(no subject)
Fic Title: The Third Time
Author: jikeidannin (aka thisispurgatory)
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 8224
Warnings: D/s themes, language, sex.
Beta'd by: xannish
Written for i_reversebang.
Art master post: here
Artist: paperflower86
Summary: Arthur thought he was hiding it, but Eames is smarter than that.
The first time they talked about it, it wasn't supposed to happen. But then, that was how things tended to go down with Eames, anyway. Eames was the kind of man who managed to do almost everything he wasn't supposed to do. Whether or not those things were accomplished accidentally was often up for debate.
This one, though, had been an accident - and one Arthur remained angry at himself for for weeks after it happened. The accident had been all his fault, and he couldn't even manage to find a way to blame Eames for it. That was the most maddening part of all.
The collar was in the top drawer of the dresser, where Arthur had kept it for ages now. Usually, it was covered by things that even Eames found boring. Usually piles of moleskines, or file folders of information. Eames could be counted on to absorb all the necessary information for the job, Arthur knew that, but he had more than once claimed that Arthur's notes were "boring." Therefore, he left them alone, and the drawer was safe.
Usually.
On that particular day, Arthur had been far too preoccupied with the forger himself when they'd come in the door. He left his folders and notebooks on top of the dresser and let Eames push him onto the bed. It wasn't the first time, and Arthur was sure that it wouldn't be the last, and better judgment - for once - be damned. Eames wasn't bad for him. He wasn't necessarily good for him, but Arthur probably wasn't all that good for anyone, either. He could accept that and just enjoy whatever it was that was between them.
When it was over, Arthur wiggled out of Eames's grasp and headed for the shower.
"You staying?" he asked, with the same tone he would have started any conversation.
Eames shrugged at him and stretched out to fill as much of the bed as he possibly could. "Oh, I dunno, I s'pose I might, for a bit."
"I'm going to take a shower," Arthur said, as if it wasn't obvious enough already.
"Don't be surprised if I get bored and disappear," Eames called after him, in a tone that indicated that no such thing would happen.
When Arthur came out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist, he noticed Eames standing by the dresser. He wasn't immediately concerned, but there was something going on, and it put him just slightly on guard. You didn't get to be as good as Arthur was without some intuition, after all.
"So," Eames said, casually, his back still turned, "what do you suppose this is doing in your dresser drawer?"
Arthur swallowed, sure that the sound was audible in the room.
Eames turned to face him, one eyebrow raised. In his left hand, he was holding a black leather collar. It wasn't anything fancy, but it did have a lock on it (it was unlocked, currently) and a D-ring at the front. It didn't take a lot of guesswork to figure out what it was for.
"I thought I told you not to go through my things," Arthur said. His throat felt dry. He had known he should have found a better hiding place, but after all this time that he'd known Eames - that he'd been bringing Eames back here - this had never happened. It was pure carelessness in this case, and he couldn't believe himself.
"Has this always been here?" Eames asked, completely unperturbed by Arthur's obvious state of upset, or by his comment.
"Just put that back where you found it. It's not anything," Arthur said. He hoped it sounded more believable in Eames's ears than it did in his own.
It didn't.
Eames waved the collar at Arthur. "Well, darling, are you going to tell me, or shall I come up with all sorts of wild conjectures, each more unbelievable than the first, until you-"
As Eames was talking. Arthur crossed the room and plucked the collar out of his hand, effectively cutting him off mid-sentence.
Eames's expression became one of over-exaggerated hurt. "Now, you didn't have to do that."
"Leave this alone, would you," Arthur said. His voice was low, but not as dangerous as it would have been, were he addressing anyone else. Eames had that sort of effect on him, damnably.
"Arthur, are you really that embarrassed? Are you afraid I'll tease you about your sick fantasies, or some such? I will be the first to tell you that my fantasies are far more twisted than your own. You haven't the imagination for anything really dirty, you know."
Arthur held the collar between both his hands and stared down at it. He didn't rise to Eames's bait, as he usually would have, and the smile faded from the forger's face. There was something going on here that must have been more significant than one silly dirty desire.
"Arthur?"
Arthur shook his head. "I shouldn't have kept it. And I damn sure shouldn't have put it where you could find it. You're too nosy, and I should have…"
Eames reached out, gently, and tilted Arthur's chin up. "Now, now, we all have our talents. And our secrets, apparently."
"This isn't any of your business. You'd just laugh if you knew."
"Laugh at what, pet, a bit of leather in a dresser drawer? Oh, yes, alert the presses. Arthur isn't as vanilla as everyone would have guessed. Always the quiet ones, isn't that what they say? I'll put it on if that's what you really want."
Arthur turned away from Eames abruptly, but not before the forger could see the complicated mix of emotions that worked its way across his features.
"It belongs to me, though. Thought you were smarter than that, Eames," Arthur replied, with none of the usual bite his words held when he was irritated with Eames.
Eames watched Arthur walk away towards the bed and rethought his strategy. Perhaps he was teasing too much? Arthur was clearly in a state over it, so he decided that perhaps he should tread a a bit softer.
"All right, then, tell me what's got you so dark and broody about all this. It's not the sort of present I'd give you, but, someone clearly knows you better than I do."
Arthur almost laughed at that. "Several people know me better than you do, Mr. Eames," he said, managing to sound more like himself. "But…it was a long time ago. A few years ago. I…don't know how to explain it to you. Like I said, you'd just laugh."
Eames sighed. Arthur was the thickest person in the world sometimes, especially for someone who was so intelligent.
"Arthur. I promise not to laugh, but you've got to actually tell me what you're trying to say, because I'm just no good at this interrogation business. Much more your area than mine, I'm afraid."
Arthur nodded as if that made all the sense in the world and ran a hand through his still-wet hair. He looked younger with his hair wet and starting to curl around his face. That was why he slicked it back, Eames was aware. He'd asked once, and had gotten a rare moment of unsarcastic honesty. In spite of himself, he wondered what the collar would look like, just then, around Arthur's neck instead of in his hands, with his hair loose and his face flushed…
Arthur's voice put a cap - at least for the moment - on that thought.
"I didn't really know what I was getting into when I agreed to wear it. He was, I don't know, more experienced than me. At first, I thought the same thing you did. Just a fantasy, right? But he wanted this whole lifestyle thing. I was fine with it, because it was exciting. And you might think I'm boring, but I used to be an adrenaline junkie, when I was young and stupid." A smile played on his lips, but he didn't actually look up.
"Used to be?" Eames said, and laughed a little. "I have news for you, Arthur."
Arthur went on as if Eames hadn't said anything.
"It ended because I couldn't give up enough control. My job was too dangerous, and he didn't like me sharing my mind with other people. You know what it's like. I guess it changes people. It changed me. And he didn't like the changes, or all the control I have to keep. It didn't work out."
Eames nodded his understanding. "But you kept that anyway?"
Arthur shrugged. "There were things I don't think I wanted to let go of. Having this just reminded me what I'd had. What I gave up, I guess."
In their line of work, objects in the real world could be incredibly important. They both knew it. That was why they carried totems, wasn't it? At least, a part of it. An object held specific meaning, and something like this, for someone like Arthur…
Eames thought to himself that, at just that moment, Arthur looked more vulnerable than he'd ever seen him.
"Does Cobb know about this…relationship you had?" he asked.
It was Arthur's turn to laugh. "No. Even if I wore this under my clothes, he…no. He didn't know it was like that."
"Does Mal?"
Arthur didn't answer, and that was answer enough.
Eames let the silence swell between them for a moment before he decided he'd had quite enough of that. He walked towards Arthur and knelt in front of him. He reached out and took the collar from the other man's hands, surprised at the lack of resistance he found there.
There was still no resistance when he raised the collar and placed it around Arthur's neck, clasping it in the back. It wasn't adjustable, and Eames wondered if it was specially made. Surely it had to be. That, however, was not a question he bothered with right now.
Arthur followed Eames with only his eyes as the forger stood up. Eames stood there for a long moment, head tilted, deciding if the reality matched up to the thought he'd had only minutes ago, about what that collar would look like. The reality, as it turned out, was far better. He could feel heat pooling low in his stomach again. He hadn't really been planning on doing this again (although that was partially because he didn't think Arthur would allow it), but if the opportunity presented itself properly…
"I'm quite glad you decided to keep that, pet," he said, earning an eyeroll from Arthur. Arthur reached up to unclasp the collar. (The lock took a key to actually lock.)
"Eames, don't patronize me-" he began.
"If I were you, I'd put my hands back down," Eames said, and there was no joke in his voice this time. Arthur stopped, considering this for a moment, and lowered his hands, slowly.
Again, Eames nodded his approval.
"Just how good are you at giving up control at all, I wonder," he said. It wasn't a question; it was more musing out loud. Arthur opened his mouth to answer, then thought better of it and closed it again.
"Arthur," Eames said, letting more authority than Arthur was sure he'd ever heard creep into his voice. Without thinking, Arthur looked up and their eyes met.
Eames took a step back, but he never pulled his gaze away from Arthur's. "Better off on your knees, then, don't you think?" His phrasing was as casual as ever, but his tone hadn't changed back to its usual playful one.
Arthur hesitated for a moment, but then did as he was told, sliding off the bed and onto the floor in one graceful movement. His towel managed to stay around his waist, much to Eames's chagrin. There was time, though, and he had no idea just how far he could push Arthur. How many years had it been since he'd worn that collar, anyway? He was sure Arthur wouldn't provide that information, and even if Mal was aware of what had gone on, it didn't seem a proper question to ask a lady.
Ah, well.
Eames reached down and unbuttoned the fly of his trousers (they were all he was wearing, currently), reaching for Arthur with his other hand. Arthur moved towards him with less resistance than he ever had before, and Eames had a crazy moment when he was sure he could get off just on Arthur being so willing. Then Arthur, who didn't need to be told what to do, was sucking him off with more passion than he'd had the whole time they'd been at it earlier that day.
