arthureames month!

Prompt: “What brings you here?”

@arthureamesmonth

***

“What brings you here?”

The answer lies hidden somewhere in a long explanation that is 90 percent bullshit. It covers longer lies, though. And it leaves Arthur rolling his eyes, barely holding on to the smile that threatens to spill across his face. He doesn't want to give Eames the satisfaction. Not yet. 

***

"I'll lead you on a merry chase, darling"

Arthur never knows which of them is more daring. Although, stupid might be a word better suited. 

'Daring' because Eames tells Arthur his coordinates without any hesitation. 'Daring' because Arthur goes after Eames each time and racks up enough frequent flyer points on his passports that he could fly from North Pole to South Pole without paying a single penny. 

'Stupid' because, well, everyone acts stupid when they're in love. 

***

"Pakse. I would've never pegged you as a romantic, Mr. Eames." 

Of course Laos is the final destination. Arthur had been waiting for it. 

"I won't let you undermine your intelligence and your thorough research on me, pet." 

Arthur had always suspected Eames knew of Arthur's background check on him. They had always maintained their carefully crafted snake-and-mongoose routine around that particular topic, though. 

***

The first time Eames had seen Arthur, it had been in Laos. SéSé Wine and Beer. 

A painfully ordinary bar filled with painfully ordinary couples. The only thing exquisite about the bar had been Arthur. Arthur in his bespoke suits and too young face. 

The first time Eames sees Arthur, he calls him Prince Charming and Arthur punches him in his face. He then orders them two Beer Lao Gold's. 

***

Pakse with its oppressive, overcast monsoons and muggy dry season. 

Pakse with its too many secrets lost in too many people and not enough exquisite bars. 

Pakse where Arthur whispers "I love you" in every possible way. 

And Pakse where Eames doesn't fill the air with declarations of love but doesn't need to, either. 

Dragging Arthur to Laos had been enough of a declaration and they both know it. 

***

"What brings you here?", asks Eames. 

"My sap of a boyfriend", answers Arthur. 

Eames wants to go on holiday. Arthur doesn’t.

(also on ao3)

Prompt: travel and All My Love by George Ezra

Summary:  What he and Arthur had was casual, nothing more. Eames knew that. But at some point it had stopped being just a hookup to him and started being something…more. And Eames didn’t know what to do with that

@arthureamesmonth

“God I missed this.”

Eames opened his eyes and looked over. Arthur’s voice was slightly breathless and he looked wonderfully disheveled, his face still flushed and relaxed. Eames reached out, fingers brushing Arthur’s shoulder slightly, and Arthur opened his eyes, turning his head to look at him with a small smile. No matter how many times Eames saw that smile, it still managed to catch him off guard every time. It was so different from his normal one. Happier. More intimate. Almost shy even. “It’s been a minute, hasn’t it?”

Arthur hummed in agreement and moved in closer. Eames shifted to give him space as he curled up next to him, head resting on Eames’ chest and arm draped across his body. “Mm. Too long.”

Eames had been surprised at first at how physically affectionate Arthur was- he’d certainly never struck Eames as the type to enjoy cuddling, and it wasn’t exactly something he associated with hooking up- but he’d quickly come to expect it. It was nice, honestly. A glimpse at a side of Arthur Eames doubted he let many people see. Eames turned his head and stared out the broad windows at the skyline, running his hand absentmindedly through Arthur’s hair. He could see why Arthur had insisted on this hotel; the view was phenomenal, the glittering lights of Seoul spreading out to the horizon far below them. It would look beautiful in the morning, too, as the sun rose. It was something to look forward to; Eames knew his jet lag meant he’d almost certainly be awake for it. He’d only gotten in that morning and his body was still very much on Mumbai time, so an early morning was all but guaranteed. 

“Hello, love.” 

Arthur looks up from his clipboard to the man in front of him. He’s smirking at Arthur as if he knows something he doesn’t, and he has on a black hat shoved haphazardly on backwards. He is also, unquestionably, one of the hottest human beings Arthur has ever seen, because life is a bitch sometimes.

