Eames/Arthur
Title: Words Are Not Enough
Summary: It all started with a text.
Rating: R(ish), no actual porn but still NSFW?
Word Count: 5323/16028
Beta: No beta, deal with it.
Original Prompt: Written for this prompt at
and fulfills this prompt as well (later on IN PART iii). Oh god Idek I'm just a wordy bastard.
A/N: ITS FINISHED. /can go have a life read: write Rockn'rolla fanfic now :D
ALSO: It should be noted that lamboyster prompted yogurt porn which actually got filled by charybdis over at dreamwidth and I think you should all read it because, uh, come on, it's Arthur being erotic with yogurt why WOULDN'T you read that? Ta now darlings~
Arthur doesn’t turn his phone back on until late that night, with good reason. He’d gone about his day with relative productivity. If he happened to notice the way his pocket felt abnormally light or tap his thigh through his empty trouser pocket, that was no one’s business but his own.
When he finally scrapes up the courage to turn his phone back on his apartment has been vacuumed, sheets and comforter washed and replaced on the bed with military precision, shoes straightened in the closet, meager grocery list completed and he’s the newest owner of a houseplant.
His phone buzzes for an excruciating fourteen minutes; intent on buzzing for every text message or, god forbid, call he has purposely ignored. Halfway through the insane buzzing (all of which, he is sure, are texts from his mother in the vein of ‘ARTHUR CALL YOUR MOTHER RIGHT NOW’) Arthur dropped the phone on his bed and opted for a shower while his phone sorted itself out.
Later, when Arthur peaks his head out of the bathroom, he is pleased to see his phone’s buzzer has either broken or the text alerts have stopped. Towel slung low on his hips he grabs his phone, assessing the damage.
[ 31 New Messages ]
“Mom,” Arthur grouses, flopping down on the bed.
He passes over the 30 messages from his mother, surprised to see a text from Cobb in that mess.
You busy?
Arthur checked the timestamp.
7:57 p.m.
Feeling vaguely self-conscious looking at a text from Cobb in nothing but a towel Arthur sets the phone facedown on the bed and quickly slips on a pair of lounge pants he’ll never admit to owning.
No, what do you need?
He had a right to a life- so what if that life consisted of a shower and hiding from his mother? He can get back to a text 40 minutes late if he wants to.
Arthur weeds through his mother’s texts- she’s always been creative with her threats, like a fine wine apparently. He’s just deleted the last of them when Cobb’s reply buzzes in.
Got a job that needs a Point. You in?
“That’s right old man,” Arthur smiles at his phone. He’d figured it was only a matter of time before Cobb came back to the game. He quickly thumbs out a response.
Yes. You know where to send the information.
It didn’t matter what the job was; Arthur would always be Cobb’s Point Man.
He watches the little envelope disappear, wondering how Ariadne will work with this around her busy school schedule when it occurs to him that she might not have to.
Just because Cobb contacted him, didn’t mean that Cobb would contact the rest of the Fischer group. Ariadne would be busy with school, Yusuf was definitely back in Africa tending to his patients, Saito was off attempting to rule the world, and Eames…
Well Eames was doing nothing.
Surely Cobb would invite Eames back; every extraction needed a Forger and no one could refute that the Brit was the best at what he did. Eames was just lazing around on whatever couch he could find, wasting his days away texting and occasionally talking to Arthur, surely he would want to come back and do something productive? Give Cobb a hearty slap on the back and Arthur-
He figures there is no point in obsessing over it. If Cobb has requested Eames’ services, then he’ll be there when Arthur arrives and they’ll say hello face to face for the first time in months and Arthur will know exactly what to do because he is a professional and its in Eames’ job description to be a distraction.
Slipping the phone into his pocket he deposits the towel in the bathroom and heads to the kitchen to make use of his newly replenished grocery stocks. He grabs the remote on the way and turns on the sound system, filling his small apartment with the soothing sounds of Schubert’s Moments Musicaux.
He grabs a handful of pasta and sets it to boil, leaning on the counter and debating whether it should become spinach fettuccini or a simple spaghetti affair. His phone buzzes and its just Cobb’s instructions and a ticket receipt to Paris that leaves tomorrow morning at 9am. He sets an alarm for 7 before dropping the phone back in his pocket.
Arthur is staring into a pot of boiling pasta, David Fray’s poignant Allegretto in D Minor wafting through his apartment when he finally pulls out his phone and texts Eames.
Did Cobb text you?
Removing the pot from the stove Arthur drains the pasta into the sink, appreciative of the warm humidity that rises off the wet noodles. He spoons them onto a plate with a pat of butter and a pinch of parmesan- he doesn’t have the energy to fix anything more intricate.
His phone buzzes.
Yes, cant wait to see you darling.
Arthur swallows, relieved in more ways than he cares to admit.
He refuses to feel stupid for running his thumb over the glossy screen, unveiling the words one at a time even though he knows exactly what they say. The same way he refuses to feel stupid for staying up till the sun made its slow way across the horizon, bringing daylight to Eames and then to him- ‘See darling? Its bringing my good mornings right to you. Can you hear them?’ The same way he refuses to feel stupid for waking up curled around his phone, his arms and sheets a cocoon around him around his phone.
If he’s honest with himself, he knows he’s in trouble. This time tomorrow they wont need their cell phones to communicate. The filter of text and distance will be but a memory and what happens then?
Arthur pauses, his reply clear in his mind but his fingers frozen as the reality of the situation crowds in on him.
I’m looking forward to seeing you too.
~
He straightens his suit before he opens the door to the nameless, faceless warehouse Cobb has obtained. They’ll be on the third floor, East side of the building and Athur can only hope that there is a working elevator shaft in this building because stairs were an unnecessary hassle when things inevitably broke on the higher levels.
Determined not to look like he’s just spent the better part of eight hours on a the flight from hell, Arthur pauses to check his reflection in something that might have once been reflective but thanks to years of neglect is now a tarnished dusty thing. He looks impeccable.
And so what if he’s wearing his best Fioravanti with one-of-a-kind Italian loafers? So what if he checked into his hotel and spent the better half of two hours in a shower and in front of a mirror making sure every aspect of his person bespoke effortless command? He still feels a little grungy from the flight and jet lag is a bitch that can go fuck herself.
“It is honestly the single most amazing building I have seen outside of dream space. Its amazing how they can bend these virtual realities, of course its only so- Arthur!” Ariadne is perched on the edge of a desk that obviously does not belong to this run-down warehouse, petite and radiant as ever.
“Ariadne,” Arthur smiles, claiming a rundown lawn chair with his suitcase and stepping into her outstretched arms. “I’m glad you could come see us.”
“Come see you?” Ariadne collects him into a hug and squeezes him with a strength one wouldn’t expect from such a small frame. “You’re on my turf. Cobb wants me to construct for this job!”