When he finished, Eames pulled him up and kissed him. He could tell from the way Arthur kissed him that he was more breathless now than he had been the first time, or any time they'd done this. Eames didn't really put much stock in the fetish scene. It was good for a lark, he supposed. He was the kind of man who'd try anything once to see and twice for good measure, and he'd been around a few times. But what did all this mean to Arthur?
Finding that out without pushing Arthur away or losing whatever they had between them would probably be easier said than done.
Eames reached down to find that Arthur was hard again, as well. He smirked against Arthur's mouth while he palmed his cock, giving it a few rough strokes before letting go.
"Eames…" Arthur said. There might have been a warning in his tone. It was faint, though, and even Eames wasn't sure he wasn't imagining it. He was used to Arthur, after all. He hadn't really been expecting the other man to stay captivated by…whatever it was he was feeling. However, Eames liked to know where his limits were with people so he could push against them.
"Why don't you keep the key with it?" Eames asked, moving his hand up from Arthur's crotch to the side of his neck. He ran his thumb along the smooth leather, almost contemplatively.
Arthur made a sound that might have been frustration or avoidance. After a minute or so of silence that started to veer towards awkward, he finally said, "I don't have the key."
"Ah," Eames said, and dropped his hand. Instead of resuming what he'd been doing previous to that, however, he turned away entirely, tucking himself back in and zipping his trousers up again. He grabbed his shirt and walked towards the door. "We should do this again sometime, pet," he said without turning around.
Arthur stared after him, amazed, until he heard the front door shut. Even after that, he stood there, waiting, for longer than he'd have cared to admit, expecting the forger to come sauntering back in. But that…didn't happen.
Arthur sat back on the edge of the bed, lost in thought. He knew Eames was overly impulsive, but what had gone on since he'd gotten out of the shower was unexpected, to say the least. A few more minutes ticked by, and he reached up and unclasped the collar.
If I were you, I'd put my hands back down, said Eames's voice in his head.
"But you're not me, Mr. Eames," Arthur said, out loud, and threw the collar across the room. He heard it hit the wall near the door as he buried his face in his hands.
---
The second time they talked about it, Eames brought it up at entirely the wrong moment. He was good at that sort of thing.
They were at a bar, sitting in a table in the corner. This was far from Arthur's apartment in the states. It was across the globe, in fact, in a small nondescript town that could have been one of hundreds in Eastern Europe. They'd been in several such over the past few weeks, tailing someone before they finished a job. Cobb wasn't with them this time. He was too busy working with Mal on the designs. Arthur and Eames hadn't stayed together, of course, but they'd met up about once a week to discuss what they were doing.
The conversation paused, and they sipped their drinks. Eames had about three up on Arthur, but that was nothing new. Anyone who'd come up to them wouldn't have guessed it, either; the Englishman was very good at holding his liquor. He said it was because he had Irish in him, but Arthur thought that was bullshit.
"Tell me something, Arthur," Eames said. Arthur could tell by his tone of voice that the forger was about to ask him something he had no business asking, but there wasn't much to be done about it.
"No," he said, flippantly.
Eames continued, predictably, as if Arthur had either agreed or said nothing, "You remember what happened the last time we were at your place, don't you?"
"Eames-"
"Well, now, I was wondering just what you did after I left. Did you finish yourself off? I certainly would have. You know, I almost came back, because I felt kind of bad just walking out, but I figured you might like it better if I left it alone-"
"Goddamnit, Eames," Arthur fumed. He had been expecting something invasive, but not this. They hadn't slept together since that incident, and that had been months before. He'd wanted to forget it, but of course Eames could never let anyone forget anything.
He stood up, intending to storm off. He had to walk by Eames to get to the door, however, and Eames reached out quick as anything and grabbed his wrist.
"If you don't let go of me-" Arthur started, but Eames cut him off.
"Sit down, Arthur."
"Fuck you."
"Come now, Arthur, let's not be difficult. People are going to start staring."
"No."
"Arthur. Sit down."
Their eyes locked. Arthur still had every intention of storming out, and a growing intention of starting a fight with someone just so he'd have someone to take his anger out on that he could win an argument with, but that drained out of him fast enough that it was worrying. Eames let go of his wrist, and he did as Eames told him.
"If you think you can handle it, come back to my hotel room." It wasn't a question, or even an invitation. But it also wasn't an order. Arthur couldn't quite put a name to what it was, but Eames was using that tone again.
Without waiting for an answer, Eames left some coins on the table, got up, and left. Arthur watched him go. He hadn't mentioned what hotel he was staying at, but that wasn't exactly a problem. Arthur already knew; he'd checked all the information he could before they ever made contact. It was an old habit. Whether Eames knew that, or just expected him to follow right along, Arthur couldn't have said.
He sat at the table, stubbornly, for another five minutes before giving up on it. He dropped some Euros, too, and walked out into the night. He was mad at himself for going along with this crap, because he was sure he knew better. Eames wasn't someone he should be so attached to. He'd told himself that time and time again in the three years they'd been acquainted, and he'd never been so sure of it as he had after the thing that had happened at his place. But here he was, going to meet the forger in some hotel room, after a question he knew Eames hadn't asked for no reason. He didn't know what to expect now, though, but he couldn't bring himself to blow it off. He told himself it was just curiosity, or just the desire to finish the damn argument, but neither of those was the truth.
Eames was waiting for him in his hotel suite (he didn't know how to dress, but he did know the best places to stay), sitting on the couch as if he owned the place. His shoes were already off, and his shirt was half unbuttoned. Another time, Arthur might have given him some comment about being presumptuous, but the snide remark died on his lips.
"Ah, there you are, Arthur. I was almost beginning to wonder," he said, sounding rather amused at the whole situation.
Arthur was anything but.
"Eames, look," he began.
"No, you look," Eames interrupted, standing up and taking a few steps towards Arthur, "I've already waited long enough, you know. And you never answered my question earlier. I s'pose I'll let that bit slide, because I know you really don't want to answer, but I didn't bring you here to argue with you. I could have done that just fine in the bar."
"Then what the hell did you bring me here for? You really think I'm going to let you fuck me after all that?'
Eames looked as if he might laugh, but he didn't. "What did you come here for, then, if you're not planning on doing what I want you to?"
Arthur was anything but slow. He knew that Eames's phrasing was on purpose. Generally, he'd have expected a repeat of his own words, and not the carefully chosen words he'd been given.
"And what is it that you want me to do?" Arthur asked, slowly.
"You really are incapable of giving me an answer without it being a question, aren't you," Eames said, but that wasn't a question. "All right, then. What I want is you, in the bedroom, with absolutely nothing on. Unless you make it a habit of traveling with certain pieces of leather that I know you own."
Arthur narrowed his eyes at the remark. He opened his mouth to say something, but shut it again when Eames quirked an eyebrow at him. He wavered for a moment before going into the adjoining bedroom. He left his jacket and his shoes in the front room, but kept the rest of his clothes on until he was out of Eames's line of site.
"Good boy," Eames said, without thinking. Arthur was too far away to hear him, which…was probably for the best, given the preceding conversations.
Eames gave him a few more minutes, then came to join Arthur in the bedroom. He didn't bother to shut the door behind himself.
Arthur, as requested, had removed everything he was wearing (and had left it all neatly folded on a chair). He was sitting on the edge of the bed, stark naked, and already half-hard. He looked almost uncertain as Eames approached him. But he was Arthur, and he didn't let that look stay on his face for more than a heartbeat.
"There's something I'm going to try," Eames said. He didn't ask if he could try it; he simply announced that he was going to.
It was Arthur's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Oh?"
Eames's mouth twitched. "Ah, right, one moment." He turned away, towards his suitcase, which was sitting on the other side of the room. He rummaged in it for a few seconds, then pulled out a small black bag. In the bag were a pair of police-grade handcuffs. Arthur recognized them as such the moment he saw them, and he started to shake his head.
"You know, I can get out of those, right?" he asked, crossing his arms. It didn't have quite the effect it would have if he'd have been dressed in one of his favored suits instead of in nothing at all, of course, but the idea was the same.
Eames tilted his head slightly. "Of course I know that, Arthur, but I don't think you will be getting out of these."
Arthur scoffed. "Yeah? And why is that?"
Eames leveled his gaze at Arthur, and Arthur remembered the last time he'd seen that look on the forger's face. "Because I'm telling you not to. In fact, you're going to accept these, and whatever else I come up with, and I am willing to bet obscene amounts of money that you're going to enjoy every second."
Arthur's face lost its look of skepticism.
As it turned out, Eames would have won that bet.
---
The third time they talked about it, Arthur realized that Eames was doing more than just playing around.
It had been six months since the handcuffs thing. They'd seen each other once since then, but neither of them had brought that - or the preceding incident - up. It would have been longer since they'd met up, probably, but they'd come back to the states for a funeral.
Arthur had stood, motionless, expressionless, as the coffin was lowered into the ground. There hadn't been a wake, because Mal's body had been too ruined to put back together. There was an urn full of ashes in the coffin, but her parents had insisted on a coffin, all the same. There was something about a "proper" burial in there, but Arthur had gone through the past week like a ghost in his own life. He'd known Mal before she'd even married Dom. She'd been the one that introduced him to Eames, though he never quite got the story straight on how they knew each other. Eames knew everyone he wanted to know, and that was most of the story. He had loved her, though, as everyone who knew her loved her.
Eames was closer to the back of the group of mourners, dressed in a rumpled black suit and no tie. Arthur would have been appalled at him, if he'd had it in him to bother. As it was, he just wrote it off as the way Eames was. He stayed until all the mourners but Mal's parents trickled off. The kids weren't here, since Mal's mom thought it wouldn't be right. They were too young, she said. Arthur hadn't argued, because it wasn't his place, but he thought it was bullshit anyway.