“It’s Lieutenant,” Arthur makes himself say, even while half his brain is still fixated on the man’s face.

The man shrugs, still smirking. “Eames,” he says, nodding a little towards himself. 

“Arthur.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Arthur.” When Eames says his name, his accent does something strange to the vowels, twisting it out and making it sound different than Arthur has ever heard it.

Arthur frowns disapprovingly, willing himself to walk away before this gets any worse. But before he can, Eames claps him on the shoulder and grins, bright and disarming. 

“I’m glad you’re the one in charge, truth be told. I know it’s dreadfully cliche, but I do love a man in uniform.”

The team wants to know how Arthur and Eames really met. Clearly, playing “Truth or Dare” is the way to find out.

(also on ao3)

Prompt: “Nice to know some things never change” and Lost by Blake Rose

Summary:  Eames deserved to be happy. He deserved someone who made him smile and laugh, and Arthur knew he wasn’t that person. He couldn’t be. But he couldn’t help the stab of jealousy in his chest as he thought of it being someone else. He’d get over it eventually, but right now? Right now it fucking hurt.

@arthureamesmonth

Arthur hadn’t intended to run into Eames. He wouldn’t go so far as to say he was avoiding him, but he certainly wasn’t trying to seek him out or spend time with him outside of jobs. So when he saw Eames seated at a table, chatting with some woman, when he walked into the bar his first instinct was to just turn around and walk back out. There were plenty of bars in the area, he could just go to another one. Eames caught his eye though and flashed him a quick smile, and that complicated things. Leaving without being seen was just him not wanting to make things awkward. Leaving after being seen would just make them more so.  

He nodded at Eames and walked over to the bar. He’d intended to relax a bit after finally finishing the job they’d been on- it hadn’t been difficult but it had been time consuming- but he suddenly found himself not in much of a mood to celebrate. He’d just have a drink and then head out. Maybe turn in early for once. He could certainly use the sleep. 

“What can I get you?”

Arthur glanced up. “Whiskey, please.”

“On the rocks?”

Arthur nodded and the bartender grabbed a glass. This bar was known for its whiskey, which was why he’d come in in the first place; it was supposed to be good quality but not overpriced, and they even served the particular brand he liked. It was a bit of a whole in the wall place too, so it was unlikely to be crowded or particularly loud. It was honestly the sort of place Arthur would’ve normally loved. They’d still be here a few more days, so maybe he’d come back on another evening to fully enjoy it when he was less tired and in more of a mood to celebrate. Just not tonight.

He nodded again in thanks as the bartender slid a glass in front of him. Eames’ laughter drifted across the room and he took a drink. If his brief glimpse when he’d walked in was anything to go by, Eames was on a date. Arthur wasn’t completely sure, the woman’d had her back to him and he’d only seen her briefly before turning, but he was fairly certain he recognized her from a job. Another forger, if he was remembering correctly. Maybe that was how Eames had met her. Not that it mattered, of course. Eames could meet people however he pleased.

Prompt: setting- backstory

"But the question of whether that’s a dream or whether it’s real, matters. It matters because that’s the point about reality. Reality matters.”

(includes something from pre canon as well as post canon)

-Victor Hugo

A little ficlet for @arthureamesmonth week two! Prompts: “You know you love me” and Love Languages.

Day 1: Receiving Gifts

“You know you love me,”

Arthur was frozen bent over his desk, fingers still on the keyboard, “Mr. Eames, what exactly about this situation is supposed to endear you to me?”

“I brought you waffles! You’re American, you love waffles!”

Arthur spun around in his chair to focus fully on the other man for the first time in their conversation. “Let’s run through the day’s events, shall we? I wake up, I shower,” at this Eames smirked lecherously, “I get a large, hot cup of coffee, I come into work, you spill that hot coffee all over me, you grope me while pretending to help me dry off, I work for five hours straight, and now you’ve brought me waffles. Waffles which are currently dripping syrup onto my paperwork.”

“Well it’s your fault for having paperwork in the first place, pet! I’m just conditioning you to give it up,” He leaned against the desk casually, sending even more paperwork drifting to the floor. “To save the trees, as it were.”

