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Welcome to Round 9 of the Inception Kink Meme. This post will be closed to new prompts once it reaches five thousand comments.
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"What," he says. "Eames? What the fuck?"
Barton's watching, eyebrows skewed at an infuriating angle. Eames feels himself flush hot with it, all this stupid, unexpected anger and disappointment and hurt, all with nowhere to go. Christ, he's overreacting. So Arthur turned him down because he didn't care for Eames in particular, rather than men in general. It shouldn't make such a difference.
"Nothing," he says finally, aware that he sounds like a petulant child. "Sorry, I. Sorry. Won't happen again."
"Get out," Arthur says abruptly and Eames stares for a sinking moment, thinking he might have fucked up just that badly, when Arthur looks over to Barton and Janice, the chemist, frowning a little. "All of you. I need to talk to Mr Eames."
"Okay," Arthur says briskly after they're gone. "Tell me."
"It really is nothing," Eames says, trying to sound light, and Arthur gives him a flat look.
"Come on," he says. "I know I'm not - I mean, we're not friends, I know that. But this, the way you're acting - it's." He takes a breath and looks away. "I'm worried about you."
Eames blinks.
"I thought you were worried about the job," he says honestly.
"Give me a little credit," Arthur says impatiently. "I've seen you forge with a broken arm before, remember? The job's fine."
"Oh," Eames says, startled and wrong-footed. His anger's abandoning him, unfortunately, and he feels deflated and tired, suddenly, left with nothing but the hard lump of disappointment at the pit of his stomach. "Well. Thank you."
"Are you jealous?" Arthur blurts out quickly, going bright red as soon as the words are out. "Of me and Adam?"
Adam. Eames wants, childishly, to mimic the way Arthur says Barton's name. He rolls his eyes instead, sneering, and there's the famous flare of temper, Arthur's eyes glittering, dark and furious, his jaw tightening, and Jesus Christ Eames is in love with him. Oh no. Oh hell.
"Well, sorry," Arthur's snapping, oblivious to the horrified revolution happening in Eames' mind. It turns out that the box marked "don't get too invested" has gone and turned into "repress your hopeless, unrequited passion as hard as you can" when he wasn't looking and when the fuck did that happen? How many months has it been? And Arthur's still bloody talking. "It seemed like a fair assumption, okay? It's not like you haven't - you're always flirting with me and I guess, I mean I know it's not, you don't mean it. But you've been such an asshole to Adam and I thought. I don't get why."
"I'm jealous," Eames says at once, hardly thinking, tripping over his own tongue and Arthur stops talking. They stare at each other for a long moment of mutual bafflement. There's a knock on the door.
"Um, guys?" Janice. Barton, smirking behind her. "Can we -"
"No," Arthur says, not looking away from Eames. "Go away. Go somewhere else. Take the afternoon."
"That's hardly professional," Barton begins and then Arthur turns to look at him, he meets Arthur's eyes, and his face transforms with amusement. "Oh. Oh, I see."
Eames almost snarls at him and Barton makes an expression of exaggerated terror, smiles at Arthur again, and takes Janice by the elbow.
"Come along," he says. "Let's go for a coffee, hm?"
"I hate this job," Janice says fervently, glaring at Arthur, and then goes.
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"I thought you were kidding," he says, his voice sounding suddenly smaller and younger. Shyer, almost, and Eames is suddenly light-hearted with possibility, with the startled, tentative hope that he can suddenly see in Arthur's expression. "All those times you - you always make it sound like you're kidding."
"I'm not," Eames says hoarsely and it's probably too early to explain how much he isn't joking, given how recent that discovery is even to himself, so he settles for putting a hand very lightly on the crook of Arthur's elbow, just above the fold of his rolled-up shirtsleeve. The cloth is fine linen, warm from his body. Arthur looks at his hand and then looks at his face.
"Eames," he breathes and he's said it a hundred times before, in a hundred tones of annoyance or surprise or reluctant admiration, but this is a new one. Eames swallows.
"I thought you were straight," he explains pointlessly, his tongue feeling thick and clumsy in his mouth. Arthur gives him an incredulous look, familiar and not - it's the same sardonic smile that Eames gets every time he presents Arthur with a theory inconsistent with Arthur's insanely comprehensive data but it's also. He looks like he wants to be kissed.
"I'm not," he says, mockingly slowly, and then shuts his eyes with a small sigh as Eames leans in to kiss the smug sentence he's about to start right out of his mouth.
They take the rest of the afternoon off. The next morning, Barton has a euro-sized mark on his collarbone and Janice looks smug and self-satisfied, her skin suspiciously flushed all day. Good for them, Eames thinks magnanimously, watching Arthur duck his head over his papers and smile for no reason, and then Barton lights a fucking pipe, for fuck's sake, grins at Eames over it, and Eames thinks longingly of kicking him in the head and waits for the job to be over.
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HAHAHHAHAHAHHA
and omg they'er so cute ♥
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I don't think I can ever get enough of jealous/staking claim stories.
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