postbox: jeremy job 2006 (5/?)
Title: Postbox (Jeremy Job 2006: 5/?)
Author: sionnach-ayame & stardoll
Fandom/Pairing: Inception | Pre-Inception, Arthur/Eames
[this part] Approx. Word Count: 3,335
Disclaimer: Inception is not ours. Postboxes are not ours. Bronson? May be ours.
Rating: R (for possibly triggering content)
Summary: The tension finally breaks between Arthur and Eames, cumulating to a fight.
Eames' Player: stardoll
Arthur's Player: sionnach_ayame
[this part] Occurs: January 11, 2006
<< The Jeremy Job (2006): 4/?
LOCATION: London, England
DATE: January 11, 2006
TIME: 4:21 a.m. GMT
As much as Arthur would like to escape into his work - and he had a lot of it to escape into now that their preliminary interviews were out of the way - the fact that Eames was likely out with Ricky right now kept popping into his mind. He tried his best to focus on the most important matter at hand: the job. Yet it appeared to Arthur as though everything - from the information he collected to assorted background checks - lead right back to...
...Ricky Holmes.
Of all fucking people.
Still, it wasn't as though Arthur could truly say or do anything about it. He and Eames weren't together; Eames was an adult and could very well make his own decisions on who and who not to go out with. But the man was a walking, talking poster child for himself and his ego. Ricky had been nothing but rude, abrasive, and condescending to both Arthur and Eames. So then why Ricky Holmes? Arthur pursed his lips then frowned.
Why not Ricky Holmes? The man was a porn star, and it wasn't every day one could say that they had had sex with a porn star...
...Christ.
That really wasn't any of Arthur's business. Eames and Arthur were just friends. That was it.
Friends.
Partners.
Associates.
His train of thought continued to run in circles, and before Arthur knew it, it was four in the morning and he was still working...or at least trying to. But to be fair, it wasn't as though Arthur had meant to stay up, after all, there was a job to do and he was doing it. Few realized just how much time research took before a job, and in the early morning hours there was a greater chance that he wouldn't be interrupted. Unless, that is, it was his own mind that was conspiring against him.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Arthur lifted his eyes from the computer screen and raised his eyebrows at the tone in Eames' voice - he hadn't even noticed that Eames had returned until he started speaking. Arthur had just assumed he would have spent the full night at Ricky's. Ricky of all fucking people. He removed the pen from his mouth before speaking.
"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm working."
"I sleep there," Eames said slowly, as if he were stating the obvious. "Why work there when you could, oh, I don't know, be working in the room I gave you?"
Arthur didn't understand what the big deal was; Eames was fine when he took off earlier. He blinked once, then twice. "I really hadn't noticed," he responded, his tone dry. "I wasn't aware that there were certain rooms in your apartment that I was and was not supposed to be in when you weren't here.
“And for future reference, it just so happens that I prefer a more open area to work in, rather than the confines of a bedroom."
"Oh, thank you for implying that the room I so generously loaned you is not up to your expectations; after all, we all cannot be exceedingly wealthy like you, darling," Eames said airily. "Next time, I'll be sure to provide you something more to your liking." Crossing his arms across his chest, he continued to push the subject. "Would that make me a better host?"
"Wait one fucking minute!" Arthur glared at Eames. "I've never once said that it didn't meet whatever fucking expectations you may think I have! Stop putting words in my mouth!"
"Well, where do you suppose I go then?" Eames asked, voice rising. "I wasn't expecting to see you on my couch at four AM! I mean, I know it's a big job, but four AM?" He raked his fingers through his hair and exhaled heavily. Eames couldn't explain why he was angry; he just was. Perhaps he was because Arthur was supposed to be sound asleep; if he were asleep, then Eames could slip into his room, retrieve his Vicodin and Tuinal, and proceed to put the entire evening behind him.
So then WHY couldn't Arthur be asleep?
"Christ, Eames. You're acting like you just caught me fucking some stranger on your couch," Arthur said with exasperation. "You could go sleep in your bedroom if getting to bed means that much to you! Taking the couch tonight is not going to kill me."
