[Arthur's already slowing steps halt with the touch. (Warm. The fingertips were warm and he has to physically restrain himself from covering the spot with the other palm-- although isn't that stupid.) He glances back the way they'd come, unsure now how far they'd ended up walking. Arthur hasn't realized until tonight, until now, just how cut off he'd been since he'd packed his things and walked out of the door of his D.C. condo knowing that he wouldn't be back anytime soon. It was a conscious effort, yes, and something he'd wanted, certainly... and the Cobbs are a rare and amazing set of people but in the end they are and will always be The Cobbs.
The Cobbs and Arthur. Not a great name for a band.
Arthur had only had himself and his decision; it had just taken him this to understand it. And the realization doesn't make him miss his old life or the aquintences he would give a polite hello to around the watercooler-- but it does make this silence awkward. Because he knows there's a better than good chance he won't see the other Arthur again.] I guess... I'm glad we ran into each other again. I had a good time.
[ Eames is tempted to ask Arthur when was the last time he actually had a good time; he suspects the only way he'd be surprised is if Arthur's answer is anytime soon -- regardless of whether he was with the Cobbs or not. It takes a very specific type of person, a very finely-honed sense of conviction, to live a life so heavily fortified as Arthur's has proven to be. Without the wine, Eames isn't sure how far he would have managed to get in such a short period of time, carelessly going about pulling down Arthur's walls. By now, however, he's at least fairly certain that Arthur reciprocates some part of the attraction has for him. Whether or not Arthur is actually aware of this is a completely different story.
Eames smiles, his weight shifting a little closer as he jingles a little change in his pocket. The smile comes easily and it is wholly sincere, much to his satisfaction. Transparency was a luxury Eames could very rarely afford; it feels indulgent in the best way possible to offer it now to Arthur, despite other overhanging pretenses. ] Did you, now? [ Eames muses aloud, teasing gently. ] There was a brief stint in the middle there where I wasn't too sure.
Edit! ILU! ^_^is_on_pointMay 19 2011, 01:52:40 UTC
[It really is a measure of how far Arthur has come from the young man who walked into the bar tonight that he laughs at that as he says:] I have no idea what you're talking about.
[He does like the way the other Arthur smiles-- likes some smiles more than others, but this one... this one has a way of making Arthur feel like he's the only person in the city. He wonders if it's learned or if some people are just born that way, able to generate that feeling with such a simple gesture.] Besides, I'm withholding my honest opinion until I see if the coffee comes out of my trench coat.
Let the record show, I was more than capable of keeping my tea to myself this evening.
[ There's an implication there, folded in between causes, filling the spaces that exist between each of the words, so much so that the excess spills itself all over Eames' face. Something like a held breath, a carefully extended invitation -- things that perhaps imply the desire for there to be a next time.
Eames, of course, knows better than this, knows that Arthur probably suspects never to see him again. But he also knows that the Arthur he's pretending to be would want to see the Arthur he isn't a third time. And a fourth. And a fifth. And so on and so forth.
With that same hand as earlier, he reaches to brush the front of Arthur's shirt as if to remind him that it's clean as a whistle. ] Perhaps I like this shirt better.
[And then, a stop. Not a full stop, not quite-- it's more of a stillness, like a low, drawn out note between two disparate parts of a musical score. The bold touch against Arthur's chest triggers all those insecurities and cautions that the wine and the company had temporarily supressed. The physicality of it reminds him who he really is, and everything in Arthur starts to withdraw. His knees bend in preparation of the step backwards.]
[ Eames recognizes fight or flight when he sees it, especially since he'd spent a portion of the evening trying to trigger those sorts of responses in Arthur simply to see where they got him. Now, however, is not the time, not when Eames is looking to reach for Arthur in the hopes of keeping him still. Not flight, but not a fight either. Something else, something in between. ]
Thomas, [ Eames says, and he means to chastise, but the word is much more earnest than he would have wanted or expected.
Because there are still things Eames wants to do, ground that he'd like to cover, but not with conversation. ]
The edge is there, but he doesn't step over it. Not yet. It's something in the way that Arthur says his name and he knows it's ridiculous-- every person they passed this evening either wanted to either be or be with the man-- but he feels like maybe it's not a trick.
