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No one in the business wears a tuxedo like Arthur does.
They’re always perfectly tailored, with a waistcoat and a bowtie, old-fashioned style with a modern cut and spotless black buttons. The trousers make his legs look even longer than usual, and his hair is always slicked back, gelled into place without a single stray lock.
Over the past year, Eames has found an increasing number of jobs that require Arthur to wear one. Arthur, he’s sure, thinks that it’s because he looks suave and debonair, and that Eames can’t help himself when it comes to dressing Arthur up and later taking it all off again. Eames has done nothing to dissuade Arthur of this notion. Admittedly, working all of the secret buttons and straps and ties loose and stripping Arthur naked is its own reward for a job well done. That isn’t why Eames does it, however.
The truth is, Arthur in a tuxedo looks like he’s still a teenager meeting his date on prom night, with his ears sticking out and his limbs too long, and Eames has never claimed to be a good person.
It’s funny every time.
“What is it?” Arthur asks, catching Eames’ mouth quirking as he takes Arthur in on the ballroom floor.
“Nothing,” Eames says easily. “Fifteen minutes now, are you ready?”
“Everything’s in place,” Arthur answers, which doesn’t surprise Eames in the least, because Arthur is still the best at what he does. They both are.
Arthur takes a sip of champagne, which he barely looks old enough to drink, and his eyes scan the room before they catch on something over Eames’ shoulder.
“Heads up,” Arthur says, taking a step back to put enough room between them to maneuver. “We’ve got company.”
Eames turns casually, tugging at the cuff of his jacket and pretending to look for a waiter carrying fresh drinks. He sees them almost at once; Cobb looking comfortable and well-groomed, with Mal resplendent on his arm in an off-the-shoulder evening gown of deep aubergine.
He’s already been spotted, so Eames doesn’t bother trying to hide. He feels Arthur melt away behind him, and pastes on his best welcoming smile as the Cobbs glide up to him.
“Eames,” Cobb says, not sounding too pleased about it. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Yes, what a coincidence,” Eames agrees, still smiling. “Mrs. Cobb, you’re looking radiant this evening.” He bends over her hand, every inch the gentleman, and stops just before his lips make contact with her skin.
“I could almost say the same,” Mal returns when he relinquishes her hand. “Did you forget to shave before you dressed?”
“I look rakish, and devilishly handsome,” Eames tells her, which is true. He knows because unlike the reverse, Eames in a tuxedo with a day’s worth of stubble never fails to get Arthur going.
“So you do,” Mal allows, turning her head so that the light from the ornate chandelier overhead catches on her diamond earrings. “And where is your companion for this evening?”
“Oh, you know Arthur,” Eames says easily. “Probably off in the loo, powdering his nose and worrying about wrinkles.”
“I hope you’re not here for the same reason we are,” Cobb says, a touch of warning in his voice. “Because I have to tell you, you’re not going to beat us to this one.”
“Of course not,” Eames demurs. “Why exactly are you gracing this fine soiree with your presence, may I ask?”
Cobb looks him over, mistrusting, exactly as he should be. Eames has a thief’s quick fingers and a con man’s smile.
“The owner of this house recently bought a rather impressive diamond,” Cobb says. “So recently, in fact, that it’s almost certainly still on the premises. Our employers want the location of that diamond.”
“And they want it before anyone else,” Mal puts in, her smile every bit as charming and unyielding as Eames’ own.
“I can promise you, Arthur and I aren’t here for the location of a diamond,” Eames promises. “We’re not even here for an extraction.”
“So what, this is some sort of social event for you?” Cobb asks, squinting with his usual eerie perception.
“Something like that,” Eames agrees.
Cobb takes a step forward into Eames’ personal space. In his periphery, Eames sees Mal dropping back enough to cover him and watch for unfriendly eyes following their conversation.
“You two have fucked over the last three jobs we’ve worked,” Cobb reminds him.
“Never intentionally,” Eames says truthfully. There are a limited number of truly high-profile targets in the world, and he and Arthur have gotten too good to waste their time on anything less. The fact that Mal and Cobb keep popping up isn’t entirely coincidence, but neither is it malicious.
“You’re not getting this one ahead of us,” Cobb warns. “Stay out of our way, or I’ll start trying to talk Arthur back onto my team again.”
“Noted,” Eames assures him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should check up on where Arthur’s gotten to. I imagine you’ll want to be on the move yourselves; your mark’s just gone upstairs to refresh her toilette, I believe.”
Cobb still looks suspicious, but he moves out of Eames’ personal bubble, and Mal takes his arm like an exotic bird returning to a favored perch.
They separate in the crowd, and Eames takes the long way, circling around the perimeter, letting himself be seen leaving the ballroom for the outlying rooms in two different directions before he finally slips out into the west hallway and up the stairs. Less than five minutes, now.
Eames’ stolen security card gets him through the doors of the guest bedroom, and from there out onto the private balcony, where Arthur is already waiting. “Four minutes,” Arthur says unnecessarily, as Eames closes the balcony doors behind them and checks their surroundings for security. There’s nothing, as they expected. Then again, it would be somewhat eccentric to post a guard on the side of the house that directly overlooks a sheer drop into the ocean.
