There is no, this is no modern romance (3/3)
Title: There is no, this is no modern romance (3/3)
Author: ohmydarlingdear
Team: angst!
Prompt: bonds
Word count: approx. 3,000 (this part)
Rating: PG-13 (maybe? idek.)
Warnings: none.
Summary: So basically, this is Arthur's life: Arthur and Eames are friends. Eames likes Arthur. Arthur knows Eames likes him. But Arthur doesn't like Eames.
A/N: alskdjflaksdfj this is actually like the least angsty angst I have ever written BUT THERE IS STILL ANGST IN THERE SOMEWHERE SO IT STILL COUNTS OK
Part 1 || Part 2
Arthur, as it happens most of the time when Ariadne or Mal talk him into something, regrets his decision to come to the party almost as soon as he sets foot in Mal’s house. The music is too loud and there are too many people everywhere and it’s basically Arthur’s idea of hell.
“Don’t be such a downer,” Ariadne says, her arm looped through Arthur’s. “This is supposed to be fun. Go talk to people and have a drink and just loosen up a little.”
“I’m going home,” Arthur says, trying to free himself of Ariadne’s grasp so he can leave.
“Oh no you’re not,” Ariadne says firmly, tugging him to the living room.
And somehow, this is how Arthur winds up sprawled on a couch with a group of people he hardly even knows, giggling drunkenly at something one of them is saying. He’s on his fourth beer (or at least he thinks it’s his fourth), and he’s must be pretty fucking drunk because here he is, laughing at jokes he doesn’t think are funny with a bunch of strangers, and Arthur knows he’d never do this sober.
“Hey!” Ariadne cheers, cheeks flushed, words too loud. She flops down on the couch next to him. “Having fun yet?”
Arthur nods and catches himself grinning before forcing himself to scowl. “I’m still mad at you for forcing me into this,” he says indignantly, more for show than anything.
Ariadne smiles at him and pets his hair. “I’m very sorry for being so tough on you,” she says with feigned sweetness.
Arthur rolls his eyes at her and leans against her shoulder, suddenly bored with the conversation going on around him. He idly looks around the room, and somehow, Arthur doesn’t even know how, because there’s got to be at least forty or fifty people between them, somehow, Arthur spots Eames across the room, and he’s grinning and laughing at something Hannah is saying, leaning close so he won’t miss a word. And for some reason, maybe it’s because Arthur’s had too much to drink or maybe it’s because of the way Eames just throws his easy charm around at anyone who will look his way, for some reason, Arthur becomes extremely irritated very quickly. He grumbles under his breath and curls into Ariadne’s shoulder.
Ariadne looks down at Arthur. “What’s wrong?” she asks.
Arthur frowns and tries very hard to glare Eames to death. “I hate him,” Arthur says angrily. “I hate him so much.”
Ariadne raises an eyebrow at him and looks up to follow his gaze to Eames. A wave of understanding washes over her features and she giggles, “Jealous?”
Arthur jolts upright and scowls at her. “What? God, no,” he says. “It’s just, Eames is such an asshole. He always flirts with everyone like he can just toy with people’s emotions and get away with it. And I’m like, people have feelings, y’know? You can’t just do something like that and expect there not to be consequences.”
The words tumble out of Arthur’s mouth as they pop into his head, inelegant and jumbled and much less coherent than he’d like, but at least he gets the point across. Except for, even as he’s saying it, even as he’s glaring in indignation at Eames, Arthur feels something pull in his chest and he feels almost guilty for saying that about Eames. Arthur supposes it’s because they’re friends, but even that doesn’t entirely make sense, because Arthur can be an ass to anyone, regardless of whether he considers them close to him or not.
“Whatever you say,” Ariadne sighs, patting his knee before getting up and disappearing into the crowd, presumably to find Mal.
Arthur glares at her retreating form, almost angry at her for abandoning him again but feeling as if there’s not enough room for him to feel irritated with both her and Eames. Arthur peers over at Eames again, and his scowl deepens. Stupid Eames. Stupid everything. Arthur stands from the couch and stumbles into the kitchen to get another drink. He’s not drunk enough for this.