In response to the sudden increase in noise, Bronson began to growl low from underneath the end table; Eames turned and spat "Not now!" at the small brown dog.
Arthur frowned. While he and Bronson weren't on the best of terms, the dog hadn't done anything to warrant such a reaction. Arthur stood from the couch. "Back off! Bronson didn't do anything to you!” He scoffed. “What the fuck has gotten into you, anyway? Didn't have a good time?"
"Oh, since when did the two of you become such great pals?" Eames spat. "He's my fucking dog, I'll speak to him however I want!"
Arthur narrowed his eyes. "He didn't need to have you yelling at him when he didn't do anything wrong!” He shook his head. “Was whoever you were fucking - was RICKY - not good enough? My God, I would have thought that you would've been more relaxed after getting laid!"
"Excuse me?" Eames scoffed. "Excuse ME? I would hardly think that any of that is your business, Arthur!" Shaking his head and laughing shortly, he added, "And even if it were, what makes you even think that I was fucking anybody, much less Ricky --"
"I know what 'going out for drinks' means, Eames! My GOD was it really so bad that you MUST come back and tear into me?!" Eames balled his hands into fists and lowered his eyes to the toes of his boots.
"Without sounding like a broken record, I truly don't believe that any of that is your business," he said, his voice wavering.
"You made it my business when you stormed in and demanded what the hell I'm doing on your couch!"
"I simply asked a question."
"Fuck if you did! You were accusing me of - fuck, I don't even KNOW what you were accusing me of! What the hell happened?!" Eames waved a hand dismissively, his gaze still cast down.
"Yes, well, you wouldn't understand."
"What does that even mean?!" Arthur glared at the man in front of him; this was starting to really get on his nerves. "Do you honestly believe that I have no idea how sex works?"
"Well, I would think it would be a little too messy for you; after all, you're the one that doesn't like a thing out of place," Eames said coolly.
"Are you kidding me?! What the hell does that have to do with anything?!" Arthur clenched his fists, simultaneously trying to resist the urge to either punch or kiss Eames. "I hate to ruin whatever misconstrued image you have of me in that head of yours, but I have had sex before! I'm not some blushing virgin!"
Eames scoffed a muttered a “yeah, right” before adding, “Arthur the Ladykiller, forgive me for ever questioning your sex life or lack thereof.”
That was the final push for Arthur. He took that final step toward Eames and brought the other man's lips to his in a hard kiss, a low sound coming from the back of his throat.
With a hand at the back of Eames' neck and half closed eyes, Arthur deepened the closed mouth kiss before he pulled back slowly and removed his hand from Eames' neck.
"Before we partnered up, you only saw my military side. You never asked nor seemed interested in my private life."
All Eames could do was stand, stunned. Did Arthur really just do that?
Blinking furiously, he quickly shook his head in a feeble attempt to regain composure. When he was certain that actual words would come out of his mouth instead of garbled nonsense, he finally said with a gentle voice, "Never seemed interested? If I weren't interested, why would I have begun writing you?"
Arthur ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath in order to regain his composure. "Like I said - this was before we became friends, Eames," he said finally, in a more weary tone. His last cup of coffee was at midnight and now? Now, he was starting to feel the exhaustion settling in, quietly replacing the fury he had felt just minutes before. It was funny how that worked.
"I didn't know then that you had any interest in any sort of relationship outside of the military, which is why I was surprised by your first letter." Arthur shook his head again and made his way back to the couch, slumping down onto it. "Look, how about you take the bedroom? I'm just going to stay out here tonight."
After a minute or two of silence, Arthur turned his attention back to Eames. He didn't look like a man who had just been fucked and enjoyed it, nor did he look happy or even unhappy, for that matter. Eames simply looked...defeated.
"Are you okay?" Arthur asked, his voice gentle.
Eames raised a hand to his face and shook his head. Why couldn't Arthur be asleep...?
“I'm...” he began. He exhaled shortly, wanting nothing more than to polish off the bottle of pills in his dresser drawer. Fuck making them last. “I'm fine. Just fine.”
He didn't look fine, Arthur thought. But instead of saying this, he chose a more tactful response: "What happened, Eames?"
