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Chapter Text

Arthur takes a sip of his coffee and frowns when he realizes that it's cold, and sluggishly sweet. He glances at the time, realizing that he'd gotten the coffee over an hour ago but has been so distracted that he's forgotten to drink it. Looking down at the blueprints in front of him, and the impossible demands of his current client, he makes the executive decision to take a coffee break. He pulls his suit jacket off the back of his chair as he walks out of the door, and pokes his head into the office next to his own.

 

"Hey Mal, I think I'm going to stab my eyes out if I don't take a break. Going on a coffee break, do you want anything?"

 

Mal looks up and pushes her curls back off her face, smiling.

 

"Actually, I'll come with you, mon chou. I could use a break as well."

 

"Should we ask Dom?" Arthur finishes buttoning up his coat and helps Mal into her own effortlessly chic, military inspired jacket. "I love this on you."

 

"Isn't it fabulous?" She sketches a little twirl and sticks out a shoe for his inspection. "Oh and I just got these. I told Dom they were on sale so shhh, s'il vous plaît?"

 

Arthur laughs and makes appreciative noises over the new kitten heels on her feet. "I'll never betray your confidence, I swear."

 

"Let's not ask Dom, he'll only make that squinty face I hate so much." She attempts to scrunch her nose and forehead up in imitation. "Let's sneak out, as though we are on an adventure."

 

"Wow, Mal. Crazy times, sneaking out of your own firm to do what you want. You know you're also the boss? You can do as you please."

 

"Of course I can. But it's so much more fun when it's forbidden, isn't it?" Her eyes widen and she raises her eyebrows at him.

 

"Right. Well then, we have to sneak pass the receptionist. It's the nosy one who eats Cheetos all day. I'm so tired of crusty, orange smudged, memos. "

 

Mal laughs and agrees, fluffing her hair up and takes Arthur's hand. "Well then, you be the point man and check the hallway. Quickly. I'm hungry for those tiny muffins they sell."

 

They actually crouch down and sneak past the reception desk on their hands and knees, with Arthur complaining that 'this suit is Zegna for fuck's sake,' and Mal shushing him between giggles. They're almost in tears from trying to hold in their laughter once they actually reach the elevator.

 

Inside the elevator, Mal leans against him, breathless and smiles up at him.

 

"You know, Dom doesn't believe me when I say that you have such adorable dimples. " She pokes at them, making Arthur bat her hands away.

 

"Why are you talking about my dimples with your husband?" he asks, unimpressed.

 

"Oh, because I've told him that I am going to run away with you and have an illicit affair. And he says he can't imagine you ever doing anything fun."

 

“Okay." Arthur holds up a hand. "Your husband's first response to you having an affair with me is to talk about how boring I am. I'm not sure, but I think I'm insulted."

 

"Oh don't be. He just doesn't know you like I do." She smirks at him.

 

"I guess it would be kind of a boring affair, since I don't...you know...like vagina."

 

"Ah well, it could be an affair of the mind, and shopping. We will go to Paris, and we will eat and shop. "

 

"I might be able to get behind that kind of affair." He smiles fondly at Mal, and drapes his arm around her waist. "You know that if I was ever to turn, you'd be the one to do it."

 

Mal kisses him on the cheek and nods. "I know, it's because I am irresistible."

 

"Let's not forget modest."

 

"Who has time for modesty?" Mal shrugs, and leads him off the elevator.

 

***

 

Later, Arthur thinks about what Mal said. No one can make him laugh or crawl on the floor in tailored menswear like Mal. She's the only person he's ever told about Eames. They'd been sloppy drunk and lying on her living room floor when he'd let it slip. She'd clicked her tongue, and petted his hair back in sympathy. They'd woken up curled around each other, with a blanket Dom had draped over them, and raging headaches. Arthur had been two years from getting his architecture degree when Mal and Dom had basically adopted him. Mal was the daughter of one of his professors, who also happened to be a partner in one of the most exclusive architect firms in town. Arthur knew that without them, he would've spent the last two years bringing somebody coffee instead of designing buildings.

 

He's grateful for that, of course. He's more grateful at the easy way he's been folded into Mal and Dom's family unit; he never feels like the third wheel, and has spent every holiday at their apartment without question. As a Christmas present, Mal gives him his first designer tie. "You must look the part, mon chou. Otherwise, you'll look like a child. An adorable child, but still." She'd only smirked over her wine glass at Arthur's glare. He spent Thanksgiving with them, Mal insisting they explain it to her again, and then arguing over turkey and stuffing about how it was a national holiday to 'celebrate giving the Native American's small pox and taking their land.' It always deteriorates into her muttering at them in French, and Arthur loves every single second of it.

 

His reverie is broken by said French woman calling his name from the doorway to his office.

 

"Arthur. Mon chou? Wake up. It's time to go home."

"Shit. I haven't gotten anything done." He scowls down at the same blueprints spread across his desk.

 

"It will be there in the morning. I'm famished and you must feed me."

 

Arthur is about to ask when that became his job and not Dom's, when there's a tentative knock on the open door. He looks up, flashing what Mal calls 'his work smile.' A flat, no nonsense, no dimples smile.

 

"Yes, can I help you?” The person in the doorway doesn't look familiar. He's cute, with wide blue eyes and sandy colored hair. He's wearing a cardigan and a bow tie, which look charming on his slight frame.

 

"Yes, sir. Mr. Levine. Um...I have your mail?" He hands Arthur a stack of business envelopes and then stands there, twisting his hands.

 

"Is there anything else...?" Arthur pauses, hoping the man will fill in his name somewhere. He's cute enough that Arthur thinks he might be interested in taking him home.

 

"Oh...Lance. I'm Lance. Your new assistant?" He shuffles in and holds out his hand. Arthur stands and shakes it, confused.

 

"What happened to my other assistant...umm...Mark, was it?" He glances at Mal, who's trying very hard not to laugh.

 

"I don't know, sir. I started yesterday. " Lance bats his eyelashes and licks his lips. It's a little obvious for Arthur's taste, but he can overlook it for one night.

 

"Sorry, Lance. But Arthur here has to go soon. Do you need anything else?" Mal wraps a hand around Arthur's bicep, and smiles winningly at the poor assistant.

 

"Um. No. Just want to make sure that Mr. Levine doesn't need anything else?" The tone of his voice betrays that he's not asking about copies or messages. Arthur smiles, pleased at the future prospects.

 

"No. I'm fine. For now." He allows his voice to deepen, lets his eyes travel down Lance's body, and back up to his face. Lance smiles, and blushes furiously as he backs out of the door.

 

"Oh, Arthur. Not another one." Mal sighs.

 

He looks up from sorting the mail and tilts his head, curious.

 

"Arthur, your last assistant's name was Matt, not Mark. And he quit because after sleeping with you for a few weeks, you dumped him. And apparently didn't even know his name. He was devastated. "

 

"Honestly, I told him I'm not interested in a relationship. And he agreed it was just for fun. They all say that, and then they all act like idiots when it's time for it to be over. " He throws the mail on his desk in frustration.

 

"Mon chou, you cannot fuck away the memories." She says softly, running a well manicured hand down his arm.

 

"I don't know what you're talking about." He clenches his jaw and pulls away from her. He feels guilty for being rude, but he can't bring himself to look at her. She can always read him easier than anyone. He returns to the mail and tries to push it back into a neat pile. His hand catches on one that isn't a business sized rectangle. This one is square, and cream colored, made out of expensive paper stock. He turns it over and recognizes the California address of Ariadne. They keep in touch and have seen each other a few times over the last four years; they Skype and always send birthday and Christmas presents. She's still seeing Yusuf, and in fact they live together now. She's about to finish school, and Arthur has been trying to talk her into moving here to work for Dom and Mal. She's good enough to never mention Eames, and when he'd asked once in a drunken phone call she'd gone quiet. "He's fine, Arthur. He's fine." And they haven't spoken of it again.

 

He slides a finger under the flap and opens it, having an idea what it might be, but is surprised when tiny pink hearts rain down all over his desk and carpet.

 

"Ooooh, what is it?" Mal clasps her hands together in excitement, any argument forgotten.

 

The inside of the envelope is a glittery fuschia, and the card itself is written in black cursive, with a few words outlined in the same eye-searing pink. Mal reads over his shoulder.

 

"'I have found my man, now I need my bridesmaids!' Oh, how delightfully tacky. Is this from your tiny friend, Ariadne?"

 

"Ugh. This is awful." He stares down at the card as though it has personally insulted him in some way. He stuffs it back in the envelope, and glares balefully at all of the confetti on the floor. He has a phone call to make.

 

***

 

"Arthur! To what do I owe this pleasure?" Ari was already laughing as she answered her phone.

 

"Oh you know exactly why I'm calling. Did you send this atrocity out to everyone?" He waves it in the air as though she can see him. Stray sparkles and hearts litter his apartment floor.

 

"No. Of course not." She scoffs. "Just you. I laughed myself sick imagining your scowling face when you opened it."

 

"Is that why you sent it to my work?"

 

"Yup! For maximum hilarity. " She covers the mouthpiece and he can hear a muffled voice laughing along with her.

 

"Hello, Yusuf!" He hollers over Ari's giggles and gets a 'Hello, Arthur' back in return.

 

"So, will you do it?"

"What, kill you slowly for telling me that my best friend is getting married with some gaudy invitation?! Yes, yes I will."

 

"I don't doubt it. But will you also be my bridesmaid before you do that? Oh, and Yusuf says to wait until after the honeymoon to kill me, he already bought my ticket."

 

"Pfft. Tell Yusuf I'll exact my revenge when I damned well please, and take the ticket for myself. I hope Yusuf looks good in a Speedo."

 

Ari relays the message and Arthur can hear Yusuf protesting forcefully from the other end.

 

"Seriously though, Arthur. I really want you there, and I need you to help me do this." Her voice is serious all of a sudden.

 

"Ari, of course I'll do it." He leans against his kitchen counter, all fight drained out of him. "You don't even have to ask."

 

"Oh thank you. I was so scared I'd have to do all of this by myself. I can't thank you enough. We have so much planning to do!"

 

"I have one condition. I refuse to be called a bridesmaid."

 

"Well, what then, a brides...man?"

 

Arthur thinks back to his earlier coffee run with Mal. "I can be your point man. Do all the research, make sure everything's planned, make sure you're okay."

 

"Make sure there are no snipers in the building across the street; be the first one to get shot." Ariadne helps him list things with a laugh. "I think you've been watching too many action movies."

 

Arthur just huffs and waits.

 

"Fine! You can be my point man. I think it's going to grow on me. As long as you let me introduce you to people as that without explanation. You can stand there in one of your fancy suits, with your angry face and I'll be all "This is my point man, Arthur." And then they'll all be terrified of you. Excellent!"

 

"You have the strangest sense of humor." He laughs at her Ariadne's enthusiasm.

 

"Luckily, you love me anyway."

 

"True. Lucky me." He's silent for a minute, warring with himself over whether to say anything. He takes a deep breath, exhales, and the words come tumbling out. "WillEamesbethere?"

 

To her credit, Ariadne understands him as though she were expecting it.

 

"Yeah, he's Yusuf's best man." Her tone is soft and apologetic. "Does that mean you won't come?"

Arthur grips the phone tight, and reminds himself he's an adult and that it's been four years. He's not the same young and impressionable kid any more. He's successful and he doesn't need anybody. Eames doesn't mean anything to him any more. He feels like he might need to repeat this to himself a few more times before he really believes it. He sighs, and sighs again before he answers.

 

"Of course I will. You need me. For the snipers and all that."

 

He has to pull the phone away as Ariadne squees with excitement. Any doubt that he's made the wrong choice is swept away in the tide of Ariadne's hysterical joy.

 

He's a grown up. Eames doesn't mean anything to him any more. He repeats it to himself as he brushes his teeth, lays out his clothes for the morning, and crawls into bed. He falls asleep to it running through his mind, over and over.

Chapter Text

Once this wedding is over Arthur is going to pretend like the last six months never happened. Between his actual job, helping Ari the bridezilla, and worrying about seeing Eames, he feels like he might actually go insane. He's currently trying to talk Ari down from throttling the baker who's making her cake. She's been yelling something about how she'll 'show him structural integrity' and she'll 'just make the damn thing herself' before Arthur gets her to hand the phone over. The baker, Emile, is very apologetic if not slightly frustrated. Arthur tries to convey the mutual eye roll with his tone of voice. It turns out the cake design Ari wants is an impossible, gravity defying structure. It just can't be made with cake, sir. Arthur sighs and pinches his nose, he would say he feels an oncoming headache but he's basically lived with a low grade one everyday for at least the past month.