Or maybe he’s already too drunk, because on his way to the kitchen he trips over his own feet multiple times and just barely avoids falling on his face. It takes him possibly way too long to make it to the kitchen, but when he does, he realizes with some relief that he’s far enough away from Eames now that he can’t see him flirting with Hannah anymore. It’s strange, though, how Arthur still feels this vague unease low in his stomach, but he tries not to think about that as he grabs another beer and chugs half of it in one go.
“Y’know, despite popular belief, when you’re upset, drowning yourself in alcohol isn’t actually the best solution to your problems.”
Hot breath hits the shell of Arthur’s ear as the soft voice murmurs quietly at him, and Arthur can tell, just from the intonation and precise cadence, the way that accent wraps around the words, exactly who it is. And suddenly, Arthur is overcome with rage again, and he whirls around, ignoring the way it makes his head spin.
“Y’know what, Eames?” Arthur snarls. “Fuck you.”
The grin on Eames’ face falters and then slips entirely. “Excuse me?” he says, utterly confused.
Arthur narrows his eyes and shoves Eames’ chest. “Fuck you,” he growls, enunciating each syllable. “You think you’re so hot, strutting around and acting like you own this place. You think you can just do whatever the hell you want and get away with it, don’t you?”
Eames stares at Arthur with wide eyes, grasping for words but not quite managing to properly speak. Arthur takes a step closer to Eames so that they’re nearly nose to nose.
“You better stay the hell away from me,” Arthur warns, pulse thudding in his ears. It feels like his body can’t decide if he’s making the best or the worst decision of his life. “Because if I ever see you again, I swear, I’ll punch you in the face.”
And before Eames can even get a word in, before Eames can ask what this is all about or try to defend himself or say something witty and charming and absolutely infuriating, Arthur brushes past Eames and storms away. He hears Eames calling after him, but he doesn’t turn around, just continues marching forward until he winds up outside in the backyard and has nowhere else to go. He sighs and sits down on the lawn, hugging his knees to his chest. The initial anger over seeing Eames flirt with Hannah has worn off by now (though Arthur still isn’t sure why he’s so angry about this in the first place), and Arthur just feels a strange sort of empty, a raw, uncomfortable feeling gnawing at his insides. Arthur rests his forehead on his knees, letting his eyes slip shut for a moment as he tries to sort this all out, tries to figure out what in the world he’s feeling right now, this odd sense of anxiety and unease that he can’t quite put his finger on.
“Hey.”
Arthur looks up. Ariadne’s smiling gently at him and sinking down into the grass beside him. He nods once at her.
“Everything okay?” she asks, even though Arthur can tell from her tone that she already knows what’s bothering him so much. She always knows. And besides, he’s fairly sure his expression makes it abundantly clear that he feels like crap right now.
“I don’t know,” he sighs and for the first time tonight, he feels like he’s saying something true.
Ariadne’s quiet for a moment, just watching him, and then she says softly, “You shouldn’t be so hard on him, you know.”
Arthur furrows his eyebrows at her, confused as to what exactly she’s talking about. Ariadne sighs and gestures vaguely.
“Oh you know,” she says, “With Eames.”
Arthur doesn’t respond. Ariadne sighs.
“Look, I know he seems like kind of an asshole for hooking up with Hannah when he’s been all over you all this time, but I really do think he likes you,” Ariadne says. She pauses, considering her next words before saying them. “I mean, we’re teenagers. Sexual frustration is kind of story of our lives, isn’t it? Like, just think, if someone reasonably attractive threw themselves at you and started making out with you, you wouldn’t stop them, would you?”
Arthur still doesn’t say anything, but he starts to feel less angry at Eames and guiltier for being so harsh with him earlier.
“Because I heard that was what happened at Yusuf’s, y’know?” Ariadne explains. “I heard she basically jumped him and he just kind of went along with it. Most people probably would’ve done the same thing as him.”
