers and taste what’s hidden beneath. If the man’s brain is anywhere near as sharp as his wardrobe, Eames will be in for a very interesting evening indeed.
“Scotch, please,” Eames tells the bartender as he sits one stool away from the gentleman he’d been observing. “Neat.”
He’s even more gorgeous up close, lines of his suit showing off a fine figure. He has a briefcase tucked next to him on the floor, a businessman probably, staying at the hotel for work, not likely to be in town more than a few days tops. Eames feels a brief pang that he won’t get a chance to know the man better, but comforts himself with the knowledge that he’ll hopefully be getting to know the gentleman quite well before the night is out.
Eames catches the man eyeing him speculatively; Eames flashes him a quick grin and turns back to the bartender, thanking him as the glass is placed on the bar. They drink in silence until suit-man indicates he’d like a refill, Eames holds the bartender back.
“Please, allow me,” Eames says, pulling out his wallet and paying for the bourbon. His neighbor accepts both Eames’ offer to pay and the wink that Eames throws him with a nod of the head and a slight smile.
“Thank you,” his voice is deeper than Eames expects, his mouth forming around the words like he isn’t used to them. “Arthur,” he says, holding out his hand across the empty stool separating them.
“Arthur,” Eames repeats, dragging out the letters the same way he drags out the handshake, reluctant to let go of either. “Pleasure to meet you, my friends call me Eames,” he replies.
“I notice you don’t say that your name is Eames,” Arthur observes, caressing Eames’ palm briefly before drawing back his hand, Eames is pleased to note he seems more amused than wary.
“There’s a very good reason for that,” Eames smiles while Arthur chuckles to himself. They lapse into a comfortable silence, sipping their drinks and sharing increasingly heated glances.
“Arthur,” Eames says at last, sliding one stool closer. “I have a very important question I feel I must ask you. Please, don’t answer right away, you really need to think it over and ponder the greater implications of your reply.”
“Okay?” Arthur says, a curious frown drawing his brows together, and Eames wants to kiss it away.
Eames leans in until he’s practically whispering in Arthur’s ear. “Who,” he purrs. “Was the best James Bond?” An unexpected laugh tumbles past Arthur’s lips; he pulls away from Eames looking surprised at the sound.
“That’s a complicated question, Eames,” Arthur tries to keep the corners of his mouth from twitching up but it seems a hopeless cause and Eames is delighted to see the appearance of dimples, like exclamation marks for his smile.
“I warn you now,” Eames jokes, hoping to keep that look on Arthur’s face. “If you say George Lazenby, I will walk out of this bar and shun you as all good and decent people should,” it works, Arthur laughs again, not bothering to fight off his grin this time.
“Well,” Arthur elongates the word, making a show of how much thought is going into his answer. “I’d have to say…Daniel Craig for realism and Sean Connery for entertainment and sex appeal.”
“Really?” Eames asks, genuinely surprised. “I’m not saying that I disagree with you, but I must admit, I didn’t expect you to respect the Connery.”
“What can I say, the man oozed charisma,” Arthur leans in, like he’s about to impart a secret. “All the other Bonds, even Roger Moore, always seemed to have a moment of doubt, as though the girl wouldn’t be interested in him. But with Connery, women, men, various woodland animals, if you were within pheromone distance, he expected you to be ready to drop your pants at the slightest hint of his interest,” Arthur slowly looks Eames over from head to toe and back up again. “That is what I call a leading man.”
“So then,” Eames says, giving Arthur a thorough eye-fucking of his own. “I’m guessing you wouldn’t be offended if I were to tell you that I came into this bar tonight looking for a fantastic shag, and that I sat next to you specifically so that I could woo you back to my hotel room?”
“Only if you then told me that you’ve since changed your mind,” Arthur breathes across Eames’ lips.
“Oh darling,” Eames catches Arthur’s mouth in a brief kiss. “Not a chance.”
The journey back to his hotel room is a blur, they only stop long enough for Arthur to grab his briefcase and to settle their tab and then Arthur is tugging him towards the elevators. He presses Eames against the wall as soon as the doors close, kissing up his neck and pausing to nip playfully at Eames’ ear. The elevator dings as it reaches Eames’ floor and Arthur backs out, pulling Eames along by his tie.
“God, Arthur,” Eames groans as Arthur latches onto Eames neck again while they stumble down the hall. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he stops them outside his hotel door and fumbles out the keycard, thanking whomever it is looking out for him that he gets the door open on his first try.
