The Mating Game [Temeraire!verse]
The Mating Game (aka Untitled Temeraire!verse Sequel), pt. 1/2
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Words: ~5200
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Everyone wants an egg. Sequel to the Temeraire!verse story.
Author's Note: The Temeraire universe, if you haven't read the books, is essentially Regency Era/Napoleonic Wars, with dragons. Here is a chart showing the different breeds of dragon. Eames' Regal Copper is the big one at the top. Arthur's Greyling is one of the wee guys. Cobb rides a Chequered Nettle (a heavy-weight), Ariadne a Longwing (an acid-spitting middle-weight), and Mal a Flamme-de-Gloire (a fire-breathing French middle-weight). And that should be all you need to know! Second part is in the works. :D
Disclaimer: The Temeraire universe/alternahistory and dragon breeds are all Naomi Novik. The Inception characters are Chris Nolan's. I own nothing. Sad face.
Eames was surprised, to say the least, when he walked onto the deck of the transport ship and found Lucretia and Felix conversing quietly.
“Well, that is silly,” Lucretia was saying when Eames approached, “since you are rather bigger than her, and you could probably squash her, if you had to. Hello, Eames,” she said, turning her head to face her captain.
“Good morning,” he said, rubbing her snout, and looking between them both. “Who are we talking about squashing?”
Lucretia snorted, her nostrils flaring, and said, “That Winchester is back. Felix is asking me for advice, so that he may speak to her.”
Eames looked round at the Greyling, even more surprised. “Is that true?”
Felix scraped at the deck with his claws, self-conscious.
“Of course it is true,” said Lucretia. “He thinks she is very pretty.”
Eames glanced over at the Winchester, currently standing at the other end of the dragon deck with her captain, who was issuing out letters to the ship's captain. She looked like all Winchesters to Eames, small and slight-framed, although she had very few visible brown markings, leaving her hide mostly a rich purple. She had flown out to the transport twice already during their voyage, and Eames had not missed the way Felix's attention had been arrested both times before.
“She is very fine, Felix,” he said. “I don't see why you would want to squash her.”
Felix ducked his head and swished his tail, and Lucretia interjected again. “He is only intimidated because she is smarter than him.”
“I wouldn't say that,” said Eames fairly, “you are a very smart Greyling, Felix. Come, why don't we say hello to her?”
“Oh, but,” Felix started to protest, but Eames was already striding across the deck.
Most of the formation was still drowsing, draped across Titus and Lucretia for warmth. Eames made his way around them, with Felix nervously following behind, and stopped in front of the Winchester's captain just as the ship's captain was walking away.
“G'morning, sir,” the captain said cheerily; he was quite a bit older than was usual for the captain of a courier, and obviously not quite used to addressing other captains as equals.
“Good morning,” Eames replied, offering a hand. “Captain Eames, on Lucretia.”
“Lon, just Lon,” the other man said, shaking his hand, “on Fern.”
“That is a very pretty name.”
“Thank you,” the Winchester said. She had a soft, husky voice, with the chirping quality characteristic of her breed. She peered curiously past him at Felix.
“This is Felix,” Eames said, stepping aside. Felix sidled half behind him.
“Hello, Felix,” said Fern kindly.
Picking at the deck with his claws, Felix answered shyly, “Hello.”
“Felix flies in our formation,” said Eames. “He is a look-out and a scout. Sometimes we use him in combat as well.”
“Really!” said Lon, with interest. Felix nodded his head bashfully and Lon, slapping Fern's side, said, “She and I would never have been cut out for combat; I am much too cowardly for that, aren't I, my dear?”
“Oh, no,” said Fern earnestly to Eames. “I am the nervous one-and I am so small,” she added, looking at Felix again, who was indeed on the large side for a male Greyling. “You must be very fast,” she said to him.
“He was once the fastest dragon in the Corps,” said Eames. “And he is as brave as a Parnassian; I have seen him engage a Chanson-de-Gurre in battle.”
Fern's eyes widened. “I have a very good captain,” Felix finally broke in, embarrassed. “He tells me what to do; he is so smart and brave.”
“Now, now, don't sell yourself short, Felix,” Eames said graciously, patting his neck. “A brave captain only goes as far as his dragon can take him. Perhaps Arthur is only so brave because he knows he has you to take care of him.”
“Perhaps,” said Felix, looking a bit confused by this.
“Oh, I wish I were as interesting as you,” Fern said wistfully. “I wish I could fly look-out for a formation, just once, if only it were not so scary!”
“It is not so scary,” Felix said, warming up, “not when you are much faster than big dragons; I do not think so, anyway.”
“Do you fly with them?” Fern asked, looking at the slumbering formation. “The Longwing? And the Regal Copper, and the Chequered Nettle? Are they very fierce?”
Felix was happy to ramble on about his companions, rather than go on singing his own praises. Lon tipped a wink at Eames, and they began to walk away.
“I do apologize for commandeering your dragon,” Eames told him, “but Felix has been mooning over her for some time now. She is a lovely little thing.”
“That she is,” Lon agreed. “Two years old now, and fleet as a Greyling, but too nervous for combat, as she said. That is all fine by me; I am happy enough with a courier.”
They would be staying on the ship that night and departing in the morning, which Eames supposed gave Felix plenty of time to charm his new friend. It saddened him to think that Felix was self-conscious of his intelligence, particularly when there was a fleet of female Greylings back in England who were perfectly attracted to his size; his speed; his handsome hide, marred only by a few battle-scars and otherwise in pristine condition. Perhaps Felix was comparing himself to his formation-mates; or perhaps Lucretia was putting ideas in his head again.
Eames would talk to her later, he decided. He was a little disappointed: Lucretia and Felix had seemed to be getting along so well. They would never be the best of friends, but she at least tolerated his presence well when he decided to sleep on her back. She didn't even chase him away when she was eating, now, which was a considerable thing, for a dragon of her size.
Arthur arose shortly before breakfast, scowling in the sunlight when he stepped onto the deck. Eames went to meet him, smiling to himself. Arthur was not and never would be a morning person, no matter how good a mood Eames might have put him in the night before. He made sure they were alone on the deck before slipping a hand into Arthur's.
“Pray, what is putting such a scowl on my darling petal's face today?”
Arthur glowered at him. He did not deign to respond until they had joined the other captains at the breakfast table and he had finished several cups of coffee.
“I did not see Felix on the dragon deck when I got up,” he said to Eames. “Do you know where he is?”