“Did it not occur to you to bring me another cup of coffee?”

Eames lit up, Arthur was frustrated to see, like he was somehow taking Arthur’s rebuke as encouragement, “Well I have now. Thank you for the tip! I’ll go and fetch you a cup of coffee.”

Arthur screwed his face up briefly in some combination of confusion and disgust, eyes squinted and lips slightly curled, and snagged Eames by the hem of his pastel monstrosity of a shirt. “What, no, get back here.”

Eames stopped promptly at the tug and grinned, “Well if you insist darling, I could never refuse you.”

“I mean, why would you do that? I don’t need coffee,” this was a lie, he always needed coffee, “I need you to do your job.”

“Why am I doing this? What do you mean why am I doing this? Isn’t it obvious that I’m wooing you?”

“Wooing me.”

Eames swept his arms in an all encompassing gesture to the warehouse around them, as if asking it to bear witness, “Like the fair maiden you are!”

“Good fucking lord.”

“Yes I am rather good, aren’t I, but I beg you not to take my name in vain,”

Arthur spun back around to his work, decisively plunking the waffles on the floor—not in the trash, Eames took note, “Go back to your desk, Mr. Eames.”

Eames stuffed his hands in his pockets and started backing away slowly, “Alright, alright. So your love language isn’t gifts. I’ll try again tomorrow.”

Arthur glanced over his shoulder, startled and genuinely perplexed, “What? You know what, nevermind. Not important. Aren’t you scheduled to paint Ms. Chapman’s nails in 45 minutes?”

Eames checked his watch, “Ah, yes, look at the time,” and that was that.

Arthur loves Eames. He just wasn’t aware that Eames didn’t know that.

Even if adopting Ernest had technically been Eames’s choice, it had never felt like it. To keep on calling him Ernest, a name he hated because his grandfather had been also an Ernest, didn’t feel like it either. But the dog’s fur around the muzzle was already white when Eames brought him home, and he thought it would be disrespectful to suddenly call him another name.

Before becoming Ernest’s owner, he and Eames had been mere acquaintances. Trudy, the nice old lady who lived next door and baked things for Eames from time to time, had been Ernest’s owner since he was a little puppy. The woman had been bubbly and sweet and it reminded Eames of the mother who he had always wished he had. It always made him smile to himself to see Ernest, with his perpetually disapproving gaze and his reluctance of letting himself being pet by Eames, tailing after her everywhere. They balanced each other, he supposed.

With time, Eames found himself going back to that specific house of his more frequently. He didn’t even care that his younger self had always thought that the day he started settling down would be the day he started to become boring. His younger self didn’t know better and also hadn’t been on the receiving end of Trudy’s maternal gaze or tasted his other old lady neighbors’ cookies. So Eames started buying decorations and mementos of the places he worked in to make his home in that small town more, well, homey. He felt only just a little pathetic when he thought about how he was moving to such a cute neighborhood in a very small town. And how he was making friends with many women who could be his grandmothers. He felt a bit worried, but being called a handsome young man did wonders to his ego, no matter who was the one who told him so, so he went with it.

Ariadne just doesn’t understand their dynamic. But she’s determined to figure it out. 

Prompt: "You know you love me"

@arthureamesmonth

***

“Darling! You’re home!”, Eames’ voice comes from inside the living room where Arthur finds Eames sprawled out on the couch, watching T.V. while eating marmite. Arthur is almost 90% sure that Eames’ is cheating on Arthur with fucking marmite of all things, even though Eames has pointed out many times that the theory is ridiculous. Arthur, on the other hand, has pointed out that he has caught Eames lewdly winking at jars of marmite far too many times for it to be normal.

“Honeybunch, you look quite deep in thought”

“I am trying to prepare myself for the heartbreak when you inevitably leave me for your jar of marmite”, Arthur replies drily.

“Aw, my salad gnome, I would never!”

And that, draws Arthur’s attention. It’s not that Eames doesn’t have a bigger-than-absolutely-necessary/needed arsenal of appalling names for Arthur. It’s just that he generally tends to stick with “Darling” and “Petal”.

“Have you done something?”