Dom, of course, was in hiding, somewhere in Europe. Arthur was pretty sure he was having a meltdown, but they hadn't spoken in three days.
Arthur offered his condolences - for the millionth time - to Mal's parents. They both thanked him, and thanked him for coming, and thanked him for having been her friend. He took it in stride, knowing that at least her mom blamed Dom for what had happened, even though it wasn't his fault. Arthur didn't know who to blame, so he'd settled for blaming no one, and pretending that he wasn't as upset as he was. That he wasn't as numb as he was.
Eames caught up to him at the car he'd rented, waiting in the parking lot.
"I could use some company, if you don't mind," Eames said. He didn't make a pretense of playing to Arthur's sympathies. He just…said it, as he'd have said anything else.
Arthur nodded, saying nothing, and unlocked the car. They drove back to Eames's hotel room, and not to Arthur's. If Eames had any issue with that, he didn't voice it, and they rode in silence.
Arthur followed Eames up to his suite, calculating in his head just how much Eames had to be spending on the place; the forger did so love to spend money. Arthur picked nice hotel rooms, but not this nice. And considering the circumstances, he'd just gotten some place somewhere. Eames could always be counted on to overdo things, regardless of the circumstances.
Eames kicked off his shoes and wandered over to the mini-bar, pulled out a bottle of something, and poured it into a glass.
"Something to drink?" he asked, casually.
Arthur frowned at him. "No."
Eames shrugged, tossed back his drink, and poured another one. He moved over to the couch, taking the bottle with him, and flopped down on it. Arthur remained where he was. He hadn't even taken off his jacket.
After a minute or so, Eames looked up at him. "I'm sorry, Arthur, but if you thought I asked you here to reminisce about how wonderful she was, and cry on your shoulder or some such, you're going to be disappointed."
"What did you ask me here for?" Arthur said, tonelessly.
Eames set the bottle down. "Sometimes, pet, you are absolutely the thickest person I have ever met. You'd think, smart as you are, you'd figure these things out on your own."
Arthur sighed. "Eames, we just went to a funeral, and all you're thinking about is-"
"Is that Mal wasn't the kind of lady who'd want everyone sobbing about her for days, and would expect us both to live our lives the same as we've been doing for years. And also about taking that look off your face. Really, it's great for a game of poker, but you've had that same look on your face all day. Let it go. Cry if that's what you need to do, but don't just refuse to feel because you can't let yourself do it."
Arthur shook his head as if trying to clear it. "This was stupid. I should go," he said, but he didn't move.
Eames stood up, leaving his once again empty glass on the coffee table next to the bottle. "It wasn't, and you shouldn't," he said, closing the distance between them. When he reached Arthur, he reached up and pushed his coat back off his shoulders. Arthur let him, even moving to make the removal of the coat a little smoother.
"That's it," Eames said, tossing the jacket over the back of the couch. He removed Arthur's suit jacket in the same manner, then reached for his tie. Arthur allowed all of this, silently, expressionlessly.
Eames got the top two buttons of his shirt undone before he finally had enough, and pushed the forger's hands away.
"Oh, what is it? You're really not going to go along with it, are you?"
"I have a flight out tomorrow night," Arthur said, as if that were an explanation, or even a related subject.
Eames nodded, and waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, and you've an empty hotel room tonight. Check-out would be, what, eleven tomorrow morning? I'll have you out of here in plenty of time for that."
"You staying here?" Arthur asked. He tried to sound conversational, but he was still too stiff to pull that off well.
Eames shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. I'm taking a break from work for a bit. Month, maybe? I have enough saved. Other than that, I don't really have any plans. It's wherever the wind takes me from here on, until I get bored with that and go back to messing around in people's heads. Hard to quit, you know."
Arthur nodded, and did up the buttons on his shirt. He reached for the other clothes Eames had left on the couch. "I'm headed to Boston," he said.
When he turned to leave, Eames didn't stop him.
Three days later, however, Eames showed up unannounced at Arthur's apartment, suitcase in hand. Arthur was only half-expecting him, but he didn't seem surprised when he answered the door.
"Ah, you are at home," Eames said, when the door opened. "I wasn't quite sure when you said Boston, you know. You might have lit off already. I figured I'd give you a couple days before I decided to impose."
Arthur stood in the doorway, looking unimpressed.
"Aren't you going to invite me in, love?"
Arthur looked like he was considering shutting the door in Eames's face - and he was, somewhat - but thought better of it and moved out of the way. "Yeah, come in," he said.
Eames grinned at him and made his way into the apartment. He dropped his suitcase unceremoniously on the floor, and grabbed Arthur just as he was closing the door. Without further comment, he pushed Arthur up against the door, and kissed him. Hard. Arthur didn't have time to question him or protest.
When the kiss broke, Eames spoke up before Arthur could. He knew that Arthur would be more than a little sore over not being able to get a snark or two in this early on, but that was just too damned bad.
"Now then! I could use a bite to eat, but first, I think I'm going to take my frustrations from the past three days out on you, what do you think?"
Arthur actually laughed, though it was short. "It's not my fault all you had was your hand. And if you think-"
"Actually, it is entirely your fault, Arthur, being that you're the one that left Thursday."
"But you waited three days to come after me," Arthur pointed out.
Eames nodded. "Yes, yes, I explained why that was. And now I expect you to make up for it." So saying, Eames finally took a step back, leaving room for Arthur to come away from the door.
Arthur regarded the forger carefully for a moment. "I really don't see why-"
"Do you know what shibari is?"
"Eames-"
"No, that's an honest inquiry. Don't give me a bunch of nonsense over it, just answer the question."
"Well, you're just all business today, aren't you, Mr. Eames?" Arthur said, sounding irritated.
"Just how you like it," Eames responded, without any hint of sarcasm. "Now. Answer the question, will you?"
Arthur shook his head a little, as if in disbelief. "Yes, I know what shibari is. In fact, I'll bet I know more about it than you do, since you called it shibari and not kinbaku."
Eames shrugged. "Word's a word to me, you know, it's all the same to me. Shame, though, I was hoping you'd tell me you'd never done it."
"I didn't say I'd done it, I said I knew what it was," Arthur said, sounding almost defensive.
Eames brightened immediately. "Ah, good, then I don't have to listen to hours of complaints about how I'm doing it wrong."
"I am not letting you-"
"Of course you are, Arthur, that's what I came over here for, you know."
Arthur wanted to throw out some scathing remark, but something in Eames's tone rendered whatever it was in his brain that produced such remarks useless. He had no idea how long Eames was going to continue this, and he had even less idea if Eames understood the line he was toeing with all of it. But here he was, going along with it all the same.
Eames came towards him, much as he'd done in his hotel room after Mal's funeral. This time, Arthur let him get all the way through removing his shirt before he stopped him.
"Eames, we're in the living room, and I haven't even locked the door."
Eames sighed, sounding entirely put out.
"Yes, yes, all right, lock the bloody door then," he said, gesturing towards it. "I suppose I'll be in the bedroom, then." He turned, picked up his suitcase, and walked off down the hall without another word. Arthur watched him go. When Eames had disappeared into the bedroom, he did lock the door. He wasn't sure why he was stalling, but he was.
"The hell is wrong with me," he muttered into the empty room, then followed Eames down the hall.
Eames had his suitcase open, but he hadn't so much as taken off his shoes. He'd taken off his coat, and was wearing a hideously patterned shirt over a plain black undershirt. His shirt was undone all the way, but Arthur was pretty sure it had been like that the whole time. As Arthur approached him, he took the awful shirt off, but kept everything else where it was.
"Took you long enough, really," he said, but there was fondness in his voice, instead of irritation.
Arthur didn't say anything.
"Take off your pants," Eames said, affecting that authoritative tone that Arthur had already come to appreciate way too much. Arthur did as he was told. He reached down to do the same with his boxer-briefs, but Eames shook his head. "No, not yet, I think."
Arthur dropped his hands to his sides and waited. Eames held out a hand, and Arthur took it, allowing the forger to draw him closer. They were close enough to kiss, but the kiss didn't come, this time. Instead, Eames turned him around. He pulled Arthur back against him, and Arthur was keenly aware of the difference between their states of undress. He'd have actually preferred to be completely naked; there was something about just having his underwear that made him feel more exposed, instead of less. He wouldn't have put it past Eames to have done it that way on purpose. He didn't argue it, however, and just stood there.
Eames slid one hand down Arthur's chest, his stomach. He stopped at the waistband of Arthur's underwear, and slid his hand back up. He let his hand run over one of the other man's already-hard nipples, and left a surprisingly gentle kiss on Arthur's shoulder.
"Just stay here for a minute, would you," he said, and went back to his suitcase. He returned with several lengths of soft, pale rope. Wordlessly, he wrapped it around Arthur's chest and torso, binding his arms there. He'd made some comment about doing it wrong, but Arthur wondered if he'd practiced this - and who he'd practiced it on. Eames didn't seem to have any problems with the ropes. The technique didn't really use knots, either. Surely he couldn't have just learned how to do it from the internet, or something?
As the ropes tightened around him, though, Arthur found himself unable to think about the how or the where. He was only thinking about Eames's hands, barely touching his skin, and about the ropes that he wouldn't have been able to get away from, even if he'd wanted to. Every inch of his flesh, even where the ropes weren't touching, felt heated.
Eames finished binding Arthur's arms behind his back, and stopped to admire his work. He'd been planning to go a bit further than he had, but his own natural impatience won out.
He stepped around Arthur to stand in front of him, head tilted to one side, considering.
"I wish you could see yourself, pet, you look really stunning," he said.
Arthur's face flushed slightly, but he said nothing.
"Ah, yes, almost forgot," Eames said, reaching out and pulling Arthur's underwear off. His cock was already achingly hard (not that it took removing his underwear for that to be obvious). Eames's own cock was just about there, as well, and it reminded him of something. He returned to his suitcase for a moment, then returned with a plain-looking circle of metal.