 

"Emile, you are fabulous and I appreciate your patience. Can you please put Ms. Park back on the phone?"

 

Once he has Ariadne on the phone he makes it very clear that he's going to strangle her the minute he steps off the plane. In low urgent tones that brook no arguments, he demands that she listens to the actual professional and compromise.

 

"And if you say, 'but it's my day' one more time, I will make sure the DJ only plays Mili Vanilli the entire time. The. Entire. Time. Ari."

Ariadne hangs up muttering about grumpy asshole bridesmaids, but Arthur knows she'll be calling him back with some other crisis within the hour, and she does. Something about her mom being allergic to cashews and the chef not listening to her about it.

The following afternoon, on the plane to Novia Scotia, Arthur allows himself to relax. He looks over at Lance and sighs through his nose. He'd debated on not bringing anyone, but in the end decided he couldn't handle Eames and being alone at a wedding all in one go. And Lance is eager to please. That's really his only saving grace. He's insufferably annoying and probably the worst assistant Arthur's ever had. How does he get the coffee order wrong every single day? He's even written it down for the idiot. But, he's a champion cocksucker and if all else fails at least he'll be good for stress relief.

Arthur settles in with his iPad and soon loses himself in an epic Angry Birds marathon.

 

***

 

Eames cannot bloody believe it. Arthur is right here on the same plane, after four years he's just sitting there in an aisle seat, frowning down at his iPad as he taps away. If Eames gets up and walks a few feet he'll be able to brush Arthur's bony elbow. An hour ago, he'd watched Arthur board with fascination; glancing up from reading the "How To Save Yourself and Not Die In A Fiery Airplane Crash" pamphlet, he'd been dumbstruck by his Arthur smiling at the stewardess and hastily moving to find his seat. Not his Arthur of course. He shakes his head ruefully, but continues to stare, cataloging the differences. He really hasn't changed that much, he's traded in jeans and sneakers for a tailored suit and skinny tie, but he still looks about sixteen, and his hair still curls around his ears the same way it always did.

 

Eames feels as though someone has kicked him in the solar plexus and he can't catch his breath. Those sayings you hear, about how memories make everything seem better than they really were, are utter bollocks. Arthur is better than all of the memories.

 

He's distracted by the skinny bloke flopping down into the seat next to Arthur. The way he leans into him and casually puts a hand on his knee makes Eames want to kick other people in the solar plexus. Specifically bloody stupid boys with high cheekbones, who wear bow ties. Stupid fucking bow ties. The boy has the same build and look as that wanker, Robert. He guesses Arthur has a type and it definitely hadn't been Eames. That hurts more than he would have thought.

 

He's distracted by a hand on his arm and looks to find his own date, Jonathan squeezing his arm and handing him a bottle of water. "I know you get thirsty, babe."

 

Eames wants to shout at the man, you don't know me! But he is thirsty so he takes the bottle with only a grumbled 'cheers.' He keeps one eye on Arthur and one eye on Jonathan. He's chosen Jonathan for his dark messy hair and slim build. Because Eames does have a type and it's always been Arthur. He knows it's pathetic and he hates himself for it, but he really can't help himself. After Arthur had left, he'd had about a year of trying to fuck every skinny, dark haired bloke he could find, in a vain attempt to get it out of his system. It hadn't worked and eventually he slowed down, but he's still a sucker for the same type of bloody stupid twink.

 

Now, seeing Arthur, none of them even compare. He'd forgotten just a little bit how brilliant Arthur's dimples are and his hands itch to thumb that little smirk on his face. He's going to have a hard time pretending Jonathan is more than a doppelgänger replacement when the real thing is going to be just down the hall.

 

Christ, he's getting up and coming this way. Eames panics and turns toward Jonathan, leaning in for a kiss, and waits until Arthur passes without a second glance. Secretly he hopes Arthur will just know he's there, some kind of psychic connection, an epic love, a 'meant for each other destiny' kind of thing. But it doesn't happen. He stiffens as he watches bow tie twink get out of the chair and follow Arthur into the tiny bathroom.

 

What a pervert! Who does that any more? Imagine how filthy it must be. His thoughts rage as he clenches his hands in his trousers. Very filthy! Arthur leaning up against the sink while Bow Tie awkwardly bends to take Arthur down all the way to the root, fast and messy, not having much time and afraid of being caught. Arthur holding Bow Tie's head in his long fingered hands, and thrusting to the back of Bow Tie's throat, holding him there while he gags, as Arthur comes down his throat and makes him swallow it all. Yes, really fucking filthy. Eames lets out a breath when he realizes his own cock is pressing hard up against the zipper of his jeans. Get yourself together, Eames. This is ridiculous.

He keeps his face averted as Arthur passes, this time Arthur pauses but carries on after a second or two. Arthur looks a little dazed and blissful as he sits back down and smiles indulgently as Bow Tie crawls over him to get to his own seat. Eames feels his chest constrict, he used to be the one who put that look on Arthur's face. That had been his, before now. Now, in a rush, he realizes that for all of this time, he still thought of Arthur as his; all of his expressions and gestures had been tucked away for Eames to remember when he's feeling particularly maudlin. But there have been any number of other people who've got to own and keep a little piece of Arthur that Eames had always thought were his alone. His hard on dies in a wave of melancholy as he rests his head back against the seat and closes his eyes. Maybe he can sleep for the next half an hour and worry about it all later.

***

Arthur is officially going crazy, he's actually imagining seeing Eames on the plane and in the airport. He shakes his head as he snags his luggage off the carousel and, making sure Lance is following with his own, sets off for the pick up lanes. He sees Ari almost immediately, probably because she's jumping up and down and waving like an excited child. He can't help but laugh and pull her into a tight hug, she holds on a little longer than normal and pulls back sniffling.

 

"I'm so happy you're here, finally!" She hugs him again while Arthur rubs her back and made shushing noises. He raises an eyebrow at Yusuf over her shoulder, who just shrugs back, looking as bewildered as Arthur feels.

 

"Oi, don't I get to hug the bride?" The familiar rough tones go straight to Arthur's head. He stiffens and feels a wave of dizziness. Turning around, he gapes. It is Eames and he had been on the flight, sitting only a few rows behind Arthur. He blushes furiously as he remembers his trip to the mile high club with Lance, there's no way Eames didn't notice that, and by the leer he's giving Arthur, it hadn't slipped past him at all.

 

Eames brushes by him and envelopes Ari into a bear hug, pulling her up off her feet. "There, ducky. An Eamesie hug makes everything better."

 

Ari laughs, nodding and swiping tears away from her eyes. Arthur stands to the side as Eames and Yusuf do the manly, back slapping, pseudo hug. Finally, Eames turns his attention back to Arthur, who is mortified that he can't actually help but smile at him. He tries to fight it down, but just ends up staring at the floor, biting his lip.

 

"Darling, it's lovely to see you again." His voice is practically a purr, sending shivers up Arthur's spine. "And who's this lovely creature?"

 

Eames holds his hand out to Lance who giggles nervously when Eames bends to kiss it.

 

Introductions are made, and Arthur hates Jonathan immediately because he has a stupid face. And he keeps touching Eames, clingy much? He forces a smile as Ari leads them out to the parking lot, chattering about the inn they're staying at and complaining to Eames about how terrible the baker is. Arthur pulls her to the side a little and asks in a quietly accusing tone.

 

"Did you know we would be on the same flight, Ari?"

 

Ari flips her palms up and widens her eyes. "Of course not. I would've told you."

 

He hears Eames laugh behind them. "You're quite the little con artist aren't you, my dear?" He ruffles her hair and laughs even harder at Arthur's scowl. "Don't fret, darling. We'll manage."

 

"Don't call me that." Arthur demands. It makes his stomach swoop every time.

 

Somehow with Ari directing where the luggage is going in the SUV, and where everyone is sitting, Arthur and Eames end up pressed close to each other in the back seat. Ari blinks at Arthur's scowl, wide eyed again, and smiles innocently.

 

"I hate you." He mouths at her but she just laughs.

 

Arthur sits stiffly, and tries his best not to touch Eames any more than necessary.

 

"How far away is the inn?" He asks trying hard not to sink into the once familiar warmth of Eames.

 

"It's in Lunenburg, about an hour away." Ari smiles cheerfully.

 

Arthur hears her laugh as he groans, and lets his head thunk against the window. He already has half a hard on from the smell of Eames, and how his body rumbles when he laughs, and the purr of his accent as he catches up with Ari and the wedding plans. Arthur closes his eyes and breathes in, trying to ignore everyone around him. Never mind the last six months, this is going to be the worst week of his life.

Chapter Text

Ariadne insists on dinner with everyone, she won't even let them go upstairs to their rooms first; probably because she knows that Arthur will use it as an excuse to hide until morning. He narrows his eyes at her for what feels like the 800th time today. He's going to have to have a talk with the little matchmaker, and by talk, he means threatening her with bodily harm if she doesn't leave it alone already.

 

He manages to secure a seat as far from Eames as he can get, which leaves him between Yusuf and Lance. As usual, he mostly ignores Lance and only half listens to Yusuf's complicated stories about his new job in pharmaceuticals. The stories involve lots of hand waving and chemistry in-jokes; Arthur 'mm-hmms' and forces a smile when Yusuf gets particularly animated. But, in between bites of his coq au vin, he tries to subtly watch Eames.

 

He's broadened over the years, his t-shirt stretching across his shoulders, making Arthur's mouth a little dry. He wears his hair a little shorter and has enough stubble across his jawline that it's inching into full on beard territory. He's also gotten new tattoos. Arthur can make out the edges on his collarbone, and some peeking out from under his shirt sleeves. This, above everything else, hits home. This is a permanent change that Arthur hasn't been there for, and will never see. He won't get to trace them with his tongue, or listen to Eames' rumbling laugh as he explains the meaning behind each one.

 

He guesses that Jonathan probably knows all about them. Stupid face Jonathan, who's leaning close to Eames, and is actually batting his eyelashes and giggling. Jonathan, who looks so much like Arthur that it's unnerving and a little insulting. Apparently Arthur is easily replaceable, he isn't one of a kind, but one of many. Not special to Eames at all. Arthur has actively avoided anyone who reminds him of Eames. Fleeing at the first sign of an accent, or god forbid a crooked toothed smile. He sticks with the little pretty ones who don't ask many questions. It's just...easier that way.

 

His thoughts are interrupted by Ariadne calling his name.

 

"Earth to Arthur?" She's waving her hand in his face, leaning across Yusuf who beams at her fondly.

 

"Sorry." He shakes himself and focuses on the rest of the table.

 

"I was just saying that you look good in your suit. Although, your hips are so small! How do all of your organs even fit?"

 

"But what a beautiful pair of hips they are. " Eames interjects before Arthur can even reply.

 

Arthur can feel himself blushing, and takes a quick sip of his wine. Eames winks at him and smirks.

 

"Umm...so what were you doing in New York then?" Arthur sputters, desperate to change the subject. He can see that Jonathan is looking decidedly put out. Arthur finds it very hard to care.

 

"Right, well I'm hunting for a flat. No such luck yet, though."

 

"You're moving to New York?" Ariadne asks. "You're leaving me in Hell A all by myself?"

 

Yusuf makes a slightly offended noise, and Ariadne pats him soothingly on the knee.

 

"Darling, I could never leave you forever. But yes, my agent says I should be on the East coast. Better connections and all that." Eames waves his hand lazily. He's pushed his chair back and is slouched in it with his legs spread. Arthur is distracted again by the stretch of fabric across Eames' powerful looking thighs.

 

"Agent? Are you an actor?" Lance makes his first contribution, fussing with the sleeves of his cardigan.

 

"Oh now, I'm not quite that much of a narcissist. " He pauses at Yusuf's quiet snort, and flips him the finger cheerfully. "I'm an artist. Or rather, I slop paint on a canvas and people spend obscene amounts of money to hang it in their powder room."

 

Arthur actually already knows this. He will die a slow and gruesome death before admitting it, because then he'll have to admit that he has more than one Google alert set up on Eames. About three years ago, Yusuf and Eames had sold the club when Eames' star had risen in the art world, seemingly out of nowhere. Arthur will also never admit that he has a very private, very secure folder on his laptop, full of Eames' publicity clippings. He stares at a particular one more often than is probably healthy. Eames leaning against a brick wall, his hands shoved into paint stained jeans, his face turned away from the camera looking off into the distance, and his mouth set in a frown. Arthur sometimes likes to pretend that it's proof of pining, but sometimes he doesn't think that hard, and just ends up jerking off to it. Torture couldn't make him admit this, not even to Mal.