“Courting a sweet little Winchester,” said Eames. “He may have gone for a flight with her.”
Arthur's brow furrowed. “A Winchester?”
“Yes, one of the little purple ones, usually couriers.”
“I know what a Winchester is,” Arthur said, scowling again. “I only meant he has never shown interest in mating before. There are plenty of Greylings back home who would like an egg by him.”
“I suppose he has deviant tastes,” Eames said, “rather like you do”-and at this Arthur elbowed him much harder than was necessary, given that nobody else was listening to them. Eames's ribs would surely bruise. He sulked through the rest of breakfast.
+Eames retired to the dragon deck after lunch, where Cobb was sitting at the farther end with Titus, evidently having been coaxed away from the railing at last. He liked to gaze wistfully at the horizon, toward England, where they were finally headed after a tiring but fruitful stint in the West Indies. Mal, back home, was currently expecting her and Cobb's first child (or, as Rêveur liked to refer to it in a mutinous mutter, “l'ouef”). To Eames' surprise, Ariadne was there too, reading a book to Christopher. She had been keeping mostly below-deck, so that the sailors would not guess at her true gender. The ship's crew rarely visited the dragon deck, however, and she was presumably safe.
Eames was quite happy to lounge on the deck, heated from below by the kitchens, in the cradle of Lucretia's massive forelegs. Having nothing to do suited him just fine. In that regard he was very unlike Arthur, who was pacing around the deck impatiently, waiting for Felix to return. Arthur liked to have a job to do; the only time he did not seem to be restless was when he was with Felix, and now Felix was missing.
Their assignments were limited of late, as well; in fact, it seemed the admiralty was waiting for Arthur to recognize Felix as a failure now that his wing was damaged, and retire him to the breeding grounds to produce more Greylings with Felix's speed and skill. Very recently, Arthur had been offered the opportunity to harness an Anglewing: it was a tremendous step-up for a man not born to the Corps, one that could even take him to the post of lead captain of a formation one day. Plainly, his achievements with Felix had not gone unnoticed. But Arthur had turned them down, stoutly refusing to exchange his beloved companion for a dragon that most would consider vastly superior. Eames had been careful not to bring it up ever since, though, because he sensed it was a sore point, particularly as he was the one who had saddled Arthur with Felix to begin with, and not doing so could have opened Arthur to just such a promotion.
Thinking of Felix, Eames said, “That was kind of you to give Felix advice this morning, Lucretia. I wonder why he is self-conscious, though; have you or any of the formation dragons said something to him?”
Lucretia sniffed. “Dragons are perfectly self-aware, you know,” she said haughtily, and he realized he had offended her. “For instance, I am conscious that Titus is much cleverer than I am; dragons are like men, some are simple and some are very smart, and I should think I would be self-conscious, too, if I were as simple as Felix.”
“What makes you say that Titus is more intelligent than you?” Eames said, nettled by this.
“Oh, Titus has very many opinions,” she said, sliding a look at the other dragon, “on the State of Things, and on the laws that concern dragons; and he thinks there ought to be dragons in Parliament, when the war is over. He says Cobb has promised to send the Government a letter on his behalf, so that he may gain an audience with them, but only after all the fighting is done, as he is quite committed to the Corps right now. On the other hand, I have no opinions on the Government, and I am quite happy so long as I get a few fat cows every day, and know that you are nearby and safe; I ask for very little else, but when he gets on about it I simply nod my head and agree with him, which is what I advised Felix to do.”
She paused to rub thoughtfully at her cheek with the side of her talon. “He is very young still, and has never mated, and I told him that once one gets the hang of it, there is very little need for conversation, anyway.”
Somewhat embarrassed, Eames cleared his throat and said, “Not having an opinion on the Government does not make you simple, Lu.”
“Well,” she said thoughtfully, still scratching at her cheek, “the rub is that I do not understand half of what he says, about the laws and things, and it all seems very silly to me anyway.”
It was common knowledge in the formation that Titus was a high-maintenance dragon, somewhat ill-suited to the rote exercises of formation flying, and he needed a highly skilled, patient hand to control him. Eames envied Cobb less now than ever. He chuckled and patted Lucretia's other leg. “To me as well, my dear. Well, as I said, it was good of you to help Felix; the courier-dragon seems quite taken with him.”
“Of course she is,” said Lucretia, surprised and haughty again. She snorted. “Any Winchester should be fortunate to be mated by my Greyling.”
Her Greyling-? Eames had a sudden revelation that very nearly made him laugh out loud, and it was only with an effort that he controlled himself. So that was why Lucretia so tolerated Felix's presence, these days. The sphere of individuals she considered to be her crew had expanded not only to encompass Arthur once more, but had absorbed Felix as well. And, like all heavy-weights, Lucretia was fiercely possessive about her crew.
“You're right,” he said simply, schooling himself. “She should be very fortunate indeed.” He paused, and then added, “Titus does not have a Greyling.”
“No,” Lucretia said, in a smug tone that suggested she had had the very same thought before, “he does not.”
+Eames was drowsing on the warm deck between Lucretia's forelegs when she nosed him and said, “Oh, Felix is back.”
Eames sat up, squinting. The sun was just beginning to go down. There were two figures in the sky, close enough to be unmistakeable as the Greyling and his Winchester companion.
Arthur, who was now sitting alone on the deck to wait, leapt to his feet. He was still there when the two dragons landed, and Felix, appearing to be in very high spirits, said delightedly, “Look! This is my captain!”
He nuzzled Arthur fiercely, nearly knocking him over. Fern blinked at Arthur, who pushed Felix off and said stiffly, “Yes, very nice to meet you.”
“You as well,” Fern said shyly, and she slipped away, with a last glance at Felix.
“That is Fern,” said Felix, starting to babble again in his excitement. “She is a courier and she is so pretty, and kind, and I like her very much, Arthur, and-”
“Where have you been?” Arthur cut him off sharply. He rounded Felix to examine the bad wing, palpating the muscle. Felix twitched his wing away, impatient to share his news.
“We flew, and there is so much water, it is everywhere, but Fern knew the way back to land, and so it was not very scary-”
“You went all that way?” Arthur demanded.
Ariadne was still on the deck, reading to Christopher; she fell silent and they both looked up. Eames and Lucretia, too, were quiet. Eames had never heard Arthur raise his voice to Felix before.
Felix shuffled his claws, sensing Arthur's mood now. “It was not very far,” he mumbled.
