Fic + Podfic: Milky Way | part 1/3
Title: Milky Way
Written by: akayalovesyaoi
Read by: Popcorn_Orgasms
Prompt no. 01 [innocence, touch, smile, silence, overwhelmed]
Team: Romance ♥
Podfic download link: HERE or listen to it HERE
Part One
“One cup of innocence, please,” says a rough voice with thick, English accent. “On the go, if you may, Arthur,” he grins and leans across the counter top.
“Mr. Eames,” Arthur looks at him and starts the coffee machine, preparing mint syrup and dried vanilla fruits - imported from one of the recently build ecosystems on one of the Saturn's belts. “It's not the time for you to drink that one yet,” he chuckles and looks over his arm at the slightly pouting man.
“And I still wish to understand why,” he sighs and scratches his chin thoughtfully. “I see that you have no problems with serving it to Ariadne,” he points out.
“That is,” Arthur outwardly smiles now, and Eames thinks that he's a damn lucky man to have this kind of expression turned at him. Even if he feels a bit offended at the mocking in it. “Because Ariadne knows, and you don't. Not yet.”
“Knows what?” He asks, not for the first time. They have this conversation every time and each of those times Arthur answers him the same way.
“Knows what a real innocence tastes like,” the barista answers him, putting the freshly brewed coffee in front of him. “Here, have a vanilla romance instead.”
“You just like to tease me, Arthur,” Eames smiles and leans a bit closer over the bar, eyes twinkling. “How about a kiss then?”
“I'm working, Mr. Eames,” the man answers him with a chuckle, but raises his palm to caress the other's slightly rough cheek anyway, smiling fondly. “Maybe later.”
“Right,” Eames answers with a huff and checks his watch. “I need to go, see you at home?”
“As usual,” Arthur rolls his eyes and shoos him away, indulging himself in a nice view of the other's backside. Normally, he'd try to be more discreet, but it's still early - the third moon is not even up yet - and there aren't many clients around Milky Way coffee shop at this time, and he will damn well enjoy the little things as he pleases. Thankfully, Ariadne is not around to mock him about it. It's two more hours before her shift.
It's not that he doesn't enjoy her company. Sure, she's a bit nosy at times, he learned this the hard way, but overall is a bright person, who can keep up with him in conversation. But he likes having time to himself, slowly preparing for the busy day in the coffee. Bring out all of the needed ingredients, choosing the music for the day. Something moody and classic for today, he decides and reaches for Miles Davis cartridge to put into the stereophonic system.
It's a few hours later. The bar humming from countless conversations, with almost all of the tables busy with all kinds of people of different races and origins. Who would have thought, Arthur notes for future reference. That Uranus citizens would be so fond of today's special, frozen coffee with lemony seeds.
“Arthur,” Ariadne all but elbows him in the side, shaking him out of his stupor. “There is a client for you,” she says and motions with her head to his left side. Arthur turns, just a fraction to not bring too much attention to himself, and sees a nervous looking man sitting at one of the corner tables. It makes him snort.
“Can you look even more suspicious?” He mutters under his nose and puts away the cup he was wiping, straightening his tie and looking back at Ariadne. “How do I look?”
“Dashing,” she grins and clasps him on the back. “I will keep the watch, just be quick.”
“I'm a professional,” he huffs at her and cracks his fingers, before slipping away and striding to the table in the corner. He nods curtly at the man and takes him in, noticing the very apparent surprise that the other tries to cover with a not so subtle cough into his fist.
“Mr. Pointman?” The man asks, looking nervously around.
“Arthur,” Arthur introduces himself and leans back in his chair. “Please stop looking around like that,” he scolds the man. “It's making you look very suspicious.”
It seems to throw the man off of his game for a moment and Arthur wonders, why did the man even bother with coming here in the first place. Surely, there are other ways of getting the particular information he wants.
“My name is - ” The man says and makes a move to look around again, but stops himself and Arthur praises his in his head, but makes no other notion that he'd noticed the aborted move. “My name is Robert and there is a thing I'd like to know.”
