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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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.

Arthur smiles, just a little, and indulges in the kiss. Settling between Eames' legs, he runs a hand up his chest and looks at him, head tilted as if in thought.

"What, Mr. Eames? No remarks?"

Eames has no remarks at all when he's occupied with Arthur and even though he'd resolved to stay on the bottom, he shifts so he can pin Arthur to the bed as he strips off the remaining layers of his clothes with steady, swift fingers, doing away with them as gracefully as if he's picking pockets. "Darling, get naked and on top of me before I walk through a door of choice."

Arthur laughs and raises his hands above his head, pleased to see Eames get so impatient. The sight of that veneer dropping, even a little, thrills him in a way that's a little harder to quantify.

"Oh I'm not sure you're in the state to."

He kicks his pants away and grabs into the drawer, taking out lube and condoms for now.

"I think you sincerely underestimate my genuine lack of care as to how much shame matters to me," is his thrilled retort, sprawling until he's spread like a star, waiting expectantly. "I like a man in control, though."

"No there's something I wouldn't have expected of you." It makes them a far more even match of temperaments, then. He sits up over Eames and pours some lube into his palm to warm it before leaning over Eames and grabbing his wrists and pinning them above his head.

Eames lets out a low exhalation of abject pleasure when his hands are pinned above his head, making him buck his hips upwards, as if seeking out some pleasure. "Oh, this is promising indeed," he murmurs, eyes widening with alarming pleasure.

Arthur laughs and grinds his hips down against Eames' and kisses him with a quick, sharp nip. "Is this what you expected of me?"

"I like it, though I've learned my lesson about expecting anything from you. Ever since the inception job, you've proven to me that you're much more imaginative than I'd given you credit for." He's still impressed by the jerry-rig in the elevator, given that it's a trick right out of Eames' playbook.

Arthur grins and shifts a little, pressing at Eames with one finger, smiling at him. "Remind me, later, to show you exactly how imaginative I am."

"Must have picked it up from a good influence in your life," Eames drawls with a soft gasp at the press, turning it into a leering grin. "You will have to tell me all about him, because he sounds like an infinitely charming man."

"Please, Mr. Eames, don't be so narcissistic when you're at my mercy," Arthur chides him, crooking his finger up.

"Some of my deviant tendencies are my own."

"You've known me nearly decades, plural, and you're still wondering that I can be a narcissist?" he wonders, half innocent as he snorts derisively, given the inherent disbelief that goes along with that. "I'm clearly not trying hard enough." He gives a small thrill of a sound as he bears down on Arthur with an intent look. "I'm more than happy to credit you, of course."

"Or maybe I'm just not nearly as prudish as you think," Arthur says, pressing in a second finger and watching Eames' face. He really does, he finds, enjoy the sight.

"Not prudish," Eames counters, because he doesn't actually think that. "You're not as forward, though, when it comes to sex. I think because you always put career and the job first," he says, continuing in his honesty.