“Not very far!” Arthur exclaimed. “You know better than to go flying off, on your own, with no harness! For God's sake, Felix, what if your wing had given out on you? You could have drowned!”
“But,” said Felix meekly, “I didn't.”
“What, do you need to be tethered to the deck, like a hatchling? I have been worried sick about you all afternoon!”
“I am sorry,” Felix said unhappily, obviously not understanding the cause of Arthur's worry. Arthur shook his head.
“You are not to go flying without me again,” he said. “I will go and find your harness; stay here.”
Felix blinked his great blue eyes at Arthur. Then, without a word, he snapped his wings straight up and in one violent downstroke was aloft.
“Felix!” Arthur shouted, but the Greyling was already spiraling up, up, until he reached the very top of the mast, and perched there, like an ungainly, oversized sea-bird. There were shouts of distress from the sailors.
“Get him down from there!”
“He'll wreck the sail!”
“Felix!” Arthur shouted again, hands cupped around his mouth, but if his dragon heard, he gave no indication of it.
Arthur turned back to Eames, plainly baffled and embarrassed.
“What has gotten into him?”
“I have no idea,” said Eames honestly.
“He has never behaved like this before,” said Arthur. He ran a hand through his hair shakily. “What am I to do?”
“Wait for him to come down, I suppose. I expect he'll be hungry soon enough.”
But Felix had not come down by suppertime, and night found the two of them sitting with Lucretia, staring up into the dark, trying to discern the Greyling's form against the starlight.
“He is being very silly, if you ask me,” said Lucretia gravely. “I would fly up and fetch him back, if it would not disturb this flimsy ship so much.”
The flimsy ship was a monstrous thing that could have contained a small village, but Lucretia's size was so great that she was right: she could scarcely move without causing the ship to bob about perilously. Fortunately, she was content enough to laze about on the dragon deck, unlike Titus, who by now was champing at the bit to be active.
Abruptly, Arthur said, “I should never have told him about the Anglewing egg.”
“You did?” said Eames.
“I thought it would make him feel better,” Arthur explained. “I would sooner have him than any combat-dragon in the Corps. I wanted him to know that. But he seems to think I resent him now.”
“Well, shouting at him like that was bound not to help,” said Eames fairly. “I am shocked that he made the flight at all.”
Arthur sighed. “Yes, well,” he said, “the fact of the matter is, Felix is perfectly proficient at soaring and has been for some time now. Captain Yusuf recommended some Turkish remedies, and he has been working himself hard, and-well, whatever the reason, he is like new; I can keep him aloft for hours on just a few wingstrokes.”
“Why didn't you say?” asked Eames, surprised.
“Because he still has trouble with active flight-maneuvering and such. He can do it, you have seen him, but he still needs to return to Lucretia's back frequently, as the muscle tires so quickly when he must overwork it like that. And I do not want it known that he would be better suited to long-distance work.”
It took Eames a moment to understand, and then it was clear. If anyone knew that Felix was capable of long, sedate flights, while he still had trouble with the exhaustive demands of combat flying, he would be made a courier. Arthur would be resigned to the considerably subdued task of delivering news and post, if he did not simply give Felix over to a new captain, and he and Eames would only see one another in brief snatches of time, with months between.
“I have told him we are not to go for long flights where anybody can see,” said Arthur, eyes downcast, “but of course he does not understand, and it is not fair of me to expect him to.”
Eames didn't know what to say. He elected to change the subject, instead, and told Arthur about Titus and his views on the Government. Arthur listened and said, “Well, there should be better laws concerning dragons; there is no reason that ferals should be cooped up in breeding grounds, if they can be made to understand the rules; I am sure they could even be trained to fly out of harness, if it comes to that. I suppose Cobb must have his hands full with that dragon; but,” he added wryly, “we already knew that Titus knows more than is good for him.”
Eames laughed, knowing what Arthur meant. Some time ago they had decided to tell Lucretia the nature of their relationship, feeling it unfair to keep it from her, and agreeing that she could probably be discreet about it. To their surprise, Lucretia had not seemed taken aback at all, and instead had said very matter-of-factly, “Oh, I see; you fellate each other.”
Eames, spluttering, had demanded, “Where on earth did you learn that?”
“Oh,” she said, scratching idly at a dry scale on her nostril, “I asked Titus how two men such as you would mate, and that is what he said. It does not sound like as much fun as what Titus and I do, though; perhaps you are doing it wrong?” she offered politely, in a tone that said she would be glad to walk them through the correct way of mating. Eames, bright red, assured her they were not, and Arthur had laughed himself close to tears once they'd left her clearing.
Presently they fell silent for awhile. Some time after Lucretia had fallen asleep, they heard wingbeats in the dark. Felix landed before them, a picture of misery.
“I'm sorry, Arthur; I am very cold and tired, now,” he whispered, hanging his head. “I will be good.”
Arthur got up and, with a sigh, he wrapped his arms around his Greyling's neck. “You are good, Felix,” he said softly. “You are the best Greyling in the Corps.”
“I only want to fly,” Felix said yearningly, and Arthur held him tighter.
“I know you do,” he said. “I know.”
Felix withdrew his head from Arthur's embrace, and nuzzled him tentatively. “I will wear my harness now.”
Eames got up while Arthur was putting the harness on, and slipped away, touching Arthur's shoulder in passing. He sensed that Arthur and his dragon would be okay now-at least for the time being.
+In the morning, before the sun grew too hot, many of the aviators were taking the opportunity to lounge about the dragon deck. It was pleasant until Nash arrived to oversee his dragon's breakfast. Eames knew what was coming, and Nash did not disappoint; he was mocking the awkward way Felix held his bad wing in short time.
Nash was a man who took pleasure in belittling others, and since Felix made for an easy target, he had been Nash's primary object of scorn nearly since he'd joined the formation. Nash was an unusual circumstance himself: his father's dragon, which had been inherited from his grandfather, had refused Nash as its captain, and retired to the breeding grounds instead. The admiralty had appeased Nash's family by giving him a Yellow Reaper. This was Marius, who had grown to be large and fast; a cut above the ordinary despite his common breeding. This had nothing to do with his captain, but Nash's ego-stroking had made the Reaper sickeningly conceited over time. Marius disdained the company of most of his formation, and valued only Titus, whom he saw as an equal; the Chequered Nettle, who was much older and possessed a great deal more sense, ignored him utterly. To both Nash and Marius, having to fly alongside a crippled Greyling was an absolute slap in the face. Nash never addressed Felix directly-perhaps afraid of how Arthur might respond-but he was perfectly audible from where he stood on the dragon deck, laughing and jeering with his crew.