Arthur frowns, hating Ariadne a little for making so much sense. “But he was flirting with her earlier,” Arthur points out, almost selfishly proud for finding a hole in her story.
Ariadne smiles. “Arthur,” she says. “Eames flirts with almost everyone without even realizing it. That’s just who he is. But you’re the only one who he looks at and it’s like… like he doesn’t even notice anything else.”
Arthur feels a sharp pull in his chest. Does Eames really look at him like that? He’s never taken the time to notice, but now that Ariadne’s pointed it out, Arthur feels terrible for making such an ass of himself.
“Arthur,” Ariadne says, and something in her eyes tells him that she’s been hiding something from him the whole time. His suspicions are confirmed when Ariadne says, “Eames came to find me, just now. And… I don’t know what you said to him, but whatever it was, he looked really hurt and upset. He wanted me to come talk to you because he wasn’t sure you’d actually let him speak to you anymore, and… I think you should talk to him.”
Ariadne’s gaze shifts to some point behind Arthur, and he turns slowly, already anticipating what he’s going to see. Eames is standing just outside the backdoor of the house, leaning against the wall with an uncomfortable and distraught expression on his face. Arthur swallows thickly around the lump in his throat, suddenly nervous for some reason he can’t quite pinpoint, and turns quickly to face forwards again, too inexplicably anxious to look at Eames.
“Talk to him,” Ariadne says, putting a hand on Arthur’s knee. “I don’t think you’ll regret it.”
Arthur nods, and Ariadne stands to leave. He hears her footsteps pad away, soft against the grassy lawn, and then he hears Eames approach, cautious, almost as if he’s afraid of Arthur, which would be the most ridiculous thing in the world seeing as how Arthur is so skinny compared to Eames, except for Arthur has something of a reputation at being quite spectacular at cussing people out.
Eames sits down in the grass beside Arthur, a careful foot’s worth of distance between them. Arthur is torn between wanting to run away and curl into Eames to bury his face in Eames’ shoulder. Instead, he clenches his hands into fists so hard that his nails dig painfully into his palms. The air feels tense and fragile around them, as if the atmosphere could shatter at any moment, as if everything hinges on what’s said next.
“Ariadne told me you were upset I was flirting with Hannah,” Eames says finally in a tone that’s so unlike his usual casual ease. Arthur realizes belatedly that Eames is nervous,which makes no sense at all, because Eames is never nervous, and Arthur doesn’t know what to think. “We’re just friends. That time at Yusuf’s party… we were drunk, and besides, I didn’t do much besides kiss her, anyways. It didn’t mean anything.”
Arthur chews at his cheek, wondering why Eames is telling him all this, because hasn’t Arthur made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t, in any way, care what Eames does with his life? Arthur doesn’t care, because it’s not like he likes Eames or anything; he and Eames are just friends who sometimes complain about school together and banter back and forth and, that one time, go out for coffee. And while sure, Eames is entertaining, and sure, if Arthur had been forced to admit it, he’d probably say that Eames is sort of his type, and okay, Arthur would rather gouge his own eyes out than watch Eames cozy up with anyone else but Arthur himself, it doesn’t necessarily have to mean that- and then it hits Arthur. And he realizes, far, far too late for any normal, cognizant human being, that over the past few months, while Eames had teased and flirted and invaded Arthur’s personal space, Arthur had actually grown rather fond of him, and what Arthur had mistaken as anger when he’d seen Eames talking to Hannah had actually been jealousy. Arthur takes a deep breath as the weight of this realization really hits him.
“What if I don’t believe you?” he asks, praying that his voice isn’t shaking too badly.
Eames gives him a small, sad smile. “That would be terribly unfortunate,” Eames says, and he sounds like he means it.
Arthur studies Eames’ face carefully, trying to weed out any trace of deception, because the last thing he wants is to be played. He supposes this is what he’s been scared of all along, that for Eames this had all been some sort of fun game to pass the time while it grew to mean more and more to Arthur. He supposes that’s why he’s been denying himself what he’s come to want so badly that it hurts, that’s why he’s been telling himself over and over and over that he doesn’t feel anything for Eames, fighting thoughts of Eames out of his head like his life depends on it. He’s confused and frustrated and quite possibly a little in love with Eames, and it’s the most frightening thing he’s ever experienced.