“Nothing happened,” Eames said shortly. “You met the guy, you know how he can be. Can we please just let the subject rest?” He blinked quickly, his eyes stinging.
Arthur's expression grew concerned. “Alright...” he said softly, before patting the seat next to him. “Want to sit with me for a little bit before you head to bed?”
Arthur didn't like to think of Eames being alone just now. This thing with Ricky affected Eames a lot more than either of them was willing to say.
“Are you sure you want that?” Eames asked, glancing up at Arthur. He shook his head and muttered, “Of course you do, wouldn't be asking if you didn't.” He crossed his arms and shuffled to the couch, his head bowed.
He sat down next to Arthur, leaving a gap that could fit two Bronsons if they sat side-by-side. He mumbled a quick “'m sorry” to Arthur, his thoughts not straying far from the small orange bottle in his dresser.
Arthur sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "Eames - " he started to say, wanting to know what happened but for Eames' peace of mind, he let it drop. Instead, Arthur shifted closer to him and offered silent comfort by resting his head on Eames' shoulder and slipped an arm around him.
Eames lifted his head and glanced at Arthur, unsure of what to make of the gesture. First the kiss, now this? He blinked quickly, and then opened his mouth to say something, anything; however, all that he could only make out was a poorly strangled cry.
“Arthur...why?” he asked once he had finally found the words.
Arthur was silent for a minute before he lifted his head and looked at him. "Why...?" He paused before answering. "Because - because you're important to me, Eames. Ricky...Ricky's not worth it. Whatever he did - ” Arthur shook his head. “Whatever he did, whatever he said, know that you're better than that.”
That was all Eames had to hear to send his emotions toppling over the edge.
He shook his head slowly at Arthur, his mouth wording a few silent “no's”. He pressed his forehead against Arthur's shoulder, his head continuing to shake in opposition. He choked back a thick sob; why couldn't Ricky have been more like Arthur?
Why couldn't he just have Arthur?
"You ARE, Eames," Arthur insisted, gently and tightened his arm around Eames' shoulders. He rested his head against Eames' and slid his hand into Eames' hair. "Don't doubt it. You are worth so much more than whatever he said or did."
“I'm not,” Eames whimpered. “I'm not! You don't KNOW me, Arthur, you don't know what I am!” He circled his arms around Arthur's waist, if only to grant himself some semblance of comfort. “I said no, I said no over and over and he - he said I didn't mean it, didn't really mean no - he said that I was just playing hard to get. Because I'm a slut, a worthless slut, and that's all I am, Arthur, all I am to anyone! I - I don't know why you think otherwise!” He squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly quite embarrassed by his emotional outburst.
Arthur tightened his arm around Eames reflexively. He would make Ricky pay for what he did to Eames. He wasn't sure how yet, but he would.
Fucking bastard.
"Eames," he said, seriously but still gently. "Don't listen to him. That isn't all that you are. You're so much more than that."
“You don't know,” Eames whimpered. “You don't know...maybe Ricky was right. Maybe I was playing hard to get. I said yes in the end. I said yes...”
Embarrassed and disgusted, that's how he felt. Embarrassed in his immaturity, and disgusted by the acts he engaged in with Ricky. Embarrassed by his tears, and disgusted by the fact that he had to turn to Arthur for comfort.
He pressed his forehead against the crook of Arthur's neck, and breathed through his nose in an attempt to stem the emotions.
"You may have said yes but ultimately you said 'no' and in any language 'no' means 'no', Eames. What he did was without your consent, and that means that Ricky wasn't in the right, in any circumstance."
The more he heard about what happened, the more furious Arthur got with Ricky, and the more he wanted to put his fist through Ricky's face. But for now, Arthur could only press his forehead against Eames' shoulders and hold the distraught man close to him.
Eames pulled an arm away from Arthur and used his free hand to wipe back his tears. He didn't want to “correct” Arthur; he didn't want to tell Arthur that what had happened was non-consensual. There was a word for that; a word that didn't apply to men because acts of those nature never applied to men. Acts of that nature never happened between men.
After a fashion, he turned his eyes up to Arthur and said in a small, small voice, “You kissed me.”