“Don't we all,” Arthur says and curls his lips in a dangerous smile, his eyes freely roaming over the man's features. Handsome, he notes. But not really my type. “Of course, you are aware that certain, ah, informations come with a price.”
“How much?” The man asks, reaching inside his coat, probably for a wallet, but Arthur doesn't like to take risks and stops him with a motion of his hand.
“What do you want to know?”
“My father - ” the man starts and sighs, running his hand through his curly hair. He's wearing an expensive watch on his wrist and his nails are well trimmed. Rich then, he decides and waits for the other to continue. “He is dying. I- I want to know what does his testament say.”
“Can't you just ask him?” Arthur asks with a small furrow of his brows. The song in the background changes to Blue in Green, but he pays it no heed.
“He's not exactly in a state of mind to have a conversation with me,” Robert answers, voice bitter. “And even if he was, it's unlikely he'd tell me.”
Arthur nods, deciding that this answer satisfies him enough. He then closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. His conscience momentarily flooded with all kinds of letterings, words, numbers every small detail he's seen in his life, reaching and pulling out the information that is right for his moment. It's overwhelming, but a heady sensation.
“As for today,” he says and shakes of the dizziness. “Your father testimony states that after his death the company is to be kept as one, with Peter Browning as the head of it.”
Robert bites his lower lip and snorts, before looking Arthur in the eye. “That does sound like him, but how do you know?”
“That's yet another information Mr. Robert,” Arthur says and taps his fingers against the table, giving the man a calculating look. “I do have a very good memory.”
“Ah,” Robert says and something akin to understanding blinks in his eyes, before he looks away and clears his throat again. “How much do I owe you?”
“A moon strawberry fruit shake,” Arthur says and stands up, motioning at the bar where Ariadne is busy chatting up one of the regulars. A friendly man, with coffee and milk coloured skin, that always orders the same thing.
“Pardon?” Robert asks, now clearly surprised.
“You pay for your orders at the bar, Mr. Robert,” Arthur says. “It's the rules.”
“So,” Ariadne asks him later, cradling her private cup with two hands and sipping Innocence from it.
“So?” He looks up from his communicator, Eames asked him if he should go shopping after work, and waits for her to continue.
“Is there something you'd want to share with me?”
“I'm quite sure you already know far too much for me to share anything with you,” he smirks and she huffs, nodding at the elegant woman that just entered the Milky Way.
“Red coffee with a bonus inside,” she guesses and puts her cup away, to maintain some kind of professionalism. “I bet on one of Yusuf's cats.”
“Are you still jealous?” He asks her and greets the woman with a reserved smile. “How can I help you?”
She looks at him warily. “I'm Mal,” she says, waiting for something, but he does not understand what. Nevertheless, he's met all kinds of mental people, so he's not that bothered by her attitude.
“Arthur,” he says and taps the name tag on his breast pocket. “What are you in the mood for today?”
She looks at him for a moment longer, before scanning the menu on the wall behind him, quickly coming to a decision. “Inception, please,” she says and from the corner of his eye Arthur can see Ariadne making a subtle fist pump.
“We have sherry, green wine or Mercury scotch,” he offers.
“Green wine,” she says slowly, visibly having problems with full sentences. Arthur wonders what happened to her to be like that. One would mistake it for him actually caring about a complete stranger, but it's just Arthur's habit of wanting to know things about people. And things. Generally everything, to be honest.
“Ariadne will bring it to you, so please feel free to take any seat you want to,” he says and nods at her, turning away to reach for one of the tall glasses for Ariadne.
“You owe me,” the girl says, but there is no satisfaction in her voice as she takes the glass from him.
“It was a lucky guess,” he counters and reaches back for his communicator, Ariadne peers over his arm and snorts.
“Kisses, really?” She huffs a laugh, and he glares at her, pocketing the device.
“Not really your business, isn't it?” He points out and leans against one of the freezers. “Shouldn't you be preparing something?”
“Bossy, aren't you?” She shakes her head and mixes the ingredients, before adding thick, almost syrupy coffee to it. “Are you the same in bed?”