“Why do you like me?” Arthur doesn’t know why he asks, but the words just tumble out of his mouth on their own accord, as if this will prove something that’s holding him back.
Eames gives a soft chuckle and breathes out through his nose. He shrugs and smiles sheepishly. “I don’t know, I guess it’s just because you’re stubborn and opinionated and so fucking brilliant - god, do you have any idea how clever you are? The things you say sometimes, it just… it just blows my mind.” And then Eames leans a little closer and smirks at Arthur, usual innuendo sliding back into place to replace the soft sincerity he’d let show, just for a moment. “And I suppose it doesn’t hurt that you’re actually rather beautiful as well.”
Arthur doesn’t know what he’d been expecting Eames to say, but he’s completely thrown by this, doesn’t know what he should say. His throat feels tight and his mouth feels too dry, because really, he’s only just come to terms with the fact that he might actually like Eames a little (or a lot) and this, Eames calling him brilliant and beautiful, this is just a little more than Arthur can take, especially taking into consideration that he’s maybe really, really drunk.
Eames laughs, soft and self-deprecating, and says, “Fuck, that made me sound absolutely ridiculous, didn’t it? I’m sorry, I just-”
And before Eames can get into any long-winded rant about it, Arthur cuts him off by saying “shut up, Eames. I’m kissing you” and then leaning over and doing just that, because he just wants, so much that he can’t deal with it anymore. It’s been bubbling up inside him since Eames sat down beside him, this tension that’s drawing Arthur to Eames like something electric, something dangerous, buzzing through his veins, making his skin feel too tight. Eames makes a surprised noise against Arthur’s mouth, but responds eagerly enough, sliding his tongue into Arthur’s mouth and cupping Arthur’s face with gentle, warm hands. Arthur whimpers softly when Eames nips at his bottom lip, and he somehow finds himself straddling Eames’ lap, hands bunched in Eames’ shirt as Eames kisses him breathless.
“Arthur,” Eames breathes against Arthur’s mouth. “Arthur, wait.”
Arthur pulls away obediently enough but slips his hands under Eames shirt, brushing lightly over hot, hot skin, just to watch the way it wrecks Eames, just for a moment, making him shudder. Eames looks very much like it’s taking every ounce of his self-control not to jump Arthur on the spot, which very well might be the case, as Arthur can feel Eames’ hard-on pressing against his thigh.
Eames smiles a little at Arthur, though it looks strained. “Would it be too much to ask if I said I really, really would like to take you out on just one date before we take this any further?” he says, voice rough and lower than usual.
Arthur narrows his eyes at Eames. Truthfully, what he’d really like to do is strip Eames of his shirt so he can lick along the firm muscles of Eames’ chest and stomach, but he supposes a date sounds nice too.
“Fine,” he says, and he notices how Eames’ shoulders sag in relief. And then Arthur pokes Eames’ chest and says, just to be difficult, “But I don’t want it to be some cheesy, boring first date. If you really want this, you’re going to have to put some effort into it, take me somewhere exciting.”
And Arthur’s mostly saying it for show, because at this point, he thinks he really wouldn’t mind where Eames took him, and Eames grins like he knows this.
“I can do that,” he says, and Arthur can tell the gears are already turning in Eames’ mind as he begins brainstorming creative date ideas. Eames’ expression changes suddenly, falling into something softer, something warmer, and he says, “I don’t think you have any idea how happy you’ve made me today, Arthur.”
And then Arthur scowls, because he’s still Arthur, and yanks Eames to him again so he can press his lips to Eames’.
“Shut up, I’m still kissing you.”
---
A week later, Eames takes Arthur to the zoo, and it’s quite possibly the most ridiculous date Arthur’s ever been on, but he loves every minute of it anyways. And then afterwards, Eames takes Arthur back to his place and gives him the most spectacular blowjob of his life, and Arthur loves that too.
