FIC: Kiss Trick (5/?)

[the_ragnarok]

Once they have the idea set in place, everything else goes butter-smooth. Bayliss has a daily train commute that would be easy enough to hijack, and Ariadne promises to fly in as soon as the semester is over. Eames immerses himself fully in what he privately thinks of as the fun part of the job.

He makes dozens of museum sketches, for himself more than for Ariadne, who is perfectly capable of researching this by herself. But Eames is enjoying himself, and it will save time later on.

"Shouldn't you be making a forge for this?" Arthur asks him as he doodles some flying buttresses. Arthur, endearingly, seems to worry Eames will get bored unless he's kept busy; Eames would be happy to disabuse him of the notion, but it seems passion for useful work is set into Arthur at the cellular level.

"Have one already," Eames says, scribbling lazy lines in place of proper shading. "I'm going to use Alex." They're lazing about in bed, Eames sitting up with his sketch pad, Arthur lying on his stomach, leaning up on his elbows and typing on his laptop as he speaks.

"The one you based on me," Arthur says. Eames raises his eyes from the paper, cautiously, prepared to defend his choices in case of an argument, but Arthur only looks amused. "You thought I'd make a good art thief?"

"Given me to pick your targets for you," Eames says, honestly, "I think you'd make an excellent art thief. It's a shame you never came into the profession, really."

Arthur considers this. "I don't think so," he says at length. "It looks like the kind of job you should get into because of – " he makes a wobbly gesture, "some kind of romantic tendency, I don't know."

"Are you calling yourself unromantic?" Eames says, putting the sketch pad aside and lying down to sling an arm around Arthur's shoulders.

Arthur leans into him. "Why, do you want to do it for me?"

Eames laughs and kisses Arthur's jaw. "I don't think you're unromantic, darling," he says. "Just wonderfully pragmatic in everything but your self-nurturing habits."

Arthur snorts. "What the hell is that, some synonym for masturbation?"

Eames grimaces and smacks him lightly. "So crass," he says, licking Arthur's ear. Arthur squirms away from this, but settles when Eames tightens his hold on him. "Such a dirty mind," Eames says into the ear he licked.

Arthur's squirming grows more pronounced at that. "Eames," he says warningly.

Eames lets go at once. "What?" he says, looking at Arthur. He wasn't holding too forcefully, was he? He left bruises once or twice, grasping too hard, which made Arthur snap at him and then cringe in ill-advised attempts to take it back. It was unpleasant all around.

The tips of Arthur's ears turn pink. "Sorry," he says. "Just – if you do that, it'll get me going."

Eames blinks. "Do what?" But even as he says it, he sees what Arthur's talking about. Licking and talking about masturbation, right, perhaps not the best combination under the circumstances. "Is that a bad thing?" he says, in an attempt to recover their easy mood from earlier.

Arthur rolls his eyes at him, but he's smiling again, so Eames counts this as a success. "Well, it's not bad. I just don't feel like getting up right now to. Um. Make it go away." His blush grows more pronounced. Eames watches as it slides to color Arthur's cheeks, transfixed, until Arthur pushes at him irritably. "Stop looking at me like that."

"But you're so adorable, trying to pretend you don't have a filthy mind," Eames says, momentarily too distracted by the blush to notice what Arthur actually said. Then he doubles back to parse the entire sentence. "Arthur, you do realize that you have every right in the world to wank in your own bed, yes?"

The flush is getting worse. It's really rather fetching. "Yeah, but." Arthur coughs. "I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable, okay?"

Eames raises his eyebrows at this, incredulous. "I do believe," he says in the driest voice he can muster, "that I've already seen all your naughty bits. I'm not particularly easy to scandalize, Arthur, you might have noticed that about me."

Arthur turns his head, looking at Eames through the corner of his eye. "So, what, if I went at it right here and now, you wouldn't mind?"

"Not in the least," Eames says. Then he frowns and clarifies, "I may prefer that you don't touch me while you do." Sometimes he likes it, Arthur's body striving against his. At other occasions, it feels like a demand he can't satisfy. At times, Eames feels he doesn't entirely know his own body's rules.

"Yeah, obviously," Arthur says. "What about looking? Can I look at you while I – " He swallows and says, "while I jerk off?"

"Oh, no, you mustn't look at me," Eames says, rolling his eyes. "I'll just slip into my modesty cover, won't I? Of course you can look, don't be bloody ridiculous."

Arthur's eyes narrow. "Really," he says. "I just want to point out that you never jerk off when I'm in the room."

Well. No, Eames doesn't, and doesn't intend to start. The idea of being watched like that feels odd, invasive and unpleasant. "No, I don't," he says shortly. Then he glances at Arthur. "But if I'm here, yes, you may look at me." It sounds so preposterous, saying it like that, but he supposes Arthur has a point asking.

"Sure?" Arthur says, and now he's just being a prick. "I mean, I'll be having sexy thought about you."

"However shall I cope," Eames says, seriously considering cuffing Arthur on the back of his silly head. Instead he sets his teeth on the back of Arthur's neck, careful, only the barest light pressure. Eames likes the way skin feels between his teeth, pliant and strong, but he must be cautious with Arthur, who doesn't enjoy that sort of thing.

Arthur pushes up, though, so Eames kisses him there, licks carefully at the place where Arthur's hairline begins. It makes Arthur shiver, and Eames feels playful so he keeps going, sucking kisses on the top of Arthur's spine and tugging Arthur's hair gently with his teeth.

He listens for the change in Arthur's breathing, and there's no missing it when Arthur really gets going, body driving into the mattress. Eames pulls away, watching Arthur grunt and twist. He's mostly hidden by the covers, but any chastity he gains from that is betrayed most thoroughly by the unmistakable way his body moves, the flush creeping across his face darkening to bright red.