Arthur raises an eyebrow at Cobb, seated behind the desk in a rather comfortable looking chair. He looks like a different man. That haunted, severe quality of his still visible- he wears his grief like a wound in his chest, but the wound isn’t gaping and bloody, infected and consuming him with every breath. Arthur looks from Ariadne back to Cobb, hardly needing words to ask the questions he wants to ask.
Cobb gives him that knowing look- the one that says ‘You’ve been on a plane for how many hours and you’re wearing the Fioravanti; am I the one supposed to be answering questions?’ so Arthur shuts up.
The sound of breaking glass and bottles rolling on the floor drifts up from downstairs. Ariadne leaps off the desk with an excited yelp of “Yusuf’s here!” and dashes downstairs to help him.
“Should I,“ Cobb starts.
“Go help Yusuf bring his lab up?” Arthur finishes. “Yes, I think that would be very nice of you.”
Cobb gives him a look and Arthur just raises his eyebrow because two can play at this game.
Being a father has obviously brought out some of Cobb’s more annoying fatherly qualities and Arthur doesn’t know what he’ll do if he keeps getting these concerned father looks from the man he respects as a colleague but knows too much about to ever respect as a father. They head down to the cars and Arthur collects the rest of his warehouse-related possessions (including a few personal items like disinfectant, a blanket, assorted toiletries, and a change of clothes) while Cobb takes the heavier cases of chemicals and equipment despite Ariadne’s protests that she can handle carrying more than one Erlenmeyer flask at a time.
Yusuf goes about setting his bottles and equipment up the way he wants, regaling the group at large with his adventure stories while Arthur sets up his laptop and leafs through Cobb’s blueprints of the place.
“Well now that we’re all here,” Cobb’s voice interrupts Arthur’s annoyance at there being only two fire exits on either side of the building.
“You could have started without me,” Eames drawled, just barely scruffy and sprawled in his slick blue button up on Arthur’s lawn chair, lazily picking the lock to his suitcase.
Cobb started to say something but Ariadne interrupted him with an excited “Eames! When did you get here?”
“Miss Ariadne,” Eames’ smile is all for her, fingers diligently working the lock on Arthur’s suitcase. “You should know a master never reveals their secrets.”
“Regardless,” Cobb cut in, ending the banter before Eames wasted their day away with it. “We should get preliminary briefing over with.”
Arthur’s suitcase gives the distinctive click of a lock being opened and Eames sets it between his legs, not bothering to look inside or to even look smug for that matter.
Thus went the next three hours. Cobb detailing what they would be doing, where they would need to visit, who would need to do what, questioning how everyone felt about trial runs and certain dream scapes and every other little thing under the sun. When Yusuf finally puts a hand up and admits defeat to the combined forces of hunger and information overload Ariadne agrees wholeheartedly and Eames appears to be asleep.
Ariadne offers to run down to a Chinese place she knows and Cobb insists on driving her. Orders taken, the two of them drive off leaving a Yusuf that wants to make small talk with Arthur and an Eames who insists on stretching like some giant muscular cat.
Why hadn’t Eames at least said hello to him? Why had Arthur spent so much time getting dressed this morning like some infatuated teen? He was wearing the Fioravanti for Christ’s sake! No one glances over the Fioravanti!
His thoughts chase each other around and his eyes stray to where Eames is fiddling with his phone which only makes Arthur very aware of his phone in his own pocket and Yusuf should be glad that Arthur is good at multitasking or he’d be getting gibberish for answers. Eames looks good in that shade of blue and the way his tongue darts out to lick those plump lips has Arthur thinking that he’s being teased.
Yusuf turns his questions to Eames and the Forger sets his phone on his leg, all smooth syllables and passing comments on how he’s ‘been’. He tells Yusuf about the starfish he held and the Chemist regales the Forger with his ostrich tale. Arthur closes a window he was working in without saving it and resists the urge to curse. He’s preoccupied with the way Eames smoothly leaves him out of his stories, the way it sounds like he’s been traveling with a couple of his friends and hasn’t spared a second thought for work or anyone associated with it.
His phone buzzes against his leg and his heart leaps.
On our way back. Ariadne wants to know why you don’t like duck sauce.
Arthur frowns at his phone; frustrated at himself for associating the buzzing with Eames and positive emotions when apparently the Forger cares more about the back of his own eyelids than the way Arthur looks. He shouldn’t be so wrapped up in whether Eames notices him or not. He shouldn’t expect every buzz to be a message from the swaggering Brit.
He puts his phone down with a sharp click, standing up and buttoning the front of his suit in one swift movement before excusing himself to the bathroom.
Ariadne must have had someone clean the bathroom because it was spotless and Cobb had always taken a certain ‘live with it or don’t use it’ approach to Arthur’s quirks; he’d have to thank her later. Leaning against the sink with just his hands (virtually nothing was clean enough for the Fioravanti) Arthur closed his eyes and tried to sort himself out.
He imagines the floor plans. The exits, the fire escapes, the possible weak points and where they shouldn’t set up the PASIV in case of intruders, he sees them all clear in his mind and feels grounded with the knowledge. He redraws the building in soft blue pencil lines; blue that is just the color of Eames’ shirt and lines that remind him of the lines they’ve crossed.
“Why are you hiding in here, darling?” Eames’ voice is soft, low and rumbling and enough to send Arthur’s half-formed blueprints scattering into meaningless nothingness.
“I can do what I please,” Arthur snaps, keeping his eyes closed because he doesn’t need to see Eames to see him.
“Well you certainly aren’t using the facilities,” Eames shifts, the sound of silk against his skin so close to what Arthur imagined it would sound like. “And you look too good to be allowed to keep it all to yourself.”
Arthur turned to glare at Eames.
“Nice of you to notice here,” Arthur gestures to their sparse, barely clean surroundings. “In a bathroom, away from everyone else. Is that what this is?”
Annoyingly enough, surprise looks just as good on the Forger as contemplative and sleeping and nearly every other damn thing.
“Darling, I’ve no need to be this close to you to know how lovely you are.” Eames pushes off the door he’s been leaning against. “Should I have shown up with a bouquet of roses?”
“No!” Arthur growls, wanting to cross his arms over his chest or shove Eames out the door and avoid this conversation altogether.
“That’s what I thought,” Eames shrugs. “But I bought some anyway. Ariadne will enjoy them at the very least.”
“You bought roses?” He realizes he sounds condescending but it’s better than sounding surprised. “You didn’t have any roses when you walked in.”
“You didn’t even know I was in the building until Cobb said something,” Eames sounds like he’s accusing Arthur of something. “And even if you had, they were left in the car because I figured you wouldn’t want me to say anything about-“
There’s a vague gesture between them and Arthur knows what he means even though they haven’t decided on a word for it yet. He stares at Eames who has his hip canted just enough to be distracting and wonders what Eames would look like holding a bouquet of roses.