Maybe for right now, just right now, he doesn't want to have to think about tomorrow and all its possible contingencies.
What are you afraid of? [ Eames asks and the question is so much larger than this moment, than the press of Eames' hand against Arthur's chest, but it's that single point of contact that prompts the question. The stillness beneath his palm isn't about acceptance (not really), it's about trepidation, about the unknown and expectation -- things that Eames doesn't let touch him but which he can see written in Arthur's expression, no matter how understated and contained he makes it. ]
[There's a moment in which Arthur doesn't really consider so much as draw a blank because there's only one thing he's ever truly afriad of and that one thing has dictated his entire life-- all his sucesses, and all of his failures. Head inclined just so to look up the inch that the other Arthur has on him, he wonders which this night will count as.]
[ The only word to appropriately Eames' smile is rueful -- a flash of his crooked teeth in the dark, his fingers giving the slightest flex against Arthur's chest. He's fairly certain that if he were to simply pull Arthur closer the other man would follow, but in this situation Eames is already burdened with knowing better, so he keeps himself from doing so straight away. ] There's no planning for me, I'm afraid, [ Eames tells Arthur honestly. They're words he's sure Arthur will mull over in the future, turn over in his head and perhaps even berate himself for.
Never say I didn't warn you, Eames thinks. Because, in a way, he just has.
It's perhaps one of the more generous things he can afford to give Arthur. ]
[Arthur makes a sound, mostly a laugh. It's small. Not quite sure of what it really wants to be. He doesn't know what to think-- what do you think when you tell a man your fear and he says he's it? Is that an invitation?] I don't think we'd work very well together, in that case. [But he's still not walking away.
Just this once.
Generous is going to be nowhere in Arthur's descriptive future.]
[ Eames looks away, his attention flickering towards the nearest streetlamp for no real reason beyond it being something to look at other than Arthur. He's not really one for regret (given that regret usually involves wanting to undo a decision and Eames makes a point to own every one that he makes -- regardless of whether they're wrong or not); but Arthur's answer is equal parts completely expected and somewhat disappointing. Not that he has illusions of something beyond this moment in time, but the possibility had been an interesting thought to entertain. Everything about Arthur is interesting to entertain, in fact. It's why Eames is attracted to him in the first place.
Eames' hand slides up to find the crook of Arthur's neck, where it meets his shoulder; his palm is wide and his fingers heavy but they find a way to settle there, touch loose like it belongs. ]
[Eyes lid just slightly at that warm weight and Arthur feels himself take a breath. Breathe up into it. It isn't fair, he thinks. It isn't fair that anyone should have it so easy. Under other circumstances it wouldn't be inviting, Arthur's sure, it would be irritating-- but for now it's directed at him and he is, despite himself, charmed.
He can feel the man's thumb on his neck. Just to the side of his pulse. They're very close. Close enough that he doesn't have to speak up to be heard.] Arthur's my middle name.
[ Eames can feel the suggestion of Arthur's pulse, just there, against the side of his thumb if he concentrates. Carefully he slides the pad of his thumb a bit lower, lower enough to cover it, to press down upon it. It's a protective, possessive sort of gesture; intimate in its own way. ] You've already told me enough, Thomas, [ he tells Arthur, his voice a low murmur that is felt as much as it is heard. It's an out, much like the one Arthur had given him earlier that evening when Elise had batted her long thick lashes at him.
Eames' attention drops to Arthur's mouth, partially negating that out with the suggestion of his gaze. ] You don't have to give me anything you don't want to.
[Just the lowered gaze has the power to kick up the already straining pulse under the man's thumb. Arthur takes another breath but breathing isn't helping anything at this point. He tries to tell himself to back off; they're in public, he'll be anywhere other than here in a week's time, anyone with a smile that loose is trouble. Each excuses sounds exactly like what it is. An excuse. And clichéd to boot.
He feels himself leaning forward. Leaning into it.]
Easier said than done when you're staring at my mouth.