“Maybe,” Arthur whispers, his voice raw and hungry. “But at least you’ll go with a smile on your face.”
They practically fall into the room, Eames’ fingers working quickly to divest Arthur of his clothes. Arthur, in an impressive act of balance, manages to kick off his shoes while unbuckling Eames’ pants. Before Eames has really had a chance to process what’s happening, they’re both down to nothing but skin and boxers.
“Hey,” Eames soothes, running his hands down Arthur’s arms. “Hey, slow down. We have all night, I’m not going anywhere.” Arthur presses closer at that and Eames can feel him shaking. Eames wraps his arms around Arthur’s slender shoulders, transferring body heat and reassurance. “Arthur, if you’re not okay with this we don’t have to-,” Eames pulls back, to look Arthur in the eyes. “Look, I know I said that I’d gone cruising for a shag, but it’s alright if you’re not-”
“No,” Arthur interrupts. “No, it’s nothing like that, I just…I want to do this, but it’s been a while.”
“Then we’ll take it slow,” Eames kisses Arthur lightly on the forehead, rubbing warmth into his arms. “I’m not in any rush,” Eames brushes his lips gently across Arthur’s massaging them. Arthur sighs softly, melting into the kiss.
“This is nice,” Arthur says, his eyes closed, a dreamy look of contentment on his face, and Eames is struck again by how beautiful Arthur is. It hits him like a punch, seeing Arthur relaxed and open, he doesn’t seem the sort to allow that to happen very often and Eames feels honored that he’s getting this glimpse beneath Arthur’s barriers.
“Yeah, it is,” he whispers, leading Arthur to the bed.
By unspoken agreement they shuck off their boxers before climbing onto the covers, Eames laying on top of Arthur, their cocks lining up like they were made to fit together.
“God,” Arthur groans bucking up. “Eames, more, I- I need more.” Not one to deny Arthur anything right now, Eames reaches out, digging through his nightstand and coming up with a bottle of lube and a couple condoms.
“Here,” Eames presses the lube into Arthur’s hands and rolls them so that Arthur is on top, straddling Eames’ waist. Arthur looks pleased and more than a little surprised at the turn of events.
“But, I thought that you’d want,” he gestures to Eames then back to himself, still puzzled.
“Let it never be said, that I am predictable,” Eames grins, bucking up against Arthur’s ass. “If you’re up for it in the morning, I’d love to switch, but right now,” Eames bites his lip, a bit embarrassed. “I never had a chance against you,” he admits. “One look and I was a goner. I think for tonight the Connery Award goes to you, Arthur,” Eames brings Arthur down to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “Besides,” Eames murmurs into Arthur’s mouth. “I want you to make me feel you, Arthur. I want to know you weren’t some sort of beautiful dream.”
Arthur searches Eames eyes, whatever he finds making him growl, low and possessive. He delves into Eames’ mouth, exploring, owning, taking everything Eames has to offer and then demanding more. “Spread your legs,” he orders, breaking away with panting breaths. Eames obeys; his eyes unfocused and his vision hazy with lust.
Arthur pours out the lube onto his thin fingers, working Eames open with steady measured strokes. He’s two fingers deep before Arthur begins searching, stretching and probing until he locates Eames’ prostate. Eames arches up, but Arthur presses him back down with surprising strength.
“Shh,” he licks at Eames’ nipple, biting gently then soothing the sting with his tongue. “Just feel it Eames, feel me.” Eames relaxes back against the pillows, closing his eyes and letting the sensations Arthur’s creating wash over him as Arthur adds another finger.
Eames hears something crinkle and blinks his eyes open, watching Arthur rip the package with his teeth and roll the condom on. Arthur coats himself with more lube and pushes Eames knees up, he presses into Eames in one long stroke, his hips stuttering and pulling the most delicious sensations out of Eames’ body.
“Christ, you’re tight,” Arthur moans, sweat making his skin glisten. Eames tightens around Arthur and releases, feeling Arthur’s length filling him. It’s nearly too much, but Eames wants more, he never wants to loose this sensation of being whole.
“I don’t usually bottom,” Eames admits breathily, Arthur’s hips jerk forward at that, drawing a low groan from them both. “Don’t stop,” Eames says, reaching out to cup Arthur’s cheek. “Please, Arthur, fill me up, don’t ever let me forget what you feel like.”
Arthur looks at Eames like he’s just presented Arthur with a most precious gift; he chokes out broken-sounding “Yes,” and thrusts into Eames without restraint. There’s no rhythm for Eames to follow, nothing for him to do but lie back and take what Arthur gives, driving hard and fast into Eames’ heat.
