HEE! HEARTS WERE MEANT TO BE SHARED. NOW ISN'T THAT A FANTASTIC SENTIMENT FOR... SOMETHING THAT DOES NOT CAUSE MY TO-DO LIST TO GROW? :D
Hm. I suspect you and I might just be able to take over the world strike up a deal. Y/y?
Also, also, I don't know what happened here, but I think this officially got away from where I'd planned.
He proceeds slowly, the way you do when trying to get a skittish animal to learn to trust.
By the middle of the second week, Arthur turns his face toward Eames' touch, or drops his chin, or shifts a shoulder down to allow Eames more room. Never when anyone is watching, of course, but plenty of times when they could be. Eames finds it thrilling.
At the end of the second week, Eames presses his thumb against Arthur's collarbone, underneath the collar of Arthur's shirt that he'd just popped open, against the mark Eames' had left with his mouth the night before. Arthur breathes out through his teeth, hisses, and Eames is the one swallowing hard, in the middle of a sentence about the mark's predilection for skinny, dark-haired men with stern mouths.
He keeps the pressure of his thumb, but touches the oh-so-slightly upturned corner of Arthur's mouth with each fingertip of his other hand, one by one. He's blocking Arthur from view of the rest of them, probably, propped up on Arthur's desk in front of him. Eames is pretty sure he wouldn't have been able to keep from doing it if every person they'd ever met had been staring over his shoulder, but that's a secret bet kept to himself.
"Can't say I don't understand," Eames says, more softly than he'd intended.
He gets a full smile for that one, just quickly, before Arthur rolls his eyes shoves him away.
no subject
Hm. I suspect you and I might just be able to
take over the world strike up a deal. Y/y?
Also, also, I don't know what happened here, but I think this officially got away from where I'd planned.
He proceeds slowly, the way you do when trying to get a skittish animal to learn to trust.
By the middle of the second week, Arthur turns his face toward Eames' touch, or drops his chin, or shifts a shoulder down to allow Eames more room. Never when anyone is watching, of course, but plenty of times when they could be. Eames finds it thrilling.
At the end of the second week, Eames presses his thumb against Arthur's collarbone, underneath the collar of Arthur's shirt that he'd just popped open, against the mark Eames' had left with his mouth the night before. Arthur breathes out through his teeth, hisses, and Eames is the one swallowing hard, in the middle of a sentence about the mark's predilection for skinny, dark-haired men with stern mouths.
He keeps the pressure of his thumb, but touches the oh-so-slightly upturned corner of Arthur's mouth with each fingertip of his other hand, one by one. He's blocking Arthur from view of the rest of them, probably, propped up on Arthur's desk in front of him. Eames is pretty sure he wouldn't have been able to keep from doing it if every person they'd ever met had been staring over his shoulder, but that's a secret bet kept to himself.
"Can't say I don't understand," Eames says, more softly than he'd intended.
He gets a full smile for that one, just quickly, before Arthur rolls his eyes shoves him away.