"I did," Arthur responded slowly, his own voice soft.
Eames smiled - a small, sad smile but a smile non-the-less - and began to trace his fingers along the angles of Arthur's jaw. “You didn't have to,” he said. “I wouldn't have kissed me, considering the prat I was the moment I stormed through the door. I just...I didn't expect to find you awake.”
"I wanted to," Arthur said. It was the truth, he realized. He had kissed Eames, not only to shut him up about how repressed Arthur may or may not have been, but because he truly wanted to.
Eames blinked and lowered his hand from Arthur's face.
“Wanted to?” he asked. His mind rid itself of all previous thoughts: of the pills and of Ricky and even of making a scene on his couch with Arthur in his presence. He laughed nervously. “So it wasn't a distraction tactic then...”
"It was -- a little bit," he paused. "But mostly...I wanted to." Arthur looked at Eames and hoped his confession wouldn't ruin anything between them.
Eames smiled. So the kiss was wanted, on top of the confession that he meant something to Arthur; that Arthur cared about him. He snuggled closer to Arthur, resisting the urge to kiss him again, if only to make up for the fact that he wasn't prepared for the first one and felt that Arthur could do him one better.
“Still want me to take my room tonight?” he asked.
Arthur smiled, releasing a sigh of relief and tightened his arm around Eames. "Only if you want to," he said.
“But do you want me to?” Eames asked, hoping Arthur would opt to share the couch with him. He squeezed his eyes shut. Smooth move. Just blurt out everything that you're thinking, he thought.
Arthur felt a smile cross his lips. "How about we both share the couch?" he offered. He didn't think Eames needed to be alone right now and Arthur didn't exactly want to be alone either - not that he would say as much but the thought was the same.
Eames nodded, and returned his gaze to Arthur. “So long as you don't find it too cramped, then I'm fine with it,” he said gently, tilting his face toward Arthur's. “Should I grab the blankets then, and we call it a...ah...” he pursed his lips. “...early morning?”
"I don't mind," Arthur said gently. He smiled when Eames tilted his head toward his. Arthur leaned in and pressed a kiss to Eames' lips, allowing his fingertips to caress his jaw.
Eames closed his eyes and tightened his arms around Arthur, pulling him closer. This time, he returned the kiss, rather than responding with shock.
A soft sound escaped Arthur's lips when Eames started to return the kiss. He moved closer and slowly deepened the kiss, sliding his thumb over his cheek.
Eames slid a hand up Arthur's back, allowing it to settle at the base of his neck, and he tightened his fingers around the errant strands. The logical side of him wanted to stop, to wish Arthur a good night, and to escape back into his bedroom...but the irrational side of him said he deserved something nice, something nice that didn't come in little capsules or glass bottles.
For Arthur, it was as though the dam had finally broke. Once he started kissing him, Arthur didn't want to really stop kissing him. Arthur cared about this man - loved this man. He hated seeing him hurt and upset. Loathed seeing him taken advantaged of. He slid his tongue along his bottom lip before slowly pulling back with a soft hum.
Eames blinked, dazed. What a strange, terrible, fantastic night this was turning out to be. Fingers still tangled in Arthur's hair, he asked, “Blankets?”
A smile curled on Arthur's lips. "Blankets," he agreed, softly.
He pulled himself away from Arthur and whispered a quick “'scuse me,”, making a quick exit to the bedroom so that he could tear the thick down comforter from off of his bed.
Inside his bedroom, he made a clumsy attempt to tear back the heavy comforter while simultaneously grasping for pillows from off the bed. Then he paused, and his eyes turned to his dresser.
The pills.
He bit his bottom lip and turned his head toward the bedroom door, where down the hall Arthur was waiting on the couch. He looked back at the dresser, then back toward the door.
He shook his head. They would be there later when he needed them. Not that he didn't need them now because he desperately needed them now, but he had something more important waiting for him. And quite frankly, if he snatched the pills, he would send whatever else was left of the night into a tailspin, and he didn't need that, not after what had happened between him and Ricky.
He sighed. The pills would have to wait.
He took two pillows from off of his bed, picked up the comforter, and headed back to the living room, the comforter dragging behind him.