“You have a filthy mouth on you,” he sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose, before glancing at her. “I'd suggest to watch it. Some people might not appreciate it.”
“You do,” she shrugs and slowly pours Inception into the glass, adding some fresh cream as a finishing touch. “And this,” she points at the drink. “Is hardly a lucky guess, only a nut-case would drink this shit. Sometimes I wonder why do we even have it on the menu.”
“Leave the questions and do your job, or I will lessen your pay,” he says and she glares at him with a tray in one hand, probably the only reason she is still being civil and not kicking him.
“I'm telling Eames,” she says and risks taking a kick at his calve anyway, but so far Arthur always managed to move out of the way. This time is no different and it's probably the only reason why she keeps trying. Her wounded pride won't let her let it go.
He's got an answer ready on the tip of his tongue, when the door slide open and three automatons roll in. Arthur can't help, but straighten immediately. War and his army days may be over, but the awful, sickening memories of the past are not easily forgotten. Or, in Arthur's case, unforgettable.
“Arthur Callahan,” first of the automatons rolls in front of the counter and Arthur sees the rainbow lights on its chest flickering. I am being scanned, he thinks and feels a treacherous shiver go down his spine. It's never a good sign.
“Yes,” he answers, and qualifiers the first bot as level one, the other two are simpler, guarding bots. He would have no problems with kicking them down, it's the one asking questions he ought to be wary of. Level ones almost always mean trouble.
“State your number, verification code and level,” the bot demands in a chilling monotone. Arthur bristles for a second, wanting to ask why would they need such personal data from him, but decides against it.
“Three, four, four, six, four, three, one,” he recites the number. “Verification code: R-E-D D-I-E, level four.”
“Correct,” the bot answers and continues to stare at him with its white, empty eyes. It's unnerving, and for a moment Arthur wishes Eames was here. The older man always seems to be more adjusting to these kind of situations. His mutation having something to do with it probably. At this, Arthur feels dread coiling in the pit of his stomach. He hopes it has nothing to do with their special abilities. There are people that do have heavy issues with the certain ways the evolution went.
“May I inquire, what's the meaning of this?” He asks, when a full minute of silence passes, because he might be afraid, but he's doesn't like when people, or automatons, try to intimidate him.
“There has been a denunciation about your person, Arthur Callahan,” it says and Arthur feels his fingers twitch on the counter. There is a gun taped just underneath it. Eames laughed at him, said that it was not needed, but Arthur preferred to be paranoid and ready than surprised and dead. He catches Ariadne's eyes over the bot's head. She looks scared, but there is a certain fierceness in her expression and he knows that if something does happen - please no, he thinks and then Eames - she won't be that easy to kill.
Other people in the café pretend to look elsewhere, mostly at the floor.
He doesn't blame them.
“What kind of a denunciation are we talking about?” He asks, hoping that his voice is as steady as he imagines it to be.
“Dream sharing - ” the automaton answers and Arthur feels his eyes widening a fraction. “ - As you may already know, is forbidden.”
“I am aware of that, but what does it have to do with me?” He answers, a bit harsher than he'd like to.
“We have you under observation,” is his only answer. “Have a nice day, citizen Arthur Callahan.”
He nods and watches them roll out, waiting a few more seconds before breathing out the air he didn't know he was holding.
“Fucking shit,” Ariadne mutters, suddenly next to him. “That was a level one, Arthur,” she hisses and looks him in the face. He can do nothing, but nod dumbly at her.
“You still smoke?” He asks her and straightens again, adjusting his tie.
“No,” she says, but at the same time fishes out a half-empty pack of cigarettes from one of the pockets in her apron. “Knock yourself out.”
“I'll be outside - ”
“I can manage,” she interrupts him and pushes him to the back door. “Go.”
It takes him a few moments to realize that somehow Ariadne managed to not only push him outside completely, but that it's also fucking cold and he does not appreciate it, but can't be bothered to go back inside for something to wear. He looks up and can see the second of the three moon disappearing on the horizon. He hasn't realized it was that late already.