Eames returns to his sketches, darting glances at Arthur as he works. It's interesting, in its way, the way want shows clear in Arthur's every movement. Eames is torn between wanting to commit it to memory, to analyze and perhaps use, and respecting this as something private and intimate. Perhaps he should ask Arthur about it later.

When Arthur's finished, gasping into the pillow, Eames strokes his back absently, one eye still on the paper in front of him. "All right?" Eames asks.

"Fine." Arthur moves until his head is pillowed on Eames' thigh, and closes his eyes. Eames smooths Arthur's sweaty hair back.

"Shouldn't you be getting cleaned up?" Eames says.

"In a minute." Although if the limpness in Arthur's muscles is anything to judge by, half an hour - at least - seems like a more likely guess. As if to further confirm this, Arthur turns his face into Eames' thigh, wriggles and settles where he is. Eames puts a hand on the back of Arthur's neck to provide better support.

After a few minutes, a thought occurs to Eames. He shakes Arthur until he grumbles something and swats at Eames' hand.

"Arthur," Eames says, exasperated.

"'m up," Arthur says, in a displeased tone, pushing himself to sit up, then draping himself along the length of Eames' back. "What is it, already."

"We're going to need an extractor." At Arthur's grimace, Eames adds, "We do and you know it. I'll be too busy pretending to be a world-renown art thief – "

"What do you mean, pretending?"

Eames swats Arthur's shoulder. "Hush, you. And you will be troubleshooting, if I know you."

"Shooting at trouble, more likely." Arthur lies back, staring at the ceiling. Eames turns to look at him, sprawled across the bed, and on impulse comes to lie beside him, resting his head on Arthur's stomach.

"And Ariadne doesn't have any relevant experience," Eames says to Arthur's lower body.

Above him, Arthur snorts. "She should consider changing lines of work. I know she did a hell of a job on Dom."

"Dom," Eames says, slowly, and feels Arthur's sharp drawn breath in the sudden tautness of the muscle under his cheek. "No, Arthur, hear me out. Dom will be excellent for this."

"I don't want to bring him into this." Arthur's voice is a warning, but his body is already loosening up again.

Eames can tell he's close to capitulating, so he presses. "Best tool for the best job," he says, because that's basically Arthur's life philosophy. And for the winning strike, he adds, "Think of the poor man, nothing to occupy his time but dull housework. He's likely bored out of his skull."

There's a brief pause, then Arthur says, "You're manipulating me, aren't you?"

Eames shifts up, to see Arthur's face, close beside his and very nice to kiss. "I don't know," he says, running his lips across Arthur's cheek. "Is it working?"

Arthur closes his eyes. "Let me sleep on it," he says. "Ask me again later."

"As you wish," Eames says, and means it in the literary sense.

~~

Ariadne calls the next day. Eames picks up and puts her on speakerphone, since he needs his hands to make dinner. "Everyone can hear you," he tells her. "Nothing filthy unless you like an audience."

Her laughter is tinny on the other side of the line. "Yeah, but then everyone would know about our forbidden love."

"That would be tragic," Eames agrees, chopping onions. "How are you?"

"Fine," she says. "Hey, are we going to need a chemist?"

Eames turns to look at Arthur, mouthing Do we? Arthur frowns momentarily, then shakes his head. "Apparently not," Eames says. "Why? Got someone lined up?"

Her pause is tellingly long. "No reason," she says.

Eames feels a smile widening across his face. Aw, is their little architect all grown up and assembling her own team? "You can tell me," he says in his best coaxing voice. "I won't speak of it to a soul, I swear."

"You mean, apart from whoever it is you've got listening with you," Ariadne says, and Arthur raises his eyebrows and mouths Busted at Eames.

"Oh, it's just Arthur and me here," Eames says dismissively. "And you know he's the very soul of discretion."

Surprisingly, that gets her to talk. "Well. There's someone." Eames waits patiently, dumping the onions into the pan, stirring absentmindedly. "She's very talented," Ariadne says. "We met when I was working the Sirkin job, you remember I told you about that?"

"Sirkin job," Eames says, thinking. "Semi-therapeutic, yeah?"

"God, it was awful." Eames imagines Ariadne is shivering in mock-horror on the other end. "The mark had fifteen different drug sensitivities and what's professionally known as being a complete nutcase."

"That's not professional," Arthur yells from his side of the dining room. Eames feels his smile widening, helpless.

"Well, that's what the doctor called it," Ariadne says. "Also, hi, Arthur!"

Arthur waves, sardonically. Eames says, "He says hi back. So. Chemist?"

"Yeah. Sandra. She's amazing." If Eames isn't mistaken – and it's not often he is – that's more than professional regard coloring Ariadne's voice.

Eames mulls it over as he seasons the tomato paste. "We're going to need someone to stay up while we're under," he says at last. "But I don't think we want a full chemist for the job. If she's not busy and doesn't mind we're happy to have her."

"Cool," Ariadne says. "I'll ask her." She hangs up without saying goodbye. Ariadne doesn't believe in useless pleasantries. Eames likes that about her.

"What's with bringing all those people in?" Arthur says.

"Maybe I'm feeling lonely." Eames shifts closer to the stove. "Oi, make yourself useful and come peel some carrots for me."

Arthur rises, obligingly. "Come on." He pushes his sleeves back, ignores the proferred vegetable peeler in favor of a plain knife. "Do you really think we need that much manpower?"

"Can't hurt," Eames says. Arthur gives him a sharp look. Eames isn't one to plan too carefully; normally contingency plans are Arthur's domain. But there's something about this job that leaves him restless, and what's worse, Arthur's playing along, which means there's something rousing his suspicions as well.