“You look absolutely brilliant in that suit, pet.” Eames spares him the embarrassment of finding a way out of the hole he feels he’s dug himself into.
Arthur straightens and runs a hand down his front, ready to thank Eames for the compliment when the Forger makes a muffled groaning noise and closes the distance between them.
“I don’t care if you wore it for me or not, you look amazing.” Eames is close enough that his body heat is like a second skin, pressing into Arthur’s personal space with a dizzying intensity. “I don’t know how people keep their hands off you; I don’t know how I’ve kept mine off of you for so long…”
“Because I’d break everyone else’s fingers if they tried?” Arthur points out; Eames’ words making him feel bold enough to reach out and touch his sides.
“Not mine though,” Eames’ eyes slip closed as if Arthur’s touch is too much, leaning toward Arthur with unmasked intent. “Right, kitten?”
“Never yours,” Arthur breathes and he can almost feel that stubble against his lips.
Time seems to stop for Arthur, focused on Eames’ heat and lips and proximity and why won’t he move forward and close the damn distance? When Arthur presses forward the Forger pulls back, studying his face the way Ariadne takes apart skyscrapers.
“I’ve thought about your lips for days; if you’d let me kiss you or-“ Eames wets his lips, actually thinking about what he should say next.
In a flashbulb of enlightenment, Arthur understands. Eames is a Forger because he can hide behind perfect masks and smiles better than all of them; he would settle for texts and the occasional phone call because that’s all he feels he deserves.
“Kiss me,” Arthur touches Eames’ cheek and it’s exactly how he imagined it would feel. “Kiss me whenever you want to. Kiss me however you want to. Stop being such a good guy and just fucking kiss me.”
Eames’ lips are as soft as they look, plump and curvy and yielding against Arthur’s. It feels hesitant, his stubble a chaste brush against his chin and Arthur can imagine kisses like these along his neck with whispered ‘good mornings’ and tangled limbs but they’re standing in a bathroom and right now Arthur wants so much more. He presses his body to Eames’, one hand on his side and the other slipping into Eames’ short, gelled hair and this is no way to treat the Fioravanti.
“Arthur…” Eames’s hands are on his hips, roaming over his sides and pulling him closer as soft, chaste kisses turn into hungry, needy presses of his lips and teeth until Arthur opens his mouth and Eames’ tongue meets his.
His hands clutch at Eames’ body, steering his head with the grip he has on his hair and rolling his body against that hot line of flesh. He can feel Eames through his pants, hot and turgid against his thigh and when he presses his body into Eames again he makes sure the Forger knows what state Arthur is in. Eames’ hands clutch at Arthur’s sides and if he ever finds a way out of this kiss and back to his mind he’ll have to remind the other that he’s crushing a $5,000 dollar suit with his distractingly strong hands.
Somehow they end up against the wall, Eames pressed between Arthur and the tiles and hands working to get Arthur’s lapels open. Arthur swats his hands away and rubs himself against Eames, sucking his lower lip into his mouth and tracing it with his tongue- a promise of just what he could do with his mouth if Eames wanted.
Eames makes noises that would go straight to Arthur’s cock even if they weren’t pressed flush against each other and Arthur releases his lip with a wet noise just in time to have the tables turned on him. Lost in the kiss, he doesn’t notice when Eames’ hands find their way to his ass, squeezing and directing their movements in an obscene imitation of what could be happening if they had less clothes on. Eames bends a little, hands slipping under Arthur’s thighs and Arthur see’s himself pressed against the wall of this filthy bathroom, legs wrapped around Eames who does nothing more than rub him through his favorite suit, and coming in tremendous wracking waves of orgasm all over the most expensive suit he owns.
“Suit-“ Arthur gasps out, his entire body shivering in anticipation of Eames not giving a flying fuck and throwing him against the wall anyway. “Won’t bend that way.”
It probably would, but Eames could figure that out with a different suit.
“Fuck,” Eames growls, hands frantic and everywhere and looking for all the world like he’d like to pull every thread of cloth off Arthur right that second. “Fuck you and your fucking slutty mouth and this goddamned suit.”
“Shut your filthy mouth,” Arthur presses against Eames in warning and gets a groan for his efforts. “This suit is worth more money than you can fit in a grocery bag.”
“You’re the one sucking on my filthy mouth,” He slaps Arthur’s ass and Arthur’s head falls onto Eames’ shoulder; he cannot imagine anything more erotic than being spanked in his custom made Fioravanti suit.
“Like that?” Eames’ voice is low, managing to sound both intrigued and aroused.
Arthur nods, blushing despite his thoughts and his aching erection pressed against Eames’ thigh.
“Get these pants off,” Eames growls, trying to find his way under Arthur’s jacket and into his pants.
“This,” Arthur whines when Eames takes a detour and squeezes him through his slacks. “Is a bathroom!”
“Very good darling, and this,” Eames pulls their hips together, rubbing his trapped erection against Arthur’s. “Is my aching cock which, is entirely your fault.”
Arthur throws Eames back against the wall, pressing his body to the Forger’s and indulging in the sloppiest exchange of writhing appendages and saliva he’s ever had the balls to initiate. To his credit, Eames has a mean eye for observation and details and it is obvious that Arthur likes to hear him so he moans, throaty and deep with hands grasping in all the right places.
“Kitten,” Eames brushes his jaw against Arthur’s and the Point Man cannot wait to find out how that feels on every last part of his naked body. “If we keep this up I’m-.”
“Wait,” Arthur is pretty sure he deserves a medal for pulling away from that heady scruff- oh yes, and for keeping his pants on. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a dog?”
It takes Eames a minute to realize Arthur isn’t making some obscure reference to his penis.
“Are you really going to make me think about my dog when I’ve got a full salute to make England proud?” Eames seems truly stunned and Arthur has to fight off the word ‘adorable’ which seems intent on springing to mind.
“You sent me a picture of him,” Arthur makes a face. “Her? It.”
“Her, and so what?” Eames’ hand is smoothing Arthur’s hair back. “I’ve sent you pictures of me eating provocative foods; can’t you be thinking about that right now?”
He opens his mouth to reply when realization dawns on him.
“Shit,” Arthur feels his stomach drop to his ankles. “Shit! Cobb and Ariadne- the food! They’ve got to be back by now and we’re-“
Eames’ head makes a dull thud against the wall.
“On Cobb’s time-“ Arthur turns a little green. “In Cobb’s warehouse.”
“Are you honestly this mean, Arthur?” Eames grumbles to the ceiling.
“Are you honestly okay with doing this in the equivalent of Cobb’s house?” Arthur retorts, pulling back to straighten himself out.