It was a blessing, if slightly heart-wrenching, that Felix failed to recognize most of these taunts, perhaps never realizing they were directed at him. After several obnoxious remarks, however, Arthur's ire had risen until Eames was certain that the Corps' rule about dueling was the only thing sparing Nash from a thorough beating. Arthur glared daggers across the deck until even Nash faltered, and went on polishing Felix's harness with a cloth protectively. Nash left the deck shortly after Felix had gone to sleep, untroubled, and soon Arthur threw down the cloth and stalked below-decks without a word to anyone.
“Your captain is very unpleasant,” Lucretia told Marius reproachfully. Marius sniffed.
“Mine does not force me to fly with a nattering little Greyling on my back,” he answered. “Perhaps Eames does not appreciate you as he ought to.”
“Eames appreciates me perfectly,” Lucretia said snippily. “Perhaps Nash is not important enough to have a dragon on his crew, and that is why they give him only men.”
Marius began to reply, but a growl from Titus silenced both dragons immediately.
“Quiet,” the older dragon rumbled. “I am trying to sleep.”
“An excellent idea,” Eames interjected, catching Ariadne's eye; she was sitting with Christopher, eyebrows raised. “Lu, why don't you have a nap with me? The sun is so lovely.”
“Yes, alright,” Lucretia said agreeably; “he is not worth arguing with, anyway.”
She curled her neck around Eames, who was lying between her forelegs, and gave a last disdainful sniff to punctuate her sentiments. Marius snorted back, but settled, and Eames, warmed comfortably by Lucretia's body, the heated deck, and the hot sun, fell into a doze quickly.
He was asleep when Lucretia's rumbling voice roused him. She had raised her head and was conversing now with Christopher, who was speaking as Eames awakened:
“Well, I think it would be quite an ideal pairing, especially as a female egg would go to me, and a male to you; it seems a very clever compromise, and Eames does seem to possess certain desirable characteristics.”
“Eames has many desirable characteristics,” Lucretia said loyally. “Ariadne, on the other hand, is so small.”
“Hold on,” said Eames drowsily, lifting his head. “What are you two talking about?”
“Go back to sleep,” said Lucretia, and Christopher said, “Ariadne would like you to give her an egg.”
Eames spluttered. “A what?”
“Christopher!” Ariadne reappeared on the deck then, now carrying a book, her face bright red. She hurried over. “Eames, I am so sorry; he has got this notion in his head of my having a child, and he thinks you would be a suitable father. I promise you, I have not said anything to put the idea in his head-”
“Rêveur is having an egg; I want one, too,” Christopher interrupted.
“That is because you are young, and petty, and have never met a human hatchling,” said Lucretia. “Rêveur may keep his egg; they are smelly and noisy: no offense to you, Eames,” she added, in what he was sure she thought was a hushed voice. “I thought you were very nice, but you were noisy, and you took such an awfully long time to grow.”
“Well, that is fine for you,” said Christopher haughtily. “But only consider how fragile humans are, and that anything at all could happen, and then you would be left all alone.”
Lucretia growled, her neck-spines lifting, and curved her claws around Eames protectively. “Nothing will happen to Eames as long as I am here.”
“That is another point; you and I will be here a very long time,” Christopher said, and he, too, drew Ariadne closer, lowering his head. “I do not want to be alone.”
This gave both dragons pause. Ariadne laid her cheek against Christopher's, reassuringly.
“Christopher, I promise you, I will think about it when you and I are both a bit older,” she said. “Please do not distress yourself by thinking of it now, I have so many years ahead of me.”
“That is true,” Christopher said, perking up a little. “And I will not let you go anywhere before your time.”
“I think,” Ariadne said to Eames later, when they were retiring below to escape the now-blazing sun, “he is sometimes conscious of the life he is supposed to have robbed me of-concerts, and society, and marriage, and all that. Of course, I would much rather be here, with him, and the rest of you, but it would be nice to have a child someday, and he will need another captain, after all.”
She approached it very practically. Eames did not know what to make of all this, and so he said nothing, thinking that perhaps Arthur might get a laugh out of it; but Arthur, whom he tracked down in his room, did not laugh. In fact, he looked very serious.
“It is a fair point, you must admit,” he said.
“But-” Eames floundered. “Lucretia has already said she will not want another captain, after me.”
“Yes, and she says that now, but think how lonely she will be when you are gone, Eames.”
“Why would Ariadne want me, anyway?” Eames asked.
“It could not be because you are handsome, and kind, and clever,” said Arthur dryly. “Truly, though, I had thought even she would have guessed about us by now; it seems half the formation already has. Nash told me I ought to be burned just last month.”
“How appallingly rude of him,” said Eames. “Is that how he blacked his eye? He said he slipped and fell climbing down the harness.”
“He slipped and fell onto my fist when he told me Felix should be shot, like a lame horse,” said Arthur. “He may say whatever he likes about me.”
Eames laughed aloud. Arthur smiled back, but it faded after a moment.
“I can only imagine how Lucretia would feel,” he said softly, “without you in her life.”
“Fortunately, you will not have to imagine, as I plan to live a long and healthy life,” said Eames. “But if Ariadne is worried, why does she not ask you? I thought she liked you.”
“Eames, Ariadne and I are related,” Arthur said, in faintly exasperated tones. “Alright, we are third cousins, which does not seem significant when you think of how we breed dragons back to their grandparents and such, but it is enough, I think, to deter us both. Why are you looking at me like that?”
Eames shoved him. “Why didn't you say something earlier!”
“Why, were you jealous?” Arthur asked, with such wide-eyed innocence that Eames was sure he'd known exactly how jealous he had been making Eames. Eames scowled, to which Arthur smiled. “You are the only aviator for me, Mr. Eames, never you fear.”
“Always Mr. Eames,” Eames grumbled, pushing Arthur down onto his bed, and climbing atop him. “Why not Captain Eames?”
“Because I would hate for your ego to get out of hand,” said Arthur. “I could call you Bertram, if you would prefer.”
Eames glared, and countered, “That would be fine, Stephen.”
“I have no aversion to my given name,” Arthur said, trailing a hand down Eames' chest, his gaze tracking it. “But I do like the way you say Arthur. Are you going to kiss me now, or are you going to wait for Ariadne to join us?”
