Prompt Post No. 18
Welcome to Round 18 of the Inception Kink Meme.
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Prompting System
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"I think he can pretty much do anything he sets his mind to," she added, indicating a newspaper clipping taped to the side of the display. Eames bent to read it. It was a short blurb about how 28-year-old Arthur Levine, Ph.D. and member of the American Association of Professional Apiculturists, as well as the author of a paper on dying bee colonies, was trying to revive the local honeybees. The article ended with a recipe for honey-glazed salmon.
Eames was struck by the picture, though, of Arthur in his... bee hazmat suit, or whatever, holding the helmet under his arm and smiling just slightly, as if he wanted to get back to his work. He was dark-haired and sloe-eyed, with dimples.
Eames picked up some salmon on the way home from work, and he didn't quite lick up every drop of the glaze he'd made from Arthur's blackberry honey, but it was a near thing.
The next morning, he couldn't stop himself from thinking that Arthur's hands had held the spoon that stirred the soap, and his hands had molded it, wrapped it. Eames was very nearly late for work.
It came to him during his lunch break like a bolt out of the blue. He looked up Ariadne's shop number online and called her.
Two days later, she called. "He's here," she said in a low voice, "but you have to come now."
Eames excused himself saying he had gotten a call for lunch with a client. People in the office didn't usually question him, as he was a mysterious, dashing Englishman.
Standing with his back to Eames, bending to take things out of a crate was a slim young man in dark jeans and leather boots, and a white t-shirt. Now what, Eames thought rather stupidly. Of course he couldn't look like he'd come here specifically to see Arthur. That would be crazy.
His heart was pounding as he walked past the man, pretending to look over the aloe vera juice, rounding the corner as casually as he could, heading toward the tea. Yes, tea. Thank God for tea.
Ariadne appeared, and smiled at him. "More Earl Grey?" she asked in a slightly louder voice than strictly necessary, going to get a box of it, then rounding the corner back to Arthur's display, saying to the man as he straightened up, "Arthur, Eames here is a big fan of your honey."
Eames followed, helpless. Arthur smiled at him, his chocolate brown eyes crinkling at the corners. "Oh yeah? I brought in some wildflower honey, if you'd like to try that. Ari, can you get us a spoon?"
Eames made some sort of reply. Ariadne got a spoon, and Arthur squeezed some honey onto it, and Eames stood there in the middle of the store trying to lick the utterly delicious wildflower honey off the spoon in the least erotic way possible so as not to look like he was someone Arthur should avoid. He was not at all sure he succeeded.
"What do you think?" Arthur asked, watching him closely.
"S'fabulous," Eames rasped, discreetly licking traces of it from his lower lip. "Best yet."
Arthur's smile widened. "Ah. Good."
Ariadne had gone to help a customer and Eames stood there holding his spoon and his box of tea, watching Arthur unpack things and shelve them. "D'you ever get stung?" he asked, watching Arthur's hands. The man had beautiful hands.
Arthur shrugged, one corner of his mouth quirking up. "Sometimes. It's just part of being an apiarist."
Ariadne returned and retrieved her spoon. "Arthur, maybe Eames would like a tour of your hives sometime," she said, and Eames gave her a sharp look. When Arthur bent down to pick up some more jars, she mouthed "He's gay" and Eames mouthed "Right, fine, shut up," in return. "Yes, that would be lovely, if you wouldn't mind," he said when Arthur straightened up.
"Sure." Not missing a beat, Arthur reached into his back pocket to take out a business card, and he handed it to Eames. "This Saturday afternoon, if you've got some time." He seemed to lock eyes with Eames a little bit longer than was strictly necessary.
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I look forward to the rest!:)
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That was how Eames ended up in his own borrowed bee hazmat suit that Saturday afternoon, following Arthur among the hives out in a field near some fruit trees as Arthur explained how he gathered honey. Eames was a bit skittish about all the bees, hazmat suit or not, although he didn't admit it. They didn't spend too much time out there, although Eames did appreciate Arthur bothering to explain to him, and told him so, and thanked him for answering his questions.
Arthur lived on his acreage, in an old farmhouse that he'd fixed up, and he had enclosed the back porch to make a sort of office. After they took the suits off, he showed Eames how he cut the honeycomb, the jars and labels he used, some of his beekeeping books and ledgers, and a new hive he was in the middle of building.
"I hope this isn't boring you," he said, rubbing the back of his head as he considered Eames. "It's all very... specific to the beekeeping industry."
"I'm not bored," Eames replied, shaking his head. If it had been anyone else, he knew, he'd be bored to tears.
"Would you like to stay for dinner?" Arthur asked, tilting his chin up, watching Eames, a little color to his cheeks as if he thought he might be too bold.
Eames raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to answer. "I'm making mango-honey chicken. I eat a lot of honey," Arthur added, ducking his head, and Eames grinned.
"Absolutely. I would love to stay for dinner."
Arthur's kitchen towels were yellow with tiny bees on them ("Gift from my mother," he explained.) They ate on the steps of Arthur's back porch and watched the sun set. When the fireflies started to come out over the wildflower fields, Arthur said, "Do you, uh, want to help me make some madeleines?"
That was how Eames ended up making madeleines with lavender honey with a man he'd just met that week. They couldn't help sampling some of the honey.
After Arthur put the madeleines in the oven and set the timer, Eames pressed him against the counter and kissed him. For a moment, Arthur froze, and Eames nearly started to panic; then Arthur melted against him, with a soft sound, pulling him close. Eames chased the taste of sweetness on Arthur's tongue, a hand in the dark curls at the back of his head. Arthur put his hands under Eames' shirt and spread his fingers over Eames' skin.
When the timer went off, they both jumped like they'd been shocked.
That night in bed, his chin resting on Eames’ shoulder, Arthur explained the mating behavior of virgin queen bees and actually made it sound sexy. At first, he hadn't even been trying. It seemed to Eames that Arthur just made everything sexy.
Arthur put strawberries and honey in their oatmeal the next morning.
About three months later, Eames was finally stung by a bee, on his forearm while he was lying in the hammock. Arthur pulled out the stinger, applied a paste of baking soda and water, and got Eames some ice and ibuprofen to reduce swelling.
"Do you want me to kiss it and make it better?" he teased.
Eames wrapped his unstung arm around Arthur’s waist and pulled the man into his lap. “Always, darling.”
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