Arthur raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He followed Eames's hand with his eyes as Eames reached down and slid the ring over his cock.
"Too tight?" Eames asked, without a hint of humor in his voice.
Arthur shook his head, but still didn't say anything. He wasn't sure he'd have been able to speak if he tried.
Another time or place, he'd have protested all of it, of course. But he'd allowed all of this, up to now, and refusing something so small as a cock ring didn't even occur to him.
The forger undid his pants and pulled Arthur towards him. There was really nothing for Arthur to do but go to his knees; with his hands bound, his mouth was the only thing he could use for this. He didn't hesitate or pull away, though. Instead, he took to this task enthusiastically, without inhibition.
"That's it, love," Eames said, his voice low.
Arthur moaned softly around Eames's cock, and continued to work his mouth. Eames pressed his hips forward, and threaded his hands through Arthur's hair. At least it wasn't all gelled back at the moment, since Arthur had been at home, and not out and about, before Eames had gotten here. As Arthur's mouth worked, Eames tightened his grip, eliciting another moan from Arthur.
"Stop." Eames pulled Arthur's head away, fingers still tangled in his hair.
Arthur looked up at him, and their eyes met. There was something between them here, like this, that hadn't been in the years they'd been doing this. Even the last time, with the handcuffs, hadn't been this…electric.
Arthur's mouth was slightly open, as if he might say something, but he didn't. Eames reached down and pulled him up. Arthur wasn't quite as graceful at accomplishing that as he would have been normally, but he managed pretty well for having his arms bound.
Eames didn't bother telling him what to do. Instead, he turned Arthur around and steered him to the wall near the bed. They were both too tall to bend over the bed comfortably enough. Anyway, this was fine. In some ways, this was better.
He had set a bottle of lubricant on the nearby nightstand when he'd gotten the ropes (there was nothing wrong with being prepared), and reached for it. Arthur rested his forehead against the wall, waiting. Even though they weren't currently touching, Eames could feel how tightly wound he was. Tension practically poured off of him, but it didn't seem like such a bad thing.
Eames poured enough of the liquid into his hands to coat his cock as well as his fingers. With one hand, he stroked his own erection - not that Arthur could see it - and slid the other hand down between Arthur's legs. He slid one finger inside the other man, slowly. With how tense Arthur was, he didn't want to rush it. Arthur's breath caught, and he tensed even further, but only for a second. Arthur forced himself to relax, and Eames slid another finger in.
The forger worked his fingers until he thought he heard Arthur make a noise. Whether it was pleading or protest, he didn't know.
"Something you want, Arthur?" he asked.
Arthur made a noise that sounded like frustration, but did not speak.
Eames moved his hand slower. Torturously slower. Arthur pushed his hips back against Eames's hand, seeking more but apparently not willing to ask for it aloud.
"No? Nothing you want at all? Be a shame if I just finished myself off and left, don't you think?"
"No."
"No? You mean you don't think it would be a shame? Well, in that case." Eames pulled his hand entirely away, as if he was really going to do as he'd said.
"No, I mean-" Arthur, who always had a snappy comeback, was apparently at a loss for words.
"You mean what?" Eames asked, though it didn't quite sound like a question.
"I meant, no, don't stop," Arthur said, sounding slightly irritated. Eames was far too impatient to scold him for it (though, perhaps another time), and let it go.
"Then what shall I do instead, hm?" Eames asked, pressing against Arthur. Arthur moaned softly, and leaned his head back against Eames for a second before he managed to answer.
"Well, I thought you were going to fuck me," he said, but this time he didn't sound irritated at all.
"Did you now? I suppose, if that's what you want?"
Annoyance flashed across Arthur's face, but it was gone as quickly as it had been there. "Yes. Yes, that's what I want," he said.
Eames didn't see any reason to answer that with words. Instead, he braced one arm against the wall (there was no need to push Arthur entirely against the wall; he wasn't exactly going anywhere) and positioned himself behind the other man. He moved slowly at first. He could feel Arthur resisting the urge to press back against him. Even tied up, he was all about dignity.
Finally, though, even Arthur couldn't take it, and he did push back against Eames.
"Jesus, Eames, please, just…"
Eames smiled, and moved faster. He made a mental note to make Arthur ask more coherently next time, but his own impatience won out for now. For a few minutes, the only sounds in the room were their bodies moving together. Arthur ended up with his chest flush against the wall anyway, though neither of them really noticed. Eames came without warning Arthur, leaving the other man panting and all but whimpering against the wall.
"Eames," he said. This time, he was obviously pleading.
"Yes, yes, love, one moment," Eames said, breathlessly. He pulled out and stood there, leaning his head against Arthur for a short span of eternity. Finally, he stood up entirely. He pulled Arthur around to face him, enjoying the sight of him flushed and wanting, and still wrapped with the pale ropes.
He reached down and slid the ring - slowly - off Arthur's cock. He used his still-slick hand to stroke him, faster and faster, until he finally came as well.
Arthur leaned forward, resting his head on Eames's shoulder.
"Eames, I-"
"Hush, love. I know."
---
Arthur sat on the edge of the bed. Eames lay behind him, just watching him. They had been silent for over ten minutes. Arthur was lost in his thoughts. Since Eames had dropped the ropes on the floor, Arthur had avoided looking at them as if they'd burn his eyes.
"We can't keep doing this," he said, suddenly, as if it were an argument to something.
"Can't we?" Eames asked. "I don't see why not. We're grown ups, we can do whatever we please."
"That isn't what I meant, and you know it," Arthur said, hissing the words from between clenched teeth. He didn't turn around and look at Eames.
Eames sighed and sat up. "Arthur, I really don't see what the problem is, we've been doing this for, what, three years? Something like that?"
Arthur just shook his head. "That's not what I mean. You and me, that's fine, but the way you keep…Christ, I don't know."
He stood up, frustrated, and pushed his messy hair back out of his face.
Eames followed suit, intent on not actually letting Arthur run away from whatever it was he was - or wasn't - trying to say. Arthur glanced back on him, but still didn't turn around.
"Look, if you think I have no idea what you feel when we do this-"
"If you did, you'd stop doing it!" Arthur said, and finally turned to face Eames. Anger was in his voice, but it wasn't all that was on his face. "You're supposed to be smart, Mr. Eames. You figured so much about me out, congratulations. Now stop using it against me."
"Using it against you, Arthur, are you serious. You've been spending entirely too much time in other people's minds, you know, makes you paranoid."
Arthur's glare hardened further, but he didn't rise to the bait.
"I need a drink," he said, instead, and went out to the kitchen. Eames didn't stop him. After a few minutes, however, he did follow.
Arthur was standing in the kitchen, arms braced on the counter, head down. There was an open beer bottle next to him, but it was still mostly full.
Eames walked up behind him without saying a word, sliding his arms around Arthur. Arthur tensed a little, but didn't resist. They stood there like that for a moment.
"You think I don't understand you, love, like you're some great mystery. I admit, you're a bit hard to figure out, but my job is to understand untouchable people. And I'm damn good at it, I will have you know."
"Eames-"
"No, I mean it. I understand you just fine. Here, close your eyes, that's it."
Arthur sighed again, as if it was such a chore, but did as he was told. He opened them immediately when he felt the leather around his neck. He hadn't bothered hiding it from Eames this time. The damage was long since done.
"Eames, damnit-"
"Oh, hush, and let me finish what I'm doing," Eames said, actually irritated. Arthur could be so difficult for no actual reason.
Arthur reached up to push Eames's hands away, but froze when he heard the lock click. He stood there like that for a minute, unmoving, hands half raised and eyes wide.
"Eames," he said, his voice not much louder than a whisper.
"Yes, love?" Eames said, asking the question right into Arthur's ear.
"How the hell did you-"
"Part of the job description, Arthur, that's all it is. It's a really simple mechanism. Having a key made for it isn't terribly difficult." The smugness in his voice was evident.
"When did you-"
"Oh, I can't recall, exactly. The last time I was in Boston, I suppose, though I can't rightly say when that was? You were off with Cobb at the time. Europe, probably."
Arthur wasn't sure whether to be impressed or furious. He lowered his hands again, letting them rest on the counter again. He was quiet for a minute. Finally, he turned around. Eames took a step back to allow him the space - and so he could look at him.
"There, then, that's better, wouldn't you say?"
"Why did you-"
"Because it meant something to you. Because every time we do this, it tears you up, and you won't tell me why, but like you said - I am supposed to be smart. I might as well pretend I actually am, hm? Give you what you want and all."
"Eames, it isn't what I want, so much-"
This time, instead of just interrupting, Eames reached out and put his fingers against Arthur's lips, silencing him.
"Arthur, honestly, it's not all about you and what you want. Don't be ridiculous. Aren't I more self-serving than that? Wouldn't you say?"
Arthur just looked at him. "You're unbelievable."
Eames grinned. "Naturally. Does that mean you're not going to insist I give you the key?"
Arthur didn't have to think about the answer. "No."
"Should fit under those suits you insist on wearing, they have high collars."
"You're serious."
"Did you think I was playing? Well, about the suit thing, I suppose, and I might have been, at first, you know, but there's something that happens to you, and I don't know that I can live without it."
Arthur half-laughed at that, but he knew (usually) when Eames was being sincere and when he wasn't.
"I won't actually make you wear that all the time. Loses some of the edge, I think. Anyway, to tell you the truth, I'd rather keep it between us, if you don't mind."
Arthur shook his head, then nodded. "No, I don't…yeah, that's fine, just…"
Eames took Arthur's face in both his hands, all but forcing the other man to look at him. "You are lovely when you can't think of a thing to say. Always so composed other times. Do you really only lose it like this for me?"
Arthur didn't answer him with words. Instead, he pulled Eames closer, flush against him, and kissed him.