“I’d be okay with doing it in Cobb’s bed if it meant getting you naked and under me.” Eames states, all business and really he shouldn’t be able to say things like that so calmly.
Arthur looks away, trying in earnest to not imagine that specific scenario but he’s been to Cobb’s house before and seen his bed and apparently he thinks of Cobb in a fatherly enough way to make that image equal parts revolting and embarrassing.
“We should,” Arthur says, just this side of breathy. “We should take a minute to calm down.”
Eames licks his lips, looking Arthur up and down in a way that doesn’t even begin to try and hide the fact that the Forger is imagining him naked.
“Sorry kitten,” He shakes his head, adjusting himself in his pants. “That’s not going to happen with you around.”
Arthur smoothes his hair down and tries to adjust himself in a way that looks more dignified than adjusting oneself ever does. Eames watches all the while and Arthur pretends not to feel his hazel eyes on him, pretends not to know exactly what that hot breath feels like against his face. When he feels he’s perfect he turns to look at Eames who still has hair disheveled from where Arthur was grabbing it. Eames pushes off the wall and straightens Arthur’s tie- which was straight to begin with before holding the door open with a rueful smile.
Arthur checks his hair one last time, telling himself they don’t look sexed up.
The scent of Chinese food assaults them the instant they leave the bathroom, cloying and heavy in the way Chinese food warns you fair and square about how you’ll feel after eating it. They round the corner to find the rest of the team stock still and very obviously not looking in the direction of the doorway.
Guilt hangs in the room heavier than any soy sauce.
Arthur’s first instinct is to tilt his head ever so slightly toward the exit, verifying that it’s just the team present.
“What’s going on?” Eames asks as he saunters past, heading for the cartons of Chinese set upon the desk.
Ariadne, usually quick to answer, is terribly interested in her Moo Shi Beef.
Eames casts him a look over his shoulder, shrugs and starts rustling around in the bags to find his carton.
“Oh,” Eames nods, pulling a carton from the bag with a laugh. “I get it. We weren’t here so you sneaky bastards’ve done something to one of the cartons haven’t you?”
When no one answers him he shrugs and starts eating what looks like Arthur’s lo mein.
“No problem for me,” Eames slurps and it is equal parts gross and bawdy “I’ve had worse in my mouth.”
Its Yusuf that starts gagging on his Eggplant that sets the annoying prickle of realization upon Arthur. Usually, Cobb would be sitting at the desk, Ariadne practically pressed to his side and bubbling with ideas or inane thoughts while Yusuf hummed loudly over at his little lab bench. Instead they were all strategically placed to be as far from the desk as possible. Arthur reached into his pocket, feeling the familiar weight of his die.
What was different about the table?
His computer was still there, nothing different there. The food could have been tampered with but why would Yusuf be choking near to death over that? Cobb was shaking his head in that ‘Always with the foot in the mouth’ manner that suggested that… Eames’ mouth had been on the table? That made no sense.
Eames shifts to the side, deciding to sit on the table and be the center of attention- how unusual, when Arthur’s eyes zero in on his phone. His phone that was definitely not where he left it.
“Who touched my phone?” Arthur asks, moving further into the room now that he feels knows exactly what he’s walking into.
Ariadne bursts out laughing, the demure hand holding her chopsticks unable to muffle the boisterous laughter spilling out of her. Arthur shoots her a look before looking questioningly at Cobb who just rolls his eyes and motions to Yusuf who is currently hiding in the folded comfort of his own arms.
“Seriously, what did you-“ Arthur’s words die in his throat when he snatches up his phone, fully expecting the screen to be cracked or it to be sitting in a pool of duck sauce- not The Picture of Eames.
The Picture from The Night when he had made The Call.
Arthur stood there, staring at he phone with his mouth slightly open, feeling for all his pristine suits and impeccable hair like he was in the midst of a kick that just wouldn’t end. Eames seemed to be enjoying Arthur’s lo mein.
“We weren’t,” Ariadne begins, trying to get over her giggles. “We weren’t looking for that, honest.”
Yusuf mumbles something that might have been a long, drawn out ‘sorry’ just as much as it might have been ‘kill me.’
Eames seems to finally take an interest in something that doesn’t involve slurping and plucks the phone from Arthur’s nerveless fingers.
“Oh, you kept this?” He asks, like its no big deal.
“It saves a copy of all multimedia messages unless I specifically delete them from the memory card…” Arthur supplies in a dazed monotone.
“Mmm,” Eames agrees, obviously not listening as he turns the phone to the side and inspects his picture from a different angle. “My lips look positively huge; brill picture if I do say so myself.”
Suddenly, Arthur can see why they would think Eames’ earlier comment about ‘worse things in his mouth’ would be funny.
“We haven’t done that!” Arthur blurts out, regretting it the second he’s said it because it says all the wrong things about where his mind is.
“Yet,” Eames smirks at him, that confident quirk of plump lips that were so hesitant and yet eager to please; asking, waiting, taking only as much as Arthur would allow.
Arthur blushes right to the tips of his ears and Ariadne has to set her plastic tray down because she’s laughing so hard.
“Yusuf wanted to show us the picture of his ostrich ride,” Cobb seems bored with the proceedings. “We didn’t realize your phone wasn’t work appropriate.”
Arthur chokes on his “It is!” because it obviously was not.
“Oh, I want to see that one.” Eames chirps and begins scrolling through his pictures, popping a water chestnut from his own lunch in his mouth.
Arthur snatches the phone away with an irritated huff.
“No more traipsing through my phone!”
“Hiding the other men from me, darling?” Eames doesn’t make to grab the phone back and Arthur has the sinking feeling that he is the only one who knows Eames would ask the question in the same manner even if he wasn’t joking.
“There are no other men!” Arthur shouts, blushing even more when Ariadne makes an ‘awwww’ sound and Eames’ eyes burn with promises Arthur knows he’ll keep.
“I,” Arthur snatches up a random carton, dropping his phone back in Eames’ hands. “Am going up to the roof to eat where no one is going to make fun of me. And, possibly, kill myself.”
Ariadne is trying to convince him to stay and Yusuf is spluttering apologies when he breezes out the door, only just remembering that he didn’t grab a fork before he fled the room but certainly not going back in to get one after that exit.
“Well, I should go make sure he doesn’t make good on that threat I suppose.” Eames’ voice is all smiles and rustling of the plastic Chinese food bag as he makes his way to the door. “Yusuf, you’ll show me that ostrich picture later, yeah?”
Arthur flees to the roof and Eames follows, soothing his indignant rage with a fork because he’d once told the Forger that he couldn’t use chopsticks to save his life. Arthur ends up being fed a good portion of his meal via Eames’ chopsticks anyway and when they’re done he crushes all of the fortune cookies that Eames unwittingly stole from the group into a fine powder and lets the wind carry them away.