The Jeremy Job (2006): 6/? >>
Author: sionnach-ayame & stardoll
Fandom/Pairing: Inception | Pre-Inception, Arthur/Eames
[this part] Approx. Word Count: 3,335
Disclaimer: Inception is not ours. Postboxes are not ours. Bronson? May be ours.
Rating: R (for possibly triggering content)
Summary: The tension finally breaks between Arthur and Eames, cumulating to a fight.
Eames' Player: stardoll
Arthur's Player: sionnach_ayame
[this part] Occurs: January 11, 2006
<< The Jeremy Job (2006): 4/?
LOCATION: London, England
DATE: January 11, 2006
TIME: 4:21 a.m. GMT
As much as Arthur would like to escape into his work - and he had a lot of it to escape into now that their preliminary interviews were out of the way - the fact that Eames was likely out with Ricky right now kept popping into his mind. He tried his best to focus on the most important matter at hand: the job. Yet it appeared to Arthur as though everything - from the information he collected to assorted background checks - lead right back to...
...Ricky Holmes.
Of all fucking people.
Still, it wasn't as though Arthur could truly say or do anything about it. He and Eames weren't together; Eames was an adult and could very well make his own decisions on who and who not to go out with. But the man was a walking, talking poster child for himself and his ego. Ricky had been nothing but rude, abrasive, and condescending to both Arthur and Eames. So then why Ricky Holmes? Arthur pursed his lips then frowned.
Why not Ricky Holmes? The man was a porn star, and it wasn't every day one could say that they had had sex with a porn star...
...Christ.
That really wasn't any of Arthur's business. Eames and Arthur were just friends. That was it.
Friends.
Partners.
Associates.
His train of thought continued to run in circles, and before Arthur knew it, it was four in the morning and he was still working...or at least trying to. But to be fair, it wasn't as though Arthur had meant to stay up, after all, there was a job to do and he was doing it. Few realized just how much time research took before a job, and in the early morning hours there was a greater chance that he wouldn't be interrupted. Unless, that is, it was his own mind that was conspiring against him.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Arthur lifted his eyes from the computer screen and raised his eyebrows at the tone in Eames' voice - he hadn't even noticed that Eames had returned until he started speaking. Arthur had just assumed he would have spent the full night at Ricky's. Ricky of all fucking people. He removed the pen from his mouth before speaking.
"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm working."
"I sleep there," Eames said slowly, as if he were stating the obvious. "Why work there when you could, oh, I don't know, be working in the room I gave you?"
Arthur didn't understand what the big deal was; Eames was fine when he took off earlier. He blinked once, then twice. "I really hadn't noticed," he responded, his tone dry. "I wasn't aware that there were certain rooms in your apartment that I was and was not supposed to be in when you weren't here.
“And for future reference, it just so happens that I prefer a more open area to work in, rather than the confines of a bedroom."
"Oh, thank you for implying that the room I so generously loaned you is not up to your expectations; after all, we all cannot be exceedingly wealthy like you, darling," Eames said airily. "Next time, I'll be sure to provide you something more to your liking." Crossing his arms across his chest, he continued to push the subject. "Would that make me a better host?"
"Wait one fucking minute!" Arthur glared at Eames. "I've never once said that it didn't meet whatever fucking expectations you may think I have! Stop putting words in my mouth!"
"Well, where do you suppose I go then?" Eames asked, voice rising. "I wasn't expecting to see you on my couch at four AM! I mean, I know it's a big job, but four AM?" He raked his fingers through his hair and exhaled heavily. Eames couldn't explain why he was angry; he just was. Perhaps he was because Arthur was supposed to be sound asleep; if he were asleep, then Eames could slip into his room, retrieve his Vicodin and Tuinal, and proceed to put the entire evening behind him.
So then WHY couldn't Arthur be asleep?
"Christ, Eames. You're acting like you just caught me fucking some stranger on your couch," Arthur said with exasperation. "You could go sleep in your bedroom if getting to bed means that much to you! Taking the couch tonight is not going to kill me."
In response to the sudden increase in noise, Bronson began to growl low from underneath the end table; Eames turned and spat "Not now!" at the small brown dog.