Author: jikeidannin (aka thisispurgatory)
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 8224
Warnings: D/s themes, language, sex.
Beta'd by: xannish
Written for i_reversebang.
Art master post: here
Artist: paperflower86
Summary: Arthur thought he was hiding it, but Eames is smarter than that.
The first time they talked about it, it wasn't supposed to happen. But then, that was how things tended to go down with Eames, anyway. Eames was the kind of man who managed to do almost everything he wasn't supposed to do. Whether or not those things were accomplished accidentally was often up for debate.
This one, though, had been an accident - and one Arthur remained angry at himself for for weeks after it happened. The accident had been all his fault, and he couldn't even manage to find a way to blame Eames for it. That was the most maddening part of all.
The collar was in the top drawer of the dresser, where Arthur had kept it for ages now. Usually, it was covered by things that even Eames found boring. Usually piles of moleskines, or file folders of information. Eames could be counted on to absorb all the necessary information for the job, Arthur knew that, but he had more than once claimed that Arthur's notes were "boring." Therefore, he left them alone, and the drawer was safe.
Usually.
On that particular day, Arthur had been far too preoccupied with the forger himself when they'd come in the door. He left his folders and notebooks on top of the dresser and let Eames push him onto the bed. It wasn't the first time, and Arthur was sure that it wouldn't be the last, and better judgment - for once - be damned. Eames wasn't bad for him. He wasn't necessarily good for him, but Arthur probably wasn't all that good for anyone, either. He could accept that and just enjoy whatever it was that was between them.
When it was over, Arthur wiggled out of Eames's grasp and headed for the shower.
"You staying?" he asked, with the same tone he would have started any conversation.
Eames shrugged at him and stretched out to fill as much of the bed as he possibly could. "Oh, I dunno, I s'pose I might, for a bit."
"I'm going to take a shower," Arthur said, as if it wasn't obvious enough already.
"Don't be surprised if I get bored and disappear," Eames called after him, in a tone that indicated that no such thing would happen.
When Arthur came out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist, he noticed Eames standing by the dresser. He wasn't immediately concerned, but there was something going on, and it put him just slightly on guard. You didn't get to be as good as Arthur was without some intuition, after all.
"So," Eames said, casually, his back still turned, "what do you suppose this is doing in your dresser drawer?"
Arthur swallowed, sure that the sound was audible in the room.
Eames turned to face him, one eyebrow raised. In his left hand, he was holding a black leather collar. It wasn't anything fancy, but it did have a lock on it (it was unlocked, currently) and a D-ring at the front. It didn't take a lot of guesswork to figure out what it was for.
"I thought I told you not to go through my things," Arthur said. His throat felt dry. He had known he should have found a better hiding place, but after all this time that he'd known Eames - that he'd been bringing Eames back here - this had never happened. It was pure carelessness in this case, and he couldn't believe himself.
"Has this always been here?" Eames asked, completely unperturbed by Arthur's obvious state of upset, or by his comment.
"Just put that back where you found it. It's not anything," Arthur said. He hoped it sounded more believable in Eames's ears than it did in his own.
It didn't.
Eames waved the collar at Arthur. "Well, darling, are you going to tell me, or shall I come up with all sorts of wild conjectures, each more unbelievable than the first, until you-"
As Eames was talking. Arthur crossed the room and plucked the collar out of his hand, effectively cutting him off mid-sentence.
Eames's expression became one of over-exaggerated hurt. "Now, you didn't have to do that."
"Leave this alone, would you," Arthur said. His voice was low, but not as dangerous as it would have been, were he addressing anyone else. Eames had that sort of effect on him, damnably.
"Arthur, are you really that embarrassed? Are you afraid I'll tease you about your sick fantasies, or some such? I will be the first to tell you that my fantasies are far more twisted than your own. You haven't the imagination for anything really dirty, you know."
Arthur held the collar between both his hands and stared down at it. He didn't rise to Eames's bait, as he usually would have, and the smile faded from the forger's face. There was something going on here that must have been more significant than one silly dirty desire.
"Arthur?"
Arthur shook his head. "I shouldn't have kept it. And I damn sure shouldn't have put it where you could find it. You're too nosy, and I should have…"
Eames reached out, gently, and tilted Arthur's chin up. "Now, now, we all have our talents. And our secrets, apparently."
"This isn't any of your business. You'd just laugh if you knew."
"Laugh at what, pet, a bit of leather in a dresser drawer? Oh, yes, alert the presses. Arthur isn't as vanilla as everyone would have guessed. Always the quiet ones, isn't that what they say? I'll put it on if that's what you really want."
Arthur turned away from Eames abruptly, but not before the forger could see the complicated mix of emotions that worked its way across his features.
"It belongs to me, though. Thought you were smarter than that, Eames," Arthur replied, with none of the usual bite his words held when he was irritated with Eames.
Eames watched Arthur walk away towards the bed and rethought his strategy. Perhaps he was teasing too much? Arthur was clearly in a state over it, so he decided that perhaps he should tread a a bit softer.
"All right, then, tell me what's got you so dark and broody about all this. It's not the sort of present I'd give you, but, someone clearly knows you better than I do."
Arthur almost laughed at that. "Several people know me better than you do, Mr. Eames," he said, managing to sound more like himself. "But…it was a long time ago. A few years ago. I…don't know how to explain it to you. Like I said, you'd just laugh."
Eames sighed. Arthur was the thickest person in the world sometimes, especially for someone who was so intelligent.
"Arthur. I promise not to laugh, but you've got to actually tell me what you're trying to say, because I'm just no good at this interrogation business. Much more your area than mine, I'm afraid."
Arthur nodded as if that made all the sense in the world and ran a hand through his still-wet hair. He looked younger with his hair wet and starting to curl around his face. That was why he slicked it back, Eames was aware. He'd asked once, and had gotten a rare moment of unsarcastic honesty. In spite of himself, he wondered what the collar would look like, just then, around Arthur's neck instead of in his hands, with his hair loose and his face flushed…
Arthur's voice put a cap - at least for the moment - on that thought.
"I didn't really know what I was getting into when I agreed to wear it. He was, I don't know, more experienced than me. At first, I thought the same thing you did. Just a fantasy, right? But he wanted this whole lifestyle thing. I was fine with it, because it was exciting. And you might think I'm boring, but I used to be an adrenaline junkie, when I was young and stupid." A smile played on his lips, but he didn't actually look up.
"Used to be?" Eames said, and laughed a little. "I have news for you, Arthur."
Arthur went on as if Eames hadn't said anything.
"It ended because I couldn't give up enough control. My job was too dangerous, and he didn't like me sharing my mind with other people. You know what it's like. I guess it changes people. It changed me. And he didn't like the changes, or all the control I have to keep. It didn't work out."
Eames nodded his understanding. "But you kept that anyway?"
Arthur shrugged. "There were things I don't think I wanted to let go of. Having this just reminded me what I'd had. What I gave up, I guess."
In their line of work, objects in the real world could be incredibly important. They both knew it. That was why they carried totems, wasn't it? At least, a part of it. An object held specific meaning, and something like this, for someone like Arthur…
Eames thought to himself that, at just that moment, Arthur looked more vulnerable than he'd ever seen him.
"Does Cobb know about this…relationship you had?" he asked.
It was Arthur's turn to laugh. "No. Even if I wore this under my clothes, he…no. He didn't know it was like that."
"Does Mal?"
Arthur didn't answer, and that was answer enough.
Eames let the silence swell between them for a moment before he decided he'd had quite enough of that. He walked towards Arthur and knelt in front of him. He reached out and took the collar from the other man's hands, surprised at the lack of resistance he found there.
There was still no resistance when he raised the collar and placed it around Arthur's neck, clasping it in the back. It wasn't adjustable, and Eames wondered if it was specially made. Surely it had to be. That, however, was not a question he bothered with right now.
Arthur followed Eames with only his eyes as the forger stood up. Eames stood there for a long moment, head tilted, deciding if the reality matched up to the thought he'd had only minutes ago, about what that collar would look like. The reality, as it turned out, was far better. He could feel heat pooling low in his stomach again. He hadn't really been planning on doing this again (although that was partially because he didn't think Arthur would allow it), but if the opportunity presented itself properly…
"I'm quite glad you decided to keep that, pet," he said, earning an eyeroll from Arthur. Arthur reached up to unclasp the collar. (The lock took a key to actually lock.)
"Eames, don't patronize me-" he began.
"If I were you, I'd put my hands back down," Eames said, and there was no joke in his voice this time. Arthur stopped, considering this for a moment, and lowered his hands, slowly.
Again, Eames nodded his approval.
"Just how good are you at giving up control at all, I wonder," he said. It wasn't a question; it was more musing out loud. Arthur opened his mouth to answer, then thought better of it and closed it again.
"Arthur," Eames said, letting more authority than Arthur was sure he'd ever heard creep into his voice. Without thinking, Arthur looked up and their eyes met.
Eames took a step back, but he never pulled his gaze away from Arthur's. "Better off on your knees, then, don't you think?" His phrasing was as casual as ever, but his tone hadn't changed back to its usual playful one.
Arthur hesitated for a moment, but then did as he was told, sliding off the bed and onto the floor in one graceful movement. His towel managed to stay around his waist, much to Eames's chagrin. There was time, though, and he had no idea just how far he could push Arthur. How many years had it been since he'd worn that collar, anyway? He was sure Arthur wouldn't provide that information, and even if Mal was aware of what had gone on, it didn't seem a proper question to ask a lady.
Ah, well.
Eames reached down and unbuttoned the fly of his trousers (they were all he was wearing, currently), reaching for Arthur with his other hand. Arthur moved towards him with less resistance than he ever had before, and Eames had a crazy moment when he was sure he could get off just on Arthur being so willing. Then Arthur, who didn't need to be told what to do, was sucking him off with more passion than he'd had the whole time they'd been at it earlier that day.