♥Fin
Summary: It all started with a text.
Rating: R(ish), no actual porn but still NSFW?
Word Count: 5323/16028
Beta: No beta, deal with it.
Original Prompt: Written for this prompt at
and fulfills this prompt as well (later on IN PART iii). Oh god Idek I'm just a wordy bastard.
A/N: ITS FINISHED. /can go have a life read: write Rockn'rolla fanfic now :D
ALSO: It should be noted that lamboyster prompted yogurt porn which actually got filled by charybdis over at dreamwidth and I think you should all read it because, uh, come on, it's Arthur being erotic with yogurt why WOULDN'T you read that? Ta now darlings~
Arthur doesn’t turn his phone back on until late that night, with good reason. He’d gone about his day with relative productivity. If he happened to notice the way his pocket felt abnormally light or tap his thigh through his empty trouser pocket, that was no one’s business but his own.
When he finally scrapes up the courage to turn his phone back on his apartment has been vacuumed, sheets and comforter washed and replaced on the bed with military precision, shoes straightened in the closet, meager grocery list completed and he’s the newest owner of a houseplant.
His phone buzzes for an excruciating fourteen minutes; intent on buzzing for every text message or, god forbid, call he has purposely ignored. Halfway through the insane buzzing (all of which, he is sure, are texts from his mother in the vein of ‘ARTHUR CALL YOUR MOTHER RIGHT NOW’) Arthur dropped the phone on his bed and opted for a shower while his phone sorted itself out.
Later, when Arthur peaks his head out of the bathroom, he is pleased to see his phone’s buzzer has either broken or the text alerts have stopped. Towel slung low on his hips he grabs his phone, assessing the damage.
[ 31 New Messages ]
“Mom,” Arthur grouses, flopping down on the bed.
He passes over the 30 messages from his mother, surprised to see a text from Cobb in that mess.
You busy?
Arthur checked the timestamp.
7:57 p.m.
Feeling vaguely self-conscious looking at a text from Cobb in nothing but a towel Arthur sets the phone facedown on the bed and quickly slips on a pair of lounge pants he’ll never admit to owning.
No, what do you need?
He had a right to a life- so what if that life consisted of a shower and hiding from his mother? He can get back to a text 40 minutes late if he wants to.
Arthur weeds through his mother’s texts- she’s always been creative with her threats, like a fine wine apparently. He’s just deleted the last of them when Cobb’s reply buzzes in.
Got a job that needs a Point. You in?
“That’s right old man,” Arthur smiles at his phone. He’d figured it was only a matter of time before Cobb came back to the game. He quickly thumbs out a response.
Yes. You know where to send the information.
It didn’t matter what the job was; Arthur would always be Cobb’s Point Man.
He watches the little envelope disappear, wondering how Ariadne will work with this around her busy school schedule when it occurs to him that she might not have to.
Just because Cobb contacted him, didn’t mean that Cobb would contact the rest of the Fischer group. Ariadne would be busy with school, Yusuf was definitely back in Africa tending to his patients, Saito was off attempting to rule the world, and Eames…
Well Eames was doing nothing.
Surely Cobb would invite Eames back; every extraction needed a Forger and no one could refute that the Brit was the best at what he did. Eames was just lazing around on whatever couch he could find, wasting his days away texting and occasionally talking to Arthur, surely he would want to come back and do something productive? Give Cobb a hearty slap on the back and Arthur-
He figures there is no point in obsessing over it. If Cobb has requested Eames’ services, then he’ll be there when Arthur arrives and they’ll say hello face to face for the first time in months and Arthur will know exactly what to do because he is a professional and its in Eames’ job description to be a distraction.
Slipping the phone into his pocket he deposits the towel in the bathroom and heads to the kitchen to make use of his newly replenished grocery stocks. He grabs the remote on the way and turns on the sound system, filling his small apartment with the soothing sounds of Schubert’s Moments Musicaux.
He grabs a handful of pasta and sets it to boil, leaning on the counter and debating whether it should become spinach fettuccini or a simple spaghetti affair. His phone buzzes and its just Cobb’s instructions and a ticket receipt to Paris that leaves tomorrow morning at 9am. He sets an alarm for 7 before dropping the phone back in his pocket.
Arthur is staring into a pot of boiling pasta, David Fray’s poignant Allegretto in D Minor wafting through his apartment when he finally pulls out his phone and texts Eames.
Did Cobb text you?
Removing the pot from the stove Arthur drains the pasta into the sink, appreciative of the warm humidity that rises off the wet noodles. He spoons them onto a plate with a pat of butter and a pinch of parmesan- he doesn’t have the energy to fix anything more intricate.
His phone buzzes.
Yes, cant wait to see you darling.
Arthur swallows, relieved in more ways than he cares to admit.
He refuses to feel stupid for running his thumb over the glossy screen, unveiling the words one at a time even though he knows exactly what they say. The same way he refuses to feel stupid for staying up till the sun made its slow way across the horizon, bringing daylight to Eames and then to him- ‘See darling? Its bringing my good mornings right to you. Can you hear them?’ The same way he refuses to feel stupid for waking up curled around his phone, his arms and sheets a cocoon around him around his phone.
If he’s honest with himself, he knows he’s in trouble. This time tomorrow they wont need their cell phones to communicate. The filter of text and distance will be but a memory and what happens then?
Arthur pauses, his reply clear in his mind but his fingers frozen as the reality of the situation crowds in on him.
I’m looking forward to seeing you too.
~
He straightens his suit before he opens the door to the nameless, faceless warehouse Cobb has obtained. They’ll be on the third floor, East side of the building and Athur can only hope that there is a working elevator shaft in this building because stairs were an unnecessary hassle when things inevitably broke on the higher levels.
Determined not to look like he’s just spent the better part of eight hours on a the flight from hell, Arthur pauses to check his reflection in something that might have once been reflective but thanks to years of neglect is now a tarnished dusty thing. He looks impeccable.
And so what if he’s wearing his best Fioravanti with one-of-a-kind Italian loafers? So what if he checked into his hotel and spent the better half of two hours in a shower and in front of a mirror making sure every aspect of his person bespoke effortless command? He still feels a little grungy from the flight and jet lag is a bitch that can go fuck herself.
“It is honestly the single most amazing building I have seen outside of dream space. Its amazing how they can bend these virtual realities, of course its only so- Arthur!” Ariadne is perched on the edge of a desk that obviously does not belong to this run-down warehouse, petite and radiant as ever.
“Ariadne,” Arthur smiles, claiming a rundown lawn chair with his suitcase and stepping into her outstretched arms. “I’m glad you could come see us.”
“Come see you?” Ariadne collects him into a hug and squeezes him with a strength one wouldn’t expect from such a small frame. “You’re on my turf. Cobb wants me to construct for this job!”