“Huh,” he snorts to himself and pulls down his shirt sleeves. It may be cold, but at least it's quiet and, hopefully, safe. To think that less than a hundred years ago it would be impossible to survive outside, without suffocating.
He taps the pack Ariadne gave him, and takes out one of the cigarettes, lighting it quickly and pushing both of his hands into the pockets of his slacks. Shit, he thinks as he breaths in the smoke. It's really cold.
He doesn't know how long he's been standing here, or the number of the cigarette he's currently smoking, but it's not important, because there is a face in front of him. A face he knows and trusts and -
“Eames,” he breathes out and reaches for the man, touching his lips and nose, to make sure it's really him. “What are you doing here?” He asks and throws the half-smoked cigarette on the ground, stepping on it.
“You texted me,” Eames answers. He is smiling, but there are worry lines around his eyes. Arthur wants to wipe them off with his fingers and lips.
“I didn't,” he says and pats his pockets. Ah, he thinks. Ariadne, the cheeky wench. “I didn't text you, but I'm glad you're here,” he says and moves his face forward, Eames meeting him half way, in a chaste kiss.
“This stuff is vile,” he scrunches his nose and Arthur huffs a small laugh against those full lips.
“Yet, you kiss me anyway,” he whispers and leans his forehead against the other man's.
“Of course,” Eames answers easily and kisses him again, crowding him against the cold wall, but Arthur doesn't mind, because Eames is warm and real and Arthur is really, really, glad he's here.
“Eames,” he pants between the kisses that quickly evolve into a heavy make out session against the aforementioned wall.
“Yes, darling?” Eames asks and pushes his warm fingers under the hem of Arthur's shirt, fitting perfectly in to the curve of the slighter man's back.
“I'm still working,” he chuckles and looks him in the eye. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”
“Spoilsport,” his lover huffs and kiss him again, this time only a peck.
“I will tell you later, ok?” Arthur says, voice turning serious as he rubs at Eames' arms gingerly.
“Yeah,” Eames smiles back and his fingers twitch on Arthur's skin. “Ok.”
I'm really glad you're here, Arthur thinks.
End of part one.
Written by: akayalovesyaoi
Read by: Popcorn_Orgasms
Prompt no. 01 [innocence, touch, smile, silence, overwhelmed]
Team: Romance ♥
Podfic download link: HERE or listen to it HERE
Part One
“One cup of innocence, please,” says a rough voice with thick, English accent. “On the go, if you may, Arthur,” he grins and leans across the counter top.
“Mr. Eames,” Arthur looks at him and starts the coffee machine, preparing mint syrup and dried vanilla fruits - imported from one of the recently build ecosystems on one of the Saturn's belts. “It's not the time for you to drink that one yet,” he chuckles and looks over his arm at the slightly pouting man.
“And I still wish to understand why,” he sighs and scratches his chin thoughtfully. “I see that you have no problems with serving it to Ariadne,” he points out.
“That is,” Arthur outwardly smiles now, and Eames thinks that he's a damn lucky man to have this kind of expression turned at him. Even if he feels a bit offended at the mocking in it. “Because Ariadne knows, and you don't. Not yet.”
“Knows what?” He asks, not for the first time. They have this conversation every time and each of those times Arthur answers him the same way.
“Knows what a real innocence tastes like,” the barista answers him, putting the freshly brewed coffee in front of him. “Here, have a vanilla romance instead.”
“You just like to tease me, Arthur,” Eames smiles and leans a bit closer over the bar, eyes twinkling. “How about a kiss then?”
“I'm working, Mr. Eames,” the man answers him with a chuckle, but raises his palm to caress the other's slightly rough cheek anyway, smiling fondly. “Maybe later.”
“Right,” Eames answers with a huff and checks his watch. “I need to go, see you at home?”
“As usual,” Arthur rolls his eyes and shoos him away, indulging himself in a nice view of the other's backside. Normally, he'd try to be more discreet, but it's still early - the third moon is not even up yet - and there aren't many clients around Milky Way coffee shop at this time, and he will damn well enjoy the little things as he pleases. Thankfully, Ariadne is not around to mock him about it. It's two more hours before her shift.
