Scenting

After hearing that Arthur actually blames himself for Mal’s suicide and apparently actively, but unconsciously, sabotaged their relationship as some kind of dumb punishment to himself, Eames understood the constant aggression he was met with on the job a little better.

And at least their fighting has gone down from open hostility to something less aggressive and more playful after their conversation a few days back. Eames is relieved – it had grained on his very soul to fight with Arthur every damn minute of every damn day.

He’s pretty sure the whole team is relieved, too, because they might actually get shit done now without this petty pissing contest Arthur and he had had going. Eames can say he isn’t proud of how they both acted and he’s glad they might leave that behind now that they actually talked and agreed to give this – them – another chance once this job is done.

Eames thought, then, that he had a pretty good reading on Arthur.

Apparently, he is wrong about that.

Arthur is obnoxious as hell when Eames returns from Browning late Friday evening and it has nothing of that playful teasing that both of them like to pretend is still real fight, but seriously, is nothing but their weird way of showing each other they’re happy about the other one’s attention. It’s a little twisted and a little weird, but Eames is okay with it.

This though? It is actually just bloody annoying.

Eames is exhausted in general, so having Arthur snap at him for no reason besides maybe having taken some of his office articles (a handful of pens and one of the moleskine!) has the alpha snarl and throw his hands in the air, walking out on the whole team (the betas being wise enough to remain very quiet and very still), while Arthur’s voice still echoes after him, calling him a long-fingered crook, who has nothing better – (Eames doesn’t catch the end of it, because he slams the door close on his way out).

He fumes as he stomps down the hall way, making his way to the exit door that leads out to the unattractive, clattered backyard of a typical Paris warehouse.

He gets out his fags, because a petty part of him knows Arthur doesn’t like it. Arthur can suck it up, acting like a dick when Eames comes back to Paris after a week of playing make-belief with that fuckward of Browning, wanting nothing else but some bloody peace and quiet. That twat of an alpha is one of the exhausting ones. Those rich old fuckers that need to demonstrate their superiority in every fucking action, feeling instantly threatened by any other alpha in their vicinity and using every method available to secure their own dominance. Arseholes like this are the reason alphas are generally seen as megalomaniac chauvinists with power complexes, taking enjoyment in degrading and humiliating those they think physically, socially or mentally inferior to them.

The flight was exhausting, too and his jetlag is setting in, ruining not only his appetite, but his sleep rhythm as well as his mood, and Sunday he has to do it all over again. So, he is fucking tired and hoped to at least be left alone or, daresay, be greeted with something else but more instinctual driven dynamic based bullshit. He missed Arthur, especially since they haven’t been trying to claw each other’s eyes out any more.

He isn’t as surprised as he likes to act, when Arthur comes after him a few minutes later.

A part of Eames knows it’s probably a little dramatic of him to stomp out of the room, only to go stand around in the backyard, waiting for Arthur to catch up to him and apologize.

But well, sometimes Eames likes being a bit dramatic. He knows himself (and Arthur), so he is leaning against the wall, waiting, smoking his cigarette and not looking up when the back door opens for the omega to join him.

“I hate this smell,” is the first thing Arthur comments and Eames answers by taking a long and deep breath of the smoke and blowing it over his head in demonstration of how little he fucking cares.

Arthur bristles a little and really, Eames doesn’t know what his fucking problem is this time, so he turns to him, lifting his brows. Pushing Arthur to get anything, really, doesn’t work, Eames knows. Best way to get him to talk is by remaining calm. To pacify the omega a bit (because Eames doesn’t really want to actively fight), he snips the cigarette down to the ground, grinding it out with the tip of his shoe and taking a breath of chilled, Paris evening air, before speaking:

“What is your problem?”

Arthur crunches up his cute nose and spats: “You stink”.

Rude.

Eames tells him as much, lifting both brows in a slightly judging manner about the impoliteness. “Yeah, we established that you don’t like cigarette smoke, darling, but that’s not why you felt the need to snap at me as soon as I come into the room”.

