because the answer to "do you need a hug" is ALWAYS yes
There should be a snazzy intro here, but let's face it guys, the point would be this: CUDDLING. Every one needs cuddling. People love cuddling. I love cuddling. I think Arthur probably secretly loves cuddling. And you know Eames is a clingy bastard. Because cuddling is awesome! And everyone should get some cuddles. So, allow me to present:
The ( Read more... )
The ( Read more... )
Arthur shudders when Eames noses at the back of his neck. "Just - thinking. You know."
"Mmm." Eames licks over the top of Arthur's spine. His hands close around Arthur's waist. "You think too much."
Arthur drops the spatula. Eames chuckles, approving, until Arthur turns around to face him. Arthur's not sure what expression he's wearing, but it makes Eames back off, fast. "Somebody should," Arthur all but snarls.
Eames blinks. "I thought you weren't trying to start a fight."
Arthur forces himself to take a deep breath. "Sorry. Fuck. That wasn't what I meant."
"What did you mean, then?" Eames isn't standing any closer, but he's not keeping himself away as obviously as he did a moment ago.
"I don't know. Fuck." Arthur rakes a hand through his hair. "Just - I don't know. It's nothing. Forget it."
"I would," and Eames' tone is so fucking patient, "except that every time I tried to get close to you in the last week you tried to bite my head off. That does not seem promising."
Not for the first time, Arthur wishes Eames didn't look so fucking good. He's leaning against the counter, wearing a faded t-shirt and sweatpants slung low on his hips. He ought to look ridiculous. Instead, he makes Arthur want to lick his lips.
This is what makes Arthur quietly furious.
"What I don't understand," Arthur says, quiet but not soft, "is what you think you're going to get out of this."
Eames' expression is pained, and - as far as Arthur can tell - completely void of theatrics. "What kind of fucking question is that?"
Arthur has sharp answers for that, but - luckily - brains enough not use them. "A fucking stupid one," he says and looks away. "Never mind, just-"
Suddenly, Arthur is pinned to the wall. "I will not bloody forget it!" Eames is yelling, Arthur notices with something like numbness. "For chrissakes, could you give me a fucking answer?"
No. No, Arthur can't, because he's been circling around whatever this is for weeks and he's not even sure he knows what the question is.
But Arthur is a point man, and - bizarre as that is - something in him responds positively to people yelling questions at him. "Fact," he says, in his most professional voice. "You never let me touch your dick if you can help it. Fact: if I try to grab your ass, you cringe. You hide it well enough, but you may recall being observant is my fucking job. Fact: When I do touch your cock, you have to close your eyes and, I don't know, think of fucking England before you get hard."
Arthur is breathing fast. His voice, he realizes belatedly, has been rising steadily since he began talking. He tames it, and in his normal tone says, "Conclusion: I'm not what you fucking want."
He wants to close his eyes against the look on Eames' face, because if that was pained, this is hurt.
"Arthur." Eames sounds like he's pleading.
Arthur's throat hurts. "What do you fucking want." He says it as flat as he can.
"You, you bloody asshole," Eames chokes out. He lets go of Arthur, abruptly. Arthur leans against the wall. This is him, watching Eames go. He waits for it, with the kind of bleak satisfaction he gets from watching a job he'd known would go bad spontaneously combust around him.
But Eames only goes as far as his pack of cigarettes, lighting one with shaking hands. He takes a few drags, lets out the smoke with something like a sigh. "You're a piece of work, darling."
"You knew that." Arthur stares at the cigarette until Eames offers it to him. He inhales and blows the smoke out.
Cautiously, Eames comes to lean back next to Arthur. Arthur closes his eyes and allows his head to tilt just a little, just enough to brush against Eames' shoulder.
He feels Eames' muscles ripple. "What next?"
Arthur lets out a long, humorless laugh. "Fuck me if I know."
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I love that I am completely unsure as to which boy's lips we're talking about here. <3 This is all just so brilliant darling. This reminds me of Jizzy's domesticverse in that I never want to leave their world. I could re-read this forever.
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