Which accounts for Chen's muffled gasp when Eames walks behind Arthur and puts a heavy hand on Arthur's shoulder. Except that Eames has been carefully making noise as he walked, and Arthur's nowhere near as tightly wound as he was during that job three years ago.
Also, Eames is bearing coffee, which earns him a reprieve from the lesser crime of broaching Arthur's personal space.
"Yes?" he says, not looking up at Eames as he plunks the cup down next to Arthur's hand.
"You should probably take a break," Eames says, not unkindly. "You've been muttering at the same page for an hour now, and I know you're a quicker reader than that."
Arthur rolls his eyes because yes, he can speed read, thank you very much. "So you tell me where the money's going," the if you're so clever unspoken but nevertheless clearly heard.
Eames grins at him. "Let me take a look." He grabs the file and steals a sip from Arthur's coffee, grimacing as he puts the cup down. "Oh, that's vile. I can never fathom why you drink it."
Arthur, grateful at the opportunity to think about anything other than what the mark does with his paychecks, says, "Why do you keep stealing it, then?" Because this isn't remotely the first time Eames had done this.
Eames stares at the numbers. "It does smell good. And it seems so popular. There must be something to it. I keep thinking, maybe this time." He sighs with much more melodrama than is warranted.
Arthur pokes him, mainly to get his cup back. Eames hands it over with a smile.
"And besides," he says, "it's yours. However could I stay away?"
From across the room, Chen snorts. "You two are so full of shit."
~~
It's like there's an Eames-shaped hole in Arthur's defenses.
Normally Arthur can't stand for anyone to even come near him when he's drunk. He's ended more than a few promising work-and-otherwise relationships like that.
And yet, when Eames presses up behind Arthur, his reflexes fail to come up with any remotely lethal action. Instead his head lolls back, bumping gently into Eames' shoulder.
"You're wasted," Eames says directly into Arthur's ear.
Arthur nods tiredly, or tries to do the closest equivalent while still retaining contact with Eames' shoulder.
Eames is warm, and Arthur's traitor body wants to press closer against him. He forces himself to sit straight. Eames lingers for a moment, but melts back into the crowd when he apparently realized Arthur's resolute to ignore him now.
Arthur's reflexes serve him better when the man next to him says, "Buy you a drink?" But he's not completely drunk yet, so he manages to control them well enough to accept the drink gracefully. He even manages not to flinch when the guy puts a casual hand on his thigh.
He's still high on adrenaline, and while his mind is screaming potential risks at him, Arthur's body is languid with heat and drink and fatigue, and the prospect of being fucked out of his mind is incredibly tempting.
So he ignores his instincts and follows the guy to the back alley, where Arthur leans against the wall and lets the guy bite his throat and hump his thigh.
"You're so fucking gorgeous," the guy mumbles in his ear. "I bet you'd fucking scream when I fuck you. I bet I could make you beg."
Through the haze of alcohol, Arthur is starting to feel distinctly uncomfortable.
"You'll start out saying no, but you'll be so good to me in the end, so fucking good." The guy's more than a bit drunk himself, it appears. He tries to lick at Arthur's ear and fails, getting his cheek instead. "What's your safeword?" he says, trying at sexy and missing that, too.
Arthur pushes him away. "I don't do that."
The guy blinks at him for a moment then flushes deep red. "Oh, shit, I'm sorry." He takes a step back and half-drops against the opposite wall. "Fuck, I'm drunk," he moans.
"Yeah, I can tell," Arthur says, and finds his way back into the club. He doesn't even know why he fucking came here. This shit always happens to him, always.
Re: Allowed [inception, Arthur/Eames, 2/?, nc-17]
Also, Eames is bearing coffee, which earns him a reprieve from the lesser crime of broaching Arthur's personal space.
"Yes?" he says, not looking up at Eames as he plunks the cup down next to Arthur's hand.
"You should probably take a break," Eames says, not unkindly. "You've been muttering at the same page for an hour now, and I know you're a quicker reader than that."
Arthur rolls his eyes because yes, he can speed read, thank you very much. "So you tell me where the money's going," the if you're so clever unspoken but nevertheless clearly heard.
Eames grins at him. "Let me take a look." He grabs the file and steals a sip from Arthur's coffee, grimacing as he puts the cup down. "Oh, that's vile. I can never fathom why you drink it."
Arthur, grateful at the opportunity to think about anything other than what the mark does with his paychecks, says, "Why do you keep stealing it, then?" Because this isn't remotely the first time Eames had done this.
Eames stares at the numbers. "It does smell good. And it seems so popular. There must be something to it. I keep thinking, maybe this time." He sighs with much more melodrama than is warranted.
Arthur pokes him, mainly to get his cup back. Eames hands it over with a smile.
"And besides," he says, "it's yours. However could I stay away?"
From across the room, Chen snorts. "You two are so full of shit."
~~
It's like there's an Eames-shaped hole in Arthur's defenses.
Normally Arthur can't stand for anyone to even come near him when he's drunk. He's ended more than a few promising work-and-otherwise relationships like that.
And yet, when Eames presses up behind Arthur, his reflexes fail to come up with any remotely lethal action. Instead his head lolls back, bumping gently into Eames' shoulder.
"You're wasted," Eames says directly into Arthur's ear.
Arthur nods tiredly, or tries to do the closest equivalent while still retaining contact with Eames' shoulder.
Eames is warm, and Arthur's traitor body wants to press closer against him. He forces himself to sit straight. Eames lingers for a moment, but melts back into the crowd when he apparently realized Arthur's resolute to ignore him now.
Arthur's reflexes serve him better when the man next to him says, "Buy you a drink?" But he's not completely drunk yet, so he manages to control them well enough to accept the drink gracefully. He even manages not to flinch when the guy puts a casual hand on his thigh.
He's still high on adrenaline, and while his mind is screaming potential risks at him, Arthur's body is languid with heat and drink and fatigue, and the prospect of being fucked out of his mind is incredibly tempting.
So he ignores his instincts and follows the guy to the back alley, where Arthur leans against the wall and lets the guy bite his throat and hump his thigh.
"You're so fucking gorgeous," the guy mumbles in his ear. "I bet you'd fucking scream when I fuck you. I bet I could make you beg."
Through the haze of alcohol, Arthur is starting to feel distinctly uncomfortable.
"You'll start out saying no, but you'll be so good to me in the end, so fucking good." The guy's more than a bit drunk himself, it appears. He tries to lick at Arthur's ear and fails, getting his cheek instead. "What's your safeword?" he says, trying at sexy and missing that, too.
Arthur pushes him away. "I don't do that."
The guy blinks at him for a moment then flushes deep red. "Oh, shit, I'm sorry." He takes a step back and half-drops against the opposite wall. "Fuck, I'm drunk," he moans.
"Yeah, I can tell," Arthur says, and finds his way back into the club. He doesn't even know why he fucking came here. This shit always happens to him, always.