When he finished, Eames pulled him up and kissed him. He could tell from the way Arthur kissed him that he was more breathless now than he had been the first time, or any time they'd done this. Eames didn't really put much stock in the fetish scene. It was good for a lark, he supposed. He was the kind of man who'd try anything once to see and twice for good measure, and he'd been around a few times. But what did all this mean to Arthur?
Finding that out without pushing Arthur away or losing whatever they had between them would probably be easier said than done.
Eames reached down to find that Arthur was hard again, as well. He smirked against Arthur's mouth while he palmed his cock, giving it a few rough strokes before letting go.
"Eames…" Arthur said. There might have been a warning in his tone. It was faint, though, and even Eames wasn't sure he wasn't imagining it. He was used to Arthur, after all. He hadn't really been expecting the other man to stay captivated by…whatever it was he was feeling. However, Eames liked to know where his limits were with people so he could push against them.
"Why don't you keep the key with it?" Eames asked, moving his hand up from Arthur's crotch to the side of his neck. He ran his thumb along the smooth leather, almost contemplatively.
Arthur made a sound that might have been frustration or avoidance. After a minute or so of silence that started to veer towards awkward, he finally said, "I don't have the key."
"Ah," Eames said, and dropped his hand. Instead of resuming what he'd been doing previous to that, however, he turned away entirely, tucking himself back in and zipping his trousers up again. He grabbed his shirt and walked towards the door. "We should do this again sometime, pet," he said without turning around.
Arthur stared after him, amazed, until he heard the front door shut. Even after that, he stood there, waiting, for longer than he'd have cared to admit, expecting the forger to come sauntering back in. But that…didn't happen.
Arthur sat back on the edge of the bed, lost in thought. He knew Eames was overly impulsive, but what had gone on since he'd gotten out of the shower was unexpected, to say the least. A few more minutes ticked by, and he reached up and unclasped the collar.
If I were you, I'd put my hands back down, said Eames's voice in his head.
"But you're not me, Mr. Eames," Arthur said, out loud, and threw the collar across the room. He heard it hit the wall near the door as he buried his face in his hands.
---
The second time they talked about it, Eames brought it up at entirely the wrong moment. He was good at that sort of thing.
They were at a bar, sitting in a table in the corner. This was far from Arthur's apartment in the states. It was across the globe, in fact, in a small nondescript town that could have been one of hundreds in Eastern Europe. They'd been in several such over the past few weeks, tailing someone before they finished a job. Cobb wasn't with them this time. He was too busy working with Mal on the designs. Arthur and Eames hadn't stayed together, of course, but they'd met up about once a week to discuss what they were doing.
The conversation paused, and they sipped their drinks. Eames had about three up on Arthur, but that was nothing new. Anyone who'd come up to them wouldn't have guessed it, either; the Englishman was very good at holding his liquor. He said it was because he had Irish in him, but Arthur thought that was bullshit.
"Tell me something, Arthur," Eames said. Arthur could tell by his tone of voice that the forger was about to ask him something he had no business asking, but there wasn't much to be done about it.
"No," he said, flippantly.
Eames continued, predictably, as if Arthur had either agreed or said nothing, "You remember what happened the last time we were at your place, don't you?"
"Eames-"
"Well, now, I was wondering just what you did after I left. Did you finish yourself off? I certainly would have. You know, I almost came back, because I felt kind of bad just walking out, but I figured you might like it better if I left it alone-"
"Goddamnit, Eames," Arthur fumed. He had been expecting something invasive, but not this. They hadn't slept together since that incident, and that had been months before. He'd wanted to forget it, but of course Eames could never let anyone forget anything.
He stood up, intending to storm off. He had to walk by Eames to get to the door, however, and Eames reached out quick as anything and grabbed his wrist.
"If you don't let go of me-" Arthur started, but Eames cut him off.
"Sit down, Arthur."
"Fuck you."
"Come now, Arthur, let's not be difficult. People are going to start staring."
"No."
"Arthur. Sit down."
Their eyes locked. Arthur still had every intention of storming out, and a growing intention of starting a fight with someone just so he'd have someone to take his anger out on that he could win an argument with, but that drained out of him fast enough that it was worrying. Eames let go of his wrist, and he did as Eames told him.
"If you think you can handle it, come back to my hotel room." It wasn't a question, or even an invitation. But it also wasn't an order. Arthur couldn't quite put a name to what it was, but Eames was using that tone again.
Without waiting for an answer, Eames left some coins on the table, got up, and left. Arthur watched him go. He hadn't mentioned what hotel he was staying at, but that wasn't exactly a problem. Arthur already knew; he'd checked all the information he could before they ever made contact. It was an old habit. Whether Eames knew that, or just expected him to follow right along, Arthur couldn't have said.
He sat at the table, stubbornly, for another five minutes before giving up on it. He dropped some Euros, too, and walked out into the night. He was mad at himself for going along with this crap, because he was sure he knew better. Eames wasn't someone he should be so attached to. He'd told himself that time and time again in the three years they'd been acquainted, and he'd never been so sure of it as he had after the thing that had happened at his place. But here he was, going to meet the forger in some hotel room, after a question he knew Eames hadn't asked for no reason. He didn't know what to expect now, though, but he couldn't bring himself to blow it off. He told himself it was just curiosity, or just the desire to finish the damn argument, but neither of those was the truth.
Eames was waiting for him in his hotel suite (he didn't know how to dress, but he did know the best places to stay), sitting on the couch as if he owned the place. His shoes were already off, and his shirt was half unbuttoned. Another time, Arthur might have given him some comment about being presumptuous, but the snide remark died on his lips.
"Ah, there you are, Arthur. I was almost beginning to wonder," he said, sounding rather amused at the whole situation.
Arthur was anything but.
"Eames, look," he began.
"No, you look," Eames interrupted, standing up and taking a few steps towards Arthur, "I've already waited long enough, you know. And you never answered my question earlier. I s'pose I'll let that bit slide, because I know you really don't want to answer, but I didn't bring you here to argue with you. I could have done that just fine in the bar."
"Then what the hell did you bring me here for? You really think I'm going to let you fuck me after all that?'
Eames looked as if he might laugh, but he didn't. "What did you come here for, then, if you're not planning on doing what I want you to?"
Arthur was anything but slow. He knew that Eames's phrasing was on purpose. Generally, he'd have expected a repeat of his own words, and not the carefully chosen words he'd been given.
"And what is it that you want me to do?" Arthur asked, slowly.
"You really are incapable of giving me an answer without it being a question, aren't you," Eames said, but that wasn't a question. "All right, then. What I want is you, in the bedroom, with absolutely nothing on. Unless you make it a habit of traveling with certain pieces of leather that I know you own."
Arthur narrowed his eyes at the remark. He opened his mouth to say something, but shut it again when Eames quirked an eyebrow at him. He wavered for a moment before going into the adjoining bedroom. He left his jacket and his shoes in the front room, but kept the rest of his clothes on until he was out of Eames's line of site.
"Good boy," Eames said, without thinking. Arthur was too far away to hear him, which…was probably for the best, given the preceding conversations.
Eames gave him a few more minutes, then came to join Arthur in the bedroom. He didn't bother to shut the door behind himself.
Arthur, as requested, had removed everything he was wearing (and had left it all neatly folded on a chair). He was sitting on the edge of the bed, stark naked, and already half-hard. He looked almost uncertain as Eames approached him. But he was Arthur, and he didn't let that look stay on his face for more than a heartbeat.
"There's something I'm going to try," Eames said. He didn't ask if he could try it; he simply announced that he was going to.
It was Arthur's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Oh?"
Eames's mouth twitched. "Ah, right, one moment." He turned away, towards his suitcase, which was sitting on the other side of the room. He rummaged in it for a few seconds, then pulled out a small black bag. In the bag were a pair of police-grade handcuffs. Arthur recognized them as such the moment he saw them, and he started to shake his head.
"You know, I can get out of those, right?" he asked, crossing his arms. It didn't have quite the effect it would have if he'd have been dressed in one of his favored suits instead of in nothing at all, of course, but the idea was the same.
Eames tilted his head slightly. "Of course I know that, Arthur, but I don't think you will be getting out of these."
Arthur scoffed. "Yeah? And why is that?"
Eames leveled his gaze at Arthur, and Arthur remembered the last time he'd seen that look on the forger's face. "Because I'm telling you not to. In fact, you're going to accept these, and whatever else I come up with, and I am willing to bet obscene amounts of money that you're going to enjoy every second."
Arthur's face lost its look of skepticism.
As it turned out, Eames would have won that bet.
---
The third time they talked about it, Arthur realized that Eames was doing more than just playing around.
It had been six months since the handcuffs thing. They'd seen each other once since then, but neither of them had brought that - or the preceding incident - up. It would have been longer since they'd met up, probably, but they'd come back to the states for a funeral.
Arthur had stood, motionless, expressionless, as the coffin was lowered into the ground. There hadn't been a wake, because Mal's body had been too ruined to put back together. There was an urn full of ashes in the coffin, but her parents had insisted on a coffin, all the same. There was something about a "proper" burial in there, but Arthur had gone through the past week like a ghost in his own life. He'd known Mal before she'd even married Dom. She'd been the one that introduced him to Eames, though he never quite got the story straight on how they knew each other. Eames knew everyone he wanted to know, and that was most of the story. He had loved her, though, as everyone who knew her loved her.
Eames was closer to the back of the group of mourners, dressed in a rumpled black suit and no tie. Arthur would have been appalled at him, if he'd had it in him to bother. As it was, he just wrote it off as the way Eames was. He stayed until all the mourners but Mal's parents trickled off. The kids weren't here, since Mal's mom thought it wouldn't be right. They were too young, she said. Arthur hadn't argued, because it wasn't his place, but he thought it was bullshit anyway.