Arthur starts stripping out of his tuxedo while Eames checks the gear stowed beneath the balcony in a well-secured duffel bag. “What did Mal and Dom want?” Arthur asks, dropping his jacket over the balcony rail and neatly unpinning his cufflinks – gold and diamond, of course, in accordance with the theme of tonight’s social gathering. Eames offers a hand for them, but Arthur shakes his head and slips them into his trouser pocket.
“The usual,” Eames answers. “To threaten us, should we get in the way of their job – again – and to attempt to steal you back.”
Arthur chuckles, although Eames has never been able to find it amusing, knowing that Dom Cobb is the one person on this planet who might be able to steal Arthur away from him. It’s always a little too close to possible for his comfort.
“Dom knows he can’t have me. Not unless he wants a package deal.” Arthur holds out a hand for the wetsuit, and Eames passes it up to him, still crouched by the duffel and double-checking that everything they need is present and accounted for. “They’re here for the location of the diamond?”
“Of course.” Eames tucks Arthur’s socks neatly into his shoes when he kicks them off, storing everything in the bag as Arthur discards it.
Arthur glances down at him, eyes dancing. “Do they know we already have it?”
Eames stands, helping Arthur with the last of his tuxedo shirt buttons as Arthur pulls the wetsuit up over his hips, leaving it pooled around his waist. “Now where would be the fun in that?”
Arthur’s the one to steal the kiss, although Eames has already done half the work for him, leaning in and looking – if he does say so himself – deliciously sexy. “I’ll see you in twenty,” Arthur says, stripping his shirt off and passing it to Eames to join the rest in the duffel. “If I’m not back in half an hour, I’ll meet you at the rendezvous.”
Eames tosses the waterproof duffel over the side of the balcony, where Arthur will be able to retrieve it from the shoreline after he’s finished breaking in through the foundations of the house and stealing their host’s ten-million-dollar diamond.
When he looks back over at Arthur, his breath catches in his throat. The sun is just setting over the cliffs, light dancing on the water, and the balcony is bathed in slow-dying color. Arthur hasn’t pulled up the wetsuit the rest of the way yet, focused on the toolkit Eames has packed for this little jaunt, and he’s…
Radiant. His wings are spread out wide, the way they always are when they’re unrestricted, and flaring to catch and refract every last bit of color the sun can dazzle them with as it leaches light from the twilight shadows below. Rainbow fractals split and branch in dizzying patterns, until they fade delicately away just at the tips.
It isn’t just the wings, either, although of course that’s what draws Eames’ eye. Arthur’s face is smooth and relaxed, calm the way he always gets right before a job, and his eyes are dark and intelligent. He’s curved enough over the toolkit to show the muscle definition in his stomach and chest, and his long fingers are picking through everything with familiar, skilled dexterity. Eames longs, as he does constantly, to kiss him.
He refrains, though, because Arthur is concentrating on the job at hand. Instead, he moves up behind Arthur, his hands skimming over Arthur’s spine without making contact before they settle, lightly, to frame the pale lines where Arthur’s wings break free of his skin. He feels Arthur tense and then relax, leaning back into Eames’ touch.
“Two and a half minutes,” Arthur tells him, but he doesn’t resist when Eames bends him forward, over the balcony railing, or when Eames’ tongue traces the line of light beside Arthur’s left shoulder blade.
Arthur adjusts his stance, spreading his legs wider for balance when Eames doesn’t back off immediately, just keeps running his tongue over the same strip of skin, through the dazzling beams of light that form Arthur’s wings.
“Eames, Christ,” Arthur gasps, as Eames takes hold of Arthur’s hips to hold him steady and licks him harder, turning his head slightly to drag his stubble against Arthur’s pale, unmarked skin. Arthur’s wings flex and quiver, responding as Arthur does, dropping his head forward and panting while Eames sucks more color onto his skin.
Eames would keep him here, fuck him over the railing as the sun sets and to hell with the diamond, but he knows Mal and Dom will come looking for them, and they don’t have any room in this plan for delays. He removes his mouth from Arthur’s back reluctantly, drawing his fingers through the splintering light of Arthur’s wings.
“One minute,” he reminds Arthur, who pulls up the wetsuit and draws the zipper tight, locking away his beautiful, dazzling wings. Arthur twists in his arms until he’s pressed chest-to-chest against Eames, who has yet to move back and give Arthur any space, still crowding him up against the railing.
“Hold that thought,” Arthur tells him, catching Eames’ chin in one hand and kissing him, deeply, just as the sun turns the water below them from green to gold. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Go steal us a diamond,” Eames tells him, stepping back and straightening his jacket because he has his own part to play in this, and the timing is just as exact.
Arthur laughs, and Eames has to force himself not to lean forward and steal another kiss, because he’ll never stop if he starts right now, with the sunset painting the sky behind them all the colors of Arthur’s wings.
Arthur jackknifes off the edge of the balcony, making a clean slice through the deep water below. Eames stays behind for a moment, standing guard, and watching the sunlight sparkle on the waves.
He knows whose arm Arthur will be on when he returns, sleek and graceful and smelling faintly of the ocean, with an entire fortune stowed away in the inside pocket of his jacket and outshining every diamond in the room.
“Take that, Dom Cobb,” Eames murmurs, smiling, and goes inside to do the job.