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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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.

Eames raises a brow. "And if I call the painting precisely as I see the painting?" he queries innocently as he allows his chin to be lifted up easily, smirking even as the motion carries just a hint of defiance with it.

Arthur leans close enough that he might kiss Eames, but refrains for the moment. Smirking just a little, he run his thumb over Eames' mouth.

"And what if I'm just a wilting flower, putting up a good front and waiting for your anguished declaration of love?"

As Eames taught him, at the core of every forge is a kernel of truth.

"I doubt that, sincerely," Eames says, though it's not all of it. "For one, I hardly anguish anything. However, if you'd like a declaration of love, I've been told I've got quite the talent for dirty limericks. Would you like one of those, dear?"

And Arthur has quite the talent for keeping disappointment from his, especially when he leans in and kisses Eames instead.

"Spare me."

Eames gives a quiet sound of pleasure as he sprawls out on his back to get comfortable, running his splayed palm over Arthur's torso before he grips at his hip. "Or indulge you?" he suggests guilelessly.

"Isn't that what you're doing?" Arthur moves up to lie next to him, stretched out on his side and kissing him lazily.

Eames feels like this is the most unexpected thing that's happened to him all month. He'd never considered that the way into Arthur's trousers was to become a dog for a time. "I'm happy to do whatever you like, darling. I'm versatile."

Not the transformation so much as the pleasure of Eames' quick return to his usual self. Though Arthur wouldn't easily admit it–not in a relationship that's built on a foundation of teasing–but he does possess a fondness for him all the same.

"Versatile, really? I'd never have known."

Edited 2014-09-10 00:10 (UTC)

Eames chuckles pleasantly, the warmth in his body practically suffusing every inch of him as he grins up at Arthur, feeling a bit breathless as he spreads his knees, hoping to coax Arthur a little closer. "Now," he muses. "What shall we do, with you on top of me like that?"

"Oh, I don't know," Arthur says. "After all, I'm fully dressed and you're doing anything about it. So I can only assume you're not terribly interested."

He shifts, looking down at Eames and running a fingertip over his mouth.

"I'm getting worried you don't want me after all."

Eames opens his lips and nips at the finger before he grabs Arthur flush against him, slipping the finger out of his mouth so he can replace it with Arthur's lips, hoping to show him exactly how interested he is, even though one quick look downwards would show him with a single glance alone.