 

Eames is still talking about his art, and the show he's going to be putting on in a month, when Arthur reaches his limit of sociability. He abruptly pushes his chair back and stands up.

 

"Excuse me, but I'm really tired, Ari. I think I'm going to go to my room."

 

"Of course, Arthur. I'm sure we're all knackered." Yusuf chimes in, and Arthur decides he likes him best of all, because at that, everyone else stands and starts saying their good nights.

 

He goes upstairs and fucks Lance from behind, desperately trying not to think about Eames. Later, in the shower, he has to admit to himself that it's like telling himself not to think about elephants.

 

***

 

Eames has found a spot where no one can tell him off for smoking. He's pretty sure he isn't supposed to be smoking here, but he's outside and the little alcove is dark. If anyone says anything he's just going to feign ignorance. After that dinner, he really needs a fag, and he can't be arsed to worry about draconian smoking rules.

 

He sucks in and watches the tip flare brighter as he thinks of Arthur. Probably all wrapped up in Bow Tie again. Fuck, why did I say that about Arthur's hips? It just slipped out. Not that he doesn't still think that, but he's only succeeded in making Arthur uncomfortable and getting an earful from Jonathan in the elevator.

 

Eames knows quite a bit about Arthur's new life thanks to Ari, and her never ending nosy parker nature. He knows that Arthur is successful and happy. Eames is glad, he really is. That had been the whole point of breaking their relationship off. So Arthur could go and live his life his own way, and take over the world with his snarkiness and flashes of dimples. It doesn't hurt any less, not being a part of it, but he knows he did the right thing back then. That makes it marginally better, but he still needs to be alone for a little bit to get his shit together before tomorrow. He can't go hitting on Arthur every time his mouth opens, even if he desperately wants to do a lot more than that.

 

He's just lighting his third smoke when he hears scuffling coming around the corner. He quickly hides the cigarette behind his back, and attempts to look innocent. Just a random bloke standing out in the dark, alone, for no reason. Real slick, Eames.

 

"Why am I always finding you skulking around in the dark, smoking?" Arthur comes into view as he hits a patch of moonlight on his way across the sidewalk.

 

"Well, as I recall, that turned out pretty fortuitous for both of us, darling."

 

"For a little while." Arthur's smile doesn't reach his eyes.

 

Eames has no idea what to say, so he replaces his fag and offers the pack to Arthur. Arthur shakes his head and watches Eames shove it back in his pocket.

 

"Do you think there's something wrong with Ari?" Arthur asks, after a hesitant pause.

 

Eames breathes out a few smoke rings, pondering. It seems strange to be standing next to Arthur, talking as though there isn't a gulf between them.

 

"Not wrong, really. Maybe just cold feet?" Eames suggests.

 

"Maybe." Arthur shuffles closer, his arms crossed against the slight chill.

 

Eames closes his eyes in the dark, and takes a deep breath. After all these years, and even with the nicotine swirling around them, he can still smell Arthur, and he smells exactly the same. Eames feels a little dizzy with nostalgia and can hear Arthur distantly saying his name. Without pausing to think, Eames turns and crowds Arthur up against the brick; one hand sliding behind his neck and burying into his hair, tugging a little so Arthur's chin tilts up. Eames presses his nose behind Arthur's ear and breathes in deeply, giddy at being so close again. He shifts a little and presses his mouth against the same spot, biting down gently. He feels Arthur's pulse speed up, and hears a small gasp escape his mouth. He leans back to look and sees that Arthur's eyes are closed and his hands are twisted in the front of Eames' shirt, holding on for dear life.

 

"Oh darling, you are so gorgeous." He traces a thumb across Arthur's lower lip and groans when Arthur sucks it in, wrapping his warm tongue around it. Eames pulls his thumb out, and replaces it with his mouth. Arthur moans and pulls at Eames' belt until he's flush against him; both already hard, their cocks rubbing together and making them both gasp into each other's mouth.

 

"This seems familiar." Arthur laughs, giving Eames a glimpse of dimples, and starts to unbuckle Eames' belt.

 

"Are you sure you want to do this, my lo---darling? Where's Bow Tie?"

 

"Bow Tie? I'm not wearing a bow tie. What the fuck are you...oh, you mean Lance. You really want to talk about him right now?" Arthur's hand has tugged Eames' zipper down, and he can feel Arthur's knuckles brushing against his erection in his pants. His hand has stilled since Eames mentioned Bow Tie, and Eames can't allow that.

 

He starts pulling Arthur's shirt tails out of his trousers, shaking his head. "No. I really, really don't."

 

"Good." Arthur catches his mouth again and they kiss, forgetting everything else until they have to break away to breathe. Eames has gotten Arthur's poncey, stupid trouser clasp open after some fumbling, and is reaching into soft black pants to pull out Arthur's cock, stroking it a few times and causing Arthur to moan and bite his lip.

 

"Careful, love. Don't hurt yourself." Eames had intended for it to come out teasing, but instead he sounds soft and fond.

 

Arthur nods. "Hand." He demands, his breath ragged. Eames sucks in a breath when Arthur licks across Eames' palm, and then does the same for his own; bringing both their cocks together and guiding Eames' hand over his. They quickly find a messy rhythm, thrusting up into their fists and mouthing at each other wherever they can find bare skin. Eames is sure that he's leaving beard burn marks all over Arthur's face, neck, and collarbones. He can't bring himself to care though, not when Arthur is making such lovely mewling noises as he does it.

 

"Eames..." Arthur's only warning before he's bucking up into their hands, and coming all over his expensive oxford. It only sets Eames off, who ends up contributing to the mess all over Arthur's shirt. He looks down, pleased with Arthur slumping against the wall, face red, and spent cock still gripped in his hand.

 

"You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen." Eames whispers into Arthur's ear, who shudders and buries his face in Eames' neck.

 

"Jesus Christ. That was...I don't know." Arthur mumbles.

 

"Mind blowing? Fantastic? Life altering?" Eames grins cheekily, and steps back to tuck himself away.

 

"It was a hand job against a brick wall. I think you're exaggerating just a little." Arthur straightens up and huffs, annoyed at the multiple sticky patches on his shirt.

 

"Well. I enjoyed myself anyway." Eames grins and ducks down to kiss the scowl off Arthur's face.

 

"Glad to hear it." Arthur gently pushes Eames back, and begins zipping himself back up too. "I should really go back inside."

 

"We both should."

 

"Yeah, but probably not together. Wait five minutes and then come in."

 

"What?"

 

"This was such a mistake. I am such an idiot." Arthur quietly berates himself, scuffing his feet on the concrete. He looks up at Eames and frowns. "I guess I'll see you in the morning?"

 

Eames just gapes at him.

 

"Eames? I'm going now." Arthur points behind himself, toward the front of the inn, but still doesn't move.

 

"You're going. Right. You're going back to your little boyfriend, and you want me to follow along behind you. This really is familiar." Eames clenches his fist and shrugs his shoulders.

 

"Eames, don't be an asshole. That's not what this is. You also have a boyfriend in case you've forgotten?"

 

"You're just going to leave me." Eames replies, not acknowledging anything Arthur's saying.

 

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Arthur explodes, his eyes flashing. He steps back toward Eames, and stabs a finger into his chest. "You. Left. Me. You dumped me, Eames. I spent that first year trying to figure out what the fuck I'd done wrong, because I thought we were...I thought you...never mind. Just, fuck you, Eames. "

 

He whirls around and takes off back into the light; Eames watches him go, completely stunned. He's always thought that his reasoning for their break up was obvious. But Arthur has apparently spent the last four years thinking that Eames is just a fickle asshole. Eames slumps back against the wall, and puts his face in his hands. All his good intentions have just made things worse. He doesn't know if he can fix this. He's sure Arthur won't even want to listen to anything he has to say now.

 

He straightens up and sighs heavily, rubbing his hands over his face and through his hair. He knows he has to give up Arthur completely. He hadn't truly done it that terrible night; he'd always secretly harbored a hope that they were meant to be, and would eventually end up together. He'd never let himself imagine how, he'd just hoped for some vague, beautiful reunion. Now he knows that's never going to happen.

 

Even though he can't have Arthur that way, he isn't about to let him think that Eames had just given him up, that he isn't important, or special. He'll have to find a way to prove it to him, and if he's lucky, maybe Arthur can become a very close friend. He'll take that, if he can't have the other. He'll start first thing tomorrow morning.

 

He feels worn out and exhausted as he trudges back into the inn; as though he's been hit by a train. The heaviness of what he's got do again, weighs on him, and he sighs into the darkness. Tonight is the last time that he'll ever allow himself to think of Arthur as anything more than a friend.

Chapter Text

For the next two days Eames is the perfect gentleman. He's helpful and attentive, he gives Arthur space, and hasn't called him darling even once. Just 'Arthur, how can I help?' and 'Arthur, Ariadne wants you to call so and so."

Arthur is so busy trying to make sure this wedding goes off without a hitch that he barely notices it, and when he finally does he appreciates it. He really does. He doesn't have time to worry about Eames, or Eames' feelings, or his feelings for Eames.

Except.

Except all he does is think about Eames, and he has noticed this new polite, distanced version. And he really doesn't appreciate it. In fact, he hates it. So much.

He aches to hear a teasing 'darling,' or for Eames to stand too close. He's spent four years tucking all these reactions away, hiding them behind designer suits and an off putting scowl. But he's like an alcoholic who's been dry for years; has one taste and the addiction flares, consuming him without any say.

He's sitting in the empty dining room under the pretense of going over his notes. He has them color coded and arranged by hour. Ari and Yusuf's parents arrived today, he's picking Cobb and Mal up from the airport tomorrow, and then the bachelorette party is tomorrow night. He's been staring into space for about fifteen minutes, twirling his pen around his fingers, when Eames peeks his head in.

"There you are da-Arthur" His smile still isn't reaching his eyes and he looks exhausted.

"You look tired, Eames. Jonathan keeping you up at night?" Arthur doesn't even know why he's being nasty, and the wince Eames fails to hide, makes Arthur feel like a douchebag. "Sorry. That was uncalled for. You've been really helpful and I'm just being an asshole."

"Ah, well. It's part of your charm." Eames spreads his hands wide and smiles a half crooked smile.

Arthur laughs and put his face in his hands. He freezes when he feels Eames' hands on his shoulders and sighs when they retreat quickly. He glances up, and Eames looks sheepish with his hands tucked into his pockets.

"You should lie down. Do you have a free hour in your very efficient little schedule there?" Eames bends over to look at the pages closely. "Ah see...there." He taps one of the few blank squares with his thick finger.

"I can't take a break, Eames."

"Contrary to popular belief, you are not Atlas. You don't have to hold up the whole world. Come now." He grabs Arthur's hand which doesn't send shivers up Arthur's arm. It doesn't.

"If I have to put you in bed myself, I will." Eames frog marches Arthur towards the wide stairs. Arthur fights back the urge not to say aloud his first thought when it comes to beds and Eames.

Arthur shakes Eames off at the top of the stairs, and straightens his waistcoat with a jerk.

"Why do you care if I'm rested?"

"For Christ's sake Arthur, I'm trying to be your friend. Can't I just be nice to you without having an ulterior motive?"

Arthur chews on his lip and observes Eames, warring with his suspicion, and his instincts to trust him without question. He must hesitate too long because Eames throws up his hands and starts back down the stairs.

"Fine, Arthur. Work yourself to death, over something that isn't actual work. It's supposed to be a happy event. Not a bloody funeral!"

"Hey!" Arthur reaches for Eames, and just misses the back of his shirt. Eames stops and turns, an eyebrow raised. "Hey." Arthur says, quieter this time.

"What is it, darling? I haven't got all day."

Arthur will take a 'darling' in any context, even an angry, accidental one.

"It is important. It's Ari and she was there for me...when...when nobody else was. She's family. It is important, Eames." His vehemence makes his shoulders shake.

Eames drops his shoulders, the anger seeping out of him, and with it, all pretext. He looks far worse than before, as though he hasn't slept for days. He rubs his mouth and nods. "I know that. But none of us want you to kill yourself over it. You don't have to nap, but please just take a few hours to relax. I'm sure Ari wants you to enjoy her big day."

"Fine." Arthur crosses his arms.

"Really?" Eames' brows furrow in suspicion.

"On one condition." Arthur tries not to smile when he sees Eames' mouth twitch into an almost smirk. It's the first real expression he's seen since their argument.

"Of course you do. What is it then?" Eames gestures for Arthur to continue.