Eames is close, he’s so close. The relentless poundings of Arthur’s cock against his prostate, the friction and burn spreading through Eames’ limbs, making every inch of him tingle in anticipation. It’s all too much and not enough and Jesus, fuck but he needs to come. Eames cries out, keening and desperate, his hands tangled in the bed sheets and he can’t make them release long enough to grasp his erection.
“A-Arthur,” he gasps. “Please, I- I need, please,” Eames begs and somehow Arthur understands. He wraps his long fingers around Eames’ cock and pulls, slow and firm, a torturous counterpoint to his merciless thrusts.
Eames whimpers, writhing and helpless beneath Arthur’s ministrations. Finally, finally Arthur’s hand speeds up, matching his hips stroke for stoke as Eames falls to pieces in his grasp. Eames comes with a harsh cry, Arthur’s name on his lips, he can feel Arthur follow him, pulsing within the condom and then collapsing on Eames chest. Eames shakily combs his fingers through Arthur’s hair, utterly content. Complete. Like he’s found something vital that he didn’t even know he was missing.
Arthur stirs, pulling out of Eames like he doesn’t want to leave. Eames grumbles out a complaint at the movement, but allows Arthur to stand and make his way into the bathroom. Eames closes his eyes to the sound of water running in the sink, he can hear Arthur pad softly back to the bed, pausing for a moment near where they dropped their clothes then continuing to Eames side. Arthur leans down kissing Eames softly, and Eames smiles into the kiss, opening for Arthur.
The strike is fast and clean, Arthur’s knife sinking into Eames’ heart. Eames’ eyes fly open, his arms reaching out to grasp at Arthur’s shoulders. “I’m sorry,” Arthur whispers, twisting the knife, holding Eames as the light leaves his eyes.
~*~*~
Arthur works on automatic, taking the cleaning supplies from his briefcase, wiping down the hotel room. He avoids looking at Eames’ body for as long as he can, sweeping the room to make sure he won’t be leaving anything incriminating behind, but he wasn’t there long enough to have left much anywhere, anywhere except the bed.
He moves quickly, efficiently stripping down the bed, moving Eames’ body into the center. The sheets he’ll take with him, burn them in the dumpster behind the hotel. He takes one of Eames’ suitcases, already empty; it figures that Eames would like to unpack properly, live out of the little dressers instead of his suitcase; it makes the room feel more like home- Arthur stops. Closing his eyes he breathes for a moment, finds that calm center within himself, and holds onto it tightly as he folds the hotel sheets into Eames’ suitcase.
That task done, he turns back to Eames’ cooling corpse.
It was stupid to have slept with a target. Stupid, unprofessional, reckless, Arthur could go on for hours about the idiocy of what he’d done. Dom undoubtedly would when Arthur checked in. There was just something about Eames, something that made Arthur…want. He wanted Eames like he hasn’t wanted anything in years, maybe in his entire life.
Arthur pulls out the alcohol wipes he brought with him in his briefcase and carefully rubs down every inch of Eames. He removes the knife, wipes off any prints and tucks it into the suitcase; he’ll drop it in the river later.
That’s it, he’s done. One more contract fulfilled, one less man breathing. Eames’ unseeing eyes stare up at Arthur; tenderly he reaches out, closing them for the last time.
Arthur wipes Eames’ eyelids clean before he leaves.
~*~*~
“You were right,” Arthur says as he walks through the door to Dom’s office. “I was exactly his type. The guy walked right up to me,” Arthur laughs humorlessly. “The lamb to the fucking slaughter.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Dom asks, looking up from a file. “You usually border on happy after a job, don’t tell me you’re having a sudden attack of conscience.”
“No,” Arthur denies. “Nothing like that, this one was just…different,” he sighs sinking into the armchair across from Dom’s desk.
“Different?” Dom echoes.
“Yeah,” Arthur says softly, thinking back to the look of genuine surprise on Eames’ face as Arthur had twisted the knife deeper into his heart. “He was sweet.”
Author: five_of_five
Team: Angst
Prompt: Innocence
Word count: 2550
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Major Character Death
Summery: AU, Arthur and Eames meet in a bar. Eames doesn't know how this night will end. Arthur does.
Notes: Title taken from Neko Case song “Twist the Knife”. With many thanks and much praise to my brilliant beta gelbwax, I don't know what I'd do without you bb ♥
Eames walks into the hotel bar and spots him immediately, sitting alone in the farthest corner near the kitchen doors and the exit signs. He’s purposefully removed from the hustle and bustle of the other patrons and the blare of the television droning out the results of various sporting events, alternately staring into his drink and surveying the crowd.