Dom, of course, was in hiding, somewhere in Europe. Arthur was pretty sure he was having a meltdown, but they hadn't spoken in three days.
Arthur offered his condolences - for the millionth time - to Mal's parents. They both thanked him, and thanked him for coming, and thanked him for having been her friend. He took it in stride, knowing that at least her mom blamed Dom for what had happened, even though it wasn't his fault. Arthur didn't know who to blame, so he'd settled for blaming no one, and pretending that he wasn't as upset as he was. That he wasn't as numb as he was.
Eames caught up to him at the car he'd rented, waiting in the parking lot.
"I could use some company, if you don't mind," Eames said. He didn't make a pretense of playing to Arthur's sympathies. He just…said it, as he'd have said anything else.
Arthur nodded, saying nothing, and unlocked the car. They drove back to Eames's hotel room, and not to Arthur's. If Eames had any issue with that, he didn't voice it, and they rode in silence.
Arthur followed Eames up to his suite, calculating in his head just how much Eames had to be spending on the place; the forger did so love to spend money. Arthur picked nice hotel rooms, but not this nice. And considering the circumstances, he'd just gotten some place somewhere. Eames could always be counted on to overdo things, regardless of the circumstances.
Eames kicked off his shoes and wandered over to the mini-bar, pulled out a bottle of something, and poured it into a glass.
"Something to drink?" he asked, casually.
Arthur frowned at him. "No."
Eames shrugged, tossed back his drink, and poured another one. He moved over to the couch, taking the bottle with him, and flopped down on it. Arthur remained where he was. He hadn't even taken off his jacket.
After a minute or so, Eames looked up at him. "I'm sorry, Arthur, but if you thought I asked you here to reminisce about how wonderful she was, and cry on your shoulder or some such, you're going to be disappointed."
"What did you ask me here for?" Arthur said, tonelessly.
Eames set the bottle down. "Sometimes, pet, you are absolutely the thickest person I have ever met. You'd think, smart as you are, you'd figure these things out on your own."
Arthur sighed. "Eames, we just went to a funeral, and all you're thinking about is-"
"Is that Mal wasn't the kind of lady who'd want everyone sobbing about her for days, and would expect us both to live our lives the same as we've been doing for years. And also about taking that look off your face. Really, it's great for a game of poker, but you've had that same look on your face all day. Let it go. Cry if that's what you need to do, but don't just refuse to feel because you can't let yourself do it."
Arthur shook his head as if trying to clear it. "This was stupid. I should go," he said, but he didn't move.
Eames stood up, leaving his once again empty glass on the coffee table next to the bottle. "It wasn't, and you shouldn't," he said, closing the distance between them. When he reached Arthur, he reached up and pushed his coat back off his shoulders. Arthur let him, even moving to make the removal of the coat a little smoother.
"That's it," Eames said, tossing the jacket over the back of the couch. He removed Arthur's suit jacket in the same manner, then reached for his tie. Arthur allowed all of this, silently, expressionlessly.
Eames got the top two buttons of his shirt undone before he finally had enough, and pushed the forger's hands away.
"Oh, what is it? You're really not going to go along with it, are you?"
"I have a flight out tomorrow night," Arthur said, as if that were an explanation, or even a related subject.
Eames nodded, and waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, and you've an empty hotel room tonight. Check-out would be, what, eleven tomorrow morning? I'll have you out of here in plenty of time for that."
"You staying here?" Arthur asked. He tried to sound conversational, but he was still too stiff to pull that off well.
Eames shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. I'm taking a break from work for a bit. Month, maybe? I have enough saved. Other than that, I don't really have any plans. It's wherever the wind takes me from here on, until I get bored with that and go back to messing around in people's heads. Hard to quit, you know."
Arthur nodded, and did up the buttons on his shirt. He reached for the other clothes Eames had left on the couch. "I'm headed to Boston," he said.
When he turned to leave, Eames didn't stop him.
Three days later, however, Eames showed up unannounced at Arthur's apartment, suitcase in hand. Arthur was only half-expecting him, but he didn't seem surprised when he answered the door.
"Ah, you are at home," Eames said, when the door opened. "I wasn't quite sure when you said Boston, you know. You might have lit off already. I figured I'd give you a couple days before I decided to impose."
Arthur stood in the doorway, looking unimpressed.
"Aren't you going to invite me in, love?"
Arthur looked like he was considering shutting the door in Eames's face - and he was, somewhat - but thought better of it and moved out of the way. "Yeah, come in," he said.
Eames grinned at him and made his way into the apartment. He dropped his suitcase unceremoniously on the floor, and grabbed Arthur just as he was closing the door. Without further comment, he pushed Arthur up against the door, and kissed him. Hard. Arthur didn't have time to question him or protest.
When the kiss broke, Eames spoke up before Arthur could. He knew that Arthur would be more than a little sore over not being able to get a snark or two in this early on, but that was just too damned bad.
"Now then! I could use a bite to eat, but first, I think I'm going to take my frustrations from the past three days out on you, what do you think?"
Arthur actually laughed, though it was short. "It's not my fault all you had was your hand. And if you think-"
"Actually, it is entirely your fault, Arthur, being that you're the one that left Thursday."
"But you waited three days to come after me," Arthur pointed out.
Eames nodded. "Yes, yes, I explained why that was. And now I expect you to make up for it." So saying, Eames finally took a step back, leaving room for Arthur to come away from the door.
Arthur regarded the forger carefully for a moment. "I really don't see why-"
"Do you know what shibari is?"
"Eames-"
"No, that's an honest inquiry. Don't give me a bunch of nonsense over it, just answer the question."
"Well, you're just all business today, aren't you, Mr. Eames?" Arthur said, sounding irritated.
"Just how you like it," Eames responded, without any hint of sarcasm. "Now. Answer the question, will you?"
Arthur shook his head a little, as if in disbelief. "Yes, I know what shibari is. In fact, I'll bet I know more about it than you do, since you called it shibari and not kinbaku."
Eames shrugged. "Word's a word to me, you know, it's all the same to me. Shame, though, I was hoping you'd tell me you'd never done it."
"I didn't say I'd done it, I said I knew what it was," Arthur said, sounding almost defensive.
Eames brightened immediately. "Ah, good, then I don't have to listen to hours of complaints about how I'm doing it wrong."
"I am not letting you-"
"Of course you are, Arthur, that's what I came over here for, you know."
Arthur wanted to throw out some scathing remark, but something in Eames's tone rendered whatever it was in his brain that produced such remarks useless. He had no idea how long Eames was going to continue this, and he had even less idea if Eames understood the line he was toeing with all of it. But here he was, going along with it all the same.
Eames came towards him, much as he'd done in his hotel room after Mal's funeral. This time, Arthur let him get all the way through removing his shirt before he stopped him.
"Eames, we're in the living room, and I haven't even locked the door."
Eames sighed, sounding entirely put out.
"Yes, yes, all right, lock the bloody door then," he said, gesturing towards it. "I suppose I'll be in the bedroom, then." He turned, picked up his suitcase, and walked off down the hall without another word. Arthur watched him go. When Eames had disappeared into the bedroom, he did lock the door. He wasn't sure why he was stalling, but he was.
"The hell is wrong with me," he muttered into the empty room, then followed Eames down the hall.
Eames had his suitcase open, but he hadn't so much as taken off his shoes. He'd taken off his coat, and was wearing a hideously patterned shirt over a plain black undershirt. His shirt was undone all the way, but Arthur was pretty sure it had been like that the whole time. As Arthur approached him, he took the awful shirt off, but kept everything else where it was.
"Took you long enough, really," he said, but there was fondness in his voice, instead of irritation.
Arthur didn't say anything.
"Take off your pants," Eames said, affecting that authoritative tone that Arthur had already come to appreciate way too much. Arthur did as he was told. He reached down to do the same with his boxer-briefs, but Eames shook his head. "No, not yet, I think."
Arthur dropped his hands to his sides and waited. Eames held out a hand, and Arthur took it, allowing the forger to draw him closer. They were close enough to kiss, but the kiss didn't come, this time. Instead, Eames turned him around. He pulled Arthur back against him, and Arthur was keenly aware of the difference between their states of undress. He'd have actually preferred to be completely naked; there was something about just having his underwear that made him feel more exposed, instead of less. He wouldn't have put it past Eames to have done it that way on purpose. He didn't argue it, however, and just stood there.
Eames slid one hand down Arthur's chest, his stomach. He stopped at the waistband of Arthur's underwear, and slid his hand back up. He let his hand run over one of the other man's already-hard nipples, and left a surprisingly gentle kiss on Arthur's shoulder.
"Just stay here for a minute, would you," he said, and went back to his suitcase. He returned with several lengths of soft, pale rope. Wordlessly, he wrapped it around Arthur's chest and torso, binding his arms there. He'd made some comment about doing it wrong, but Arthur wondered if he'd practiced this - and who he'd practiced it on. Eames didn't seem to have any problems with the ropes. The technique didn't really use knots, either. Surely he couldn't have just learned how to do it from the internet, or something?
As the ropes tightened around him, though, Arthur found himself unable to think about the how or the where. He was only thinking about Eames's hands, barely touching his skin, and about the ropes that he wouldn't have been able to get away from, even if he'd wanted to. Every inch of his flesh, even where the ropes weren't touching, felt heated.
Eames finished binding Arthur's arms behind his back, and stopped to admire his work. He'd been planning to go a bit further than he had, but his own natural impatience won out.
He stepped around Arthur to stand in front of him, head tilted to one side, considering.
"I wish you could see yourself, pet, you look really stunning," he said.
Arthur's face flushed slightly, but he said nothing.
"Ah, yes, almost forgot," Eames said, reaching out and pulling Arthur's underwear off. His cock was already achingly hard (not that it took removing his underwear for that to be obvious). Eames's own cock was just about there, as well, and it reminded him of something. He returned to his suitcase for a moment, then returned with a plain-looking circle of metal.