"You have to rest too. You look like shit, Eames." Arthur is well aware that this might be a pot calling the kettle black moment, but it doesn't make it any less true.

Eames' laugh startles Arthur into a genuine grin. It feels good to smile at Eames, it's all he's wanted to do since the airport.

"Alright, Arthur. I agree to your terms." He holds out his hand to shake, and Arthur takes it, feeling callouses and the warmth that Eames always radiates. He stares down at their two hands joined together for longer than he means to. He drops it and steps back, knowing his ears are red. He nods once and turns, walking away with short clipped strides.

 

He can't keep doing this. He's dreading going back to New York where he won't see Eames everyday but will still be feeling this way. He has to get it out of his system before the week is over, he's sure of that. He detours away from his room, feeling a pang of guilt for not doing what he'd agreed with Eames to do, and heads to Ariadne's room.

***

Arthur is a man with a plan, he's figured out how to get Eames out of his system. He knocks on Eames' door and waits, fidgeting nervously, sliding his hands in his pocket, and double checking for the hundredth time that he has what he needs. He hears some murmuring, and then the door swings open. Eames seems surprised to see Arthur, yawning and scratching at his chest hair.

"I thought we were meant to be resting, Arthur. I believe we had a deal." His voice is just-woken-up raspy, and it goes straight to Arthur's cock. He's wearing only a pair of very low slung pajamas; his hip bones and a trail of hair drawing Arthur's eyes.

"Arthur?" Eames leans on the door frame, crossing his arms and smirking. Arthur almost gets distracted again by the bulge of Eames' biceps and new curls of black ink, shifting with the movement.

"We're going to..." Arthur takes a deep breath, puts one hand in the middle of Eames' chest, and pushes back. He steps in with Eames, and kicks the door shut with his foot.

"What're you doing, Arthur?" Eames grabs for Arthur's shoulder's and misses, stumbling backwards. Arthur surges forward and presses his mouth to Eames'. He kisses Eames, who hesitantly starts kissing back, and walks them backwards towards the bed.

"Arthur, what are you doing?" His knees hit the back of the bed and he falls into the middle. He props himself up on his elbows and watches Arthur remove his cufflinks, leaning over to set them gently onto the side table.

"Only you would wear cufflinks on a bloody holiday." Eames stays where he is, and watches Arthur undress hastily. Arthur's heart is pounding so loud, he's sure Eames must be able to hear it from where he is. He leans forward and tugs at Eames' pajamas; Eames who helpfully lifts his hips with a smirk. The waistband gets caught on Eames' erection, and Arthur has to stop and lift it free. He pauses, and leans down to lick a long stripe up the underside as Eames lets out a strangled noise.

"Shit." Arthur mutters and disappears. He rummages around in his pockets before pulling out two packets of lube and a condom.

"Darling, you're always prepared. Like a boy scout."

Arthur crawls onto the bed, pressing his mouth to Eames' clavicle and sucking a bruise onto the skin between two tattoos.

 

"Shut up, Eames." They both take heaving breaths as Arthur sits back and Eames' erection slides up against Arthur's ass.

"Wait." Eames' hands clench on Arthur's hips, resisting the urge to leave finger shaped bruises there. "Where's..." Arthur kneels up and slides his ass up and down against Eames' cock, making Eames forget what he was about to say.

"I had Ari send them on some bullshit errand. They should be gone for hours."

"Oh god...you two are very dangerous together, love."

Arthur tears open one of the lube packets with his teeth, and mutters around it. "Shut up, Eames."

"Right...right. Shutting up now." Even if he'd wanted to continue talking, he's rendered speechless by Arthur rising up and reaching behind himself. Eames can't see what he's doing exactly, but is mesmerized by the flex of his arm, and his cock bobbing in the air above him; a drop of pre-come oozing out of the tip. Eames wants to put his mouth on it so badly, but he can't quite reach it, so he licks his lips instead.

Arthur has decided he's ready and hastily smooths the condom over Eames' cock. He wraps his fist around it and begins guiding it in his hole, slowly pushing down. Eames does start leaving finger bruises on Arthur's hip.

"Darling, you're so bloody tight. When's the last time you got properly fucked then?" Eames is fighting the impulse to thrust up into the heat of Arthur's arse, and doesn't exactly expect any answer, besides another order to shut up.

Arthur pauses, catching his breath, and shifting to adjust. His breath is coming in deep pants, and his eyes are shut tight.

"It's been four years." He manages to huff out, starting to lower himself further.

Eames feels like he can't breathe enough to form any more words at that. He gets his feet up flat on the bed and flips them, grinning cockily at Arthur's undignified flailing.

"What the fuck, Eames?"

"No, darling. You don't get to say such things without elaboration."

Arthur pushes out his bottom lip and sniffs. "You can elaborate my dick."

"Oh, love. I would be happy too." He pushes Arthur's hair back off his sweaty forehead.

"Then do it already!" Arthur is clearly frustrated, his chest and face turning splotchy red.

"You haven't been properly buggered since me? Is that what you're telling me?" He reaches down and circles Arthur's hole with one finger, watching Arthur's eyes flutter shut.

"Just fuck me, Eames. I didn't come here to have some heart to heart."

"Mmmm...I will fuck you, love. I'll fuck you 'til you scream, preferably my name, but I'll take any screaming really. Then I'll keep fucking you until you can't scream any more, until you're hoarse, and everyone will know that you lost your voice from being fucked so hard."

"Unng..."

"Not until you answer me. Am I the last person who's been here?" He lets his finger push in to the first knuckle, holding Arthur's hip, so he can't thrust down onto it. Arthur is clutching the sheets and his jaw is working.

"Fine! You're the last person who fucked me. You cocky asshat! Now fuck me now, or I'm leaving."

"I don't think you will though." Eames pushes his finger in past the second knuckle and Arthur moans, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. Eames laughs and is rewarded with Arthur swatting him on the shoulder.

"Oi. Just for that." He removes his finger entirely, and smiles at Arthur's glare. His cock is smearing pre-come across his stomach and he's already sweaty. Eames smooths one hand down Arthur's chest, pausing to wrap his hand around the other man's cock and squeeze, watching as the pre-come pulses out, pooling on his flat stomach. Eames runs his fingers through it and reaches up to Arthur's mouth, who greedily sucks his fingers in, licking them clean. Eames groans at that, he's so hard right now he doesn't think he can make it. He wriggles down further until his face is between Arthur's legs, and licks Arthur's thigh. He makes his way up, biting and licking until he reaches Arthur's hole. He licks it with the flat of his tongue and Arthur arches off the bed, and starts babbling. Eames doesn't pay attention to the context, he hears his name and lots of cursing, so he sticks his tongue into the tight hole, feeling the muscle flutter open and close around it. He alternates between tongue fucking it and licking broad stripes all the way up to Arthur's tight balls. He knows if he so much as brushes Arthur's cock he'll go off. He's even grinding his own hips down into the mattress, moaning at the friction against the bed clothes.

He's not sure how long he's been going when he hears a shaky voice.

"Eames. Please, please fuck me."

He ignores it and keeps pushing his tongue in as far as it'll go.

"God, Eames. I want your cock. "

Eames pulls back and easily slides three fingers into Arthur's hole without resistance, watching more pre-come spurt out of Arthur's cock.

"You want my cock?" He asks quietly as he reaches for the condom, forgotten on the bed.

"Yes, yes...please. I want your cock." Arthur nods and keeps repeating it in an urgent tone as though that will convince Eames to get to it faster.

Eames doesn't actually need any more convincing, he might just come from staring down at Arthur. He is boneless and blissful. He keeps asking for Eames' cock, but he's quieter now, lazing his head back and forth on the bed. He looks up at Eames and smiles with everything he's got.

"Please? Eames..."

Eames can't hold out any more, he quickly slicks himself up and pushes Arthur's knees back against his chest. He aligns himself, and pushes in with one smooth stroke. He stops when he's balls deep and adjusts, waiting to catch his breath. He leans forward with his elbows bracketing Arthur's head so he can kiss him slowly with lots of tongue and panting. Arthur's grinding his hips around in small circles, his cock rubbing against Eames' stomach. Eames feels like he's just breathing out one long moan as he leans up enough to move back to slide out and slam back in. He knows they're both close and he can't wait much longer. He angles until he finds Arthur's prostate, who just lets out a sob and then hiccuping little breaths every time Eames hits it again. Arthur's ass tightens around Eames, and he comes; screaming Eames' name. He goes limp, but his ass still convulses around Eames' cock. Eames tenses, groans, and buries himself as far as he can go, coming with a quiet whispered. "I love you."

 

He collapses on top of Arthur in an attempt to catch his breath. Arthur pushes lazily at Eames' shoulder, complaining.

"I can't breathe."

Eames rolls over onto his back, still panting, and feels Arthur move his arm in order to tuck himself up against Eames' side, slinging the arm around his waist. He thinks vaguely that they should take a shower, but instead he just reaches down and pulls off the condom, dropping it onto the floor next to the bed.

"Gross." Arthur mumbles into Eames' shoulder, but doesn't move to get it.

Eames cuddles Arthur closer and kisses him on the nose. He can feel their heartbeats start to slow down, and before long they're both asleep, covered in sweat and come, with smiles on their face.

***

Arthur wakes up abruptly, looking around the room blearily. The sun has moved, leaving shadowy corners and pools of golden light along the carpet. Arthur looks at Eames, he's snoring slightly and hasn't moved an inch. Arthur feels like an idiot. He thought if he just had one quick fuck with Eames he'd realize that it wasn't as great as he remembered and he could stop obsessing about it.

It was as great. Greater than, even. He's such a fucking idiot. He groans and starts to slip out from under Eames' arm. Eames snuffles but doesn't wake up, leaving Arthur able to stand up quietly.

He looks down at Eames, and his face feels tight with unshed tears. All he's succeeded in doing is making it worse. He heard Eames say he loves him earlier, and it's opened up all the flood gates that he'd stopped up so meticulously. He can't trust him again though. He dumped Arthur like it didn't even matter. Still, he can't stop the rush of love as he watches Eames sprawled across the comforter sideways, one leg hanging off the edge, his face so young in sleep. He wants to clean him up and tuck him back under the covers, but he's scared to wake him up.

So he gathers his clothes and starts dressing as quietly as he can. He holds his shoes in his hand and pauses one more time to look his fill. He has to take it now, it's going to be another long hard toll of taking each memory, wrapping it carefully, and hiding it from himself until he doesn't feel anything any more. He's not sure he can do it again. He takes a deep breath, ignoring the painful drag of his heart, and leaves the room, shutting the door quietly.

***

Eames opens his eyes in the dark and winces as he feels the pull of dried come in his chest hair. He rolls over, reaching for Arthur, and finds the bed empty. He blinks and looks around the room, he can see a little, thanks to the moonlight seeping in, and there are no more heaps of clothes on the carpet. He licks his lips and croaks out a hesitant Arthur? There is no response. He tries again, louder, and when all that meets him is silence, he can't pretend any more. He feels queasy, and a dull anger throbs in the back of his mind. What the fuck was that? He turns to check the time and sees Arthur's forgotten cufflinks glinting in the moon light.

He lets his shoulders slump and rubs his mouth. He guesses Arthur could have just had to get some stuff done, maybe he'll be fine in the morning. Eames shuffles to the shower, and as he waits for it to heat up he feels a numbness spreading through his chest.

Give him the benefit of the doubt, he repeats to himself as he showers and re-dresses. He doesn't call Arthur, he's terrified to call and be ignored. So he slides back into sleep, hoping he's wrong and that Arthur hasn't chosen someone else over him.

Again.

***

The next morning, Eames finds Arthur sipping coffee alone in the breakfast nook. He looks bleary and his mouth is down turned. Eames sits with a groan in the chair opposite.

"Darling, we must talk about your exits. You could've at least left a note, or woken me up to say goodbye." He keeps a smile plastered on his face as he reaches and steals a grape from Arthur's plate.

"Why would I leave a note? It's not like you don't know where to find me." Arthur's tone is clipped and cold. He still hasn't actually looked at Eames. He's focusing so hard on his croissant that Eames is worried he might set it afire before too long.

 

"Right." He searches for some joke to alleviate the tension, to make Arthur laugh and relax his whole body, which looks coiled up like a spring. He reaches out to touch Arthur, and feels like he's been hit in the gut when Arthur moves away.

"So that's how it is then?" Eames matches his tone to Arthur's. The words feel like ice in his mouth. "You can't even fucking look at me, you arsehole?"

Arthur's head jerks up and he looks right at Eames, his mouth set in a straight line. He lifts his chin as if to say 'there I looked.'