He’s about Eames’ age, maybe a few years younger, dark hair slicked back and eyes older than his face. The man’s dressed impeccably, the expensive cut of his suit speaking to exacting standards and a strict sense of self. Eames desperately wants to peel away those costly layers and taste what’s hidden beneath. If the man’s brain is anywhere near as sharp as his wardrobe, Eames will be in for a very interesting evening indeed.
“Scotch, please,” Eames tells the bartender as he sits one stool away from the gentleman he’d been observing. “Neat.”
He’s even more gorgeous up close, lines of his suit showing off a fine figure. He has a briefcase tucked next to him on the floor, a businessman probably, staying at the hotel for work, not likely to be in town more than a few days tops. Eames feels a brief pang that he won’t get a chance to know the man better, but comforts himself with the knowledge that he’ll hopefully be getting to know the gentleman quite well before the night is out.
Eames catches the man eyeing him speculatively; Eames flashes him a quick grin and turns back to the bartender, thanking him as the glass is placed on the bar. They drink in silence until suit-man indicates he’d like a refill, Eames holds the bartender back.
“Please, allow me,” Eames says, pulling out his wallet and paying for the bourbon. His neighbor accepts both Eames’ offer to pay and the wink that Eames throws him with a nod of the head and a slight smile.
“Thank you,” his voice is deeper than Eames expects, his mouth forming around the words like he isn’t used to them. “Arthur,” he says, holding out his hand across the empty stool separating them.
“Arthur,” Eames repeats, dragging out the letters the same way he drags out the handshake, reluctant to let go of either. “Pleasure to meet you, my friends call me Eames,” he replies.
“I notice you don’t say that your name is Eames,” Arthur observes, caressing Eames’ palm briefly before drawing back his hand, Eames is pleased to note he seems more amused than wary.
“There’s a very good reason for that,” Eames smiles while Arthur chuckles to himself. They lapse into a comfortable silence, sipping their drinks and sharing increasingly heated glances.
“Arthur,” Eames says at last, sliding one stool closer. “I have a very important question I feel I must ask you. Please, don’t answer right away, you really need to think it over and ponder the greater implications of your reply.”
“Okay?” Arthur says, a curious frown drawing his brows together, and Eames wants to kiss it away.
Eames leans in until he’s practically whispering in Arthur’s ear. “Who,” he purrs. “Was the best James Bond?” An unexpected laugh tumbles past Arthur’s lips; he pulls away from Eames looking surprised at the sound.
“That’s a complicated question, Eames,” Arthur tries to keep the corners of his mouth from twitching up but it seems a hopeless cause and Eames is delighted to see the appearance of dimples, like exclamation marks for his smile.
“I warn you now,” Eames jokes, hoping to keep that look on Arthur’s face. “If you say George Lazenby, I will walk out of this bar and shun you as all good and decent people should,” it works, Arthur laughs again, not bothering to fight off his grin this time.
“Well,” Arthur elongates the word, making a show of how much thought is going into his answer. “I’d have to say…Daniel Craig for realism and Sean Connery for entertainment and sex appeal.”
“Really?” Eames asks, genuinely surprised. “I’m not saying that I disagree with you, but I must admit, I didn’t expect you to respect the Connery.”
“What can I say, the man oozed charisma,” Arthur leans in, like he’s about to impart a secret. “All the other Bonds, even Roger Moore, always seemed to have a moment of doubt, as though the girl wouldn’t be interested in him. But with Connery, women, men, various woodland animals, if you were within pheromone distance, he expected you to be ready to drop your pants at the slightest hint of his interest,” Arthur slowly looks Eames over from head to toe and back up again. “That is what I call a leading man.”
“So then,” Eames says, giving Arthur a thorough eye-fucking of his own. “I’m guessing you wouldn’t be offended if I were to tell you that I came into this bar tonight looking for a fantastic shag, and that I sat next to you specifically so that I could woo you back to my hotel room?”
“Only if you then told me that you’ve since changed your mind,” Arthur breathes across Eames’ lips.
“Oh darling,” Eames catches Arthur’s mouth in a brief kiss. “Not a chance.”