It's not that he doesn't enjoy her company. Sure, she's a bit nosy at times, he learned this the hard way, but overall is a bright person, who can keep up with him in conversation. But he likes having time to himself, slowly preparing for the busy day in the coffee. Bring out all of the needed ingredients, choosing the music for the day. Something moody and classic for today, he decides and reaches for Miles Davis cartridge to put into the stereophonic system.
It's a few hours later. The bar humming from countless conversations, with almost all of the tables busy with all kinds of people of different races and origins. Who would have thought, Arthur notes for future reference. That Uranus citizens would be so fond of today's special, frozen coffee with lemony seeds.
“Arthur,” Ariadne all but elbows him in the side, shaking him out of his stupor. “There is a client for you,” she says and motions with her head to his left side. Arthur turns, just a fraction to not bring too much attention to himself, and sees a nervous looking man sitting at one of the corner tables. It makes him snort.
“Can you look even more suspicious?” He mutters under his nose and puts away the cup he was wiping, straightening his tie and looking back at Ariadne. “How do I look?”
“Dashing,” she grins and clasps him on the back. “I will keep the watch, just be quick.”
“I'm a professional,” he huffs at her and cracks his fingers, before slipping away and striding to the table in the corner. He nods curtly at the man and takes him in, noticing the very apparent surprise that the other tries to cover with a not so subtle cough into his fist.
“Mr. Pointman?” The man asks, looking nervously around.
“Arthur,” Arthur introduces himself and leans back in his chair. “Please stop looking around like that,” he scolds the man. “It's making you look very suspicious.”
It seems to throw the man off of his game for a moment and Arthur wonders, why did the man even bother with coming here in the first place. Surely, there are other ways of getting the particular information he wants.
“My name is - ” The man says and makes a move to look around again, but stops himself and Arthur praises his in his head, but makes no other notion that he'd noticed the aborted move. “My name is Robert and there is a thing I'd like to know.”
“Don't we all,” Arthur says and curls his lips in a dangerous smile, his eyes freely roaming over the man's features. Handsome, he notes. But not really my type. “Of course, you are aware that certain, ah, informations come with a price.”
“How much?” The man asks, reaching inside his coat, probably for a wallet, but Arthur doesn't like to take risks and stops him with a motion of his hand.
“What do you want to know?”
“My father - ” the man starts and sighs, running his hand through his curly hair. He's wearing an expensive watch on his wrist and his nails are well trimmed. Rich then, he decides and waits for the other to continue. “He is dying. I- I want to know what does his testament say.”
“Can't you just ask him?” Arthur asks with a small furrow of his brows. The song in the background changes to Blue in Green, but he pays it no heed.
“He's not exactly in a state of mind to have a conversation with me,” Robert answers, voice bitter. “And even if he was, it's unlikely he'd tell me.”
Arthur nods, deciding that this answer satisfies him enough. He then closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. His conscience momentarily flooded with all kinds of letterings, words, numbers every small detail he's seen in his life, reaching and pulling out the information that is right for his moment. It's overwhelming, but a heady sensation.
“As for today,” he says and shakes of the dizziness. “Your father testimony states that after his death the company is to be kept as one, with Peter Browning as the head of it.”
Robert bites his lower lip and snorts, before looking Arthur in the eye. “That does sound like him, but how do you know?”
“That's yet another information Mr. Robert,” Arthur says and taps his fingers against the table, giving the man a calculating look. “I do have a very good memory.”
“Ah,” Robert says and something akin to understanding blinks in his eyes, before he looks away and clears his throat again. “How much do I owe you?”
“A moon strawberry fruit shake,” Arthur says and stands up, motioning at the bar where Ariadne is busy chatting up one of the regulars. A friendly man, with coffee and milk coloured skin, that always orders the same thing.
“Pardon?” Robert asks, now clearly surprised.
“You pay for your orders at the bar, Mr. Robert,” Arthur says. “It's the rules.”
“So,” Ariadne asks him later, cradling her private cup with two hands and sipping Innocence from it.