Eames sighs and stands up, his body feels heavier than before he sat down. He reaches into his jacket pocket and clunks Arthur's cufflinks down onto the table.

"You left these. Thought you might miss them."

Eames leaves the 'but not me' unspoken. Arthur is back to looking away, his eyes locked on the cufflinks, and his hands tight around the coffee cup.

Eames doesn't look back as he trudges out to the hallway. He is unbelievably thankful for Yusuf's bachelor party this evening. He needs to get pissed. Totally and utterly plastered. Then maybe he can stop feeling like such a fucking idiot.

Chapter Text

Arthur is thrilled to see his friends, it's the only bright spot in his day so far. Mal has disappeared with Ari, and Arthur and Cobb are having a very early drink in the bar.

 

Arthur fidgets with his cuff links and leans against the bar, listening to Cobb complain about one of their interns, a man named Nash - who appears to be wildly incompetent. Cobb only keeps him around for the free labor. Arthur has heard the rant before and is zoning out as he sips his bourbon.

 

Cobb squints at him and changes the subject.

 

"What's the matter with you?" He asks quietly.

 

"Nothing." Arthur snaps, then sighs apologetically. "Just, you know, stressed about the wedding."

 

"Isn't that Ari's job? Are you having cold feet for her?" Cobb laughs at his own joke and Arthur's glare.

 

"I just want it to be perfect."

 

Cobb places his hand on Arthur's arm and squeezes it affectionately. "I know you do. But is that all that's bothering you?"

 

"Of course it is, Dom. Why?"

 

"No reason." Cobb shrugs and drains his glass. He looks Arthur in the eye with a sly smirk on his lips. "When do I get to meet the mysterious Eames?"

 

"Shut up, Dom." Arthur mutters and fidgets with his cuff links some more, imagining the look on Eames' face just hours before.

 

Cobb makes a sympathetic noise and puts an arm around Arthur's waist, and just for a moment Arthur sags, letting himself lean into his friend's warmth.

 

"Well, isn't this lovely." A voice drawls behind them. Arthur tenses and turns, to find Eames standing behind him.

 

"Eames, this is Dom Cobb. Dom Cobb, Rupert Eames." Arthur introduces them stiffly, stepping out and away from his friend.

 

"It's lovely to meet you, Mr. Cobb." Eames looks like a shark that's sighted its prey, his smile all sharp around the edges.

 

"Dom, please. I've heard so much about you." Dom, oblivious to tension between the other two men, smiles genially.

 

"But, darling." The 'darling' is pointed and mean, intended to make Arthur flinch. "What happened to Lance? I mean, exactly how many men are you sleeping...oh I mean dating, right now? It's hard to keep track, dear heart. "

 

Arthur gapes at him in horror, the thought of sleeping with Cobb makes his skin crawl. He can feel anger bubbling up inside of him.

 

"Well actually it's none of your business who I date. " Arthur folds his arms across his chest defensively.

 

"Well...since I've recently been...dated...by you, then yes, I think it is my business."

 

Arthur can't reconcile his Eames, who teases with a smile, with this Eames, who teases with malicious intent, all oily smirks and tight with fury.

 

Cobb is blustering in the back ground and backing away. "No, no. We're not um...dating. Happily married! Very happily married. To a woman!" He squawks, pointing to his ring finger, as though proof is needed of his marriage and its happiness.

 

The tension is broken by a tinkling laugh. Mal is standing close by, her hands on her hips.

 

"Oh mon choux, I cannot leave you alone for a moment and you are trying to steal my husband. Tut, tut." She waves her finger at Arthur, who turns an interesting shade of red and scowls.

 

"Lovely to meet you, Eames is it?" Mal loops her arm through Dom's, who remains silent and still bright red, and extends the other to offer to Eames.

 

Eames has lost all of his towering fury and seems smaller now. He smiles and kisses Mal's hand.

 

"My pleasure, you are what is actually lovely. Your husband urgently assures me that you're happily married, but if it that ever changes, you know where to find me."

 

"I see you are a shameless flirt. My very favorite kind of flirt." She laughs again, as Dom splutters for a different reason.

 

"I must be off, I'm sure we'll meet again later." Eames shoves his hands in his pockets and saunters off, the picture of ease, not a care in the world.

 

Dom hugs Mal close, and turns to Arthur with a squint. "I don't think I like that guy."

***

 

Eames spends the rest of the day avoiding Arthur, which turns out to be pretty easy since it seems like Arthur might be avoiding him. He feels restless and queasy. It feels like Arthur and he are playing some sort of game that has no rules, or at least none that Eames is aware of.

 

He's weary down to his very core. It's been four years of living his life, and making a name for himself. To an outside observer, it would look like he's moved on. But only he knows that he hasn't. It's actually been four years of Arthur, lingering in the background; a buzzing white noise that he's only aware of when he stops long enough to listen. From the imitation boys he takes home, all the way to his very livelihood, Arthur's there. It's constant, and so it's become normal. He'll read a book and think idly that Arthur would love it, or he'll paint another brown eyed man and not think anything of it. Now he's finally noticed it, it's become such a part of him that it's almost a shock to realize that he's been doing it all along. Like when you suddenly realize there's music playing in the background and you've been humming along the whole time.

 

He sketches for a while, his fingers turning dusty with charcoal, until he's so disgusted with seeing Arthur in every image that he throws it at the wall and heads for the mini fridge. He's gotten through two tiny bottles of vodka when Jonathan comes in. He feels a little sheepish that he'd actually forgotten about the other man completely. Only just now realizing that Jonathan hadn't come back last night at all.

 

"Where've you been?" Eames asks, finding he doesn't actually care much when Jonathan avoids the question all together.

 

"Are you already drinking, Rupert?" Jonathan insists on calling Eames by his first name, and Eames gallantly tries not to wince every time.

 

"Yup. Thought I'd get a head start on the festivities." He hauls himself out of the chair, and follows Jonathan into the bathroom.

 

Jonathan sighs and leans down to start the shower, as Eames makes a great show of checking out his arse and leering at his reflection. Jonathan bites back a smile, and pulls his t-shirt over his head. His jeans slide down to reveal his hip bones and his pale, flat stomach. Eames can't help but admire his date, a model he'd met at one of his openings. He may not be Arthur, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have his charms. And besides, fuck Arthur. That decided, Eames reaches out and pulls Jonathan toward him, pushing his long, dark hair out of the way and biting down on his shoulder.

 

"Oh, now you're paying attention to me?" Jonathan wiggles out of the embrace and turns back to adjust the shower temperature.

 

"Don't get stroppy, pet." Eames leans against the counter, and watches Jonathan finish undressing. He smirks, because Jonathan can pretend he was mad all he likes, but his half hard cock tells Eames all he needs to know. Jonathan blushes a little as Eames stares at it, and licks his lips.

 

"Come here." Eames orders, knowing full well that Jonathan can't resist. Jonathan's cock twitches and fills as he lets out a greedy little moan, and drops to his knees in front of Eames. Eames wraps his hands in Jonathan's hair and pushes the boy's face against his erection, eliciting another little moan. Jonathan rubs his face against Eames' dick through his pants until Eames releases his head and unzips. Eames pulls out his cock and demands Jonathan to 'open,' his voice low, and rough. Jonathan leans back on his haunches, and opens obediently, staring up at Eames.

 

Eames pushes his cock into the hot, wet mouth, slowly pausing any time Jonathan gets too eager, forcing him to calm down and wait. Finally he feels himself hit the back of the other man's throat, and only then does he let Jonathan start working on it. The loud slurps and muffled moans echo lewdly off the tiles, as Eames tips his head back and closes his eyes. He feels himself getting closer, and reaches down to grab at Jonathan's hair, stilling his movement. He looks down and groans at the sight – Jonathan's mouth full of cock, lips swollen, eyes tearing up, and pupils blown. He's grinding his erection against Eames' leg, the rest of him still caught in Eames' grasp. Eames moves his leg out of reach, as Jonathan whimpers around his cock, desperate and keening.

 

Eames laughs a little and moves it back, silently giving him permission to rut wildly against the rough fabric. Eames closes his eyes and begins fucking into Jonathan's mouth, ignoring the occasional gagging noise. He's slowly pushing in and out as Jonathan reaches down and fists his own cock, stroking a few times. Eames shakes his head.

 

"No touching, pet." He admonishes around a groan, as he starts to feel his balls tighten. He thrusts in one more time, and comes down Jonathan's throat, cramming his cock in until he's completely depleted. He slumps back against the counter, and watches as Jonathan finishes himself off on Eames' leg, come spilling out of his mouth, and running down his chin. When he's done, Eames hauls him up, boneless, and hugs him close. He kisses him lightly on the mouth, and pushes him toward the rising steam of the shower.

 

"Clean yourself off now, pet." He smacks Jonathan's arse lightly, and leaves the room. He goes about changing, getting ready for Yusuf's party, and hating himself all the while.

 

It seems, no matter what he does, or who he's with, he still can't stop thinking of bloody Arthur.

 

***

 

It's only thirty minutes into Ari's big bachelor party. He hadn't had the pleasure of planning this, that honor went to Mae, one of Ari's friends from college. Mae is wildly jealous of Arthur, and has made it abundantly clear that she should have been the Maid of Honor. I mean it's 'maid,' it should be a girl, Ari.

 

Earlier, Eames had done a wicked impression of the poor girl, which made Arthur laugh and stop grinding his teeth at her. Thinking of Eames makes his whole body ache, so he takes another shot. Now he'll have to spend hours with her, and the other giggling members of Ari's bridal party, not to mention the mothers of the bride and groom, who both looked vaguely horrified when the entertainment arrived.

 

Mae has ordered two strippers to show up at the suite, complete with police uniforms and tear-away pants. Arthur face palms, and considers hiding in the bathroom, when he gets a view of the second one who bears a striking resemblance to his favorite, broad shouldered artist. Right down to his unshaven chin and dark chest hair. Arthur needs more alcohol. Right now.

 

***

 

After another hour and a half of taking any shot that's handed to him, and trying to fend off the grabby hands of Officer Grizzly Bear, Arthur is ready to leave. He kisses Ari sloppily on the cheek, and she clutches at him, a little drunk and teary eyed, but eventually lets him go. He blearily reminds himself to figure out what's wrong tomorrow.

 

Right now he wants to find Eames. No, that's not right. He wants to find his bed and sleep. For a thousand years. He gets turned around and ends up in the lobby. He can't remember which direction he needs to go, so he just decides to head right, striding across the lobby, valiantly attempting not to weave too much. He's concentrating so hard on pretending to be sober that he runs right into someone. Someone who smells familiar, and whose apology is spoken in a rough British accent.

 

"Eames!" Arthur beams up at him, and leans into him. "I was looking for you. Or my bed. I can't remember which one."

 

"Well, darling. You can always have both." There's something off about his teasing, as though his heart isn't in it.

 

"I love it when you call me that." Arthur sighs happily.

 

Eames frowns down at him. "I forgot what a lightweight you are. Come on then, let's get you to your room. Big day tomorrow and all that."

 

"Right! Ari's marrying Yusuf. Wow. Do you think we'll ever get to do that?"

 

"Arthur, can you please stop talking?" Eames is talking through clenched teeth, hauling Arthur up the stairs. Arthur is happy to be quiet, one arm around Eames' shoulders, and his face buried in Eames' neck.

 

"Smell good." He mumbles. He feels Eames' hands in his pockets, hunting for his key card, and thrusts his hips forward so that Eames brushes his cock. Eames swears, and uses one hand to hold Arthur still. He gets them through the door and drops Arthur unceremoniously onto the bed.

 

"Wait. Please don't leave me." Arthur sits up too quickly and moans as the room spins around him.

 

"I'm not. Do you have any paracetamol?" He's rummaging through Arthur's man purse. His very manly, yet stylish, man purse. He feels Eames tip two pills into his hand as he orders him to swallow them. He also gives him a bottle of water and makes him drink the whole thing.

 

Arthur flops back onto the bed and grabs at Eames' shirt, pulling him down with a muffled 'oof.'

 

"Just lie with me. I miss you." He curls himself around Eames, his dark head resting on Eames' shoulder, one arm slung across his waist, and one leg across his hips. Eames sighs and makes a pained sound.

 

"You're going to be the death of me, my love." He cards his hands through Arthur's curls, who just nuzzles closer to him.

 

"Why can't it always be like this, Eames?" Arthur sits up a little and looks down at Eames, his eyes wide and earnest.

 

"Shhh. Lie back down." Arthur lets Eames tuck him back against his shoulder, and pet him some more. He isn't interested in being quiet though. Through the drunken haze he suddenly has to know.

