seeorseem | (no subject)

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This is new and a particular shade of not good that Eames has very rarely considered before. In his time, he's forged men, women, beings of no gender at all, aliens, and an array of animals in order to get inside a mark's head and find their secrets. What he has not done is lost all his clothes as he wandered into Arthur's room at the hotel and found himself in a simplistic mind-set that's only concerned with a few things.

Play being one of them, food another, and affection a third.

He lets out a sad whine as he tries to adjust his mind and remember what movement as an animal is like. There are four legs to account for instead of the usual two and as Eames trots into the room, tail wagging (because he's still very happy to see Arthur), he thinks that this hotel is practically forger academy, forcing him to learn how to work and walk in other forms while in reality.

He should increase his rates. His skills are getting quite the workout.

Settling his chin on Arthur's knee, he gives another plaintive dog-cry, peering up at him with eyes he hopes are every bit as forlorn as he's intending them to be.

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Arthur raises an eyebrow at the dog, wondering how it could have gotten in here and why it's got the impunity to shed all over his Armani. "How did you get in here?" he asks, trying to remain calm and empirical.

Damn brown eyes. They're almost as bad as Eames.

Eames cocks his head to one side and leaves, only to bend down and pick up the hotel keycard between canine teeth. It's harder than it looks, as he drops it three times and ends up having to use his paw to slowly, slowly push it over. When he gets back, he sits patiently and regards Arthur, hoping that he understands.

It'd be much more convenient if he could speak, but the mere thought only prompts him to bark, once, as if he's been commanded by his own thoughts.

"You...used the keycard to my room..." The only person he can think of who has access to his spare key is...

Arthur stops in the middle of reaching out the pet the dog as he scrutinizes the details of its face, the way the dog cocks his head, and the peculiarly human quality of his eyes.

The result of his analysis is a long string of curses that act as ample reminder that Arthur was, in fact, a Marine once upon a time.

"Eames."

Eames lies down on the floor and rolls onto his back so he can peer at Arthur from here, pleased as he realises that the animal brain is allowing him to think in only the simplest ideas. What he feels now is pleasure, happiness, delight, and mischief. He barks again and lets his tongue hang out, panting as he thinks that forgery has nothing on this.

"We've got to stop letting you wander through doors," Arthur chides, not realizing he's talking to Eames the way he would a real dog. He has some affection in his voice and he's distracted enough that he reaches out and runs a hand over Eames' head.

Eames breathes a bit deeper for the touch, relaxing into the floor like he could melt into it. He tips his dog eyes to Arthur, as if asking whether he's going to be kept in one room forever, to avoid him going through doors, but flips onto four paws again and crowds into Arthur's hand a little more when his hindbrain kicks in and all he cares about is how good Arthur's hands feel.

Arthur raises an eyebrow but continues to pet, ruffling at Eames' ears. It seems that this forge, unlike the previous one, has given Eames quite a few more instinctively canine reactions.

"What am I going to do with you, darling?"

Eames curls into the touch, letting out soft little puppy cries of pleasure, both at the touch, but also at being called darling, which is something his brain is currently telling him that he enjoys. He bounds away, only to jump up onto the bed behind Arthur, settling into a small ball as if this is his intended place to remain, now.

"Eames! Not on the-" Arthur doesn't bother finishing the sentence and, instead, mentally takes a note to ask for new linens later.

He won't tell Eames how charming it looks to see him curled up so.

"And to think, all you've wanted for ages is to be naked in my bed."

Eames perks up, already feeling as if he's one a private little battle in this. He yips happily, as if he needs to tell Arthur how happy he is that he's won this. He cocks his head to the side and thinks of going back through the door so he can be very naked in Arthur's bed, but thinks he'll save that for another few minutes, hoping to get a few more lovely scratches out of this.

Sighing, Arthur reaches out to ruffle Eames' ears, remembering when he'd been a kid a longed for a dog that would grow up and become his friend. His parents had put their feet down and refused and he'd largely outgrown the notion...or so he'd thought.

"Do you remember what door it was?"

Eames lifts his head and turns his attention to the door to Arthur's room, taking a long time to look at it pointedly. Then he glances back at Arthur, shifting and resting his chin on Arthur's knee, wondering if he's going to be made to go through it right away.

Arthur rolls his eyes and pats Eames' head and ears, indulging him for now even though he knows that come transformation back he'll never hear the end of it.

Eames whimpers and whines with pleasure at every touch, licking Arthur with a large tongue that he's certainly not accustomed to, but imagines a great deal could be done with a tongue like that, if they were into certain things. He knows they're not, very clearly. Eames eases back and stands on the bed, giving Arthur the chance to lead him back through the door, if he'd like.

As much as Eames is enjoying himself, he's a tad afraid of letting his full consciousness slip into an animal's brain. He's not sure he'd get it back.

"Let's get you through the door before this decides to stick." Knowing this place, the hotel isn't above such nonsense and much though Arthur plays the long-suffering partner, he's become accustomed to having his boyfriend a certain way.

Eames knows it's the best course of action even though sensibility is warring with sheer pleasure and it's that little voice in his mind that pushes him through the door faster than ever. Of course, he's even quicker to come back through it given that he's not naked, feeling like licking Arthur all over, and has the distinct yearning for a collar.

"That was an odd experience," he confesses.

"And yet, I think I'll savor it for a long time to come," Arthur says, reaching over to pat the top of Eames' head.

He's not even playing. When he lets out a pleased sound, it's the animal in his brain telling him how much he enjoys it. "Hello, dear," he replies, purring as if he's been a cat and not a dog. "You're very nurturing when you want to be," he says, pulling the door shut given his current lack of clothing.

Arthur tries not to look too pleased, but he's not entirely sure it's successful. Here, in his room, Arthur supposes that that's all right.

"Yes, I'm sure. The improved attitude helped."

"The obedience, you mean?" he deadpans, given that he can imagine that Arthur would appreciate that. Stretching, Eames winks at Arthur, wearing nothing at all. "Well? Which do you think suits me better, huh?"

"Your agreeable nature, exactly." Arthur plucks a bath robe from his closet and tosses it onto the bed for Eames to take it if he likes.

"Is this your attempt at seducing me?"

Eames doesn't take the robe, sprawling out on his side as he props up his head with his arm, giving Arthur an expectant look. "For all that you seem to like aesthetics, you really don't seem to want to look at me naked," he observes. "I won't bite. Unless you ask for it."

Arthur raises an eyebrow back at him before sitting on the bed, even going so far as to loosen and then remove his tie.

"My dear, I think you're trying to make trouble on purpose."

"Well, at least you know me for me," is Eames' amused reply, chuckling as he stretches out on the bed and reaches up to undo the tie the rest of the way. "Shall I wear this and only this? Is that a secret kink of yours I maybe haven't heard about until now?"

"My secret kink," Arthur says, with heavy mock solemnity, "is not having a golden retriever shed all over my suit."

He sheds his jacket and drapes it across the chair. "You're paying for the dry cleaning."