Arthur raises an eyebrow at Cobb, seated behind the desk in a rather comfortable looking chair. He looks like a different man. That haunted, severe quality of his still visible- he wears his grief like a wound in his chest, but the wound isn’t gaping and bloody, infected and consuming him with every breath. Arthur looks from Ariadne back to Cobb, hardly needing words to ask the questions he wants to ask.
Cobb gives him that knowing look- the one that says ‘You’ve been on a plane for how many hours and you’re wearing the Fioravanti; am I the one supposed to be answering questions?’ so Arthur shuts up.
The sound of breaking glass and bottles rolling on the floor drifts up from downstairs. Ariadne leaps off the desk with an excited yelp of “Yusuf’s here!” and dashes downstairs to help him.
“Should I,“ Cobb starts.
“Go help Yusuf bring his lab up?” Arthur finishes. “Yes, I think that would be very nice of you.”
Cobb gives him a look and Arthur just raises his eyebrow because two can play at this game.
Being a father has obviously brought out some of Cobb’s more annoying fatherly qualities and Arthur doesn’t know what he’ll do if he keeps getting these concerned father looks from the man he respects as a colleague but knows too much about to ever respect as a father. They head down to the cars and Arthur collects the rest of his warehouse-related possessions (including a few personal items like disinfectant, a blanket, assorted toiletries, and a change of clothes) while Cobb takes the heavier cases of chemicals and equipment despite Ariadne’s protests that she can handle carrying more than one Erlenmeyer flask at a time.
Yusuf goes about setting his bottles and equipment up the way he wants, regaling the group at large with his adventure stories while Arthur sets up his laptop and leafs through Cobb’s blueprints of the place.
“Well now that we’re all here,” Cobb’s voice interrupts Arthur’s annoyance at there being only two fire exits on either side of the building.
“You could have started without me,” Eames drawled, just barely scruffy and sprawled in his slick blue button up on Arthur’s lawn chair, lazily picking the lock to his suitcase.
Cobb started to say something but Ariadne interrupted him with an excited “Eames! When did you get here?”
“Miss Ariadne,” Eames’ smile is all for her, fingers diligently working the lock on Arthur’s suitcase. “You should know a master never reveals their secrets.”
“Regardless,” Cobb cut in, ending the banter before Eames wasted their day away with it. “We should get preliminary briefing over with.”
Arthur’s suitcase gives the distinctive click of a lock being opened and Eames sets it between his legs, not bothering to look inside or to even look smug for that matter.
Thus went the next three hours. Cobb detailing what they would be doing, where they would need to visit, who would need to do what, questioning how everyone felt about trial runs and certain dream scapes and every other little thing under the sun. When Yusuf finally puts a hand up and admits defeat to the combined forces of hunger and information overload Ariadne agrees wholeheartedly and Eames appears to be asleep.
Ariadne offers to run down to a Chinese place she knows and Cobb insists on driving her. Orders taken, the two of them drive off leaving a Yusuf that wants to make small talk with Arthur and an Eames who insists on stretching like some giant muscular cat.
Why hadn’t Eames at least said hello to him? Why had Arthur spent so much time getting dressed this morning like some infatuated teen? He was wearing the Fioravanti for Christ’s sake! No one glances over the Fioravanti!
His thoughts chase each other around and his eyes stray to where Eames is fiddling with his phone which only makes Arthur very aware of his phone in his own pocket and Yusuf should be glad that Arthur is good at multitasking or he’d be getting gibberish for answers. Eames looks good in that shade of blue and the way his tongue darts out to lick those plump lips has Arthur thinking that he’s being teased.
Yusuf turns his questions to Eames and the Forger sets his phone on his leg, all smooth syllables and passing comments on how he’s ‘been’. He tells Yusuf about the starfish he held and the Chemist regales the Forger with his ostrich tale. Arthur closes a window he was working in without saving it and resists the urge to curse. He’s preoccupied with the way Eames smoothly leaves him out of his stories, the way it sounds like he’s been traveling with a couple of his friends and hasn’t spared a second thought for work or anyone associated with it.
His phone buzzes against his leg and his heart leaps.
On our way back. Ariadne wants to know why you don’t like duck sauce.
Arthur frowns at his phone; frustrated at himself for associating the buzzing with Eames and positive emotions when apparently the Forger cares more about the back of his own eyelids than the way Arthur looks. He shouldn’t be so wrapped up in whether Eames notices him or not. He shouldn’t expect every buzz to be a message from the swaggering Brit.
He puts his phone down with a sharp click, standing up and buttoning the front of his suit in one swift movement before excusing himself to the bathroom.
Ariadne must have had someone clean the bathroom because it was spotless and Cobb had always taken a certain ‘live with it or don’t use it’ approach to Arthur’s quirks; he’d have to thank her later. Leaning against the sink with just his hands (virtually nothing was clean enough for the Fioravanti) Arthur closed his eyes and tried to sort himself out.
He imagines the floor plans. The exits, the fire escapes, the possible weak points and where they shouldn’t set up the PASIV in case of intruders, he sees them all clear in his mind and feels grounded with the knowledge. He redraws the building in soft blue pencil lines; blue that is just the color of Eames’ shirt and lines that remind him of the lines they’ve crossed.
“Why are you hiding in here, darling?” Eames’ voice is soft, low and rumbling and enough to send Arthur’s half-formed blueprints scattering into meaningless nothingness.
“I can do what I please,” Arthur snaps, keeping his eyes closed because he doesn’t need to see Eames to see him.
“Well you certainly aren’t using the facilities,” Eames shifts, the sound of silk against his skin so close to what Arthur imagined it would sound like. “And you look too good to be allowed to keep it all to yourself.”
Arthur turned to glare at Eames.
“Nice of you to notice here,” Arthur gestures to their sparse, barely clean surroundings. “In a bathroom, away from everyone else. Is that what this is?”
Annoyingly enough, surprise looks just as good on the Forger as contemplative and sleeping and nearly every other damn thing.
“Darling, I’ve no need to be this close to you to know how lovely you are.” Eames pushes off the door he’s been leaning against. “Should I have shown up with a bouquet of roses?”
“No!” Arthur growls, wanting to cross his arms over his chest or shove Eames out the door and avoid this conversation altogether.
“That’s what I thought,” Eames shrugs. “But I bought some anyway. Ariadne will enjoy them at the very least.”
“You bought roses?” He realizes he sounds condescending but it’s better than sounding surprised. “You didn’t have any roses when you walked in.”
“You didn’t even know I was in the building until Cobb said something,” Eames sounds like he’s accusing Arthur of something. “And even if you had, they were left in the car because I figured you wouldn’t want me to say anything about-“
There’s a vague gesture between them and Arthur knows what he means even though they haven’t decided on a word for it yet. He stares at Eames who has his hip canted just enough to be distracting and wonders what Eames would look like holding a bouquet of roses.
