seeorseem | (no subject)

(no subject)

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 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."

"I'll brush it all off with a lint roller," Eames replies with a suitably chastised and broad grin as he laughs, nodding at the jacket. "And I'll pay for the dry cleaning. I take it this means you're not in favour of adopting a dog?"

"I prefer cats anyway. Much better suited to our lifestyle," he says it in such a careful deadpan that it's hard to tell if there's genuine sarcasm or not.

Pretending yet more indifference, Arthur slides down his suspenders and begins to unbutton his shirt.

"Well, they're very persnickety in dreams," says Eames, though he could probably forge one in a pinch. Then again, his ego is so large that he thinks he could forge just about anything should he want. Eames raises his brow as he watches Arthur continue to undress. "Feeling left out, are we?"

"No idea what you're talking about," Arthur assures him, letting his shirt rest on top of his jacket so that he's only in a thin cotton shirt and his trousers.

Eames keeps his eyes on Arthur, more than slightly interested in where this is going. Of course, given that Eames is already naked, he thinks that it's only going good places. "Arthur, should I pop out quickly and find some supplies?" he suggests, with an edge of hope.

"Mr. Eames, what kind of point man do you take me for?" Arthur asks. He leans over to open the first drawer of the desk, where supplies wait in abundance. He's had no expectation of speed in the matter–at times he still feels as if he's rushing–but his life is all about the details and making sure he's prepared.

"Now that is interesting information." Eames had given Arthur a tad bit of space, not breaking into every single drawer and closet and when it yields such lovely surprises, he feels as if the whole thing has paid off. He stretches out, hands above his head and winks.

"So I suppose you mean now to throw me down and ravish me, so on and so forth." He maintains the deadpan and feigned indifference, even while slowly unsnapping and rolling up his suspenders.

"I'm already on the bottom here," Eames says, and given that he also knows how Arthur likes control, he doesn't imagine he plans on moving anytime soon. "It would be a shame if I had to move in order to ravish you, unless you plan to ask very nicely."

"Well then, how am I to know if you're actually interested or not? Maybe you'd rather just have a languid evening and do nothing." Arthur stands up, feigning regretfulness even as he toes off his shoes.

Back to Eames, he runs his fingers across te desk. "Room service then?"

"Oh, shut up," Eames growls, reaching over to grasp Arthur by the wrist with a hold hard enough to tug him closer. "C'mere," he says. "Maybe I want you to top? I know you'll do nothing but control from the bottom anyhow, I'm just saving time."

Arthur lets himself be pulled onto the bed, landing in a sit before drawing up his legs so that he may turn and face Eames.

"Are you suggesting that I'm some kind of pushy control freak?" Arthur asks, touching Eames' chin with two fingers and barely tilting his face up.