Author: ohmydarlingdear
Team: angst!
Prompt: bonds
Word count: approx. 3,000 (this part)
Rating: PG-13 (maybe? idek.)
Warnings: none.
Summary: So basically, this is Arthur's life: Arthur and Eames are friends. Eames likes Arthur. Arthur knows Eames likes him. But Arthur doesn't like Eames.
A/N: alskdjflaksdfj this is actually like the least angsty angst I have ever written BUT THERE IS STILL ANGST IN THERE SOMEWHERE SO IT STILL COUNTS OK
Part 1 || Part 2
Arthur, as it happens most of the time when Ariadne or Mal talk him into something, regrets his decision to come to the party almost as soon as he sets foot in Mal’s house. The music is too loud and there are too many people everywhere and it’s basically Arthur’s idea of hell.
“Don’t be such a downer,” Ariadne says, her arm looped through Arthur’s. “This is supposed to be fun. Go talk to people and have a drink and just loosen up a little.”
“I’m going home,” Arthur says, trying to free himself of Ariadne’s grasp so he can leave.
“Oh no you’re not,” Ariadne says firmly, tugging him to the living room.
And somehow, this is how Arthur winds up sprawled on a couch with a group of people he hardly even knows, giggling drunkenly at something one of them is saying. He’s on his fourth beer (or at least he thinks it’s his fourth), and he’s must be pretty fucking drunk because here he is, laughing at jokes he doesn’t think are funny with a bunch of strangers, and Arthur knows he’d never do this sober.
“Hey!” Ariadne cheers, cheeks flushed, words too loud. She flops down on the couch next to him. “Having fun yet?”
Arthur nods and catches himself grinning before forcing himself to scowl. “I’m still mad at you for forcing me into this,” he says indignantly, more for show than anything.
Ariadne smiles at him and pets his hair. “I’m very sorry for being so tough on you,” she says with feigned sweetness.
Arthur rolls his eyes at her and leans against her shoulder, suddenly bored with the conversation going on around him. He idly looks around the room, and somehow, Arthur doesn’t even know how, because there’s got to be at least forty or fifty people between them, somehow, Arthur spots Eames across the room, and he’s grinning and laughing at something Hannah is saying, leaning close so he won’t miss a word. And for some reason, maybe it’s because Arthur’s had too much to drink or maybe it’s because of the way Eames just throws his easy charm around at anyone who will look his way, for some reason, Arthur becomes extremely irritated very quickly. He grumbles under his breath and curls into Ariadne’s shoulder.
Ariadne looks down at Arthur. “What’s wrong?” she asks.
Arthur frowns and tries very hard to glare Eames to death. “I hate him,” Arthur says angrily. “I hate him so much.”
Ariadne raises an eyebrow at him and looks up to follow his gaze to Eames. A wave of understanding washes over her features and she giggles, “Jealous?”
Arthur jolts upright and scowls at her. “What? God, no,” he says. “It’s just, Eames is such an asshole. He always flirts with everyone like he can just toy with people’s emotions and get away with it. And I’m like, people have feelings, y’know? You can’t just do something like that and expect there not to be consequences.”
The words tumble out of Arthur’s mouth as they pop into his head, inelegant and jumbled and much less coherent than he’d like, but at least he gets the point across. Except for, even as he’s saying it, even as he’s glaring in indignation at Eames, Arthur feels something pull in his chest and he feels almost guilty for saying that about Eames. Arthur supposes it’s because they’re friends, but even that doesn’t entirely make sense, because Arthur can be an ass to anyone, regardless of whether he considers them close to him or not.
“Whatever you say,” Ariadne sighs, patting his knee before getting up and disappearing into the crowd, presumably to find Mal.
Arthur glares at her retreating form, almost angry at her for abandoning him again but feeling as if there’s not enough room for him to feel irritated with both her and Eames. Arthur peers over at Eames again, and his scowl deepens. Stupid Eames. Stupid everything. Arthur stands from the couch and stumbles into the kitchen to get another drink. He’s not drunk enough for this.
