AELDWS Week 9 - Drabbles
Here are the final two drabbles for week 9!
The prompt was:
Genre/trope: Wildcard (author’s choice)
Prompt: PHOTO PROMPT
Word count: up to 500 words
#1
Title: Checkmate
Warnings: none
Summary: The international game of theft that is flirting with Eames takes an unexpected turn.
Arthur was home in Chicago, unpacking his bags, when he realized his favorite red silk jacquard tie had not made it back from L.A with him.
He checked his suitcase twice, but it wasn’t anywhere to be found. He was searching his carry-on when his smartphone chirped, announcing a new text message.
It wasn’t just a text, it was a photo of a very familiar bare chest, and there, hanging between two tattooed pecs, was Arthur’s tie. The tantalizing picture eased Arthur’s annoyance. He should’ve known better than to leave his luggage alone with Eames in his hotel room. Fuck-buddy or no, he was still a thief.
So was Arthur.
When they crossed paths again in Rome, Arthur snuck a leather Ferragamo belt out of Eames’ suitcase while he was in the shower. Two days later, he snapped a picture of the belt around his own waist and sent it to Eames with the message, “Rook takes belt.”
He was ready when they were hired for a job in Taipei-he’d bought locks for his luggage. When Arthur checked his bags at home, though, nothing was missing. He was strangely disappointed that Eames had been defeated so easily.
His phone chirped.
“Knight takes ring.” It was a picture of Arthur’s gold ring on Eames’ pinky finger. Confused, Arthur looked down. It was right there…ah. Bait and switch. His lips tightened. That ring was expensive. Eames had upped the ante, then.
Arthur’s next move took finesse. The photo he sent when he arrived home was of Eames’ pocket-watch held aloft beside the Wrigley Building. “Rook takes watch.” He smiled smugly. Let Eames top that.
Eames wasn’t on the next job, though, or the next. Arthur thought about contacting him, but didn’t. He wouldn’t chase him, no matter how much he missed his ring. Or his tie. Or the game.
Or Eames.
****
Arthur was in a neighborhood cafe waiting for his post-jog Americano when his phone chirped. His heart flipped-it was a selfie of Eames, bottom lip extended in a killer pout, wearing an old hoodie. Strange. Eames was definitely not the sweatshirt type.
Unsure how else to respond, Arthur exaggerated the sulk, snapped a selfie, and sent it. He didn’t know what kind of game Eames was playing, but Arthur certainly wasn’t going to forfeit.
Another photo arrived shortly, one of Arthur’s living room-“Knight takes castle.”
Arthur raced home. His hands shook as he opened the unlocked door. Eames was still there, sitting at Arthur’s desk and wearing the beat-up Bears sweatshirt Arthur kept draped on the chair.
“You...you broke into my apartment?” Arthur spluttered.
“Check?” Nervousness flitted across Eames’ hooded face, surprisingly endearing.
Arthur closed the distance between them and wrapped Eames in a crushing embrace. Eames clung back, kissing Arthur with unexpected tenderness. As they broke away, Eames grinned and held up his pocket-watch. Arthur flushed, his hand darting to his empty pocket.
“Missed me, darling?” Eames asked.
Arthur saw his gold ring shining from Eames’ pinky and smiled.
#2
Title: Wink
Warnings: none
Summary: Arthur is definitely, absolutely not going to try Internet dating.
Ariadne says, “Oh, look, Arthur, your profile is popular! It’s got winks!”
Arthur says, “Why do I have an online dating profile?”
Ariadne says, “Because why not?”
***
Arthur is bored, so he logs on to his profile. Because why not?
He has one new wink. From a guy who is literally cooking a turkey in his profile picture.
The Internet, thinks Arthur.
But the guy lists as his interests the interplay between art, architecture, and security.
Arthur doesn’t know what to make of and security, but he likes paradoxical architecture so he winks back.
***
Turkey Man’s name is Eames and he is incredibly well-informed about art. About everything. Arthur finds his garrulous emails a little bewildering, but strangely addictive. And Arthur can control written interaction to make himself seem normal and likable much more easily than live interaction. No wonder this relationship is basically the most successful of his life.
One night there is no email from Eames. Bereft, Arthur wonders what his last email said to drive Eames away.
Eames emails him the next day as if nothing had happened, and Arthur emails, Where were you? and hopes he doesn’t sound desperate.
Did you miss me?
Arthur considers, then responds, No, because that’s just the kind of asshole he is.
Eames, true to form, is undeterred by Arthur’s assholery. Darling, please don’t be so effusive.
They email about squirrels and air travel and the modern-day prevalence of allergies. It’s a typical night.
At the end, Eames sends a picture in case you miss me again. It’s him in nothing but a pair of underwear, striking a ridiculous pose. Nothing about it should be attractive to Arthur.
Except that everything about it is.
***
We should meet.
No, responds Arthur immediately, instinctively.
Eames sends a photo of himself pouting dramatically.
Arthur sighs in frustration. He composes a rambling email that is incredibly embarrassing in how much it admits. But he depends on this correspondence with Eames, and Eames will be disappointed with Arthur once he meets him.
He finishes with, I’m scared, which could have sufficed for the whole email.
After he sends it, he sends a pouting photograph of himself, too, to try to make the email seem less…dramatic.
Eames’s email in reply says, You mustn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling. And it includes a date, time, and location.
***
Arthur isn’t going to go. Except that will confirm that Arthur is a terrible human being, and Eames will never email him again.
Eames is probably still never going to email him again, but at least maybe Arthur will have the in-person memory of him to cherish forever.
While he is debating in front of the bar Eames chose, someone comes up behind him, noses behind his ear, kisses the back of his neck.
“Darling,” says the voice, a rough purr, British. “Let me buy you a drink.”
Arthur turns his head to look at him. And he doesn’t feel afraid.
Arthur nods.
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