 

"Why did you break up with me, Eames? I mean, I know I was this pathetic, weak person. But, was I really so bad? I thought I was better with you."

 

He's knocked over as Eames rolls over to face him, his movements urgent and almost violent in their haste. He grabs Arthur's face and kisses him hard, more of a clash of teeth than a kiss.

 

"You are perfect. I don't want you to say such things about yourself. Don't even think them, my beautiful, breathtaking Arthur."

 

Stunned, Arthur blinks back tears.

 

"That doesn't make any sense, Eames. You can't think I'm so amazing and still want to get rid of me. It doesn't make any sense!" He wipes furiously at his eyes, determined not to cry again.

 

"Get rid of you? Oh no. Love, I thought you'd eventually understand. I never thought you'd think I didn't want you."

 

"Understand what?" Arthur's losing the battle against his tears, and Eames rubs a thumb across his cheeks, leaving a wet trail behind.

 

"That you had to do this on your own. If you went from Robert to me, it wouldn't have been any different."

 

"But you're different, Eames. You loved me. At least, I thought you did."

 

Eames is silent for a long time and Arthur fights not to show his internal panic on his face. When Eames finally speaks, his voice is thick and halting.

 

"I do love you. More than anyone I've ever met. And, I'm beginning to realize, more than anyone I'll ever meet. You've ruined me for anyone else, darling."

 

"Then why?" Arthur is openly sobbing now.

 

"Please don't cry." Eames has unchecked tears running down his own face.

 

"It just hurts, a lot." Arthur manages to suck in some breaths to try and calm down.

 

"Of course it does, and it kills me that I had to do something to hurt you."

 

"What did you have to do, Eames? You still aren't making any fucking sense!" He hits the bed spread with his fist in a burst of anger.

 

"Let me try and make sense for you then. I wanted you to be who you are today; a man, all grown up and self sufficient. In your beautiful suits and fancy architect's office. I saw you there once, you know."

 

Arthur just stares at him in wonder.

 

"Yeah, I wheedled the address out of Ari. I was going to ask you out for coffee, and hope you'd say yes."

 

"Ari never told me." Arthur reaches out and wipes a tear off Eames' face.

 

"Well, I didn't end up having the courage. I saw you there, swaggering around behind your big important desk, yelling at someone on the phone, and I knew that I didn't belong in your world any more. You were everything I'd wanted for you, and I didn't want to swan in there and ruin it for you."

 

"Eames. You are what I always wanted."

 

Eames hides his face in Arthur's shoulder, and chokes out a sob.

 

"Well, it's too late now, innit?" He finally manages, with a shaky laugh.

 

"Why's it too late?" Arthur asks confused.

 

"You don't want me any more. You've made that pretty clear. I hope that we can salvage a friendship from this at least, yeah?" He smiles shakily.

 

"I don't want you any more? Eames I sextacked you yesterday."

 

"And then you left, and were very cruel to me afterwards." Eames tries for a joking tone.

 

"I only left because I thought you didn't want me."

 

Eames stares at him, and then bursts into laughter.

 

"What!?" Arthur demands, slightly offended.

 

"It's just, we really are the worst. I mean, really...the worst. If we'd only talked to each other, we could've saved ourselves a mess of trouble." He hugs Arthur close.

 

"So, you do want me?" Arthur's voice is trembling and hesitant.

 

"I bloody well do. I want everything about you. I'll take you however I can get you. You are well stuck with me, love."

 

"This is really fast." Arthur breathes, and in the interest of communication, he adds. "And really fucking scary."

 

"Of course it is, it wouldn't mean anything if it wasn't. " Eames kisses him again, chaste and dry. "But, maybe we can give it a chance?"

 

"I don't know, Eames. I spent four years thinking you thought I wasn't worth your time."

 

"I'm sorry you were ever in pain, but...look at me...I can't be sorry for sending you away." Eames whispers, holding Arthur's chin.

Arthur tries to pull away, his eyes narrowing in anger. Eames kisses him again and again until he relaxes into it, and opens his mouth, allowing Eames to swipe his tongue in and nip at his lower lip.

 

"I'm not sorry because look at yourself. You're bloody brilliant, Arthur. You would have never done that if you'd been stuck at my side. Please understand that."

 

Arthur sighs, not ready to admit that Eames might be right. He's been holding onto a lot of resentment for a long time, and it isn't quite so easy to just let it go. He settles for kissing Eames some more. That always feels right and leaves his mind too scrambled to worry.

 

They lazily trade kisses, curled up against each other. Arthur's eyes keep drifting shut, combined with the alcohol and many sleepless nights, Arthur is exhausted, and is falling asleep mid-kiss. Eames chuckles fondly and pulls back a little.

 

"Sleep, my love. We can worry about it all after tomorrow."

 

"Will you stay here?"

 

Eames responds by gathering Arthur closer, and running a soothing hand down his back. Arthur is able to forget his uneasiness and drift off into a dreamless sleep. It only takes a few seconds for Eames to follow behind him.

Chapter Text

Eames wakes up to the dulcet tones of Britney Spears singing something about working it, Eames can't quite catch all of it. He rolls over and prods the man sleeping next to him.

 

"Darling, that is not my phone." He can't keep the judgement out of his voice this close to sleep.

 

Arthur makes an unintelligible noise, and rolls away from Eames' poking. The phone stops and Eames sighs, closing his eyes again.

Until his phone begins blaring somewhere from the bed side table. At least it's a more tasteful 'Brown Eyed Girl' than whatever the hell Arthur has as a ringtone.

 

It also tells him that it's Ari waking him up. He groans and slaps his hand around on the table until he finds his phone, knocking his wallet and an empty water glass to the floor.

 

"'lo?" He mumbles into the phone.

 

"Eames! Where are you? Where's Arthur? Do you know what time it is? I can't find Arthur and he's supposed to be my rock here, damn it." Ari's voice is reaching a hysterical point, and Eames has no choice but to interrupt.

 

"He's right here, duckie. Let me wake him up and get him to your room. It's okay.”

 

"Oh thank God! No, send him to the brunch, he's supposed to be helping Yusuf corral the family members. Yusuf's probably hiding in a closet by now. Wait...Arthur's with you? Does that mean that you're back together?" Her voice goes from high pitched frantic, to high pitched giddy.

 

"Calm down, Ari. Nothing's decided yet." He still can't keep the smile from spreading across his face.

 

"Oh shut up! I am so excited. Okay...okay...get Arthur downstairs. I have to eat and then get my hair done. Ooooo, so excited!"

 

She hangs up without waiting for Eames to reply. He sighs and begins the herculean task of getting Arthur out of bed.

 

He has him sitting upright and, with the promise of coffee in the near future, is hustling him into the shower within ten minutes.

 

Arthur strips, and yelps as soon as the water hit his face.

 

"You should join me...it'll save time." Arthur sputters through the water.

 

"Right...save time." Eames grins and shucks all his clothes off in record time.

 

It doesn't even come close to saving time. Once Eames gets his hands on Arthur's pale skin and starts sucking bruises onto his shoulders, all sense of time is lost. They kiss between breaths, and Eames wraps his hand around both their cocks, getting them off quick and dirty. He ends up having to wash Arthur's hair, who is basically useless pre coffee and post orgasm.

 

Eames feels good; light and full of energy. He can't even bring himself to be upset when Arthur laughs himself silly over Eames' borrowed sweatpants; so tight they're bordering on obscene, and skimming just above his ankles. He only smiles and kisses Arthur's laughing face.

 

"I'm so happy right now." Eames feels the need to declare, as he thumbs one of Arthur's beautiful dimples.

 

Arthur grows a little serious and takes a deep breath.

 

"Can we put this on hold? Can we figure it out after the wedding? I mean, you're going to be in New York right?" Arthur questions, gripping Eames' wrist tightly.

 

"Yes, love. To all your many questions. I'm ready whenever you are."

 

"Okay. Thank you. Let's just get through this, and then we can see where we stand." Arthur straightens his tie and leaves the room with Eames trailing behind.

 

Eames has to admit that he'd hoped for a little more, and it stings a little that Arthur is still hesitant, but he shoves it down and pads barefoot and shirtless out into the hallway.

 

***

 

Arthur is ready to mainline some coffee, but Eames insists that he accompany him to his own room so he can change. Arthur laughs again.

 

"But why? I think you look great." He runs a hand down Eames' bare back, and across his ass, licking his lips.

 

Eames grabs Arthur's hand and smirks. "Not right now, love. I'll save them for later if they get you so hot."

 

He fumbles for his key card in the tiny pockets, and slides it in the door. He opens the door and goes to step in. Arthur runs straight into him before realizing Eames is frozen in the doorway.

 

"What is it?" He whispers, trying to see around Eames' bulk.

 

Eames moves to the side a little, still speechless, so Arthur can see for himself. His date is on the bed, bouncing enthusiastically on Eames' date's dick. Lance opens his eyes and looks behind him, at the other two men gaping in the doorway. Jonathan looks a little guilty, and frantically tries to push Lance off of him. Lance does a little roll of his hips and Jonathan makes a noise, arching upwards, giving up on trying to move him.

 

"What...the hell, Lance?" Arthur finally makes himself speak.

 

"Oh, because I didn't know you've been fucking Eames this whole time. You've barely even noticed me." He speaks with barely a hitch in his breath, and no pause to his movements. Jonathan looks torn between enjoying himself and apologizing to Eames.

 

"Oh, don't fret, Pet. It seems Bow Tie here is taking quite good care of you." Eames seems to be choking back a laugh. Arthur is still mildly confused and fighting a smile.

 

"Right then, don't mind me, lovebirds. Just need to pop in here and grab my suit. As you were." Eames hollers from inside the closet. Arthur, not wanting to stand around and watch their ex-dates fuck each other, steps back out in to the hallway to lean against the wall.

 

Eames comes back out, holding his garment and toiletry bags. From behind him, Arthur hears Lance demand that he 'close the door already.' That's the last straw, Arthur bends at the middle and starts howling with laughter. He hears Eames join in, and looks up, wiping tears from his eyes.

 

"Are you alright then?" Eames rests a hand on Arthur's shoulder, still grinning.

 

"Christ, Eames. I don't care who he fucks. " Arthur shrugs, and starts down the stairs.

 

"Wait, so you're not bothered by that?" He hitches a thumb back towards the room.

 

"No, Eames. Why would I be? He was just an easy, convenient, lay. Although, I guess I'll need a new assistant. Mal won't be happy." Arthur is a little chagrined at the thought.

 

"Why won't she be happy?" Eames asks curiously.

 

"Well...I just go through a lot of them. I'm a very demanding boss." Arthur finishes lamely. He fidgets some more, while Eames smirks and doesn't say anything. "Okay, fine! I keep sleeping with them, and they get all upset when I break it off with them. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

 

"No, love. That's the last thing I wanted to hear." Eames' smile has disappeared, and there's a tick in his jaw.

 

"Hey, you don't get to be mad. You broke up with me. And on that note, what's with the freakin' look-a-like? I'm so easy to replace, I guess." Arthur shakes his finger at Eames.

 

It's Eames' turn to blush now. He runs his hand through his hair and rests it on the back of his neck.

 

"Umm...well no, you're not replaceable, darling. Believe me, I tried. Hence the look-a-like." He smiles sheepishly.

 

"Really? Wow, we're such idiots, huh?" Arthur comes back up a few steps, and kisses Eames lightly. "Okay, you go get dressed in my room, and I'm going to get coffee. " He pushes his key card into Eames' palm and shoves him towards the hall. He ducks out of reach when Eames grabs for him, laughing.

 

***

 

Arthur had downed his first two cups like shots, and is now nursing his third whilst smiling and nodding at Ari and Yusuf's families. Mr. Miller (Ari's dad) and Mr. Chhavvi (Yusuf's dad) are eyeing each other with thinly veiled hostility around their mimosas.

 

They're arguing about something in heated whispers, their wives exasperatedly trying to calm their husbands down.

Arthur glances at Yusuf, who looks back wide eyed, and shrugs.

 

"Bapu, please don't." Yusuf rests a hand on his father's arm. "These are my family too. It's only one day, let's get along."

 

Mr. Chhavvi shakes Yusuf off, and stands up. Arthur stands too, not sure what's happening. He had no idea the two families don't get along; the mothers seem friendly with each other, and each other's children. Yusuf's mother is speaking in rapid Hindi, and Mr. Miller stands up too.