Arthur raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He followed Eames's hand with his eyes as Eames reached down and slid the ring over his cock.
"Too tight?" Eames asked, without a hint of humor in his voice.
Arthur shook his head, but still didn't say anything. He wasn't sure he'd have been able to speak if he tried.
Another time or place, he'd have protested all of it, of course. But he'd allowed all of this, up to now, and refusing something so small as a cock ring didn't even occur to him.
The forger undid his pants and pulled Arthur towards him. There was really nothing for Arthur to do but go to his knees; with his hands bound, his mouth was the only thing he could use for this. He didn't hesitate or pull away, though. Instead, he took to this task enthusiastically, without inhibition.
"That's it, love," Eames said, his voice low.
Arthur moaned softly around Eames's cock, and continued to work his mouth. Eames pressed his hips forward, and threaded his hands through Arthur's hair. At least it wasn't all gelled back at the moment, since Arthur had been at home, and not out and about, before Eames had gotten here. As Arthur's mouth worked, Eames tightened his grip, eliciting another moan from Arthur.
"Stop." Eames pulled Arthur's head away, fingers still tangled in his hair.
Arthur looked up at him, and their eyes met. There was something between them here, like this, that hadn't been in the years they'd been doing this. Even the last time, with the handcuffs, hadn't been this…electric.
Arthur's mouth was slightly open, as if he might say something, but he didn't. Eames reached down and pulled him up. Arthur wasn't quite as graceful at accomplishing that as he would have been normally, but he managed pretty well for having his arms bound.
Eames didn't bother telling him what to do. Instead, he turned Arthur around and steered him to the wall near the bed. They were both too tall to bend over the bed comfortably enough. Anyway, this was fine. In some ways, this was better.
He had set a bottle of lubricant on the nearby nightstand when he'd gotten the ropes (there was nothing wrong with being prepared), and reached for it. Arthur rested his forehead against the wall, waiting. Even though they weren't currently touching, Eames could feel how tightly wound he was. Tension practically poured off of him, but it didn't seem like such a bad thing.
Eames poured enough of the liquid into his hands to coat his cock as well as his fingers. With one hand, he stroked his own erection - not that Arthur could see it - and slid the other hand down between Arthur's legs. He slid one finger inside the other man, slowly. With how tense Arthur was, he didn't want to rush it. Arthur's breath caught, and he tensed even further, but only for a second. Arthur forced himself to relax, and Eames slid another finger in.
The forger worked his fingers until he thought he heard Arthur make a noise. Whether it was pleading or protest, he didn't know.
"Something you want, Arthur?" he asked.
Arthur made a noise that sounded like frustration, but did not speak.
Eames moved his hand slower. Torturously slower. Arthur pushed his hips back against Eames's hand, seeking more but apparently not willing to ask for it aloud.
"No? Nothing you want at all? Be a shame if I just finished myself off and left, don't you think?"
"No."
"No? You mean you don't think it would be a shame? Well, in that case." Eames pulled his hand entirely away, as if he was really going to do as he'd said.
"No, I mean-" Arthur, who always had a snappy comeback, was apparently at a loss for words.
"You mean what?" Eames asked, though it didn't quite sound like a question.
"I meant, no, don't stop," Arthur said, sounding slightly irritated. Eames was far too impatient to scold him for it (though, perhaps another time), and let it go.
"Then what shall I do instead, hm?" Eames asked, pressing against Arthur. Arthur moaned softly, and leaned his head back against Eames for a second before he managed to answer.
"Well, I thought you were going to fuck me," he said, but this time he didn't sound irritated at all.
"Did you now? I suppose, if that's what you want?"
Annoyance flashed across Arthur's face, but it was gone as quickly as it had been there. "Yes. Yes, that's what I want," he said.
Eames didn't see any reason to answer that with words. Instead, he braced one arm against the wall (there was no need to push Arthur entirely against the wall; he wasn't exactly going anywhere) and positioned himself behind the other man. He moved slowly at first. He could feel Arthur resisting the urge to press back against him. Even tied up, he was all about dignity.
Finally, though, even Arthur couldn't take it, and he did push back against Eames.
"Jesus, Eames, please, just…"
Eames smiled, and moved faster. He made a mental note to make Arthur ask more coherently next time, but his own impatience won out for now. For a few minutes, the only sounds in the room were their bodies moving together. Arthur ended up with his chest flush against the wall anyway, though neither of them really noticed. Eames came without warning Arthur, leaving the other man panting and all but whimpering against the wall.
"Eames," he said. This time, he was obviously pleading.
"Yes, yes, love, one moment," Eames said, breathlessly. He pulled out and stood there, leaning his head against Arthur for a short span of eternity. Finally, he stood up entirely. He pulled Arthur around to face him, enjoying the sight of him flushed and wanting, and still wrapped with the pale ropes.
He reached down and slid the ring - slowly - off Arthur's cock. He used his still-slick hand to stroke him, faster and faster, until he finally came as well.
Arthur leaned forward, resting his head on Eames's shoulder.
"Eames, I-"
"Hush, love. I know."
---
Arthur sat on the edge of the bed. Eames lay behind him, just watching him. They had been silent for over ten minutes. Arthur was lost in his thoughts. Since Eames had dropped the ropes on the floor, Arthur had avoided looking at them as if they'd burn his eyes.
"We can't keep doing this," he said, suddenly, as if it were an argument to something.
"Can't we?" Eames asked. "I don't see why not. We're grown ups, we can do whatever we please."
"That isn't what I meant, and you know it," Arthur said, hissing the words from between clenched teeth. He didn't turn around and look at Eames.
Eames sighed and sat up. "Arthur, I really don't see what the problem is, we've been doing this for, what, three years? Something like that?"
Arthur just shook his head. "That's not what I mean. You and me, that's fine, but the way you keep…Christ, I don't know."
He stood up, frustrated, and pushed his messy hair back out of his face.
Eames followed suit, intent on not actually letting Arthur run away from whatever it was he was - or wasn't - trying to say. Arthur glanced back on him, but still didn't turn around.
"Look, if you think I have no idea what you feel when we do this-"
"If you did, you'd stop doing it!" Arthur said, and finally turned to face Eames. Anger was in his voice, but it wasn't all that was on his face. "You're supposed to be smart, Mr. Eames. You figured so much about me out, congratulations. Now stop using it against me."
"Using it against you, Arthur, are you serious. You've been spending entirely too much time in other people's minds, you know, makes you paranoid."
Arthur's glare hardened further, but he didn't rise to the bait.
"I need a drink," he said, instead, and went out to the kitchen. Eames didn't stop him. After a few minutes, however, he did follow.
Arthur was standing in the kitchen, arms braced on the counter, head down. There was an open beer bottle next to him, but it was still mostly full.
Eames walked up behind him without saying a word, sliding his arms around Arthur. Arthur tensed a little, but didn't resist. They stood there like that for a moment.
"You think I don't understand you, love, like you're some great mystery. I admit, you're a bit hard to figure out, but my job is to understand untouchable people. And I'm damn good at it, I will have you know."
"Eames-"
"No, I mean it. I understand you just fine. Here, close your eyes, that's it."
Arthur sighed again, as if it was such a chore, but did as he was told. He opened them immediately when he felt the leather around his neck. He hadn't bothered hiding it from Eames this time. The damage was long since done.
"Eames, damnit-"
"Oh, hush, and let me finish what I'm doing," Eames said, actually irritated. Arthur could be so difficult for no actual reason.
Arthur reached up to push Eames's hands away, but froze when he heard the lock click. He stood there like that for a minute, unmoving, hands half raised and eyes wide.
"Eames," he said, his voice not much louder than a whisper.
"Yes, love?" Eames said, asking the question right into Arthur's ear.
"How the hell did you-"
"Part of the job description, Arthur, that's all it is. It's a really simple mechanism. Having a key made for it isn't terribly difficult." The smugness in his voice was evident.
"When did you-"
"Oh, I can't recall, exactly. The last time I was in Boston, I suppose, though I can't rightly say when that was? You were off with Cobb at the time. Europe, probably."
Arthur wasn't sure whether to be impressed or furious. He lowered his hands again, letting them rest on the counter again. He was quiet for a minute. Finally, he turned around. Eames took a step back to allow him the space - and so he could look at him.
"There, then, that's better, wouldn't you say?"
"Why did you-"
"Because it meant something to you. Because every time we do this, it tears you up, and you won't tell me why, but like you said - I am supposed to be smart. I might as well pretend I actually am, hm? Give you what you want and all."
"Eames, it isn't what I want, so much-"
This time, instead of just interrupting, Eames reached out and put his fingers against Arthur's lips, silencing him.
"Arthur, honestly, it's not all about you and what you want. Don't be ridiculous. Aren't I more self-serving than that? Wouldn't you say?"
Arthur just looked at him. "You're unbelievable."
Eames grinned. "Naturally. Does that mean you're not going to insist I give you the key?"
Arthur didn't have to think about the answer. "No."
"Should fit under those suits you insist on wearing, they have high collars."
"You're serious."
"Did you think I was playing? Well, about the suit thing, I suppose, and I might have been, at first, you know, but there's something that happens to you, and I don't know that I can live without it."
Arthur half-laughed at that, but he knew (usually) when Eames was being sincere and when he wasn't.
"I won't actually make you wear that all the time. Loses some of the edge, I think. Anyway, to tell you the truth, I'd rather keep it between us, if you don't mind."
Arthur shook his head, then nodded. "No, I don't…yeah, that's fine, just…"
Eames took Arthur's face in both his hands, all but forcing the other man to look at him. "You are lovely when you can't think of a thing to say. Always so composed other times. Do you really only lose it like this for me?"
Arthur didn't answer him with words. Instead, he pulled Eames closer, flush against him, and kissed him.