Or maybe he’s already too drunk, because on his way to the kitchen he trips over his own feet multiple times and just barely avoids falling on his face. It takes him possibly way too long to make it to the kitchen, but when he does, he realizes with some relief that he’s far enough away from Eames now that he can’t see him flirting with Hannah anymore. It’s strange, though, how Arthur still feels this vague unease low in his stomach, but he tries not to think about that as he grabs another beer and chugs half of it in one go.
“Y’know, despite popular belief, when you’re upset, drowning yourself in alcohol isn’t actually the best solution to your problems.”
Hot breath hits the shell of Arthur’s ear as the soft voice murmurs quietly at him, and Arthur can tell, just from the intonation and precise cadence, the way that accent wraps around the words, exactly who it is. And suddenly, Arthur is overcome with rage again, and he whirls around, ignoring the way it makes his head spin.
“Y’know what, Eames?” Arthur snarls. “Fuck you.”
The grin on Eames’ face falters and then slips entirely. “Excuse me?” he says, utterly confused.
Arthur narrows his eyes and shoves Eames’ chest. “Fuck you,” he growls, enunciating each syllable. “You think you’re so hot, strutting around and acting like you own this place. You think you can just do whatever the hell you want and get away with it, don’t you?”
Eames stares at Arthur with wide eyes, grasping for words but not quite managing to properly speak. Arthur takes a step closer to Eames so that they’re nearly nose to nose.
“You better stay the hell away from me,” Arthur warns, pulse thudding in his ears. It feels like his body can’t decide if he’s making the best or the worst decision of his life. “Because if I ever see you again, I swear, I’ll punch you in the face.”
And before Eames can even get a word in, before Eames can ask what this is all about or try to defend himself or say something witty and charming and absolutely infuriating, Arthur brushes past Eames and storms away. He hears Eames calling after him, but he doesn’t turn around, just continues marching forward until he winds up outside in the backyard and has nowhere else to go. He sighs and sits down on the lawn, hugging his knees to his chest. The initial anger over seeing Eames flirt with Hannah has worn off by now (though Arthur still isn’t sure why he’s so angry about this in the first place), and Arthur just feels a strange sort of empty, a raw, uncomfortable feeling gnawing at his insides. Arthur rests his forehead on his knees, letting his eyes slip shut for a moment as he tries to sort this all out, tries to figure out what in the world he’s feeling right now, this odd sense of anxiety and unease that he can’t quite put his finger on.
“Hey.”
Arthur looks up. Ariadne’s smiling gently at him and sinking down into the grass beside him. He nods once at her.
“Everything okay?” she asks, even though Arthur can tell from her tone that she already knows what’s bothering him so much. She always knows. And besides, he’s fairly sure his expression makes it abundantly clear that he feels like crap right now.
“I don’t know,” he sighs and for the first time tonight, he feels like he’s saying something true.
Ariadne’s quiet for a moment, just watching him, and then she says softly, “You shouldn’t be so hard on him, you know.”
Arthur furrows his eyebrows at her, confused as to what exactly she’s talking about. Ariadne sighs and gestures vaguely.
“Oh you know,” she says, “With Eames.”
Arthur doesn’t respond. Ariadne sighs.
“Look, I know he seems like kind of an asshole for hooking up with Hannah when he’s been all over you all this time, but I really do think he likes you,” Ariadne says. She pauses, considering her next words before saying them. “I mean, we’re teenagers. Sexual frustration is kind of story of our lives, isn’t it? Like, just think, if someone reasonably attractive threw themselves at you and started making out with you, you wouldn’t stop them, would you?”
Arthur still doesn’t say anything, but he starts to feel less angry at Eames and guiltier for being so harsh with him earlier.
“Because I heard that was what happened at Yusuf’s, y’know?” Ariadne explains. “I heard she basically jumped him and he just kind of went along with it. Most people probably would’ve done the same thing as him.”
Arthur frowns, hating Ariadne a little for making so much sense. “But he was flirting with her earlier,” Arthur points out, almost selfishly proud for finding a hole in her story.
