Disclaimer: I don’t own Inception.
Summary: In which Arthur is frustrated, Eames is confused, the phone rings, and Eames shuts up.
Author’s Note: So. I have honestly been trying to get this posted for days. Four days, basically. I have beaten it into a semblance of submission, but it's still fighting. So...sorry. Hopefully the other parts will come more easily now. Maybe.
Previous Series: Yellow One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven
Previous Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
Arthur drags the suitcase into the bedroom and drops it on the bed. He waits until Eames exits the bathroom and then crosses his arms, glowering at the older man. “Eames.”
Eames quirks his eyebrows. “Yes, Arthur?”
His eyes follow Arthur’s hand as it gestures to the bag. “I thought you were going to unpack.”
“Was I?” Eames asks. His voice has an amused lilt to it and Arthur’s eyes narrow. Arthur’s eyes track him as he saunters into the room, nudges the suitcase with a hand. “What if I’m not in the mood?”
“This is not a negotiation,” Arthur responds. The frown lines on his forehead are more pronounced. Eames tuts.
“Perhaps,” Eames agrees. He moves quickly so that hopefully Arthur won’t see it coming. They fall back onto the bed and Eames has him pinned. Arthur looks up at him, scowl still in place but eyes laughing. “I can think of much better things to do with an afternoon off.” He presses his body against Arthur’s and relishes the harsh gasp pulled from Arthur.
“You are,” he groans as Eames kisses him, “are not getting out of unpacking.” His mouth moves against Eames’, pants softly.
Eames smirks at him. “Of course not.” His mouth moves to Arthur’s neck, sucks on the spot behind his left ear that drives him insane. Arthur moans and his nails dig into Eames’ bare shoulders. Eames is grinning up until the point when Arthur flips them.
Arthur leans over him, hands braced on Eames’ shoulders. Eames watches him, barely resists the urge to reach up and run a hand through his curling hair. When their mouths meet again its open and messy, tongues sliding together earnestly. And then Arthur pulls away suddenly, rolls off of him and lands on his feet nimbly. Eames stares at him, wide eyed and confused. His breathing is still erratic and so is Arthur’s judging by the way his chest heaves.
“Arthur?” he pants.
“The suitcase first, Eames.” He smiles at the look that crosses Eames’ face. “It’s been two days.”
“Bloody fucking hell, Arthur,” Eames grunts. He sits up and makes a grab at Arthur but he twists away at the last moment. “If it’s been two days what’s two hours more?”
“Oh, hours, is it?” Arthur smirks. He unzips the suitcase on his way past. “Call me when you’re done, hm?”
Eames curses as he falls back on the bed.
“You’re hovering,” Arthur states. He slips his bookmark in and closes the novel he was reading. He doesn’t turn around as he puts it on the side table. “And I know you haven’t finished unpacking,” he frowns, “unless you just dumped the contents on the ground, which is not unpacking.”
Eames starts to protest then stops. “I’m behind you, how could you tell?” He ignores the second part.
“You’ve been standing there, staring at the back of my head, for almost thirty minutes now. Silently.” He pauses. “It’s never good when you’re silent.”
“Ha, ha, ha,” Eames grumbles. He moves around the sofa though and sits on the coffee table. Arthur quirks an eyebrow at him.
“You can sit on the sofa,” he points out. Eames huffs and Arthur rolls his eyes. “Alright, what is it?”
Eames snorts. “Don’t sound so interested.” He rests his feet on Arthur’s knees. Arthur wrinkles his nose at the bare feet but doesn’t shove them off.
“Did you actually unpack?” he asks skeptically.
Eames chuckles softly. “No.” Arthur rolls his eyes, waits for Eames to go on. It’s silent except for a ticking clock. Eames’ eyes are roving over his body, not exactly uncomfortably and not quite appreciatively, but more analyzing. Arthur’s frown deepens.
“Eames,” he waits until he’s sure Eames is paying attention to him. “You’re still staring.”
“I’m not staring,” Eames protests. “I am observing you.” Arthur’s eyes narrow as he raises an eyebrow in question. “I don’t know how to be an uncle. You don’t have to laugh.”
“Yes, I do,” Arthur says. He’s still smiling but the laughter has subsided for the moment. “You think you can learn to be an uncle by watching me?” he repeats, just to be sure. Eames glares at him. “Obviously Phillipa saw something in you to make you uncle worthy,” Arthur snorts. “I don’t know what, but it’s there. You don’t have to act any different.”
He pauses, sees the slow smile spreading across Eames’ face. “On second thought,” he amends. He grabs Eames’ feet before they can withdraw. “You could do with acting like an adult once in awhile. Or more.” Eames jerks his right foot when Arthur’s fingers tighten on it. “It’d be nice, not taking care of three children,” he persists.