Eames growled, and kissed all the smart remarks right out of him.
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Words: ~5200
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Everyone wants an egg. Sequel to the Temeraire!verse story.
Author's Note: The Temeraire universe, if you haven't read the books, is essentially Regency Era/Napoleonic Wars, with dragons. Here is a chart showing the different breeds of dragon. Eames' Regal Copper is the big one at the top. Arthur's Greyling is one of the wee guys. Cobb rides a Chequered Nettle (a heavy-weight), Ariadne a Longwing (an acid-spitting middle-weight), and Mal a Flamme-de-Gloire (a fire-breathing French middle-weight). And that should be all you need to know! Second part is in the works. :D
Disclaimer: The Temeraire universe/alternahistory and dragon breeds are all Naomi Novik. The Inception characters are Chris Nolan's. I own nothing. Sad face.
Eames was surprised, to say the least, when he walked onto the deck of the transport ship and found Lucretia and Felix conversing quietly.
“Well, that is silly,” Lucretia was saying when Eames approached, “since you are rather bigger than her, and you could probably squash her, if you had to. Hello, Eames,” she said, turning her head to face her captain.
“Good morning,” he said, rubbing her snout, and looking between them both. “Who are we talking about squashing?”
Lucretia snorted, her nostrils flaring, and said, “That Winchester is back. Felix is asking me for advice, so that he may speak to her.”
Eames looked round at the Greyling, even more surprised. “Is that true?”
Felix scraped at the deck with his claws, self-conscious.
“Of course it is true,” said Lucretia. “He thinks she is very pretty.”
Eames glanced over at the Winchester, currently standing at the other end of the dragon deck with her captain, who was issuing out letters to the ship's captain. She looked like all Winchesters to Eames, small and slight-framed, although she had very few visible brown markings, leaving her hide mostly a rich purple. She had flown out to the transport twice already during their voyage, and Eames had not missed the way Felix's attention had been arrested both times before.
“She is very fine, Felix,” he said. “I don't see why you would want to squash her.”
Felix ducked his head and swished his tail, and Lucretia interjected again. “He is only intimidated because she is smarter than him.”
“I wouldn't say that,” said Eames fairly, “you are a very smart Greyling, Felix. Come, why don't we say hello to her?”
“Oh, but,” Felix started to protest, but Eames was already striding across the deck.
Most of the formation was still drowsing, draped across Titus and Lucretia for warmth. Eames made his way around them, with Felix nervously following behind, and stopped in front of the Winchester's captain just as the ship's captain was walking away.
“G'morning, sir,” the captain said cheerily; he was quite a bit older than was usual for the captain of a courier, and obviously not quite used to addressing other captains as equals.
“Good morning,” Eames replied, offering a hand. “Captain Eames, on Lucretia.”
“Lon, just Lon,” the other man said, shaking his hand, “on Fern.”
“That is a very pretty name.”
“Thank you,” the Winchester said. She had a soft, husky voice, with the chirping quality characteristic of her breed. She peered curiously past him at Felix.
“This is Felix,” Eames said, stepping aside. Felix sidled half behind him.
“Hello, Felix,” said Fern kindly.
Picking at the deck with his claws, Felix answered shyly, “Hello.”
“Felix flies in our formation,” said Eames. “He is a look-out and a scout. Sometimes we use him in combat as well.”
“Really!” said Lon, with interest. Felix nodded his head bashfully and Lon, slapping Fern's side, said, “She and I would never have been cut out for combat; I am much too cowardly for that, aren't I, my dear?”
“Oh, no,” said Fern earnestly to Eames. “I am the nervous one-and I am so small,” she added, looking at Felix again, who was indeed on the large side for a male Greyling. “You must be very fast,” she said to him.
“He was once the fastest dragon in the Corps,” said Eames. “And he is as brave as a Parnassian; I have seen him engage a Chanson-de-Gurre in battle.”
Fern's eyes widened. “I have a very good captain,” Felix finally broke in, embarrassed. “He tells me what to do; he is so smart and brave.”
“Now, now, don't sell yourself short, Felix,” Eames said graciously, patting his neck. “A brave captain only goes as far as his dragon can take him. Perhaps Arthur is only so brave because he knows he has you to take care of him.”
“Perhaps,” said Felix, looking a bit confused by this.
“Oh, I wish I were as interesting as you,” Fern said wistfully. “I wish I could fly look-out for a formation, just once, if only it were not so scary!”
“It is not so scary,” Felix said, warming up, “not when you are much faster than big dragons; I do not think so, anyway.”
“Do you fly with them?” Fern asked, looking at the slumbering formation. “The Longwing? And the Regal Copper, and the Chequered Nettle? Are they very fierce?”
Felix was happy to ramble on about his companions, rather than go on singing his own praises. Lon tipped a wink at Eames, and they began to walk away.
“I do apologize for commandeering your dragon,” Eames told him, “but Felix has been mooning over her for some time now. She is a lovely little thing.”
“That she is,” Lon agreed. “Two years old now, and fleet as a Greyling, but too nervous for combat, as she said. That is all fine by me; I am happy enough with a courier.”
They would be staying on the ship that night and departing in the morning, which Eames supposed gave Felix plenty of time to charm his new friend. It saddened him to think that Felix was self-conscious of his intelligence, particularly when there was a fleet of female Greylings back in England who were perfectly attracted to his size; his speed; his handsome hide, marred only by a few battle-scars and otherwise in pristine condition. Perhaps Felix was comparing himself to his formation-mates; or perhaps Lucretia was putting ideas in his head again.
Eames would talk to her later, he decided. He was a little disappointed: Lucretia and Felix had seemed to be getting along so well. They would never be the best of friends, but she at least tolerated his presence well when he decided to sleep on her back. She didn't even chase him away when she was eating, now, which was a considerable thing, for a dragon of her size.
Arthur arose shortly before breakfast, scowling in the sunlight when he stepped onto the deck. Eames went to meet him, smiling to himself. Arthur was not and never would be a morning person, no matter how good a mood Eames might have put him in the night before. He made sure they were alone on the deck before slipping a hand into Arthur's.
“Pray, what is putting such a scowl on my darling petal's face today?”
Arthur glowered at him. He did not deign to respond until they had joined the other captains at the breakfast table and he had finished several cups of coffee.
“I did not see Felix on the dragon deck when I got up,” he said to Eames. “Do you know where he is?”
“Courting a sweet little Winchester,” said Eames. “He may have gone for a flight with her.”