The journey back to his hotel room is a blur, they only stop long enough for Arthur to grab his briefcase and to settle their tab and then Arthur is tugging him towards the elevators. He presses Eames against the wall as soon as the doors close, kissing up his neck and pausing to nip playfully at Eames’ ear. The elevator dings as it reaches Eames’ floor and Arthur backs out, pulling Eames along by his tie.
“God, Arthur,” Eames groans as Arthur latches onto Eames neck again while they stumble down the hall. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he stops them outside his hotel door and fumbles out the keycard, thanking whomever it is looking out for him that he gets the door open on his first try.
“Maybe,” Arthur whispers, his voice raw and hungry. “But at least you’ll go with a smile on your face.”
They practically fall into the room, Eames’ fingers working quickly to divest Arthur of his clothes. Arthur, in an impressive act of balance, manages to kick off his shoes while unbuckling Eames’ pants. Before Eames has really had a chance to process what’s happening, they’re both down to nothing but skin and boxers.
“Hey,” Eames soothes, running his hands down Arthur’s arms. “Hey, slow down. We have all night, I’m not going anywhere.” Arthur presses closer at that and Eames can feel him shaking. Eames wraps his arms around Arthur’s slender shoulders, transferring body heat and reassurance. “Arthur, if you’re not okay with this we don’t have to-,” Eames pulls back, to look Arthur in the eyes. “Look, I know I said that I’d gone cruising for a shag, but it’s alright if you’re not-”
“No,” Arthur interrupts. “No, it’s nothing like that, I just…I want to do this, but it’s been a while.”
“Then we’ll take it slow,” Eames kisses Arthur lightly on the forehead, rubbing warmth into his arms. “I’m not in any rush,” Eames brushes his lips gently across Arthur’s massaging them. Arthur sighs softly, melting into the kiss.
“This is nice,” Arthur says, his eyes closed, a dreamy look of contentment on his face, and Eames is struck again by how beautiful Arthur is. It hits him like a punch, seeing Arthur relaxed and open, he doesn’t seem the sort to allow that to happen very often and Eames feels honored that he’s getting this glimpse beneath Arthur’s barriers.
“Yeah, it is,” he whispers, leading Arthur to the bed.
By unspoken agreement they shuck off their boxers before climbing onto the covers, Eames laying on top of Arthur, their cocks lining up like they were made to fit together.
“God,” Arthur groans bucking up. “Eames, more, I- I need more.” Not one to deny Arthur anything right now, Eames reaches out, digging through his nightstand and coming up with a bottle of lube and a couple condoms.
“Here,” Eames presses the lube into Arthur’s hands and rolls them so that Arthur is on top, straddling Eames’ waist. Arthur looks pleased and more than a little surprised at the turn of events.
“But, I thought that you’d want,” he gestures to Eames then back to himself, still puzzled.
“Let it never be said, that I am predictable,” Eames grins, bucking up against Arthur’s ass. “If you’re up for it in the morning, I’d love to switch, but right now,” Eames bites his lip, a bit embarrassed. “I never had a chance against you,” he admits. “One look and I was a goner. I think for tonight the Connery Award goes to you, Arthur,” Eames brings Arthur down to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “Besides,” Eames murmurs into Arthur’s mouth. “I want you to make me feel you, Arthur. I want to know you weren’t some sort of beautiful dream.”
Arthur searches Eames eyes, whatever he finds making him growl, low and possessive. He delves into Eames’ mouth, exploring, owning, taking everything Eames has to offer and then demanding more. “Spread your legs,” he orders, breaking away with panting breaths. Eames obeys; his eyes unfocused and his vision hazy with lust.
Arthur pours out the lube onto his thin fingers, working Eames open with steady measured strokes. He’s two fingers deep before Arthur begins searching, stretching and probing until he locates Eames’ prostate. Eames arches up, but Arthur presses him back down with surprising strength.
“Shh,” he licks at Eames’ nipple, biting gently then soothing the sting with his tongue. “Just feel it Eames, feel me.” Eames relaxes back against the pillows, closing his eyes and letting the sensations Arthur’s creating wash over him as Arthur adds another finger.
Eames hears something crinkle and blinks his eyes open, watching Arthur rip the package with his teeth and roll the condom on. Arthur coats himself with more lube and pushes Eames knees up, he presses into Eames in one long stroke, his hips stuttering and pulling the most delicious sensations out of Eames’ body.
“Christ, you’re tight,” Arthur moans, sweat making his skin glisten. Eames tightens around Arthur and releases, feeling Arthur’s length filling him. It’s nearly too much, but Eames wants more, he never wants to loose this sensation of being whole.