Arthur frowned. While he and Bronson weren't on the best of terms, the dog hadn't done anything to warrant such a reaction. Arthur stood from the couch. "Back off! Bronson didn't do anything to you!” He scoffed. “What the fuck has gotten into you, anyway? Didn't have a good time?"
"Oh, since when did the two of you become such great pals?" Eames spat. "He's my fucking dog, I'll speak to him however I want!"
Arthur narrowed his eyes. "He didn't need to have you yelling at him when he didn't do anything wrong!” He shook his head. “Was whoever you were fucking - was RICKY - not good enough? My God, I would have thought that you would've been more relaxed after getting laid!"
"Excuse me?" Eames scoffed. "Excuse ME? I would hardly think that any of that is your business, Arthur!" Shaking his head and laughing shortly, he added, "And even if it were, what makes you even think that I was fucking anybody, much less Ricky --"
"I know what 'going out for drinks' means, Eames! My GOD was it really so bad that you MUST come back and tear into me?!" Eames balled his hands into fists and lowered his eyes to the toes of his boots.
"Without sounding like a broken record, I truly don't believe that any of that is your business," he said, his voice wavering.
"You made it my business when you stormed in and demanded what the hell I'm doing on your couch!"
"I simply asked a question."
"Fuck if you did! You were accusing me of - fuck, I don't even KNOW what you were accusing me of! What the hell happened?!" Eames waved a hand dismissively, his gaze still cast down.
"Yes, well, you wouldn't understand."
"What does that even mean?!" Arthur glared at the man in front of him; this was starting to really get on his nerves. "Do you honestly believe that I have no idea how sex works?"
"Well, I would think it would be a little too messy for you; after all, you're the one that doesn't like a thing out of place," Eames said coolly.
"Are you kidding me?! What the hell does that have to do with anything?!" Arthur clenched his fists, simultaneously trying to resist the urge to either punch or kiss Eames. "I hate to ruin whatever misconstrued image you have of me in that head of yours, but I have had sex before! I'm not some blushing virgin!"
Eames scoffed a muttered a “yeah, right” before adding, “Arthur the Ladykiller, forgive me for ever questioning your sex life or lack thereof.”
That was the final push for Arthur. He took that final step toward Eames and brought the other man's lips to his in a hard kiss, a low sound coming from the back of his throat.
With a hand at the back of Eames' neck and half closed eyes, Arthur deepened the closed mouth kiss before he pulled back slowly and removed his hand from Eames' neck.
"Before we partnered up, you only saw my military side. You never asked nor seemed interested in my private life."
All Eames could do was stand, stunned. Did Arthur really just do that?
Blinking furiously, he quickly shook his head in a feeble attempt to regain composure. When he was certain that actual words would come out of his mouth instead of garbled nonsense, he finally said with a gentle voice, "Never seemed interested? If I weren't interested, why would I have begun writing you?"
Arthur ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath in order to regain his composure. "Like I said - this was before we became friends, Eames," he said finally, in a more weary tone. His last cup of coffee was at midnight and now? Now, he was starting to feel the exhaustion settling in, quietly replacing the fury he had felt just minutes before. It was funny how that worked.
"I didn't know then that you had any interest in any sort of relationship outside of the military, which is why I was surprised by your first letter." Arthur shook his head again and made his way back to the couch, slumping down onto it. "Look, how about you take the bedroom? I'm just going to stay out here tonight."
After a minute or two of silence, Arthur turned his attention back to Eames. He didn't look like a man who had just been fucked and enjoyed it, nor did he look happy or even unhappy, for that matter. Eames simply looked...defeated.
"Are you okay?" Arthur asked, his voice gentle.
Eames raised a hand to his face and shook his head. Why couldn't Arthur be asleep...?
“I'm...” he began. He exhaled shortly, wanting nothing more than to polish off the bottle of pills in his dresser drawer. Fuck making them last. “I'm fine. Just fine.”
He didn't look fine, Arthur thought. But instead of saying this, he chose a more tactful response: "What happened, Eames?"
“Nothing happened,” Eames said shortly. “You met the guy, you know how he can be. Can we please just let the subject rest?” He blinked quickly, his eyes stinging.