“Whatever do you mean by that, sweet rumpelstiltskin”

“I really don’t think rumpelstiltskin was all that sweet, Eames. And as to what I mean is that your names are getting more and more ridiculous by the second. A talent which you generally save for when we have company.”

“Ah, so that brings you to the conclusion that I am trying to hide something from you? You wound me, plum buns”

“Plum buns”, echoes Arthur flatly.

“Chipmunk, you dig a deeper wound into my heart with every word you say. You know you’re a heinieous crime I’d always like to do.”, Eames says with a horrible eye waggle.

“And I get incrementally concerned with each of your sentences.”

“.......I would avoid the bedroom.”

***

That is how Arthur finds himself standing by the bed, staring at his previously impeccable tie which is now slathered in marmite.

“Darling?”, nudged Eames, “Say something, petal.”

“...there is marmite. On my tie. I’m not lying when I say I don’t know the correct response to this situation.”

“Are you shatteringly angry with me? Extremely pissed? Absolutely resentful? Beautifully vexed? Irksomely irked?”

“I hate you.”

“Ah, but darling, you didn’t even like this tie. Remember how alarmed you were at the pattern when Richard gave it to you? The poor tie has never even seen the light of the day”, Eames intoned sardonically.

“I really do hate you.”

“You know you love me”, Eames singsonged.

“No. I detest you. You with your fucking marmite and smug smile and stupid paisleys that by the way should be in prison for eye harrasment. How did you even find a crocheted paisley?”

Eames, who had never in all his years on earth, ever developed a conscience, looked as if he were just seconds away from outright laughing, “Darling, I almost envy the passion with which you seem to hate my tasteful shirts.”

“Eames, when I say, you wouldn't know good taste if it came and bit you in the ass, I truly do say it with all my love.”

“You mock my tastes, darling, but I am dating you, aren’t I? In my tasteful opinion, one really can't get more tasteful than falling in love with you, petal.”

And really, what could Arthur say after that.

***

“I never asked you this, but why didn’t you simply throw away the damn tie when you knew I didn’t like it? Instead, you chose to spread it out on the bed. Was it a sex thing?”, Arthur asks much later while having dinner.

“Oh, I am so glad you asked me this! So darling you see, you are a very methodical man. You would have noticed it even if someone removed a t-shirt you haven’t worn in ten years. I knew if I threw the tie away, you would notice it's absence, since absence makes the heart grow fonder, and then you'd ask me, 'Eames, my beautiful, where is my tie?' Oh! And also, I was extremely proud of my handiwork and wanted to show it to you."

“Uh-huh, I'm pretty sure that's not how that phrase goes. Why were you stalling from going inside the room, then?”

“For the dramatic reveal, darling!”

“Eames, you are a constant wonder to me and I cannot for the life of me understand you. I love you, you ridiculous man.”

(also on ao3)

Prompt: Love Languages (a bit of a loose take on it, but my brain latched onto Arthur telling Eames he loved him in ways other than outright saying it and just Ran With It, so here we are)

Summary: Arthur loved Eames. He knew that, and he tried to tell him in his own way. Just never in so many words. Or 5 times Arthur didn’t quite say “I love you”, and 1 time he didn’t need to

@arthureamesmonth

Arthur reloaded his clip and got off four shots before the incoming fire forced him to duck back down behind cover. They would’ve been fine, the mark’s subconscious was only partially militarized so stealth would’ve been effective enough for them to do the job without any major resistance, but then the other extractor had managed to run directly into the mark. That’d been more than enough to alert his sub-security, and now they were stuck facing a load of gunfire on what should’ve been an easy job.

“This is why I hate working with amateurs.“ 

Arthur nodded, glancing over at Eames. He had a few cuts, likely from flying glass, but thankfully seemed otherwise fine. "Issue is when you don’t find out they’re an amateur until after you start the job.”

Eames let out a clipped laugh. “True.” He raised up briefly, taking out two projections before dropping back down again. “Any idea where our lovely colleague is?”

“Probably dead.”

Eames nodded. “You have any sort of plan? Because all I’ve got currently is ‘try not to get shot’.”