“You find me irresistible,” Eames protests. Arthur’s eyes narrow a fraction and his hand tightens on Eames’ foot. “Arthur….” He breaks off as Arthur’s fingers dance along his instep. “Shit,” he yelps, trying to free his leg.
Arthur grins as he keeps hold of the right foot, left hand latched tightly to Eames’ ankle. His right hand moves mercilessly against the sensitive skin on the bottom of his foot. Eames is laughing as he leans forward to try and pry Arthur’s hands off him. It’s hopeless though. Arthur is stronger than he looks and they both know it.
Arthur leans back into the sofa, pulls Eames’ foot with him, just as Eames leans in to try again. Arthur breaks into laughter as Eames overbalances and lands on the floor. “This is why you sit on the sofa,” he teases.
“Thank you, Arthur,” Eames growls. He flops back on the floor as Arthur releases his foot.
“I’m going to get the mail.” He nudges Eames’ leg with his foot. “Finish unpacking.” Eames glares up at him but the smile ruins it.
He has four missed calls and three voicemails when he finally pulls his phone off the charger. It rings just as he’s debating on checking the voicemails or shutting it off. “So you’re alive after all,” he hears when he connects. Eames frowns and grips the phone tighter. It’s the first time he’s answered it since he got to Arthur’s. “Nice of you to let us know you were leaving, huh? So where the hell are you?”
Eames leans back in the deck chair, cursing inwardly that he’d actually answered the phone. The door opens and Arthur comes out, sets down two cups of hot tea. Eames smiles up at him. “Hello, Collins,” Eames grunts. He ignores the look of surprise Arthur gives him. “How’s Germany?”
“Oh, fan-fucking-tastic. Especially since I’m two hours away from a job and my forger’s still MIA. Where the hell are you?”
Eames contemplates chucking the phone over the railing. Arthur leans against the rail across from him and holds one of the cups in his hands, watching Eames. “Not in Germany,” he answers finally. He ignores the well, duh, Collins spits out. She’s always been a bit high strung. “Didn’t have time to leave a message, sorry.” Arthur snorts and Eames smiles. He sounds anything but apologetic.
He can almost hear the steam billowing out of Collins’ ears. “God dammit, Eames!” she shrieks. Even Arthur can hear it. “See if I ever call you again. See if anyone ever calls you for a job again. You may think you’re the best but you’re completely undependable and-”
He turns the phone off and tosses it on the table. It narrowly misses his cup. Arthur looks at him, eyebrows raised to his hairline. “What?” Eames grumbles.
“I didn’t know you were working with Mary Collins,” he murmurs. “She’s…”
“Something else, huh?” Eames finishes. He smiles, tugs Arthur into his chair. Arthur rolls his eyes but leans against him without protest after making sure the cup has made it safely to the table. “Well, there goes my career. I’ll be blacklisted now.”
“You were always blacklisted but you’re too good at what you do for anyone to pay attention.”
“Why thank you, Arthur,” Eames mutters drily. He lets his head fall back and studies the clouds.
Arthur smiles against Eames’ neck. “I can’t believe you walked out on Collins.” He huffs a laugh and presses his lips to Eames’ skin.
“Well, you were more important. Good thing I did too. Who knows how many bottles you would have drowned in, hm?” Eames teases. He curses as Arthur bites his shoulder. “Okay, okay, I take it back.”
Another soft laugh and then Arthur is straddling him. Eames raises his eyebrows even as he grins. The wind plays with Arthur’s hair and he squints a little as he looks at Eames. “I don’t know how I put up with you,” he sighs.
Eames pulls him down until their mouths are just brushing each other. “No idea,” he sighs. And when Arthur presses in close neither pull away. Eames hums and shifts until Arthur is settled between his thighs. He groans as Arthur moves on to kissing his jaw and neck. “I still haven’t unpacked, you know,” he mutters. He’s sure Arthur knows too. “Not that I’m complaining or anything.”
“Eames,” Arthur warns. His mouth presses against the skin beneath Eames’ ear.
“It’s just, you’re sending out mixed signals. You care if I unpack, you don’t-”
Arthur pulls back, an exasperated look firmly plastered on his face. “Eames, do you ever shut-up?” he groans.
Eames smirks. “I don’t know, you’ll have to see for yourself.” He shivers when he sees the look in Arthur’s eyes. He’s about to point out that they’re still on the balcony and anyone could see, really, but Arthur’s mouth is on his once again and he’s undoing the buttons of Eames’ shirt.
He settles on moaning instead and Arthur seems pleased with the result.