Ariadne smiles. “Arthur,” she says. “Eames flirts with almost everyone without even realizing it. That’s just who he is. But you’re the only one who he looks at and it’s like… like he doesn’t even notice anything else.”
Arthur feels a sharp pull in his chest. Does Eames really look at him like that? He’s never taken the time to notice, but now that Ariadne’s pointed it out, Arthur feels terrible for making such an ass of himself.
“Arthur,” Ariadne says, and something in her eyes tells him that she’s been hiding something from him the whole time. His suspicions are confirmed when Ariadne says, “Eames came to find me, just now. And… I don’t know what you said to him, but whatever it was, he looked really hurt and upset. He wanted me to come talk to you because he wasn’t sure you’d actually let him speak to you anymore, and… I think you should talk to him.”
Ariadne’s gaze shifts to some point behind Arthur, and he turns slowly, already anticipating what he’s going to see. Eames is standing just outside the backdoor of the house, leaning against the wall with an uncomfortable and distraught expression on his face. Arthur swallows thickly around the lump in his throat, suddenly nervous for some reason he can’t quite pinpoint, and turns quickly to face forwards again, too inexplicably anxious to look at Eames.
“Talk to him,” Ariadne says, putting a hand on Arthur’s knee. “I don’t think you’ll regret it.”
Arthur nods, and Ariadne stands to leave. He hears her footsteps pad away, soft against the grassy lawn, and then he hears Eames approach, cautious, almost as if he’s afraid of Arthur, which would be the most ridiculous thing in the world seeing as how Arthur is so skinny compared to Eames, except for Arthur has something of a reputation at being quite spectacular at cussing people out.
Eames sits down in the grass beside Arthur, a careful foot’s worth of distance between them. Arthur is torn between wanting to run away and curl into Eames to bury his face in Eames’ shoulder. Instead, he clenches his hands into fists so hard that his nails dig painfully into his palms. The air feels tense and fragile around them, as if the atmosphere could shatter at any moment, as if everything hinges on what’s said next.
“Ariadne told me you were upset I was flirting with Hannah,” Eames says finally in a tone that’s so unlike his usual casual ease. Arthur realizes belatedly that Eames is nervous,which makes no sense at all, because Eames is never nervous, and Arthur doesn’t know what to think. “We’re just friends. That time at Yusuf’s party… we were drunk, and besides, I didn’t do much besides kiss her, anyways. It didn’t mean anything.”
Arthur chews at his cheek, wondering why Eames is telling him all this, because hasn’t Arthur made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t, in any way, care what Eames does with his life? Arthur doesn’t care, because it’s not like he likes Eames or anything; he and Eames are just friends who sometimes complain about school together and banter back and forth and, that one time, go out for coffee. And while sure, Eames is entertaining, and sure, if Arthur had been forced to admit it, he’d probably say that Eames is sort of his type, and okay, Arthur would rather gouge his own eyes out than watch Eames cozy up with anyone else but Arthur himself, it doesn’t necessarily have to mean that- and then it hits Arthur. And he realizes, far, far too late for any normal, cognizant human being, that over the past few months, while Eames had teased and flirted and invaded Arthur’s personal space, Arthur had actually grown rather fond of him, and what Arthur had mistaken as anger when he’d seen Eames talking to Hannah had actually been jealousy. Arthur takes a deep breath as the weight of this realization really hits him.
“What if I don’t believe you?” he asks, praying that his voice isn’t shaking too badly.
Eames gives him a small, sad smile. “That would be terribly unfortunate,” Eames says, and he sounds like he means it.
Arthur studies Eames’ face carefully, trying to weed out any trace of deception, because the last thing he wants is to be played. He supposes this is what he’s been scared of all along, that for Eames this had all been some sort of fun game to pass the time while it grew to mean more and more to Arthur. He supposes that’s why he’s been denying himself what he’s come to want so badly that it hurts, that’s why he’s been telling himself over and over and over that he doesn’t feel anything for Eames, fighting thoughts of Eames out of his head like his life depends on it. He’s confused and frustrated and quite possibly a little in love with Eames, and it’s the most frightening thing he’s ever experienced.