Arthur's expression grew concerned. “Alright...” he said softly, before patting the seat next to him. “Want to sit with me for a little bit before you head to bed?”
Arthur didn't like to think of Eames being alone just now. This thing with Ricky affected Eames a lot more than either of them was willing to say.
“Are you sure you want that?” Eames asked, glancing up at Arthur. He shook his head and muttered, “Of course you do, wouldn't be asking if you didn't.” He crossed his arms and shuffled to the couch, his head bowed.
He sat down next to Arthur, leaving a gap that could fit two Bronsons if they sat side-by-side. He mumbled a quick “'m sorry” to Arthur, his thoughts not straying far from the small orange bottle in his dresser.
Arthur sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "Eames - " he started to say, wanting to know what happened but for Eames' peace of mind, he let it drop. Instead, Arthur shifted closer to him and offered silent comfort by resting his head on Eames' shoulder and slipped an arm around him.
Eames lifted his head and glanced at Arthur, unsure of what to make of the gesture. First the kiss, now this? He blinked quickly, and then opened his mouth to say something, anything; however, all that he could only make out was a poorly strangled cry.
“Arthur...why?” he asked once he had finally found the words.
Arthur was silent for a minute before he lifted his head and looked at him. "Why...?" He paused before answering. "Because - because you're important to me, Eames. Ricky...Ricky's not worth it. Whatever he did - ” Arthur shook his head. “Whatever he did, whatever he said, know that you're better than that.”
That was all Eames had to hear to send his emotions toppling over the edge.
He shook his head slowly at Arthur, his mouth wording a few silent “no's”. He pressed his forehead against Arthur's shoulder, his head continuing to shake in opposition. He choked back a thick sob; why couldn't Ricky have been more like Arthur?
Why couldn't he just have Arthur?
"You ARE, Eames," Arthur insisted, gently and tightened his arm around Eames' shoulders. He rested his head against Eames' and slid his hand into Eames' hair. "Don't doubt it. You are worth so much more than whatever he said or did."
“I'm not,” Eames whimpered. “I'm not! You don't KNOW me, Arthur, you don't know what I am!” He circled his arms around Arthur's waist, if only to grant himself some semblance of comfort. “I said no, I said no over and over and he - he said I didn't mean it, didn't really mean no - he said that I was just playing hard to get. Because I'm a slut, a worthless slut, and that's all I am, Arthur, all I am to anyone! I - I don't know why you think otherwise!” He squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly quite embarrassed by his emotional outburst.
Arthur tightened his arm around Eames reflexively. He would make Ricky pay for what he did to Eames. He wasn't sure how yet, but he would.
Fucking bastard.
"Eames," he said, seriously but still gently. "Don't listen to him. That isn't all that you are. You're so much more than that."
“You don't know,” Eames whimpered. “You don't know...maybe Ricky was right. Maybe I was playing hard to get. I said yes in the end. I said yes...”
Embarrassed and disgusted, that's how he felt. Embarrassed in his immaturity, and disgusted by the acts he engaged in with Ricky. Embarrassed by his tears, and disgusted by the fact that he had to turn to Arthur for comfort.
He pressed his forehead against the crook of Arthur's neck, and breathed through his nose in an attempt to stem the emotions.
"You may have said yes but ultimately you said 'no' and in any language 'no' means 'no', Eames. What he did was without your consent, and that means that Ricky wasn't in the right, in any circumstance."
The more he heard about what happened, the more furious Arthur got with Ricky, and the more he wanted to put his fist through Ricky's face. But for now, Arthur could only press his forehead against Eames' shoulders and hold the distraught man close to him.
Eames pulled an arm away from Arthur and used his free hand to wipe back his tears. He didn't want to “correct” Arthur; he didn't want to tell Arthur that what had happened was non-consensual. There was a word for that; a word that didn't apply to men because acts of those nature never applied to men. Acts of that nature never happened between men.
After a fashion, he turned his eyes up to Arthur and said in a small, small voice, “You kissed me.”
"I did," Arthur responded slowly, his own voice soft.