“You look absolutely brilliant in that suit, pet.” Eames spares him the embarrassment of finding a way out of the hole he feels he’s dug himself into.
Arthur straightens and runs a hand down his front, ready to thank Eames for the compliment when the Forger makes a muffled groaning noise and closes the distance between them.
“I don’t care if you wore it for me or not, you look amazing.” Eames is close enough that his body heat is like a second skin, pressing into Arthur’s personal space with a dizzying intensity. “I don’t know how people keep their hands off you; I don’t know how I’ve kept mine off of you for so long…”
“Because I’d break everyone else’s fingers if they tried?” Arthur points out; Eames’ words making him feel bold enough to reach out and touch his sides.
“Not mine though,” Eames’ eyes slip closed as if Arthur’s touch is too much, leaning toward Arthur with unmasked intent. “Right, kitten?”
“Never yours,” Arthur breathes and he can almost feel that stubble against his lips.
Time seems to stop for Arthur, focused on Eames’ heat and lips and proximity and why won’t he move forward and close the damn distance? When Arthur presses forward the Forger pulls back, studying his face the way Ariadne takes apart skyscrapers.
“I’ve thought about your lips for days; if you’d let me kiss you or-“ Eames wets his lips, actually thinking about what he should say next.
In a flashbulb of enlightenment, Arthur understands. Eames is a Forger because he can hide behind perfect masks and smiles better than all of them; he would settle for texts and the occasional phone call because that’s all he feels he deserves.
“Kiss me,” Arthur touches Eames’ cheek and it’s exactly how he imagined it would feel. “Kiss me whenever you want to. Kiss me however you want to. Stop being such a good guy and just fucking kiss me.”
Eames’ lips are as soft as they look, plump and curvy and yielding against Arthur’s. It feels hesitant, his stubble a chaste brush against his chin and Arthur can imagine kisses like these along his neck with whispered ‘good mornings’ and tangled limbs but they’re standing in a bathroom and right now Arthur wants so much more. He presses his body to Eames’, one hand on his side and the other slipping into Eames’ short, gelled hair and this is no way to treat the Fioravanti.
“Arthur…” Eames’s hands are on his hips, roaming over his sides and pulling him closer as soft, chaste kisses turn into hungry, needy presses of his lips and teeth until Arthur opens his mouth and Eames’ tongue meets his.
His hands clutch at Eames’ body, steering his head with the grip he has on his hair and rolling his body against that hot line of flesh. He can feel Eames through his pants, hot and turgid against his thigh and when he presses his body into Eames again he makes sure the Forger knows what state Arthur is in. Eames’ hands clutch at Arthur’s sides and if he ever finds a way out of this kiss and back to his mind he’ll have to remind the other that he’s crushing a $5,000 dollar suit with his distractingly strong hands.
Somehow they end up against the wall, Eames pressed between Arthur and the tiles and hands working to get Arthur’s lapels open. Arthur swats his hands away and rubs himself against Eames, sucking his lower lip into his mouth and tracing it with his tongue- a promise of just what he could do with his mouth if Eames wanted.
Eames makes noises that would go straight to Arthur’s cock even if they weren’t pressed flush against each other and Arthur releases his lip with a wet noise just in time to have the tables turned on him. Lost in the kiss, he doesn’t notice when Eames’ hands find their way to his ass, squeezing and directing their movements in an obscene imitation of what could be happening if they had less clothes on. Eames bends a little, hands slipping under Arthur’s thighs and Arthur see’s himself pressed against the wall of this filthy bathroom, legs wrapped around Eames who does nothing more than rub him through his favorite suit, and coming in tremendous wracking waves of orgasm all over the most expensive suit he owns.
“Suit-“ Arthur gasps out, his entire body shivering in anticipation of Eames not giving a flying fuck and throwing him against the wall anyway. “Won’t bend that way.”
It probably would, but Eames could figure that out with a different suit.
“Fuck,” Eames growls, hands frantic and everywhere and looking for all the world like he’d like to pull every thread of cloth off Arthur right that second. “Fuck you and your fucking slutty mouth and this goddamned suit.”
“Shut your filthy mouth,” Arthur presses against Eames in warning and gets a groan for his efforts. “This suit is worth more money than you can fit in a grocery bag.”
“You’re the one sucking on my filthy mouth,” He slaps Arthur’s ass and Arthur’s head falls onto Eames’ shoulder; he cannot imagine anything more erotic than being spanked in his custom made Fioravanti suit.
“Like that?” Eames’ voice is low, managing to sound both intrigued and aroused.
Arthur nods, blushing despite his thoughts and his aching erection pressed against Eames’ thigh.
“Get these pants off,” Eames growls, trying to find his way under Arthur’s jacket and into his pants.
“This,” Arthur whines when Eames takes a detour and squeezes him through his slacks. “Is a bathroom!”
“Very good darling, and this,” Eames pulls their hips together, rubbing his trapped erection against Arthur’s. “Is my aching cock which, is entirely your fault.”
Arthur throws Eames back against the wall, pressing his body to the Forger’s and indulging in the sloppiest exchange of writhing appendages and saliva he’s ever had the balls to initiate. To his credit, Eames has a mean eye for observation and details and it is obvious that Arthur likes to hear him so he moans, throaty and deep with hands grasping in all the right places.
“Kitten,” Eames brushes his jaw against Arthur’s and the Point Man cannot wait to find out how that feels on every last part of his naked body. “If we keep this up I’m-.”
“Wait,” Arthur is pretty sure he deserves a medal for pulling away from that heady scruff- oh yes, and for keeping his pants on. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a dog?”
It takes Eames a minute to realize Arthur isn’t making some obscure reference to his penis.
“Are you really going to make me think about my dog when I’ve got a full salute to make England proud?” Eames seems truly stunned and Arthur has to fight off the word ‘adorable’ which seems intent on springing to mind.
“You sent me a picture of him,” Arthur makes a face. “Her? It.”
“Her, and so what?” Eames’ hand is smoothing Arthur’s hair back. “I’ve sent you pictures of me eating provocative foods; can’t you be thinking about that right now?”
He opens his mouth to reply when realization dawns on him.
“Shit,” Arthur feels his stomach drop to his ankles. “Shit! Cobb and Ariadne- the food! They’ve got to be back by now and we’re-“
Eames’ head makes a dull thud against the wall.
“On Cobb’s time-“ Arthur turns a little green. “In Cobb’s warehouse.”
“Are you honestly this mean, Arthur?” Eames grumbles to the ceiling.
“Are you honestly okay with doing this in the equivalent of Cobb’s house?” Arthur retorts, pulling back to straighten himself out.
