Devil In Disguise [1/3]
Title: Devil In Disguise
Author: fallslowoften
Beta: The very lovely readthemedia
Rating: Rrrrrr.
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Disclaimer: Not mine, etc.
Summary: Love comes in all shapes and sizes. And, unbeknownst to Arthur, so does Eames.
***
You look like an angel,
Walk like an angel,
Talk like an angel,
But I got wise...
***
It’s quite a shock for Eames when he walks into the warehouse on a cool afternoon and sees what he’d very much like to wake up to every morning.
Arthur is deep in a dream on the lawn chair, set alight by the weak April sunshine filtering through the windows. A small smile adorns his usually serious face, and his eyelashes rest on his cheekbones like a delicate shadow. His chest rises and falls below his favourite blue tie and the whitest shirt Eames has ever seen. His hand is draped across his stomach, and his mouth is just as lovely as it was the last time the two met.
Eames takes in every aspect of the sleeping beauty before him. Not in an eyes-roaming way. He just feels, strangely, like he might forget.
Times like this, when he can observe his oblivious one-and-only without anyone knowing, are few and far between. Arthur’s always alert, breathtakingly quick-minded, dark eyes filled with clarity, and even if they’re on a job he’s usually the one putting everyone to sleep. But this is different.
The PASIV line circling Arthur’s skinny wrist is the last thing about him that Eames notices, and yet undeniably the most important. An idea pops up in his head.
No, he commands himself. That’s wrong. That’s dishonest and sneaky and -
But he’s already pulling out another line and settling into his favourite chair, and within ten seconds he’s sinking deep into Arthur’s dream.
***
She’s beautiful. That’s all that goes through Arthur’s scotch-dizzy mind when the girl in green walks into the bar. Everybody’s staring at her. And she’s staring right at him.
Other thoughts start to cycle through his groggy brain. She’s got these deep emerald eyes, the same colour as her well-cut dress. Her chocolate-brown hair falls in loose curls over her pale shoulders. Her lips are soft and rich red, each edge sharply defined.
Arthur knows she’s just a projection. And probably a complete airhead.
But he wants her anyway.
She walks over to him and takes a seat beside him. Right now he can’t believe his luck. “So,” she says in a sweet, serious voice, “how’s the staircase?” She grins. “The impossible one?”
Now he wants her even more.
“Look,” she drawls, moving closer to him and drowning him in a perfect fusion of cinnamon and roses. “I’ve had a pretty good day, Arthur. I don’t need any sweet talk, or one of your lovely pick-up lines. I just want you.” Eames is sweating beneath the façade of his new brunette forgery, trying not to hyperventilate. He - she - curls her fingers around Arthur’s scotch glass and lets her other hand fall ever so gently on top of Arthur’s. Eames can feel the shivers electrify his spine, even through the moisturised skin and...generous assets...of his forgery.
Arthur’s brow wrinkles in confusion. “Want me to do what? Want me why? When? Where?” he mumbles.
Eames takes a deep breath and says the words that will make him the worst friend in history. He lets them fall out of her mouth like petals, marbles, something beautiful and bewitching. She says, in the most seductive voice Arthur’s ever heard, “On me.”
Five minutes later it’s happening. Skin on skin, mouth to mouth. Their breaths catch each other in a slow, gasping cycle. Of course, it is a hotel bar. Finding a room wasn’t hard.
Arthur, however, was.
He fumbles with the tiny buttons on the back of her dress; the material is impossibly soft, somewhere between silk and cotton and tulle. Her lips are so sweet that he could easily die in her kiss. He gets the dress off, sculpts the hills and valleys of her body with trembling novice hands, and she lets out this incredible moan that sets him apart like nothing else can.
Eames, however, is completely in control. He lets go of who he is and just lets his feelings flow through his forgery. She wraps her arms around Arthur, lets her manicured nails brush the embroidered bedcovers beneath them both, and expertly releases the buttons of his waistcoat. Then his lovely tie. Then his shirt. She forgets just how badly Eames is taking advantage of Arthur. She forgets the guilt that accompanies that circumstance. She just feels him, the spark of his skin, the eloquent meeting of their tongues. She is just a projection, and all she has to do is give Arthur a good time.
It’s when the girl starts to trail her kisses down his torso that Arthur starts to sweat. It’s a little ridiculous that he’s going to lose his virginity to a projection of his subconscious - he may as well just go watch some of Cobb’s porn - but who is he kidding? He’s not going to get a chance like this again.
She unzips his trousers and he wriggles out of them like an epileptic caterpillar. But she wants him, still wants to fuck him in the middle of his dreamscape, despite his obvious naiveté. She is all his. And yet he has no idea what he’s doing as she’s sliding his briefs down his legs and - oh God, is she? Yes. She’s doing that. This is heaven. He may as well be dead.
Eames is a little confused. What happened to the always-prepared Arthur? he wonders as he works his magic. What happened to the completely in control, condescending, uptight man-bitch I fell in love with? And then it hits him. Oh shit. No. Just no. I can’t do this to him.
“Oh, honey, this isn’t your first time, is it?” she asks in the most kindly voice Eames can conjure. Arthur nods nervously. Eames, stop now. You can’t do this. You are EVIL! Why the hell are you STEALING ARTHUR’S BLOODY VIRTUE? While DRESSED UP AS A WOMAN? IN THE MIDDLE OF HIS SUBCONSCIOUS? She feels horrible for a second. But then Arthur’s taking over a little more. And then they’re colliding in ways Eames thought they never would, and within ten minutes it’s over and they’re both the happiest they’ve ever been in their lives.
When Eames wakes up, he finds himself locked. Arms encircle his waist, a body spoons the bare skin of his forgery. He never thought this would ever happen, that he’d wake up in Arthur’s arms for exactly the reason he’d hoped.
He sighs. He’s lying to Arthur. He shouldn’t have slept with him, not if he has no idea that it’s Eames. It’s wrong, what he’s done, what he’s doing.
Then why the hell did it feel so right?
Nevertheless, he slithers out of the hotel bed, redresses in that lovely green gown, leaves a kissprint on Arthur’s cheek, and jumps out the window.
When he wakes up in the warehouse, Arthur’s still sleeping. Eames sighs as he leaves, heavy with shame. Maybe it’s better that way.
***