“Why do you like me?” Arthur doesn’t know why he asks, but the words just tumble out of his mouth on their own accord, as if this will prove something that’s holding him back.
Eames gives a soft chuckle and breathes out through his nose. He shrugs and smiles sheepishly. “I don’t know, I guess it’s just because you’re stubborn and opinionated and so fucking brilliant - god, do you have any idea how clever you are? The things you say sometimes, it just… it just blows my mind.” And then Eames leans a little closer and smirks at Arthur, usual innuendo sliding back into place to replace the soft sincerity he’d let show, just for a moment. “And I suppose it doesn’t hurt that you’re actually rather beautiful as well.”
Arthur doesn’t know what he’d been expecting Eames to say, but he’s completely thrown by this, doesn’t know what he should say. His throat feels tight and his mouth feels too dry, because really, he’s only just come to terms with the fact that he might actually like Eames a little (or a lot) and this, Eames calling him brilliant and beautiful, this is just a little more than Arthur can take, especially taking into consideration that he’s maybe really, really drunk.
Eames laughs, soft and self-deprecating, and says, “Fuck, that made me sound absolutely ridiculous, didn’t it? I’m sorry, I just-”
And before Eames can get into any long-winded rant about it, Arthur cuts him off by saying “shut up, Eames. I’m kissing you” and then leaning over and doing just that, because he just wants, so much that he can’t deal with it anymore. It’s been bubbling up inside him since Eames sat down beside him, this tension that’s drawing Arthur to Eames like something electric, something dangerous, buzzing through his veins, making his skin feel too tight. Eames makes a surprised noise against Arthur’s mouth, but responds eagerly enough, sliding his tongue into Arthur’s mouth and cupping Arthur’s face with gentle, warm hands. Arthur whimpers softly when Eames nips at his bottom lip, and he somehow finds himself straddling Eames’ lap, hands bunched in Eames’ shirt as Eames kisses him breathless.
“Arthur,” Eames breathes against Arthur’s mouth. “Arthur, wait.”
Arthur pulls away obediently enough but slips his hands under Eames shirt, brushing lightly over hot, hot skin, just to watch the way it wrecks Eames, just for a moment, making him shudder. Eames looks very much like it’s taking every ounce of his self-control not to jump Arthur on the spot, which very well might be the case, as Arthur can feel Eames’ hard-on pressing against his thigh.
Eames smiles a little at Arthur, though it looks strained. “Would it be too much to ask if I said I really, really would like to take you out on just one date before we take this any further?” he says, voice rough and lower than usual.
Arthur narrows his eyes at Eames. Truthfully, what he’d really like to do is strip Eames of his shirt so he can lick along the firm muscles of Eames’ chest and stomach, but he supposes a date sounds nice too.
“Fine,” he says, and he notices how Eames’ shoulders sag in relief. And then Arthur pokes Eames’ chest and says, just to be difficult, “But I don’t want it to be some cheesy, boring first date. If you really want this, you’re going to have to put some effort into it, take me somewhere exciting.”
And Arthur’s mostly saying it for show, because at this point, he thinks he really wouldn’t mind where Eames took him, and Eames grins like he knows this.
“I can do that,” he says, and Arthur can tell the gears are already turning in Eames’ mind as he begins brainstorming creative date ideas. Eames’ expression changes suddenly, falling into something softer, something warmer, and he says, “I don’t think you have any idea how happy you’ve made me today, Arthur.”
And then Arthur scowls, because he’s still Arthur, and yanks Eames to him again so he can press his lips to Eames’.
“Shut up, I’m still kissing you.”
---
A week later, Eames takes Arthur to the zoo, and it’s quite possibly the most ridiculous date Arthur’s ever been on, but he loves every minute of it anyways. And then afterwards, Eames takes Arthur back to his place and gives him the most spectacular blowjob of his life, and Arthur loves that too.