 

Arthur moves to get in between them, setting his coffee down so fast that it spills over on to his hand. Before he can make any headway, Mr. Miller is bellowing about Yusuf's dad not respecting his daughter, and next thing he knows, Eames is in the middle of it. He's dressed again and, in an absurd moment, Arthur misses the sweatpants. Eames has his arms outstretched, fingertips touching each man's chest, his suit jacket stretched across his broad back.

 

Standing there, muscles tense, shoulders holding back obvious power, he makes the two other men look like what they are; two overweight, middle aged men, blustering and creating a scene. Eames murmurs quietly, never raising his voice, and each man shuffles back, hanging their heads like small children being reprimanded.

Eames steps back and makes them shake hands; they mumble apologies, never looking at anything but the carpet or their shoes. After, the two mothers drag their respective husbands out of opposite doors, setting into them before the doors have even closed behind them.

 

Eames dusts his hands off, and turns to smile at Arthur. "Too much free champagne, I think"

 

Arthur forces himself to sit down, because the only other option is to launch himself across the table at Eames, and rip his stupid clothes off him right here. Eames gestures to the nervous waiter, and asks for a cup of coffee, while Yusuf apologizes to anyone who'll listen.

 

Eames slaps him on the back, and assures him it's no big deal. "What's a wedding without a little drama, mate?"

 

Yusuf seems to perk up a bit. "Yeah, it's like how bad dress rehearsals are supposed to mean a good show? A bad...wedding...day...should mean a great marriage! Right?"

 

The rest of the table agrees, nodding quickly, and Eames proposes a toast.

 

"To a terrible wedding day, and a long, happy marriage."

 

Everyone raises their glass, and drinks to that. Arthur toasts with his fresh mug, and then downs the rest of his coffee, scowling at Eames.

 

He leans close, and takes a moment to smell Eames; he has a familiar shampoo, ink, and coffee scent that makes Arthur's dick twitch.

 

He lowers his voice so Yusuf can't hear. "If you jinxed me, I'm going to kick you in the shins. Repeatedly. "

 

Eames just laughs, and squeezes Arthur's knee under the table. They finish up their brunch, and people are trailing out, when the inn's wedding planner hurries up to Arthur, a pinched and worried expression on her plain face.

 

"Mr. Levine, I'm so sorry but we have a problem." The poor woman is close to tears, desperately trying to keep a neutral face. She crouches down next to his chair and whispers. "The chef has quit. Just this morning."

 

Arthur turns slowly, to glare at Eames. Eames' smile slides off his face, and his eyes go wide.

 

"Darling, I didn't ji..."

 

Arthur kicks him in the shins, twice for good measure, and smiles meanly.

 

"Now what are we going to do, Mr. 'I Had To Make A Stupid Toast'?"

 

Eames tries to smile, whilst rubbing his abused shins under the table.

 

"We'll figure it out together, my love. I promise."

Chapter Text

"Alright then, show me where the kitchens are, my dear." Eames stands and hobbles after the poor woman.

 

Arthur hesitates, then follows behind, worried about what Eames had in mind. The kitchen isn't industrial size huge but it has obviously been outfitted for big parties. There are three young men in aprons, idly wiping down counters, who look up when Eames bangs through the door.

 

"Alright mates, which one of you is the sous chef?"

 

The taller one, who has the saddest neck beard Arthur has ever seen, raises his hand.

 

"And your name?" Eames encourages.

 

"Tom." He says, with a swallow.

 

"Wrong. What's your last name?"

 

"La Rochefoucault." The boy is visibly confused.

 

"Bless you. Let's just stick to first names then. You are, at least for the purposes of today, Chef Tom. Got that?" He points at all three who nod.

 

"I'm Eames, just Eames thank you. Now, show me the daily task list and where the aprons are."

 

Eames tosses his suit jacket at a speechless Arthur, and begins rolling up his sleeves.

 

"Eames. Are you serious? You don't know how to do this." Arthur blusters as Eames bodily starts moving him back out the door.

 

"Arthur, my love. You don't know everything about me. I'm full of surprises. "He finishes with a dirty leer and a quick kiss. "Now, I'm sure there are many other bridesmaid's duties that you have to attend to. Let me do this."

 

Arthur stomps off, muttering about being 'a point man not a stupid bridesmaid.'

 

***

 

Eames surveys the kitchen happily. Chef Tom proves more than competent, barking out orders like the best kind of kitchen tyrant. Eames is sure they'll get along without him, he just wants to do one more check around the kitchen and give Tom a little more encouragement.

 

He steps in to the pantry to grab a fresh bunch of chives and, to his surprise and delight, finds a ruffled Arthur leaning against the shelves. Arthur frowns and shuts the door behind him.

 

"I'm hiding." He whispers.

 

"Hiding from what, my darling?" Eames can't stop beaming at how ridiculous his Arthur is, pomaded hair undone, tie loosened and hiding amongst the onions and dry spices.

 

"The stupid fingerprint thing." Arthur grumbles.

 

"I'm sorry, the what?" Eames isn't sure he heard right.

 

"Instead of a guest book, Ari wants her guest to put their fingerprint on this tree thing and sign their name. It's stupid that's what it is. People just put their prints willy nilly and smear their names across it. I had to physically take the pen from some woman who was trying to write her name in bubble letters. Bubble letters, Eames."

 

Eames bites his lip to keep himself from laughing. Arthur would probably take that about as well as a wet cat, hackles raised and possibly actual scratching.

 

"It's not funny." Arthur sighs. "Just shut the fuck up and kiss me."

 

"But, darling, my bechemel will burn. " Eames pretends to waver.

 

"Oh fuck your bechemel."

 

"Oh kinky, Arthur. Well, we'll have to let it cool down first."

 

Arthur huffs and pulls Eames down, and off balance. Eames catches his hand on one of the shelves and proceeds to kiss the breath out of Arthur. Arthur finally lets himself relax and starts rutting against Eames, who groans and slips a knee between Arthur's legs.

 

They probably would've carried on until they reached a natural conclusion, but the pantry door suddenly opens wide, spilling in harsh kitchen light. Yusuf stands framed in the doorway, frowning. Eames feels a bit like he's back in high school, being caught having a snog by his dad.

 

"Not that I'm not happy for you mate, but Ari's blowing up my phone needing you and Arthur."

 

"Too right, in a tic."

 

Yusuf sighs and shuts the door, allowing for Arthur and Eames to readjust their clothes and smooth out any wrinkles. Of course Arthur is the only one smoothing out any wrinkles, Eames is too busy beaming and trying to kiss Arthur some more.

 

Arthur pushes him back to arm's length. "I think I like you in an apron. Can we lose everything else and keep just the apron?"

 

"We can do whatever you want, Arthur." He drags out the 'r', making it sound like a filthy purr.

 

"Okay. We have to go. Before anything else happens. " Arthur reaches up and kisses him hard, letting go reluctantly.

 

"Let me just check in with Chef Tom and I'll follow you up."

 

Arthur nods, and strides out of the kitchen in a hurry.

 

"You know, you're supposed to be my best man, Eames. Why am I left to spend time with brothers and their wives while you're with my fiance? Aren't you supposed to be helping me out?"

 

"Do you need any help, Yusuf?" Eames asks in a sympathetic tone.

 

"Well, no. But...I'm bored." Yusuf pouts.

 

"Right. Well then, let me just pop up and see what Ari needs then I'll find you again and entertain you."

 

"Fine." Yusuf sneaks a tiny quiche off a tray and shuffles out of the room.

***

Arthur has no idea what to do. Ari is a hysterical, sobbing mess. She's made the rest of her bridal party leave and is crumpled on the bed in just her bra and crinoline.

 

"Ari. What's wrong?" Arthur sits on the bed and gingerly touches her shoulder.

 

"I can't do this, Arthur! What made me think I could get married?" She turns and buries her face in Arthur's shoulder. Arthur rubs her back and thinks about what he can say to fix this.

 

"Ari, this is Yusuf. You practically said you were going to marry him the minute after you met him."

 

"That was obviously stupid. Why didn't you tell me I was stupid!?" She's suddenly angry and has Arthur by his lapels, shaking him. Arthur just stares, open mouthed, not sure what to say.

 

Eames chooses that moment to enter. He quickly takes in the scene and sits down on the other side of Ari. He takes her hands, peeling them off of Arthur and then scoops her up into his lap, wrapping his arms around her, lace and net and all. He pets her hair, and makes shushing noises, while Arthur looks on, feeling useless.

 

"Now, Ducky. Why've you decided to kill Arthur today?"

 

"I'm sooo sorry, Arthur." She wails, reaching out a hand for his. Arthur takes it, feeling relieved to be included again, as she holds on tight.

 

"Arthur forgives you of course. But what's really the matter?" Eames pushes her ruined curls out of her face, and takes it gently in his hands. "Now tell Eamesie, so he can fix it."

 

"I can't marry Yusuf." She says, voice cracking, but no longer crying. Arthur looks at Eames in complete wonder.

 

"Why ever not?" Eames asks seriously.

 

"Because I'm not good enough for him. He's so amazing, and funny, and way smarter than me. And he's really good in bed, he does this thing with..."

 

Arthur and Eames both make a choking sound.

 

"That's more than enough information, duck." Eames frowns, chewing thoughtfully on his lip.

 

"Alright, this tradition is bloody stupid. I'll be right back. Arthur, get her dressed and do what you can with the hair and make up."

 

"Do I look that bad?" Ari looks like she's about to cry again.

 

"No, of course you don't." Arthur says, relieved to have something to say. "You're beautiful, and you'll be even more beautiful once we wash off all of this eyeliner. Trust me."

 

Ari gives him a weak smile, and gets up off Eames, who leaves quickly.

 

"Right. Let's get you ready." Arthur begins unzipping the garment bag. The dress is a product of hundreds of cell phone pictures,and even three or four Skype sessions. It's ivory, because Arthur wouldn't stop teasing Ari about wearing white, cocktail length, and with three quarter sleeves. Arthur's favorite parts are the shoulders and back; made up of see through lace, and buttoned up with tiny mother of pearl buttons.

 

They wash her face and re pin her hair carefully. Once he has her in the dress, every teeny button done up, he steps back to admire. Ari smiles, a little bashful, and spreads the dress out with her hands.

 

"What do you think?"

 

Arthur is shocked to find himself getting teary eyed. It feels good though, he's so sick of sad crying; a few happy tears make him feel better than he has in a very long time.

 

"Oh don't cry, we just fixed my make up, Arthur!" Ari laughs, and dabbed at her cheeks with a tissue.

 

"And look! It has pockets!" She pushes her hands in, and does a little twirl. Arthur laughs through his tears and pulls her in for a hug.

 

"Only because you threw a fit over having them." He reminds her, whilst wiping at his own face.

 

"Well, it's my day. Thank you for helping me have it." Ari takes his hands, and they beam at each other for a few minutes.

 

"Here he is!" Eames shoves a half dressed Yusuf into the room, who vainly tries to cover his eyes.

 

"No! I'm not supposed to see her!" Yusuf yells.

 

"That is the stupidest tradition ever. Look at your beautiful bride, you idiot." Eames smacks him on the back of the head, apparently out of patience.

 

"It's alright, Yusuf. I don't mind." Ari gently removes his hands from his eyes. Yusuf slowly opens one eye, and then the other.

 

"Oh my days. You are so beautiful, meri pyari" Yusuf whispers, staring as Ari blushes deeply.

 

"Yusuf, tell her what you told me." Eames demands.

 

"What? Right. I told Eames that you're the only person for me, that I can't believe you're marrying me. You could have anyone, and you chose me. You, who are beautiful and intelligent and my whole world."

Yusuf speaks quietly, as though Arthur and Eames aren't even there. Arthur feels like he might cry again.

 

"I don't think I'm that great, I can't imagine why you would want to marry me." Ari kisses Yusuf all over his forehead and cheeks, ending with his mouth. "I'm so lucky to have you."

 

"No I'm the lucky one."

 

"You're both the lucky ones. Alright! Now that's settled, Yusuf come with me, so we can finish getting you dressed." Eames has to physically remove Yusuf from the room when he refuses to let go of Ari, who laughs helplessly, and blows kisses.

 

"Better?" Arthur asks.

 

"So much. I don't know how I would've gotten through this without you and Eames." She sighs. "And Yusuf, of course."

 

"Well hopefully that's the last of it and we'll have a wonderful rest of the day." Arthur surreptitiously leans over, and quietly knocks on the wood of the desk.

 

"Well, yeah. What more can go wrong?" Ari asks cheerfully, as she slips into her heels.

 

A clap of thunder, and the sudden sound of rain against the roof, makes Arthur want to punch himself repeatedly. He decides right there, that if he ever gets married, it'll be in a courthouse with no guests. He won't even tell anyone else about it.