“I don’t usually bottom,” Eames admits breathily, Arthur’s hips jerk forward at that, drawing a low groan from them both. “Don’t stop,” Eames says, reaching out to cup Arthur’s cheek. “Please, Arthur, fill me up, don’t ever let me forget what you feel like.”
Arthur looks at Eames like he’s just presented Arthur with a most precious gift; he chokes out broken-sounding “Yes,” and thrusts into Eames without restraint. There’s no rhythm for Eames to follow, nothing for him to do but lie back and take what Arthur gives, driving hard and fast into Eames’ heat.
Eames is close, he’s so close. The relentless poundings of Arthur’s cock against his prostate, the friction and burn spreading through Eames’ limbs, making every inch of him tingle in anticipation. It’s all too much and not enough and Jesus, fuck but he needs to come. Eames cries out, keening and desperate, his hands tangled in the bed sheets and he can’t make them release long enough to grasp his erection.
“A-Arthur,” he gasps. “Please, I- I need, please,” Eames begs and somehow Arthur understands. He wraps his long fingers around Eames’ cock and pulls, slow and firm, a torturous counterpoint to his merciless thrusts.
Eames whimpers, writhing and helpless beneath Arthur’s ministrations. Finally, finally Arthur’s hand speeds up, matching his hips stroke for stoke as Eames falls to pieces in his grasp. Eames comes with a harsh cry, Arthur’s name on his lips, he can feel Arthur follow him, pulsing within the condom and then collapsing on Eames chest. Eames shakily combs his fingers through Arthur’s hair, utterly content. Complete. Like he’s found something vital that he didn’t even know he was missing.
Arthur stirs, pulling out of Eames like he doesn’t want to leave. Eames grumbles out a complaint at the movement, but allows Arthur to stand and make his way into the bathroom. Eames closes his eyes to the sound of water running in the sink, he can hear Arthur pad softly back to the bed, pausing for a moment near where they dropped their clothes then continuing to Eames side. Arthur leans down kissing Eames softly, and Eames smiles into the kiss, opening for Arthur.
The strike is fast and clean, Arthur’s knife sinking into Eames’ heart. Eames’ eyes fly open, his arms reaching out to grasp at Arthur’s shoulders. “I’m sorry,” Arthur whispers, twisting the knife, holding Eames as the light leaves his eyes.
~*~*~
Arthur works on automatic, taking the cleaning supplies from his briefcase, wiping down the hotel room. He avoids looking at Eames’ body for as long as he can, sweeping the room to make sure he won’t be leaving anything incriminating behind, but he wasn’t there long enough to have left much anywhere, anywhere except the bed.
He moves quickly, efficiently stripping down the bed, moving Eames’ body into the center. The sheets he’ll take with him, burn them in the dumpster behind the hotel. He takes one of Eames’ suitcases, already empty; it figures that Eames would like to unpack properly, live out of the little dressers instead of his suitcase; it makes the room feel more like home- Arthur stops. Closing his eyes he breathes for a moment, finds that calm center within himself, and holds onto it tightly as he folds the hotel sheets into Eames’ suitcase.
That task done, he turns back to Eames’ cooling corpse.
It was stupid to have slept with a target. Stupid, unprofessional, reckless, Arthur could go on for hours about the idiocy of what he’d done. Dom undoubtedly would when Arthur checked in. There was just something about Eames, something that made Arthur…want. He wanted Eames like he hasn’t wanted anything in years, maybe in his entire life.
Arthur pulls out the alcohol wipes he brought with him in his briefcase and carefully rubs down every inch of Eames. He removes the knife, wipes off any prints and tucks it into the suitcase; he’ll drop it in the river later.
That’s it, he’s done. One more contract fulfilled, one less man breathing. Eames’ unseeing eyes stare up at Arthur; tenderly he reaches out, closing them for the last time.
Arthur wipes Eames’ eyelids clean before he leaves.
~*~*~
“You were right,” Arthur says as he walks through the door to Dom’s office. “I was exactly his type. The guy walked right up to me,” Arthur laughs humorlessly. “The lamb to the fucking slaughter.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Dom asks, looking up from a file. “You usually border on happy after a job, don’t tell me you’re having a sudden attack of conscience.”
“No,” Arthur denies. “Nothing like that, this one was just…different,” he sighs sinking into the armchair across from Dom’s desk.
“Different?” Dom echoes.
“Yeah,” Arthur says softly, thinking back to the look of genuine surprise on Eames’ face as Arthur had twisted the knife deeper into his heart. “He was sweet.”