ArMes Fanfic: Fever, Chapter Two
Title: Fever
Chapter: Two
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Author: finnijer/ Voldemort’s Spawn
Prompt: Can be found here
Summary: Eames just wants to spread the fever... Arthur doesn't like it so much... or does he?
A/N: Wow it’s been a while… Sorry that you waited so long for this update. I wouldn’t be surprised if anyone still reads this! Lol It is getting serious now so, I don’t know, maybe I can post more now?
Enjoy.
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The next morning Arthur ignored Eames as usual. Eames however, did not like being ignored.
“Do you have any imagination?” He teased.
Eames was peering over Arthur’s shoulder, looking down at his plan for distracting projections. It was bland, something simple that anyone would have thought of.
“This is why I’m a point man,” Arthur retorted calmly. “I’m not an architect or a forger for a reason.”
“Come now Arthur, don’t be so down on yourself,” Eames hopped onto the table, sitting purposely on Arthur’s papers. “It takes a great mind to make the paradoxes you make.”
“You flatter me,” Arthur glared. “Now get off my papers.”
“Surely with your intelligence you can think of something better than this,” he said ignoring Arthur’s request.
“Probably; at the moment it’s hard to tell because you are sitting on my papers.”
The look Arthur now sported was one of sheer murder. Eames bit his lip to fight back a laugh. Not wishing to test his luck, Eames removed himself from off the desk allowing Arthur to have access to his papers.
“You work too much,” he tossed over his shoulder as he walked away.
“You play too much,” Arthur replied taking Eames’ bait.
“Ah,” Eames turned on his heel with a grin. “I appear to play. Playing and actually having a wonderful personality are the same. I know it must be confusing for you, as you are ever so dull.”
If he knew better, he would have sworn that there was a flash of hurt in Arthur’s eyes. Whatever he thought it was it disappeared and was replaced by a scowl. He then broke away from Eames’ gaze and went back to his papers. Eames let him be; he had work to do himself. However that evening when it was just the two of them alone, Eames picked up where he left off.
“Am I annoying you?” he asked, batting his eyes from where he sat across the room.
They had quite a banter going until Arthur quit responding. He waited a minute before trying again. Now, Arthur still did not respond. Sighing, Eames propped his elbow on his desk and leaned his face onto his palm.
“Still in a rut, love? I told you I’d help you with that.”
Eames made sure his tone was extra suggestive and he was awarded with glare.
“What do you want Eames?” He grumbled.
“You,” he replied blowing a kiss and winking.
Eames chuckled at the scowl and the flush that bleed into Arthur’s cheeks. Arthur broke the connection and resumed his scribbling on his paper. Eames watched him, waiting to see if he’d need to bait again. Arthur surprised him by suddenly packing up his things.
“Are you finally taking up my offer?” Eames asked hopefully with raised brows.
“The job is tomorrow,” Arthur said coolly. “And it’s nearly midnight. I’d rather get some rest.”
Arthur grabbed his case and stood up with his chair scrapping against the floor. Eames mimicked the gesture, his mind already reeling with his next move. Arthur was no more than a few feet from his desk when Eames stepped in front of him, grinning.
“Aren’t you going to bid me goodnight,” he asked with a smirk.
“Goodnight.” Arthur did not break his monotone stare.
He tried to step aside and Eames again mimicked him.
“What about a good night kiss?” Eames wiggled his brows
Arthur clenched his jaw tightly and did not say anything. There was a deadlock stare between them for the next moment. Eames was not about to lose this game and Arthur was determined not to play it. Finally, Eames saw or rather heard Arthur’s leg twitch. As Arthur stepped to the side, Eames did as well and planted a quick but forceful kiss on Arthur’s lips.
Feeling as if he won, Eames pulled back and grinned. That was when Arthur punched Eames square in the nose.
“Uckin Cris!” Eames cursed. His nose was broken; blood was starting to gush out it. “Wha’ ta ‘ell Atha?”
“Do not,” Arthur hissed, pointed a finger from his free hand right between Eames eyes, “ever do that again. If you do I’ll break more than your goddamned nose.”
“Jus a ‘oke,” Eames muttered, trying to catch the blood in his hand.
“I told you to stop.” Arthur shoved a handkerchief at Eames that he normally kept in his front pocket and Eames took it cautiously. “Tomorrow you will not speak to me unless you have too. I’m tired of your games. Once the job is over tomorrow don’t call me, don’t email me; just don’t contact me.”
Eames gapped at him through the cloth. He couldn’t be serious; he’d ruffled Arthur up before but never to the magnitude that Arthur would actually punch him. Now he was suggesting they don’t even correspond. This is not what Eames planned. Arthur was supposed to break, to kiss him back, and to see that behind the laughter Eames actually meant what he was doing.
“Artha?”
“You heard me Eames.” He responded coldly, tightening the grip on his case as he walked to the door.
When he got to the door he looked back at Eames with his lips tightly snapped together, as if he was clenching his jaw, teeth, and possibly tongue. He seemed to deliberate internally before letting the doorknob go and sighing heavily.
“Eames,” he said softer but still colder. “I care about you and exploiting that just to get laugh is not only hurtful but degrading. When your nose stops bleeding, put ice on it. It’ll bring down the swelling.”
Without another word he turned the knob and walked out.
*********
Eames kept his word and did not speak to Arthur before or during the job save the one time he needed to tell Arthur his plan to escort the Mark down to the patio so Cobb could get to the safe. They departed after a smooth extraction with only a pleading look on Eames’ part. Arthur did not even acknowledge him.
Eames wouldn’t hear from or about Arthur for the next six months.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |