Some Sort of Tension
Title: Some Sort of Tension
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1203
Warnings / Kinks: Kissing, arguing, mild angst
Pairing: Arthur / Eames
Summary: Eames quite purposefully walks in on Arthur showering.
Author's Note: Thank you to my lovely beta, olgameisterfunk . This is an excerpt from an ongoing series I'm working on, but I've posted it here as this segment can be enjoyed alone. :)
“Arthur, how lovely to see you again.” Eames opened his door to let Arthur into his apartment. “Eight hours a day with you really isn’t enough, especially when you’re so fond of doubting my abilities in front of our co-workers.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what I came to talk to you about,” Arthur replied, wiping his shoes on the mat, promising himself he wouldn’t give in to Eames’ petty insults. Eames was often irritating -and Arthur did let it get under his skin too easily, he admitted to himself- but today had been particularly bad.
“Of course. Would you care for a cup of tea?” Eames smiled with all the integrity of a used car salesman and Arthur’s eyes lingered on those lips just a moment too long.
“No. Thanks.” Arthur slid his hands into his pockets, looking back into Eames’ gray eyes. “Eames, I realize that you’re confident in your abilities-”
“Because I’m damn good at what I do.”
“-But if I say no to something, then it’s not up for discussion. Not in front of Ariadne, not in front of Yusef. If you really have a problem, you can come talk to me afterwards.”
“Oh, I’d love to, but I was operating under the impression we were a team, not a dictatorship.”
Arthur scowled, clenching his hands in his pockets. “We are a team, but you have a fondness for making things incessantly complicated, and it’s getting out of hand.”
“Getting out of hand? Why Arthur, you’re always so in control. How could anything under your direction ever get out of hand?” Eames asked with a smirk.
“I’m in charge of all the details, and I have plenty of them to deal with without you deciding you need to switch through four different characters in a single dream,” Arthur snapped, stepping forward. Anger was swelling within him; he hadn’t come here to put up with even more bullshit from Eames. “That was never part of the plan, and you waste valuable time every time you bring it up at meetings.”
“Not to mention bringing it up and having you shoot it down so efficiently makes you look rather uptight in front of the other two, don’t you think?” Eames added, raising his eyebrows inquiringly.
“Eames, I’m trying to have a reasonable conversation with you, like an adult.” Arthur hadn’t even noticed until now that his voice was growing progressively louder. He could feel his own heart beating, tension knotting up his stomach. This was pissing him off, but it was also making him uncomfortable in a way he really didn’t like.
“Of course, my mistake. Here I am acting like a child, getting all upset over a simple difference of opinion, regarding one particular strategy, for one particular job.” If Eames had caught on to Arthur’s acute discomfort, he wasn’t showing it.
“It isn’t just this once, it’s-”
“A recurring problem? Some sort of tension?” Never mind, there it was. Eames had definitely picked something up; for all of Eames’ skills at deception, he could not fake innocence.
“You’re damn right it’s a problem.” Arthur grabbed Eames’ collar furiously. “Stop trying to mess with me.”
“And where would the fun be in that?”
“Eames!”
“We’re not at work right now; you really can’t reasonably expect me to be as charming and well-behaved as I am in the office.”
“Why the fuck do I even try to reason with you?” Arthur yanked on the collar, not giving a damn if he ripped that hideous green fabric, bringing Eames’ face right up to his. He was yelling now, without a doubt. He wanted to shake that damn grin off Eames’ face but the more he grabbed, the louder he spoke, the more Eames looked amused. Somehow, Arthur was also keenly aware that his knees were knocking against Eames’; their lips were mere inches apart. “You get along fine with everyone else and you can’t even be civil to me. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“One might ask you the same question, darling,” whispered Eames.
“Why the hell do you insist on calling me that?” Arthur’s voice fell suddenly, replying as softly as Eames had. He was still infuriated, but he had to snap his eyes away from Eames’ mouth again. This time he didn’t meet Eames’ eyes; he simply looked to the barren walls.
“To annoy you.” A finger brushed Arthur’s face. He stopped dead as felt a new wave of heat rise within him, far too mindful of every tiny movement of Eames’ fingertip on Arthur’s jawline. Arthur’s gaze returned to Eames’ and he felt distinctly awkward. He slowly released the collar of Eames’ shirt.
“Sorry,” Arthur muttered, though he couldn’t find it within himself to back away.
“Grab away if it makes you feel better,” chuckled Eames. “You’re positively precious when you’re all wound up, you know.” His finger reached Arthur’s chin and began to trace its path back up.
“You really like seeing me pissed off at you?” Arthur glared, his face burning with embarrassment and anger.
“No, no, that’s not really how I meant it,” Eames reassured him soothingly. His touch was probably meant to be comforting as well, but it wasn’t quite having that effect on Arthur.
“And how exactly did you mean it?” Arthur replied quietly, not sounding nearly as exasperated as he’d intended.
Eames only smiled, tilting his head to the side just slightly. Arthur was leaning in, barely aware that he was doing it, as if his body was being lured to something in his mind’s absence. At first he was convinced he was simply waiting for Eames to speak, expecting a word to bring them back to their senses. But Eames wasn’t saying anything, and Eames was also moving forward, one finger turning to an entire hand cradling Arthur’s cheek. Arthur was breathing faster and his heart was pounding like a drum as his chest touched Eames’. Arthur could smell Eames’ cologne and cigarettes, and he exactly knew where this was going and there wasn’t a thing he would do to stop it.
Harsh tobacco laced Eames’ breath as Arthur met his lips. Eames was utterly gentle at first, offering soft kisses, Arthur feeling vaguely rash as he pressed his tongue into Eames’ mouth, hands grabbing at that hideous paisley shirt again. There was nothing right now but Eames, and Arthur was grasping, holding, kissing, finally noticing that Eames wasn’t doing the same. Eames was hardly cold as he caressed Arthur’s cheek and willingly took every bit of Arthur’s hungry kisses, but the unleashed fury of passion seemed to be rather one-sided.
Arthur pulled away entirely, stepping back, hands immediately diving back into his pockets. He grabbed the six-sided die in his pocket, focusing on something intimately familiar not because he suspected a dream, but because he had nothing else to calm himself with. His body ached with pent-up... what, frustration? Lust? Disappointment? His head was spinning and he couldn’t come up with anything to say.
“Arthur...” Eames sounded regretful, but Arthur suddenly had no desire to find out. He needed to get out and clear his mind. This had not gone at all as intended. Therefore, he stormed out, not looking back.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1203
Warnings / Kinks: Kissing, arguing, mild angst
Pairing: Arthur / Eames
Summary: Eames quite purposefully walks in on Arthur showering.
Author's Note: Thank you to my lovely beta, olgameisterfunk . This is an excerpt from an ongoing series I'm working on, but I've posted it here as this segment can be enjoyed alone. :)
“Arthur, how lovely to see you again.” Eames opened his door to let Arthur into his apartment. “Eight hours a day with you really isn’t enough, especially when you’re so fond of doubting my abilities in front of our co-workers.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what I came to talk to you about,” Arthur replied, wiping his shoes on the mat, promising himself he wouldn’t give in to Eames’ petty insults. Eames was often irritating -and Arthur did let it get under his skin too easily, he admitted to himself- but today had been particularly bad.
“Of course. Would you care for a cup of tea?” Eames smiled with all the integrity of a used car salesman and Arthur’s eyes lingered on those lips just a moment too long.
“No. Thanks.” Arthur slid his hands into his pockets, looking back into Eames’ gray eyes. “Eames, I realize that you’re confident in your abilities-”
“Because I’m damn good at what I do.”
“-But if I say no to something, then it’s not up for discussion. Not in front of Ariadne, not in front of Yusef. If you really have a problem, you can come talk to me afterwards.”
“Oh, I’d love to, but I was operating under the impression we were a team, not a dictatorship.”
Arthur scowled, clenching his hands in his pockets. “We are a team, but you have a fondness for making things incessantly complicated, and it’s getting out of hand.”
“Getting out of hand? Why Arthur, you’re always so in control. How could anything under your direction ever get out of hand?” Eames asked with a smirk.
“I’m in charge of all the details, and I have plenty of them to deal with without you deciding you need to switch through four different characters in a single dream,” Arthur snapped, stepping forward. Anger was swelling within him; he hadn’t come here to put up with even more bullshit from Eames. “That was never part of the plan, and you waste valuable time every time you bring it up at meetings.”
“Not to mention bringing it up and having you shoot it down so efficiently makes you look rather uptight in front of the other two, don’t you think?” Eames added, raising his eyebrows inquiringly.
“Eames, I’m trying to have a reasonable conversation with you, like an adult.” Arthur hadn’t even noticed until now that his voice was growing progressively louder. He could feel his own heart beating, tension knotting up his stomach. This was pissing him off, but it was also making him uncomfortable in a way he really didn’t like.
“Of course, my mistake. Here I am acting like a child, getting all upset over a simple difference of opinion, regarding one particular strategy, for one particular job.” If Eames had caught on to Arthur’s acute discomfort, he wasn’t showing it.
“It isn’t just this once, it’s-”
“A recurring problem? Some sort of tension?” Never mind, there it was. Eames had definitely picked something up; for all of Eames’ skills at deception, he could not fake innocence.
“You’re damn right it’s a problem.” Arthur grabbed Eames’ collar furiously. “Stop trying to mess with me.”
“And where would the fun be in that?”
“Eames!”
“We’re not at work right now; you really can’t reasonably expect me to be as charming and well-behaved as I am in the office.”
“Why the fuck do I even try to reason with you?” Arthur yanked on the collar, not giving a damn if he ripped that hideous green fabric, bringing Eames’ face right up to his. He was yelling now, without a doubt. He wanted to shake that damn grin off Eames’ face but the more he grabbed, the louder he spoke, the more Eames looked amused. Somehow, Arthur was also keenly aware that his knees were knocking against Eames’; their lips were mere inches apart. “You get along fine with everyone else and you can’t even be civil to me. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“One might ask you the same question, darling,” whispered Eames.
“Why the hell do you insist on calling me that?” Arthur’s voice fell suddenly, replying as softly as Eames had. He was still infuriated, but he had to snap his eyes away from Eames’ mouth again. This time he didn’t meet Eames’ eyes; he simply looked to the barren walls.
“To annoy you.” A finger brushed Arthur’s face. He stopped dead as felt a new wave of heat rise within him, far too mindful of every tiny movement of Eames’ fingertip on Arthur’s jawline. Arthur’s gaze returned to Eames’ and he felt distinctly awkward. He slowly released the collar of Eames’ shirt.
“Sorry,” Arthur muttered, though he couldn’t find it within himself to back away.
“Grab away if it makes you feel better,” chuckled Eames. “You’re positively precious when you’re all wound up, you know.” His finger reached Arthur’s chin and began to trace its path back up.
“You really like seeing me pissed off at you?” Arthur glared, his face burning with embarrassment and anger.
“No, no, that’s not really how I meant it,” Eames reassured him soothingly. His touch was probably meant to be comforting as well, but it wasn’t quite having that effect on Arthur.
“And how exactly did you mean it?” Arthur replied quietly, not sounding nearly as exasperated as he’d intended.
Eames only smiled, tilting his head to the side just slightly. Arthur was leaning in, barely aware that he was doing it, as if his body was being lured to something in his mind’s absence. At first he was convinced he was simply waiting for Eames to speak, expecting a word to bring them back to their senses. But Eames wasn’t saying anything, and Eames was also moving forward, one finger turning to an entire hand cradling Arthur’s cheek. Arthur was breathing faster and his heart was pounding like a drum as his chest touched Eames’. Arthur could smell Eames’ cologne and cigarettes, and he exactly knew where this was going and there wasn’t a thing he would do to stop it.
Harsh tobacco laced Eames’ breath as Arthur met his lips. Eames was utterly gentle at first, offering soft kisses, Arthur feeling vaguely rash as he pressed his tongue into Eames’ mouth, hands grabbing at that hideous paisley shirt again. There was nothing right now but Eames, and Arthur was grasping, holding, kissing, finally noticing that Eames wasn’t doing the same. Eames was hardly cold as he caressed Arthur’s cheek and willingly took every bit of Arthur’s hungry kisses, but the unleashed fury of passion seemed to be rather one-sided.
Arthur pulled away entirely, stepping back, hands immediately diving back into his pockets. He grabbed the six-sided die in his pocket, focusing on something intimately familiar not because he suspected a dream, but because he had nothing else to calm himself with. His body ached with pent-up... what, frustration? Lust? Disappointment? His head was spinning and he couldn’t come up with anything to say.
“Arthur...” Eames sounded regretful, but Arthur suddenly had no desire to find out. He needed to get out and clear his mind. This had not gone at all as intended. Therefore, he stormed out, not looking back.