 

Eames comes rushing back in, towing Yusuf, who's got as far as pulling on his jacket, bow tie dangling untied around his neck.

 

Arthur feels a rush of affection for Eames, and suddenly feels better. Eames will figure it out. All he's done today is fix everything,while Arthur hid in the pantry and let himself be strangled by the bride. He takes a deep breath and looks at Eames, who smiles and snaps his fingers.

 

"Umbrellas!" He rushes out of the room without further explanation. He throws back a "Get dressed Arthur! You too, Yusuf."

 

The three remaining in the room look baffled at each other for a moment. Arthur shrugs and starts hustling Yusuf out of the room.

 

"You heard the man. Let's get ready."

Chapter Text

Arthur can't believe it. Eames has somehow found 150 wide, black umbrellas for every guest and member of the wedding party.

 

They all match and the symmetry pleases Arthur to no end. He's grinning broadly at everyone, as the rain patters quietly onto his own umbrella.

 

He'd thought they would have to shove everyone into the only tiny available ballroom but, despite a little mud, Eames has saved the day. Again. Arthur watches him across the aisle, standing solemnly next to Yusuf. He didn't get time to change into his tux, so he stands in the suit he'd had on earlier; no tie, and his collar undone, Arthur can just make out a peek of tattoos and chest hair. He'd be lying to himself if he said it doesn't make him a little weak at the knees. Eames catches him looking and gives him an exaggerated wink, then turns back to the ceremony. Arthur reluctantly turns back to his best friend and her almost-husband.

 

He adjusts the umbrella in his grip, and watches the photographer run around taking pictures. Arthur imagines that they'll come out beautifully, with the ocean in the background and Ari's dress just visible underneath all the black.

 

He's flying out tomorrow afternoon, and Ari's off on her honeymoon, then returning to her home, thousands of miles away from him, to finish her degree. He vows to continue to lure her to the East coast, he isn't sure he can stand to miss her for so long again.

 

Speaking of missing people, he glances again at Eames. He still isn't sure what to do about it all, but he knows what he wants.

 

What he wants, requires a lot of trust and guarantees, maybe a lot of nudity in between. He can't have guarantees, he'd thought that Eames was a sure thing before, and it almost ruined him entirely. He's terrified to give in and just see what happens, it goes totally against his nature. But where does that leave him? More nameless, faceless fucks, and lonely nights? He doesn't think he wants that either.

 

His reverie is broken by a cheer from the seated guests as Yusif dips Ari, and kisses her dramatically. Ari comes back up laughing and blushing. Everyone claps as best as they can with umbrellas in one hand. Ari hadn't wanted rice or bubbles, because they're both 'played out.' She finally settled on rainbow sprinkles over Arthur's indignant protests. Sprinkles rain down along with the actual rain, hitting and bouncing off umbrellas, and mixing in on the wet ground. Arthur winces as he thinks of the poor employee who has to clean up wet, half melted sprinkles off everything.

 

The reception is a wild success, the cake is beautiful, and the food delicious. Eames twirls him around the floor a few times and they both dance with Ari, her make up smeared again, but this time only from happy tears.

 

As the party winds down, Arthur stands to the side, clutching a champagne glass and surveying all his hard work. He's thrilled it it's all come together finally, but he vows again to have the tiniest courthouse wedding possible. He'll refuse to plan it, and only drag his groom to the building on a sunny morning, after breakfast. When he imagines it, he can't help but see Eames' face.

 

He sighs and leans his head against the wall.

 

"Penny for your thoughts, my love?" Eames' voice whispers into his ear.

 

"Oh you know, nothing but weddings all the time." He smiles and leans against Eames, offering him a sip from his glass.

 

Eames waves it off and puts an arm around Arthur's waist, resting his head on Arthur's shoulder.

 

"I'm knackered, darling. How about you?"

 

"Yeah, I'm so over today." Arthur's chest clenches a little, thinking about what might happen after today.

 

"Well, would you like to sneak away and do a little sleeping?" Eames attempts a leer, but is obviously too tired to put much effort into it.

 

Arthur frowns, and steps out of Eames' embrace.

 

"I don't think that's a good idea, Eames."

 

"What? Why the fuck not?" Eames stands up straight, his eyebrows knit together.

 

"I just need some time to get my head straight. Remember we decided to talk about it when this is all done?"

 

"It is all done, Arthur. All but the honeymoon. Don't tell me you've planned that too." Eames crosses his arms, staring daggers at Arthur.

 

"No. I just...need time. Please." Arthur knows it sounds weak, and not good enough, but his mind isn't made up yet.

 

He doesn't want to make the wrong decision this time.

 

"Bloody hell, Arthur. You've had four fucking years and a week to decide. I'm in love with you, with everything I have. What can I do to get you to believe that?"

 

"Give me time." Arthur holds firm on the outside, but inside he's crumbling at Eames' anger.

 

"You want the time, you got it. But don't think I'm just going to hang around forever, waiting for you to make a decision."

 

"You said forever." Arthur whispers into his glass.

 

"I said I will love you forever. Not that I'll wait around forever. I can live with that, loving you but not being able to have you. It'll be bloody awful, yeah? But I can live with it. I can't live with this, this...limbo shit." He takes Arthur's glass and sets it on a side table.

 

"I just need a little more time. I'm scared, Eames." Arthur pleads.

 

Instead of replying, Eames leans into him, pushing him back against the wall, and kisses him. It's an angry kiss, with sharp teeth, and bruising force. His hands are wrapped around Arthur's shoulders, probably leaving marks. Eames pulls back, kisses him once, twice, and then steps away out of reach.

 

"Just do what you have to do, darling. Let me know when you've decided."

 

He shoves his hands into his pockets and stomps out, narrowly missing a waiter with a tray of drinks. Arthur slumps against the wall and fights back tears. He feels like he might have just fucked everything up, and he doesn't know how to fix it. He struggles to get himself under control, he doesn't want to worry Ari on her wedding day, and there have been more than enough tears today for his taste.

 

***

 

Eames hates airplanes. Crowded in with strangers, breathing in the recycled air, the stupid, useless pillows. Not to mention the hangover he's nursing from last night's raid of the tiny alcohol bottles in his room. At the time, he thought it was lovely how they'd all been restocked and he had his pick. Now, he's wearing sunglasses and gingerly sipping orange juice.

 

At least he may not have to sit next to anyone. He hadn't been able to find Jonathan last night or this morning. He doesn't care much for the man, but he isn't such a dick that he wants to leave him stranded in Canada all by himself.

 

He left a note at the front desk saying for him to call Eames, and he'll wire him money or something. He's not sure what else to do, but there's no way he's missing his own flight for the knob. He shrugs, feeling as though he's done his duty, and happily sprawls out onto the next seat. They're about to shut the doors when there's a commotion at the front, as a late comer rushes on, apologizing. Eames doesn't bother to look up because sudden movements of his head make him feel like he's on a constantly rocking ship, and also, he just doesn't care. He sips his juice and looks out the window at all the little men in orange vests, hauling luggage back and forth.

 

He hears the late comer shuffling around in the aisle next to his seat, hastily shoving his carry-on into the overhead locker.

 

Eames doesn't even bother turning around, this tosser was late and has the wrong seat, he isn't worth his time.

 

"No, mate. Not your seat. Sorry." Eames says, still facing the tiny window.

 

Eames can feel the other person staring at the back of his head, completely unmoved. He sighs heavily, and makes to turn around to tell the man off.

 

"I'm sure it is though." His tirade dies on his tongue as he takes in the crisp shirt, tucked into designer jeans. Dark, curly hair and dimples complete the image. He blinks, and lifts his sunglasses to be sure he isn't imagining things. No, it's still Arthur, somehow standing in the aisle,grinning at him.

 

"Eames, move your feet, damn it. The flight attendant's glaring at me."

 

Stunned, Eames remains silent, but moves his feet out of the way. He watches Arthur get settled, fiddling with the arm rest, finally turning to look at Eames.

 

"I traded tickets with Jonathan." Arthur offers an explanation.

 

"You traded..." Eames is having trouble grasping basic concepts.

 

"Yeah, Eames. Try to keep up. He's flying back with Lance later today."

 

"But, why?"

 

Arthur looks exasperated and adorable. Eames' hands itch just to grab him, haul him over the arm rest, and snog the hell out of him. He waits though. Because he has to hear what this is.

 

Arthur seems nervous, twisting his hands in his lap, not looking directly at Eames.

 

"Because you told me to let you know when I'd decided. And I have. I couldn't wait to tell you later. And I thought you'd appreciate the surprise."

 

"I do, darling. You're always a welcome surprise. But you haven't told me what you've decided yet." Eames fights against the urge to touch Arthur.

 

"You're going to make me say it?"

 

Eames only nods, now fighting a smile.

 

"Okay, fine. I love you, and I always have. You're the person I want to spend the rest of my life with, and I'm still terrified about what might happen, but I think...I think you're worth the risk, Eames." He finishes all in a rush, staring wide eyed at Eames.

 

Eames gives in and grasps Arthur by the back of the neck, kissing his shocked, adorable face until he kisses back. They're interrupted by the announcements, and the in flight demonstration. Their hands remain clasped, as Arthur grins wildly, his lips kiss swollen, and his cheeks red from stubble burn.

 

After the plane takes off, and they're cruising back to America, Arthur turns shy again.

 

"What is it, my love?" Eames rubs a thumb across Arthur's hand.

 

"You said you were looking for an apartment? Well, it's just that...I have one, and if you wanted, you could stay there. With me? I mean only if you want, I understand if it's too much, and I can help you find another one if you want."

 

Eames laughs and kisses him again.

 

"Of course I want to live with you. We have a lot of catching up to do, if you know what I mean?" He licks the side of Arthur's neck, who laughs.

 

"Oh, I know what you mean."

 

They're happy basking in silence for a few minutes, when Arthur leans over and whispers.

 

"Can I give you a blowjob in the bathroom?"

 

Eames almost takes out Arthur's eye with his elbow as he scrambles over him to get to the aisle.

 

"I'll take that as a yes." Arthur smirks up at him. "I'll be there in a minute. Get ready."

 

Eames is so hard right now he doesn't need any 'get ready' time, but he nods and walks to the bathroom, shuts himself in, and waits patiently for Arthur.

 

He realizes then that he doesn't have to wait for Arthur any more, he has him now, and forever. That's better than any mile high blowjob, he's sure.

 

Not that he'd turn down Arthur's mouth on his cock, ever. He drags Arthur inside as soon as the door cracks open.

 

Arthur covers his mouth to trap the laugh inside. He unzips Eames, and smiles at how hard he already is. He doesn't waste any time, taking Eames in to the root with one smooth, wet glide. Eames has to hide his face in the crook of his elbow to keep from making any noise. Arthur uses his tongue, getting Eames wet, and teases with his fingers, until Eames starts thrusting up into his mouth. He rides it out, breathing through his nose, feeling when Eames balls tighten up as he comes in Arthur's mouth.

 

Arthur swallows, and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, standing up awkwardly in the small space. Eames, panting heavily, unzips Arthur and pulls his cock out. Arthur's so turned on from sucking Eames off, that he only needs to tug on it three or four times before Arthur comes all over his hand. Dazed, Arthur lets Eames tuck him back in, and zip him up. They're just in time, as a heavy knocking sounds on the door. They open it to the smirks of two flight attendants, and smile sheepishly.

 

"We're going to have to ask you to sit down sirs, and please use the facilities one at a time in the future."

 

The nod and shuffle back to their seats. Arthur is still mortified, his face bright red. Eames tries very hard not to laugh openly at his poor dear's embarrassment.

 

"So, when we land, are you coming home with me?" Arthur asks out of the blue, squeezing Eames' hand tightly.

 

"Yes, my love. I'm going home with you."

 

Arthur sighs, leaning into Eames' shoulder, letting his eyes close. After a while, his breathing evens out, and Eames smiles fondly, continuing to run his hand through Arthur's hair. He leans down and whispers.

 

"I love you, my little twink."

 

"Shut up. You are this close to being my bear." Arthur mumbles into Eames shirt. "I love you too." He adds, belatedly.

 

Eames laughs and settles Arthur closer to him, closing his own eyes. He doesn't think he'll be able to sleep with all the giddy excitement coursing through him. Whether it's the orgasm, or the sleepless nights, he does manage to nod off. If asked, he'd say it's because of Arthur and his steady, solid presence. Knowing it'll be there forever allows him to relax and sleep, dreaming of a future he hadn't ever thought would happen.