[ Eames flicks his gaze upwards again, is if to stubbornly remove that variable from Arthur's argument. His hands slides again, searching for new ground and finally comes to rest on the nape of Arthur's neck -- his finger curled in a cupping motion, one that could easily pull Arthur forward into Eames' mouth without so much as a moment's notice. ]
Whatever you decide to do, do it knowing you have no idea what'll happen next. [ Eames' smile is so close, Arthur can feel the breath against the side of his face. ] That's the beauty of it.
The Cobbs and Arthur. Not a great name for a band.
Arthur had only had himself and his decision; it had just taken him this to understand it. And the realization doesn't make him miss his old life or the aquintences he would give a polite hello to around the watercooler-- but it does make this silence awkward. Because he knows there's a better than good chance he won't see the other Arthur again.] I guess... I'm glad we ran into each other again. I had a good time.
Reply
Eames smiles, his weight shifting a little closer as he jingles a little change in his pocket. The smile comes easily and it is wholly sincere, much to his satisfaction. Transparency was a luxury Eames could very rarely afford; it feels indulgent in the best way possible to offer it now to Arthur, despite other overhanging pretenses. ] Did you, now? [ Eames muses aloud, teasing gently. ] There was a brief stint in the middle there where I wasn't too sure.
Reply
[He does like the way the other Arthur smiles-- likes some smiles more than others, but this one... this one has a way of making Arthur feel like he's the only person in the city. He wonders if it's learned or if some people are just born that way, able to generate that feeling with such a simple gesture.] Besides, I'm withholding my honest opinion until I see if the coffee comes out of my trench coat.
Reply
[ There's an implication there, folded in between causes, filling the spaces that exist between each of the words, so much so that the excess spills itself all over Eames' face. Something like a held breath, a carefully extended invitation -- things that perhaps imply the desire for there to be a next time.
Eames, of course, knows better than this, knows that Arthur probably suspects never to see him again. But he also knows that the Arthur he's pretending to be would want to see the Arthur he isn't a third time. And a fourth. And a fifth. And so on and so forth.
With that same hand as earlier, he reaches to brush the front of Arthur's shirt as if to remind him that it's clean as a whistle. ] Perhaps I like this shirt better.
Reply
[And then, a stop. Not a full stop, not quite-- it's more of a stillness, like a low, drawn out note between two disparate parts of a musical score. The bold touch against Arthur's chest triggers all those insecurities and cautions that the wine and the company had temporarily supressed. The physicality of it reminds him who he really is, and everything in Arthur starts to withdraw. His knees bend in preparation of the step backwards.]
Reply
Thomas, [ Eames says, and he means to chastise, but the word is much more earnest than he would have wanted or expected.
Because there are still things Eames wants to do, ground that he'd like to cover, but not with conversation. ]
Reply
The edge is there, but he doesn't step over it. Not yet. It's something in the way that Arthur says his name and he knows it's ridiculous-- every person they passed this evening either wanted to either be or be with the man-- but he feels like maybe it's not a trick.
Maybe for right now, just right now, he doesn't want to have to think about tomorrow and all its possible contingencies.
But he doesn't know what to say to that, either.]
Reply
Reply
Things I can't plan for.
Reply
Never say I didn't warn you, Eames thinks. Because, in a way, he just has.
It's perhaps one of the more generous things he can afford to give Arthur. ]
Reply
Just this once.
Generous is going to be nowhere in Arthur's descriptive future.]
Reply
Eames' hand slides up to find the crook of Arthur's neck, where it meets his shoulder; his palm is wide and his fingers heavy but they find a way to settle there, touch loose like it belongs. ]
Pity, that.
Reply
He can feel the man's thumb on his neck. Just to the side of his pulse. They're very close. Close enough that he doesn't have to speak up to be heard.] Arthur's my middle name.
Reply
Eames' attention drops to Arthur's mouth, partially negating that out with the suggestion of his gaze. ] You don't have to give me anything you don't want to.
Reply
He feels himself leaning forward. Leaning into it.]
Easier said than done when you're staring at my mouth.
Reply
Whatever you decide to do, do it knowing you have no idea what'll happen next. [ Eames' smile is so close, Arthur can feel the breath against the side of his face. ] That's the beauty of it.
[ I'm beholden to me. Remember. ]
Reply
Leave a comment