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Arthur is used to the feeling. This, yes, for lack of a better word, this longing. This longing he gets when Eames brings him a cup of coffee in the morning, when Eames pulls off a trick, looking so damn pleased with himself, when Eames says lift, or rubbish, or bloody hell, or darling, darling, like it’s the easiest thing in the world, like Arthur’s being unfair, like Eames likes him anyway. The feeling in the back of Arthur’s throat, in the dip of his stomach when Eames turns to him with the brightest smile, looks at him just so, and Arthur thinks yes.
Thinks please.
Thinks fuck it, I don’t care, just this time-
And then Eames turns the smile to the next person, god knows who, and it stays just as bright, Eames tells the extractor to ‘be a dear and pass me that file’, throws casually to the architect to 'stop punishing that mockup sweetheart, it’s counterproductive’ and smiles all the same and Arthur pushes the feeling down, and looks away.
Eames is explaining the strategy for the first level to their gathered team, going into detail about the expected behavior of the mark’s projections and the contingency plans and Arthur is not paying attention to a word of it, because he went over it a thousands times before, because Eames is wearing an awful shirt with at least three conflicting colors in it and it shouldn’t work for him but it does, it does, the muscles pushing the sleeves tight, the tattoos visible from the first two bottoms undone, and Arthur wants to rip it off him, until he looks across the room and knows Eames caught him staring.
The thing is, Athur knows Eames wants to sleep with him. Sure he knows, it’s easy to tell, and Eames is not hiding it. Arthur knows the flirting is genuine, the heated looks filled with intention, with promise, all the times Eames suggested getting dinner somewhere, it’s genuine just as it is genuine with anyone else Arthur assumes he turns it to. And Arthur knows he let this go too far, let Eames get under his skin and now it’d be beyond stupid to just sleep with him, no matter how much Arthur wants to, how many times he lets his mind go there.
Eames, on the other hand, knows that Arthur wants to sleep with him. So he probably doesn’t understand what is Arthur’s hesitation, stopped trying to figure Arthur out a long time ago. But oh, he still enjoys it, smirks when he catches Arthur staring, says “like the view, dear?” the next time they’re out of shot, throws in a wink every once in awhile for good measure.
Arthur burns with shame, with embarrassment, but can never quite stop the smile.
Arthur thinks he’s hiding it pretty well, swallowing it down, until the architect (Ashley? Or maybe Genevieve, fuck if he remembers, though he does have an entire file on her in his computer, and again in his external hardrive, just if he needs it, just in case) the architect laughs at something Eames says, and lays a hand on his arm, and says, “do you wanna get a drink with me later? There’s this nice bar downtown that the two of us could try,” and Eames looks like he’s considering it, and Arthur slams his laptop shut with too much force.
They both turn to him. Eames stares at Arthur for a second too long, before he sighs and turns back to the woman.
“No, I’m sorry Kayla. Thanks for the offer though.”
“Alright,” she says, looking at Arthur, not taking offense. “I’m heading out. See you soon.”
“See ya,” Eames says, waves her off, and doesn’t make a move to leave himself. Clearly intent on waiting Arthur out, and if anything Arthur’s not a coward. So he sits back too, and waits as they file out, and after the architect the extractor leaves, and soon it’s just the two of them, and Eames sighs again.
“Dearest, you need to make up your mind.”
Arthur doesn’t play dumb, but he’s not sure how to explain this either. “I don’t know how to read you,” he says, finally, pretty sure Eames won’t know what he means.
“I- don’t know what you mean? I thought I was pretty obvious so far.”
Yes, but not in the way I want you to, except when you’re turning down someone to clear things up with me so maybe a little in the way I want you? But you’ve never- you’ve never shown, Arthur thinks, says,
“You’re not any different with me than how you are with anyone else,” in a rush, feeling a little embarrassed.
That’s clearly not what Eames was expecting.
“That’s deliberate? I’m trying not to be any different with you. After the seventh time you turned me down I thought you didn’t want me to. But darling, you don’t know.”
“Eames, of course I know-” Arthur cuts in, not wanting to hear how Eames would happily sleep with him if given the chance, how it’d be easy and not mean a single thing, not wanting a part on this conversation at all-
“I don’t think you do, dear.” Eames stops him, gently, and then: “I’m yours.”
“..what?” Arthur blinks.
“I’m yours,” Eames repeats, with the casual certainty of someone who knows this within their soul, who’s said this a thousand times before. “In whichever way you’ll have me,” he adds, with a shrug, for a flash of a moment looking vulnerable, which is not a word Arthur very often uses to describe Eames. It’s gone a minute later though, and Eames stands up, and ruffles Arthur’s hair on his way out of the warehouse.
Arthur stares dumbly after him. The many scattered puzzle pieces crash as they fall into place, faster than Arthur can process, until finally-
“Oh,” Arthur says, and then, scrambling out of his chair, “oh. Eames, wait up.”
Eames is waiting for him outside, flicking a cigarette.
“So, uh-” Arthur starts. Eames looks at him and takes a drag, giving him time to work out his thoughts. “So, I was being stupid,” Arthur finally says. Eames raises his eyebrows. “I’m sorry?” And then, more carefully, “do you wanna get dinner?”
Eames smiles, and blows the smoke away. “Thought you’d never ask.”