“I’d be okay with doing it in Cobb’s bed if it meant getting you naked and under me.” Eames states, all business and really he shouldn’t be able to say things like that so calmly.
Arthur looks away, trying in earnest to not imagine that specific scenario but he’s been to Cobb’s house before and seen his bed and apparently he thinks of Cobb in a fatherly enough way to make that image equal parts revolting and embarrassing.
“We should,” Arthur says, just this side of breathy. “We should take a minute to calm down.”
Eames licks his lips, looking Arthur up and down in a way that doesn’t even begin to try and hide the fact that the Forger is imagining him naked.
“Sorry kitten,” He shakes his head, adjusting himself in his pants. “That’s not going to happen with you around.”
Arthur smoothes his hair down and tries to adjust himself in a way that looks more dignified than adjusting oneself ever does. Eames watches all the while and Arthur pretends not to feel his hazel eyes on him, pretends not to know exactly what that hot breath feels like against his face. When he feels he’s perfect he turns to look at Eames who still has hair disheveled from where Arthur was grabbing it. Eames pushes off the wall and straightens Arthur’s tie- which was straight to begin with before holding the door open with a rueful smile.
Arthur checks his hair one last time, telling himself they don’t look sexed up.
The scent of Chinese food assaults them the instant they leave the bathroom, cloying and heavy in the way Chinese food warns you fair and square about how you’ll feel after eating it. They round the corner to find the rest of the team stock still and very obviously not looking in the direction of the doorway.
Guilt hangs in the room heavier than any soy sauce.
Arthur’s first instinct is to tilt his head ever so slightly toward the exit, verifying that it’s just the team present.
“What’s going on?” Eames asks as he saunters past, heading for the cartons of Chinese set upon the desk.
Ariadne, usually quick to answer, is terribly interested in her Moo Shi Beef.
Eames casts him a look over his shoulder, shrugs and starts rustling around in the bags to find his carton.
“Oh,” Eames nods, pulling a carton from the bag with a laugh. “I get it. We weren’t here so you sneaky bastards’ve done something to one of the cartons haven’t you?”
When no one answers him he shrugs and starts eating what looks like Arthur’s lo mein.
“No problem for me,” Eames slurps and it is equal parts gross and bawdy “I’ve had worse in my mouth.”
Its Yusuf that starts gagging on his Eggplant that sets the annoying prickle of realization upon Arthur. Usually, Cobb would be sitting at the desk, Ariadne practically pressed to his side and bubbling with ideas or inane thoughts while Yusuf hummed loudly over at his little lab bench. Instead they were all strategically placed to be as far from the desk as possible. Arthur reached into his pocket, feeling the familiar weight of his die.
What was different about the table?
His computer was still there, nothing different there. The food could have been tampered with but why would Yusuf be choking near to death over that? Cobb was shaking his head in that ‘Always with the foot in the mouth’ manner that suggested that… Eames’ mouth had been on the table? That made no sense.
Eames shifts to the side, deciding to sit on the table and be the center of attention- how unusual, when Arthur’s eyes zero in on his phone. His phone that was definitely not where he left it.
“Who touched my phone?” Arthur asks, moving further into the room now that he feels knows exactly what he’s walking into.
Ariadne bursts out laughing, the demure hand holding her chopsticks unable to muffle the boisterous laughter spilling out of her. Arthur shoots her a look before looking questioningly at Cobb who just rolls his eyes and motions to Yusuf who is currently hiding in the folded comfort of his own arms.
“Seriously, what did you-“ Arthur’s words die in his throat when he snatches up his phone, fully expecting the screen to be cracked or it to be sitting in a pool of duck sauce- not The Picture of Eames.
The Picture from The Night when he had made The Call.
Arthur stood there, staring at he phone with his mouth slightly open, feeling for all his pristine suits and impeccable hair like he was in the midst of a kick that just wouldn’t end. Eames seemed to be enjoying Arthur’s lo mein.
“We weren’t,” Ariadne begins, trying to get over her giggles. “We weren’t looking for that, honest.”
Yusuf mumbles something that might have been a long, drawn out ‘sorry’ just as much as it might have been ‘kill me.’
Eames seems to finally take an interest in something that doesn’t involve slurping and plucks the phone from Arthur’s nerveless fingers.
“Oh, you kept this?” He asks, like its no big deal.
“It saves a copy of all multimedia messages unless I specifically delete them from the memory card…” Arthur supplies in a dazed monotone.
“Mmm,” Eames agrees, obviously not listening as he turns the phone to the side and inspects his picture from a different angle. “My lips look positively huge; brill picture if I do say so myself.”
Suddenly, Arthur can see why they would think Eames’ earlier comment about ‘worse things in his mouth’ would be funny.
“We haven’t done that!” Arthur blurts out, regretting it the second he’s said it because it says all the wrong things about where his mind is.
“Yet,” Eames smirks at him, that confident quirk of plump lips that were so hesitant and yet eager to please; asking, waiting, taking only as much as Arthur would allow.
Arthur blushes right to the tips of his ears and Ariadne has to set her plastic tray down because she’s laughing so hard.
“Yusuf wanted to show us the picture of his ostrich ride,” Cobb seems bored with the proceedings. “We didn’t realize your phone wasn’t work appropriate.”
Arthur chokes on his “It is!” because it obviously was not.
“Oh, I want to see that one.” Eames chirps and begins scrolling through his pictures, popping a water chestnut from his own lunch in his mouth.
Arthur snatches the phone away with an irritated huff.
“No more traipsing through my phone!”
“Hiding the other men from me, darling?” Eames doesn’t make to grab the phone back and Arthur has the sinking feeling that he is the only one who knows Eames would ask the question in the same manner even if he wasn’t joking.
“There are no other men!” Arthur shouts, blushing even more when Ariadne makes an ‘awwww’ sound and Eames’ eyes burn with promises Arthur knows he’ll keep.
“I,” Arthur snatches up a random carton, dropping his phone back in Eames’ hands. “Am going up to the roof to eat where no one is going to make fun of me. And, possibly, kill myself.”
Ariadne is trying to convince him to stay and Yusuf is spluttering apologies when he breezes out the door, only just remembering that he didn’t grab a fork before he fled the room but certainly not going back in to get one after that exit.
“Well, I should go make sure he doesn’t make good on that threat I suppose.” Eames’ voice is all smiles and rustling of the plastic Chinese food bag as he makes his way to the door. “Yusuf, you’ll show me that ostrich picture later, yeah?”
Arthur flees to the roof and Eames follows, soothing his indignant rage with a fork because he’d once told the Forger that he couldn’t use chopsticks to save his life. Arthur ends up being fed a good portion of his meal via Eames’ chopsticks anyway and when they’re done he crushes all of the fortune cookies that Eames unwittingly stole from the group into a fine powder and lets the wind carry them away.
♥Fin