[Arthur isn't much of an actor, but he's not been doing a bad job of pretending to be gripped by the soap opera, though he can only guess at what's been happening on it, the foreign language one he only knows the odd word of, little bits and pieces he's learned to get by with.
But he's actually been keeping a watchful eye on Eames. There's no real reasoning to it, he just enjoys observing him, trying to figure out what he's thinking, fascinated by everything he does however small and tedious. One day, he thinks, he'll be able to look away, and that it's only because he's wanted to pay so much close attention to the other man for so long and never dared to that he's so taken by him now he knows he can get away with it. But he doubts it and that's okay.
He's got an arm around Eames' back, hand curling up to comb gentle fingers through his hair absently, the wine leaving him with flushed cheeks, loose limbs, and more off guard than he's been in a long time.No, no, he's definitely Coma Guy. Nurse Girl's the only one who knows he's awake
( ... )
Doesn't he get the inheritance from the lady with the really bad afro perm?
[Taking a sip of his drink, Eames places it back, resettles by slinging his leg over Arthur's and hooking it around his knee. Once again he's wearing trackpants, a white undershirt, feet bare as they slide over the comforter.
Instead of paying it anymore attention, Eames tilts his head against his shoulder, fingers drifting across his chest like he's mapping the other man under his fingertips, focusing on the pale skin of Arthur's throat when he locks his gaze on it. His laptop sits on the floor across the room, downloading something and it hums occassionaly, adding more noise to the soap.]
You have a nice neck. [Eames touches it, lightly, brushing his adam's apple.] And I might be drunker than I thought.
Mop Lady? You could be onto something. [He looks appalled with himself for thinking it never mind saying it.] I miss daytime TV I can actually follow. Kill me. Kill me now.
[Arthur laughs at that, not sure how to respond, so instead he turns his head, looks at Eames properly rather than out of the corner of his eye.] Thank you. I think. [With a stupid grin, he pokes Eames' nose and makes a honking noise.] Told you to go steady with it.
[He pulls his leg in between his own, slides his foot beneath the leg of the tracksuit bottoms to brush his foot against his ankle.] You're cute when you're drunk.
I did go steady with it. [Eames just bats at the hand near his face lazily, humming at Arthur's foot against his ankle.] It's not my fault we're actually drinking wine made in the very pits of hell.
[He brushes crumbs from off the comforter, leans away only to shove all of his packets down to the floor where they're safe and then rolls back into Arthur's space, foot remaining trapped all the while. He stretches out to retrieve both glasses again, taking a cheeky sip from Arthur's before handing it to him, licking his lips.] Anyway, it's nice. This is nice. I feel good, don't you?
Comments 15
But he's actually been keeping a watchful eye on Eames. There's no real reasoning to it, he just enjoys observing him, trying to figure out what he's thinking, fascinated by everything he does however small and tedious. One day, he thinks, he'll be able to look away, and that it's only because he's wanted to pay so much close attention to the other man for so long and never dared to that he's so taken by him now he knows he can get away with it. But he doubts it and that's okay.
He's got an arm around Eames' back, hand curling up to comb gentle fingers through his hair absently, the wine leaving him with flushed cheeks, loose limbs, and more off guard than he's been in a long time.No, no, he's definitely Coma Guy. Nurse Girl's the only one who knows he's awake ( ... )
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[Taking a sip of his drink, Eames places it back, resettles by slinging his leg over Arthur's and hooking it around his knee. Once again he's wearing trackpants, a white undershirt, feet bare as they slide over the comforter.
Instead of paying it anymore attention, Eames tilts his head against his shoulder, fingers drifting across his chest like he's mapping the other man under his fingertips, focusing on the pale skin of Arthur's throat when he locks his gaze on it. His laptop sits on the floor across the room, downloading something and it hums occassionaly, adding more noise to the soap.]
You have a nice neck. [Eames touches it, lightly, brushing his adam's apple.] And I might be drunker than I thought.
Reply
[Arthur laughs at that, not sure how to respond, so instead he turns his head, looks at Eames properly rather than out of the corner of his eye.] Thank you. I think. [With a stupid grin, he pokes Eames' nose and makes a honking noise.] Told you to go steady with it.
[He pulls his leg in between his own, slides his foot beneath the leg of the tracksuit bottoms to brush his foot against his ankle.] You're cute when you're drunk.
Reply
[He brushes crumbs from off the comforter, leans away only to shove all of his packets down to the floor where they're safe and then rolls back into Arthur's space, foot remaining trapped all the while. He stretches out to retrieve both glasses again, taking a cheeky sip from Arthur's before handing it to him, licking his lips.] Anyway, it's nice. This is nice. I feel good, don't you?
Reply
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