Eames smiled - a small, sad smile but a smile non-the-less - and began to trace his fingers along the angles of Arthur's jaw. “You didn't have to,” he said. “I wouldn't have kissed me, considering the prat I was the moment I stormed through the door. I just...I didn't expect to find you awake.”
"I wanted to," Arthur said. It was the truth, he realized. He had kissed Eames, not only to shut him up about how repressed Arthur may or may not have been, but because he truly wanted to.
Eames blinked and lowered his hand from Arthur's face.
“Wanted to?” he asked. His mind rid itself of all previous thoughts: of the pills and of Ricky and even of making a scene on his couch with Arthur in his presence. He laughed nervously. “So it wasn't a distraction tactic then...”
"It was -- a little bit," he paused. "But mostly...I wanted to." Arthur looked at Eames and hoped his confession wouldn't ruin anything between them.
Eames smiled. So the kiss was wanted, on top of the confession that he meant something to Arthur; that Arthur cared about him. He snuggled closer to Arthur, resisting the urge to kiss him again, if only to make up for the fact that he wasn't prepared for the first one and felt that Arthur could do him one better.
“Still want me to take my room tonight?” he asked.
Arthur smiled, releasing a sigh of relief and tightened his arm around Eames. "Only if you want to," he said.
“But do you want me to?” Eames asked, hoping Arthur would opt to share the couch with him. He squeezed his eyes shut. Smooth move. Just blurt out everything that you're thinking, he thought.
Arthur felt a smile cross his lips. "How about we both share the couch?" he offered. He didn't think Eames needed to be alone right now and Arthur didn't exactly want to be alone either - not that he would say as much but the thought was the same.
Eames nodded, and returned his gaze to Arthur. “So long as you don't find it too cramped, then I'm fine with it,” he said gently, tilting his face toward Arthur's. “Should I grab the blankets then, and we call it a...ah...” he pursed his lips. “...early morning?”
"I don't mind," Arthur said gently. He smiled when Eames tilted his head toward his. Arthur leaned in and pressed a kiss to Eames' lips, allowing his fingertips to caress his jaw.
Eames closed his eyes and tightened his arms around Arthur, pulling him closer. This time, he returned the kiss, rather than responding with shock.
A soft sound escaped Arthur's lips when Eames started to return the kiss. He moved closer and slowly deepened the kiss, sliding his thumb over his cheek.
Eames slid a hand up Arthur's back, allowing it to settle at the base of his neck, and he tightened his fingers around the errant strands. The logical side of him wanted to stop, to wish Arthur a good night, and to escape back into his bedroom...but the irrational side of him said he deserved something nice, something nice that didn't come in little capsules or glass bottles.
For Arthur, it was as though the dam had finally broke. Once he started kissing him, Arthur didn't want to really stop kissing him. Arthur cared about this man - loved this man. He hated seeing him hurt and upset. Loathed seeing him taken advantaged of. He slid his tongue along his bottom lip before slowly pulling back with a soft hum.
Eames blinked, dazed. What a strange, terrible, fantastic night this was turning out to be. Fingers still tangled in Arthur's hair, he asked, “Blankets?”
A smile curled on Arthur's lips. "Blankets," he agreed, softly.
He pulled himself away from Arthur and whispered a quick “'scuse me,”, making a quick exit to the bedroom so that he could tear the thick down comforter from off of his bed.
Inside his bedroom, he made a clumsy attempt to tear back the heavy comforter while simultaneously grasping for pillows from off the bed. Then he paused, and his eyes turned to his dresser.
The pills.
He bit his bottom lip and turned his head toward the bedroom door, where down the hall Arthur was waiting on the couch. He looked back at the dresser, then back toward the door.
He shook his head. They would be there later when he needed them. Not that he didn't need them now because he desperately needed them now, but he had something more important waiting for him. And quite frankly, if he snatched the pills, he would send whatever else was left of the night into a tailspin, and he didn't need that, not after what had happened between him and Ricky.
He sighed. The pills would have to wait.
He took two pillows from off of his bed, picked up the comforter, and headed back to the living room, the comforter dragging behind him.
The Jeremy Job (2006): 6/? >>