Arthur's brow furrowed. “A Winchester?”
“Yes, one of the little purple ones, usually couriers.”
“I know what a Winchester is,” Arthur said, scowling again. “I only meant he has never shown interest in mating before. There are plenty of Greylings back home who would like an egg by him.”
“I suppose he has deviant tastes,” Eames said, “rather like you do”-and at this Arthur elbowed him much harder than was necessary, given that nobody else was listening to them. Eames's ribs would surely bruise. He sulked through the rest of breakfast.
+Eames retired to the dragon deck after lunch, where Cobb was sitting at the farther end with Titus, evidently having been coaxed away from the railing at last. He liked to gaze wistfully at the horizon, toward England, where they were finally headed after a tiring but fruitful stint in the West Indies. Mal, back home, was currently expecting her and Cobb's first child (or, as Rêveur liked to refer to it in a mutinous mutter, “l'ouef”). To Eames' surprise, Ariadne was there too, reading a book to Christopher. She had been keeping mostly below-deck, so that the sailors would not guess at her true gender. The ship's crew rarely visited the dragon deck, however, and she was presumably safe.
Eames was quite happy to lounge on the deck, heated from below by the kitchens, in the cradle of Lucretia's massive forelegs. Having nothing to do suited him just fine. In that regard he was very unlike Arthur, who was pacing around the deck impatiently, waiting for Felix to return. Arthur liked to have a job to do; the only time he did not seem to be restless was when he was with Felix, and now Felix was missing.
Their assignments were limited of late, as well; in fact, it seemed the admiralty was waiting for Arthur to recognize Felix as a failure now that his wing was damaged, and retire him to the breeding grounds to produce more Greylings with Felix's speed and skill. Very recently, Arthur had been offered the opportunity to harness an Anglewing: it was a tremendous step-up for a man not born to the Corps, one that could even take him to the post of lead captain of a formation one day. Plainly, his achievements with Felix had not gone unnoticed. But Arthur had turned them down, stoutly refusing to exchange his beloved companion for a dragon that most would consider vastly superior. Eames had been careful not to bring it up ever since, though, because he sensed it was a sore point, particularly as he was the one who had saddled Arthur with Felix to begin with, and not doing so could have opened Arthur to just such a promotion.
Thinking of Felix, Eames said, “That was kind of you to give Felix advice this morning, Lucretia. I wonder why he is self-conscious, though; have you or any of the formation dragons said something to him?”
Lucretia sniffed. “Dragons are perfectly self-aware, you know,” she said haughtily, and he realized he had offended her. “For instance, I am conscious that Titus is much cleverer than I am; dragons are like men, some are simple and some are very smart, and I should think I would be self-conscious, too, if I were as simple as Felix.”
“What makes you say that Titus is more intelligent than you?” Eames said, nettled by this.
“Oh, Titus has very many opinions,” she said, sliding a look at the other dragon, “on the State of Things, and on the laws that concern dragons; and he thinks there ought to be dragons in Parliament, when the war is over. He says Cobb has promised to send the Government a letter on his behalf, so that he may gain an audience with them, but only after all the fighting is done, as he is quite committed to the Corps right now. On the other hand, I have no opinions on the Government, and I am quite happy so long as I get a few fat cows every day, and know that you are nearby and safe; I ask for very little else, but when he gets on about it I simply nod my head and agree with him, which is what I advised Felix to do.”
She paused to rub thoughtfully at her cheek with the side of her talon. “He is very young still, and has never mated, and I told him that once one gets the hang of it, there is very little need for conversation, anyway.”
Somewhat embarrassed, Eames cleared his throat and said, “Not having an opinion on the Government does not make you simple, Lu.”
“Well,” she said thoughtfully, still scratching at her cheek, “the rub is that I do not understand half of what he says, about the laws and things, and it all seems very silly to me anyway.”
It was common knowledge in the formation that Titus was a high-maintenance dragon, somewhat ill-suited to the rote exercises of formation flying, and he needed a highly skilled, patient hand to control him. Eames envied Cobb less now than ever. He chuckled and patted Lucretia's other leg. “To me as well, my dear. Well, as I said, it was good of you to help Felix; the courier-dragon seems quite taken with him.”
“Of course she is,” said Lucretia, surprised and haughty again. She snorted. “Any Winchester should be fortunate to be mated by my Greyling.”
Her Greyling-? Eames had a sudden revelation that very nearly made him laugh out loud, and it was only with an effort that he controlled himself. So that was why Lucretia so tolerated Felix's presence, these days. The sphere of individuals she considered to be her crew had expanded not only to encompass Arthur once more, but had absorbed Felix as well. And, like all heavy-weights, Lucretia was fiercely possessive about her crew.
“You're right,” he said simply, schooling himself. “She should be very fortunate indeed.” He paused, and then added, “Titus does not have a Greyling.”
“No,” Lucretia said, in a smug tone that suggested she had had the very same thought before, “he does not.”
+Eames was drowsing on the warm deck between Lucretia's forelegs when she nosed him and said, “Oh, Felix is back.”
Eames sat up, squinting. The sun was just beginning to go down. There were two figures in the sky, close enough to be unmistakeable as the Greyling and his Winchester companion.
Arthur, who was now sitting alone on the deck to wait, leapt to his feet. He was still there when the two dragons landed, and Felix, appearing to be in very high spirits, said delightedly, “Look! This is my captain!”
He nuzzled Arthur fiercely, nearly knocking him over. Fern blinked at Arthur, who pushed Felix off and said stiffly, “Yes, very nice to meet you.”
“You as well,” Fern said shyly, and she slipped away, with a last glance at Felix.
“That is Fern,” said Felix, starting to babble again in his excitement. “She is a courier and she is so pretty, and kind, and I like her very much, Arthur, and-”
“Where have you been?” Arthur cut him off sharply. He rounded Felix to examine the bad wing, palpating the muscle. Felix twitched his wing away, impatient to share his news.
“We flew, and there is so much water, it is everywhere, but Fern knew the way back to land, and so it was not very scary-”
“You went all that way?” Arthur demanded.
Ariadne was still on the deck, reading to Christopher; she fell silent and they both looked up. Eames and Lucretia, too, were quiet. Eames had never heard Arthur raise his voice to Felix before.
Felix shuffled his claws, sensing Arthur's mood now. “It was not very far,” he mumbled.