Arthur rolls his eyes to hide the frustrated expression threatening to take over his face, “You took my stuff-“

“Oh, please, stop pretending you actually mind that I did,” Eames huffs, because he knows for a fact that Arthur only throws such a fit so he gets the items back immediately, because they smell like- Oh. Oh.

“You’re antsy because I smell like Browning, aren’t you?” Eames realizes and Arthur grunts, making a face, but he can’t hide the way his ears start to glow.

Eames groans, tipping his head back for a moment, a mix of frustration and laughter.

“Fucking hell, Arthur, you need to learn to use your words and I mean not by yelling them at me,” Eames sighs, rubbing over his burning eyes, tired from being awake for 32 hours straight now, startling a little when he feels the omega move closer to his side, reaching for his arm.

“It… You don’t get how disgusting it is. It’s not exactly a blessing having a nose like this,” Arthur sighs, fingers curling gently into his sleeve. He isn’t looking at him, but his fingers curl a little tighter into the fabric of the jacket he has been wearing all day. Eames watches him, silently, while Arthur leans forward until his forehead rests against his shoulder.

“No, I guess not…” Eames relents, voice subdued, not feeling like fighting anymore and honestly – knowing that Arthur was bitching around, because of this? It’s actually endearing. It would be more endearing if Arthur would sometimes explain why he behaves the way he does to spare them both some grief, though. He turns and reaches up to copy the gesture, holding gently onto Arthur’s arm, a moment later deciding to bow in and press his nose to Arthur’s hairline.

The omega, absent-minded, rubs the heel of his palm up and down Eames’ arm, sighing under his breath.

“… I shouldn’t have-… Sorry for snapping at you. I know you’re probably jetlagging right now,” Arthur mutters, stepping a little more into Eames’ space and momentarily turns his head from one side to the other, rubbing his forehead against his shoulder and really, Eames is a weak man. But who can stay pissed off when your omega tries to scent you like that and thinks he is actually subtle about it?

It’s fucking endearing. And Arthur is right – Eames doesn’t know what it feels like to have senses as sharp as an omega and he doesn’t know how much worse it must be when your mate smells like some other people. It’s hard trying to imagine being in Arthur’s skin when Eames has absolutely no clue what it feels like to be an omega. And it’s actually the second time Arthur apologized verbally to him. They’re really winging this communication thing lately, aren’t they?

“Give me one of your sweaters to take with me Monday, okay?” he suggests and Arthur’s head snaps up at that, looking startled, eyes going a little darker and he takes another step closer, almost nose to nose with Eames now.

“Don’t you dare staining any of them,” Arthur replies, radiating satisfaction at the prospect of giving Eames clothes that smell like him. Eames feels a small pleased thrill seeing the other so eager and happy with Eames’ suggestion.

“Them?” Eames teases and grins, grinning even wider when Arthur starts to smirk as well. “Well you will need more than one sweater if you’re gone for a week again.”

“I guess, I do, Mm?” Eames hums, fingers curling a little more around Arthur’s arm. “Do I still smell like Browning?”

Eames knows the answer to this, but it’s cute to see Arthur pull a face, answering: “Yeah”.

“Well, better make me smell like you again, then,” Eames hums and it’s the right thing to say, he knows, when he has Arthur all up in his space a second later, tugging his cold nose into his neck and breathing in deeply, rubbing the bridge of it against the exposed column of skin there.

Eames smiles privately to himself, closing his eyes and letting his arms slowly wind around Arthur’s slim waist, resting his own chin lazily into the crook of Arthur’s neck, letting the omega scent him to his heart’s content.

Eames thought that he had a pretty good reading on Arthur. But, obviously, he doesn't understand him as well as he thinks. But he is learning.

They haven’t talked about how they want to proceed after the inception job. Haven’t talked about anything, really and Eames knows it is a conversation that needs to happen at some point.

They will need to put their cards onto the table and talk about everything. Boundaries they need, expectations they both have. Rules have to be put down about communicating their problems, so shit like last time doesn’t happen again.

But even without all that having happened yet, Eames knows – they will leave this job together and together only. There will be no separate paths for them again. And they will both fucking work hard on this together to make it work.