Work Text:
“We need a panacea...” Arthur thoughtfully stated. The case at the time was actually quite difficult, even compared to the inception a few months ago. Arthur had only recently returned to the dreamscape underworld after lying low and, of course, the first team after he came back had to include Eames.
“God, no. What we need is air conditioning.”
‘Speak of the Devil and he doth appear’ sprang to the forefront of Arthur’s mind. Truthfully, however, Eames did, in fact, have a valid point. Even the point man had changed his usual outfit to a shirt and waistcoat, though not yet surrendering to rolled-up sleeves. At least not in the vicinity of the forger. One day, Arthur knew that he would get mad at Eames in front of some important people, besmirching his own self. But not today.
The Maltese sun sent heat straight though the solid brick walls of the warehouse. There was no protection from the humidity and Arthur was thankful that he didn’t have to be outside much since he had a tendency to burn rather than tan. And looking like a lobster was definitely listed under ‘unprofessional’.
On the other hand, the annoying Briton sitting beside him was the total opposite. Typically, he was one to turn golden brown in a matter of minutes.
Arthur wasn’t jealous. No. That would be absolutely ridiculous. He was just frustrated that Eames didn’t seem to be able to stay still or be silent for any amount of time longer than it took for Arthur to remember who he was and what he was doing: staying calm. Arthur sighed, gathered his files and moved towards his makeshift desk.
All of a sudden, he felt a hand grope his ass and, letting out a rather unmanly squeak that he would deny if you ever asked about it in the future, he dropped the papers and grabbed the offending wrist.
“What on Earth are you doing, Eames?” he asked, giving one of his harshest glares.
“Darling,” Eames drawled, “I’m just making sure that you’re still human.”
“What else would I be? An alien?”
“I was thinking more on the line of an android actually, love.”
A noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl escaped from Arthur’s chest.
“Or perhaps my cuddly and, apparently, grizzly teddy bear whom I would adore to snuggle up to all night if I was allowed,” Eames smiled charmingly at his attractive point man.
“Don’t traumatise me, Eames,” Arthur replied, looking away. Except it was too late; Eames had already seen the half smile’s dimples and the glint in Arthur’s eyes that confirmed to the Englishman that he only had a while to wait for the younger man.
Arthur was still holding Eames’ wrist.