“Not very far!” Arthur exclaimed. “You know better than to go flying off, on your own, with no harness! For God's sake, Felix, what if your wing had given out on you? You could have drowned!”
“But,” said Felix meekly, “I didn't.”
“What, do you need to be tethered to the deck, like a hatchling? I have been worried sick about you all afternoon!”
“I am sorry,” Felix said unhappily, obviously not understanding the cause of Arthur's worry. Arthur shook his head.
“You are not to go flying without me again,” he said. “I will go and find your harness; stay here.”
Felix blinked his great blue eyes at Arthur. Then, without a word, he snapped his wings straight up and in one violent downstroke was aloft.
“Felix!” Arthur shouted, but the Greyling was already spiraling up, up, until he reached the very top of the mast, and perched there, like an ungainly, oversized sea-bird. There were shouts of distress from the sailors.
“Get him down from there!”
“He'll wreck the sail!”
“Felix!” Arthur shouted again, hands cupped around his mouth, but if his dragon heard, he gave no indication of it.
Arthur turned back to Eames, plainly baffled and embarrassed.
“What has gotten into him?”
“I have no idea,” said Eames honestly.
“He has never behaved like this before,” said Arthur. He ran a hand through his hair shakily. “What am I to do?”
“Wait for him to come down, I suppose. I expect he'll be hungry soon enough.”
But Felix had not come down by suppertime, and night found the two of them sitting with Lucretia, staring up into the dark, trying to discern the Greyling's form against the starlight.
“He is being very silly, if you ask me,” said Lucretia gravely. “I would fly up and fetch him back, if it would not disturb this flimsy ship so much.”
The flimsy ship was a monstrous thing that could have contained a small village, but Lucretia's size was so great that she was right: she could scarcely move without causing the ship to bob about perilously. Fortunately, she was content enough to laze about on the dragon deck, unlike Titus, who by now was champing at the bit to be active.
Abruptly, Arthur said, “I should never have told him about the Anglewing egg.”
“You did?” said Eames.
“I thought it would make him feel better,” Arthur explained. “I would sooner have him than any combat-dragon in the Corps. I wanted him to know that. But he seems to think I resent him now.”
“Well, shouting at him like that was bound not to help,” said Eames fairly. “I am shocked that he made the flight at all.”
Arthur sighed. “Yes, well,” he said, “the fact of the matter is, Felix is perfectly proficient at soaring and has been for some time now. Captain Yusuf recommended some Turkish remedies, and he has been working himself hard, and-well, whatever the reason, he is like new; I can keep him aloft for hours on just a few wingstrokes.”
“Why didn't you say?” asked Eames, surprised.
“Because he still has trouble with active flight-maneuvering and such. He can do it, you have seen him, but he still needs to return to Lucretia's back frequently, as the muscle tires so quickly when he must overwork it like that. And I do not want it known that he would be better suited to long-distance work.”
It took Eames a moment to understand, and then it was clear. If anyone knew that Felix was capable of long, sedate flights, while he still had trouble with the exhaustive demands of combat flying, he would be made a courier. Arthur would be resigned to the considerably subdued task of delivering news and post, if he did not simply give Felix over to a new captain, and he and Eames would only see one another in brief snatches of time, with months between.
“I have told him we are not to go for long flights where anybody can see,” said Arthur, eyes downcast, “but of course he does not understand, and it is not fair of me to expect him to.”
Eames didn't know what to say. He elected to change the subject, instead, and told Arthur about Titus and his views on the Government. Arthur listened and said, “Well, there should be better laws concerning dragons; there is no reason that ferals should be cooped up in breeding grounds, if they can be made to understand the rules; I am sure they could even be trained to fly out of harness, if it comes to that. I suppose Cobb must have his hands full with that dragon; but,” he added wryly, “we already knew that Titus knows more than is good for him.”
Eames laughed, knowing what Arthur meant. Some time ago they had decided to tell Lucretia the nature of their relationship, feeling it unfair to keep it from her, and agreeing that she could probably be discreet about it. To their surprise, Lucretia had not seemed taken aback at all, and instead had said very matter-of-factly, “Oh, I see; you fellate each other.”
Eames, spluttering, had demanded, “Where on earth did you learn that?”
“Oh,” she said, scratching idly at a dry scale on her nostril, “I asked Titus how two men such as you would mate, and that is what he said. It does not sound like as much fun as what Titus and I do, though; perhaps you are doing it wrong?” she offered politely, in a tone that said she would be glad to walk them through the correct way of mating. Eames, bright red, assured her they were not, and Arthur had laughed himself close to tears once they'd left her clearing.
Presently they fell silent for awhile. Some time after Lucretia had fallen asleep, they heard wingbeats in the dark. Felix landed before them, a picture of misery.
“I'm sorry, Arthur; I am very cold and tired, now,” he whispered, hanging his head. “I will be good.”
Arthur got up and, with a sigh, he wrapped his arms around his Greyling's neck. “You are good, Felix,” he said softly. “You are the best Greyling in the Corps.”
“I only want to fly,” Felix said yearningly, and Arthur held him tighter.
“I know you do,” he said. “I know.”
Felix withdrew his head from Arthur's embrace, and nuzzled him tentatively. “I will wear my harness now.”
Eames got up while Arthur was putting the harness on, and slipped away, touching Arthur's shoulder in passing. He sensed that Arthur and his dragon would be okay now-at least for the time being.
+In the morning, before the sun grew too hot, many of the aviators were taking the opportunity to lounge about the dragon deck. It was pleasant until Nash arrived to oversee his dragon's breakfast. Eames knew what was coming, and Nash did not disappoint; he was mocking the awkward way Felix held his bad wing in short time.
Nash was a man who took pleasure in belittling others, and since Felix made for an easy target, he had been Nash's primary object of scorn nearly since he'd joined the formation. Nash was an unusual circumstance himself: his father's dragon, which had been inherited from his grandfather, had refused Nash as its captain, and retired to the breeding grounds instead. The admiralty had appeased Nash's family by giving him a Yellow Reaper. This was Marius, who had grown to be large and fast; a cut above the ordinary despite his common breeding. This had nothing to do with his captain, but Nash's ego-stroking had made the Reaper sickeningly conceited over time. Marius disdained the company of most of his formation, and valued only Titus, whom he saw as an equal; the Chequered Nettle, who was much older and possessed a great deal more sense, ignored him utterly. To both Nash and Marius, having to fly alongside a crippled Greyling was an absolute slap in the face. Nash never addressed Felix directly-perhaps afraid of how Arthur might respond-but he was perfectly audible from where he stood on the dragon deck, laughing and jeering with his crew.