“So?” He looks up from his communicator, Eames asked him if he should go shopping after work, and waits for her to continue.
“Is there something you'd want to share with me?”
“I'm quite sure you already know far too much for me to share anything with you,” he smirks and she huffs, nodding at the elegant woman that just entered the Milky Way.
“Red coffee with a bonus inside,” she guesses and puts her cup away, to maintain some kind of professionalism. “I bet on one of Yusuf's cats.”
“Are you still jealous?” He asks her and greets the woman with a reserved smile. “How can I help you?”
She looks at him warily. “I'm Mal,” she says, waiting for something, but he does not understand what. Nevertheless, he's met all kinds of mental people, so he's not that bothered by her attitude.
“Arthur,” he says and taps the name tag on his breast pocket. “What are you in the mood for today?”
She looks at him for a moment longer, before scanning the menu on the wall behind him, quickly coming to a decision. “Inception, please,” she says and from the corner of his eye Arthur can see Ariadne making a subtle fist pump.
“We have sherry, green wine or Mercury scotch,” he offers.
“Green wine,” she says slowly, visibly having problems with full sentences. Arthur wonders what happened to her to be like that. One would mistake it for him actually caring about a complete stranger, but it's just Arthur's habit of wanting to know things about people. And things. Generally everything, to be honest.
“Ariadne will bring it to you, so please feel free to take any seat you want to,” he says and nods at her, turning away to reach for one of the tall glasses for Ariadne.
“You owe me,” the girl says, but there is no satisfaction in her voice as she takes the glass from him.
“It was a lucky guess,” he counters and reaches back for his communicator, Ariadne peers over his arm and snorts.
“Kisses, really?” She huffs a laugh, and he glares at her, pocketing the device.
“Not really your business, isn't it?” He points out and leans against one of the freezers. “Shouldn't you be preparing something?”
“Bossy, aren't you?” She shakes her head and mixes the ingredients, before adding thick, almost syrupy coffee to it. “Are you the same in bed?”
“You have a filthy mouth on you,” he sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose, before glancing at her. “I'd suggest to watch it. Some people might not appreciate it.”
“You do,” she shrugs and slowly pours Inception into the glass, adding some fresh cream as a finishing touch. “And this,” she points at the drink. “Is hardly a lucky guess, only a nut-case would drink this shit. Sometimes I wonder why do we even have it on the menu.”
“Leave the questions and do your job, or I will lessen your pay,” he says and she glares at him with a tray in one hand, probably the only reason she is still being civil and not kicking him.
“I'm telling Eames,” she says and risks taking a kick at his calve anyway, but so far Arthur always managed to move out of the way. This time is no different and it's probably the only reason why she keeps trying. Her wounded pride won't let her let it go.
He's got an answer ready on the tip of his tongue, when the door slide open and three automatons roll in. Arthur can't help, but straighten immediately. War and his army days may be over, but the awful, sickening memories of the past are not easily forgotten. Or, in Arthur's case, unforgettable.
“Arthur Callahan,” first of the automatons rolls in front of the counter and Arthur sees the rainbow lights on its chest flickering. I am being scanned, he thinks and feels a treacherous shiver go down his spine. It's never a good sign.
“Yes,” he answers, and qualifiers the first bot as level one, the other two are simpler, guarding bots. He would have no problems with kicking them down, it's the one asking questions he ought to be wary of. Level ones almost always mean trouble.
“State your number, verification code and level,” the bot demands in a chilling monotone. Arthur bristles for a second, wanting to ask why would they need such personal data from him, but decides against it.
“Three, four, four, six, four, three, one,” he recites the number. “Verification code: R-E-D D-I-E, level four.”
“Correct,” the bot answers and continues to stare at him with its white, empty eyes. It's unnerving, and for a moment Arthur wishes Eames was here. The older man always seems to be more adjusting to these kind of situations. His mutation having something to do with it probably. At this, Arthur feels dread coiling in the pit of his stomach. He hopes it has nothing to do with their special abilities. There are people that do have heavy issues with the certain ways the evolution went.