It was a blessing, if slightly heart-wrenching, that Felix failed to recognize most of these taunts, perhaps never realizing they were directed at him. After several obnoxious remarks, however, Arthur's ire had risen until Eames was certain that the Corps' rule about dueling was the only thing sparing Nash from a thorough beating. Arthur glared daggers across the deck until even Nash faltered, and went on polishing Felix's harness with a cloth protectively. Nash left the deck shortly after Felix had gone to sleep, untroubled, and soon Arthur threw down the cloth and stalked below-decks without a word to anyone.
“Your captain is very unpleasant,” Lucretia told Marius reproachfully. Marius sniffed.
“Mine does not force me to fly with a nattering little Greyling on my back,” he answered. “Perhaps Eames does not appreciate you as he ought to.”
“Eames appreciates me perfectly,” Lucretia said snippily. “Perhaps Nash is not important enough to have a dragon on his crew, and that is why they give him only men.”
Marius began to reply, but a growl from Titus silenced both dragons immediately.
“Quiet,” the older dragon rumbled. “I am trying to sleep.”
“An excellent idea,” Eames interjected, catching Ariadne's eye; she was sitting with Christopher, eyebrows raised. “Lu, why don't you have a nap with me? The sun is so lovely.”
“Yes, alright,” Lucretia said agreeably; “he is not worth arguing with, anyway.”
She curled her neck around Eames, who was lying between her forelegs, and gave a last disdainful sniff to punctuate her sentiments. Marius snorted back, but settled, and Eames, warmed comfortably by Lucretia's body, the heated deck, and the hot sun, fell into a doze quickly.
He was asleep when Lucretia's rumbling voice roused him. She had raised her head and was conversing now with Christopher, who was speaking as Eames awakened:
“Well, I think it would be quite an ideal pairing, especially as a female egg would go to me, and a male to you; it seems a very clever compromise, and Eames does seem to possess certain desirable characteristics.”
“Eames has many desirable characteristics,” Lucretia said loyally. “Ariadne, on the other hand, is so small.”
“Hold on,” said Eames drowsily, lifting his head. “What are you two talking about?”
“Go back to sleep,” said Lucretia, and Christopher said, “Ariadne would like you to give her an egg.”
Eames spluttered. “A what?”
“Christopher!” Ariadne reappeared on the deck then, now carrying a book, her face bright red. She hurried over. “Eames, I am so sorry; he has got this notion in his head of my having a child, and he thinks you would be a suitable father. I promise you, I have not said anything to put the idea in his head-”
“Rêveur is having an egg; I want one, too,” Christopher interrupted.
“That is because you are young, and petty, and have never met a human hatchling,” said Lucretia. “Rêveur may keep his egg; they are smelly and noisy: no offense to you, Eames,” she added, in what he was sure she thought was a hushed voice. “I thought you were very nice, but you were noisy, and you took such an awfully long time to grow.”
“Well, that is fine for you,” said Christopher haughtily. “But only consider how fragile humans are, and that anything at all could happen, and then you would be left all alone.”
Lucretia growled, her neck-spines lifting, and curved her claws around Eames protectively. “Nothing will happen to Eames as long as I am here.”
“That is another point; you and I will be here a very long time,” Christopher said, and he, too, drew Ariadne closer, lowering his head. “I do not want to be alone.”
This gave both dragons pause. Ariadne laid her cheek against Christopher's, reassuringly.
“Christopher, I promise you, I will think about it when you and I are both a bit older,” she said. “Please do not distress yourself by thinking of it now, I have so many years ahead of me.”
“That is true,” Christopher said, perking up a little. “And I will not let you go anywhere before your time.”
“I think,” Ariadne said to Eames later, when they were retiring below to escape the now-blazing sun, “he is sometimes conscious of the life he is supposed to have robbed me of-concerts, and society, and marriage, and all that. Of course, I would much rather be here, with him, and the rest of you, but it would be nice to have a child someday, and he will need another captain, after all.”
She approached it very practically. Eames did not know what to make of all this, and so he said nothing, thinking that perhaps Arthur might get a laugh out of it; but Arthur, whom he tracked down in his room, did not laugh. In fact, he looked very serious.
“It is a fair point, you must admit,” he said.
“But-” Eames floundered. “Lucretia has already said she will not want another captain, after me.”
“Yes, and she says that now, but think how lonely she will be when you are gone, Eames.”
“Why would Ariadne want me, anyway?” Eames asked.
“It could not be because you are handsome, and kind, and clever,” said Arthur dryly. “Truly, though, I had thought even she would have guessed about us by now; it seems half the formation already has. Nash told me I ought to be burned just last month.”
“How appallingly rude of him,” said Eames. “Is that how he blacked his eye? He said he slipped and fell climbing down the harness.”
“He slipped and fell onto my fist when he told me Felix should be shot, like a lame horse,” said Arthur. “He may say whatever he likes about me.”
Eames laughed aloud. Arthur smiled back, but it faded after a moment.
“I can only imagine how Lucretia would feel,” he said softly, “without you in her life.”
“Fortunately, you will not have to imagine, as I plan to live a long and healthy life,” said Eames. “But if Ariadne is worried, why does she not ask you? I thought she liked you.”
“Eames, Ariadne and I are related,” Arthur said, in faintly exasperated tones. “Alright, we are third cousins, which does not seem significant when you think of how we breed dragons back to their grandparents and such, but it is enough, I think, to deter us both. Why are you looking at me like that?”
Eames shoved him. “Why didn't you say something earlier!”
“Why, were you jealous?” Arthur asked, with such wide-eyed innocence that Eames was sure he'd known exactly how jealous he had been making Eames. Eames scowled, to which Arthur smiled. “You are the only aviator for me, Mr. Eames, never you fear.”
“Always Mr. Eames,” Eames grumbled, pushing Arthur down onto his bed, and climbing atop him. “Why not Captain Eames?”
“Because I would hate for your ego to get out of hand,” said Arthur. “I could call you Bertram, if you would prefer.”
Eames glared, and countered, “That would be fine, Stephen.”
“I have no aversion to my given name,” Arthur said, trailing a hand down Eames' chest, his gaze tracking it. “But I do like the way you say Arthur. Are you going to kiss me now, or are you going to wait for Ariadne to join us?”
Eames growled, and kissed all the smart remarks right out of him.