“May I inquire, what's the meaning of this?” He asks, when a full minute of silence passes, because he might be afraid, but he's doesn't like when people, or automatons, try to intimidate him.
“There has been a denunciation about your person, Arthur Callahan,” it says and Arthur feels his fingers twitch on the counter. There is a gun taped just underneath it. Eames laughed at him, said that it was not needed, but Arthur preferred to be paranoid and ready than surprised and dead. He catches Ariadne's eyes over the bot's head. She looks scared, but there is a certain fierceness in her expression and he knows that if something does happen - please no, he thinks and then Eames - she won't be that easy to kill.
Other people in the café pretend to look elsewhere, mostly at the floor.
He doesn't blame them.
“What kind of a denunciation are we talking about?” He asks, hoping that his voice is as steady as he imagines it to be.
“Dream sharing - ” the automaton answers and Arthur feels his eyes widening a fraction. “ - As you may already know, is forbidden.”
“I am aware of that, but what does it have to do with me?” He answers, a bit harsher than he'd like to.
“We have you under observation,” is his only answer. “Have a nice day, citizen Arthur Callahan.”
He nods and watches them roll out, waiting a few more seconds before breathing out the air he didn't know he was holding.
“Fucking shit,” Ariadne mutters, suddenly next to him. “That was a level one, Arthur,” she hisses and looks him in the face. He can do nothing, but nod dumbly at her.
“You still smoke?” He asks her and straightens again, adjusting his tie.
“No,” she says, but at the same time fishes out a half-empty pack of cigarettes from one of the pockets in her apron. “Knock yourself out.”
“I'll be outside - ”
“I can manage,” she interrupts him and pushes him to the back door. “Go.”
It takes him a few moments to realize that somehow Ariadne managed to not only push him outside completely, but that it's also fucking cold and he does not appreciate it, but can't be bothered to go back inside for something to wear. He looks up and can see the second of the three moon disappearing on the horizon. He hasn't realized it was that late already.
“Huh,” he snorts to himself and pulls down his shirt sleeves. It may be cold, but at least it's quiet and, hopefully, safe. To think that less than a hundred years ago it would be impossible to survive outside, without suffocating.
He taps the pack Ariadne gave him, and takes out one of the cigarettes, lighting it quickly and pushing both of his hands into the pockets of his slacks. Shit, he thinks as he breaths in the smoke. It's really cold.
He doesn't know how long he's been standing here, or the number of the cigarette he's currently smoking, but it's not important, because there is a face in front of him. A face he knows and trusts and -
“Eames,” he breathes out and reaches for the man, touching his lips and nose, to make sure it's really him. “What are you doing here?” He asks and throws the half-smoked cigarette on the ground, stepping on it.
“You texted me,” Eames answers. He is smiling, but there are worry lines around his eyes. Arthur wants to wipe them off with his fingers and lips.
“I didn't,” he says and pats his pockets. Ah, he thinks. Ariadne, the cheeky wench. “I didn't text you, but I'm glad you're here,” he says and moves his face forward, Eames meeting him half way, in a chaste kiss.
“This stuff is vile,” he scrunches his nose and Arthur huffs a small laugh against those full lips.
“Yet, you kiss me anyway,” he whispers and leans his forehead against the other man's.
“Of course,” Eames answers easily and kisses him again, crowding him against the cold wall, but Arthur doesn't mind, because Eames is warm and real and Arthur is really, really, glad he's here.
“Eames,” he pants between the kisses that quickly evolve into a heavy make out session against the aforementioned wall.
“Yes, darling?” Eames asks and pushes his warm fingers under the hem of Arthur's shirt, fitting perfectly in to the curve of the slighter man's back.
“I'm still working,” he chuckles and looks him in the eye. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”
“Spoilsport,” his lover huffs and kiss him again, this time only a peck.
“I will tell you later, ok?” Arthur says, voice turning serious as he rubs at Eames' arms gingerly.
“Yeah,” Eames smiles back and his fingers twitch on Arthur's skin. “Ok.”
I'm really glad you're here, Arthur thinks.
End of part one.