[ For some reason, that knocks the air right out of his lungs.
Arthur can handle lust, the easiness of physical attraction. Sometimes he's been in agreements to fuck it out of their systems, a few days just spent lazily entangled. But afterwards was always an easy goodbye, no strings attached.
He's never felt the twist in his gut like he does now. The sudden rush that sets his heart in his throat. It seems strange, how much they hated each other in the beginning, because now he has a hard time imagining what it would be like without Eames. ]
I know.
Look, I wanted you out from under my skin for a long time. But it isn't like that anymore. Sometimes it feels like you're just taking all my air with you when you go, and I can't even be angry about it.
( He'd been so sure this was one sided. That Arthur returned his flirtations on the surface, but when it came down to it, Eames was the only one who was heartbroken. )
it isn't just sex, i care. i give a shit. you're the only person who's got deep enough that i spend half my time worrying about you and the rest hating that i do. you're beautiful, and you're competent, and you make me feel safe.
[ Why would he? Arthur's spent his whole life keeping people at arm's length. When they'd get too close, he'd disappear, or he'd go cold, like the muzzle of a gun to the ribs. There were so few who pushed past those defenses and he held onto them dearly.
Eames was no exception— he'd kept quiet because he wasn't sure it went both ways. The forger was a liar, a con man, a thief. And a good one; it was difficult to parse how he was feeling and Arthur didn't want to be a tick mark. A name crossed off on a list even if he knows he would've enjoyed himself. ]
Tell me something, why do you think I keep tabs on you?
[ Arthur lets out a little hysterical laugh on his end, because seriously, what? ]
Let me illustrate something for you, Mr. Eames.
The next time I see you in person, I'm going to sock you and you're going to like it and apologize for calling me a dirty liar. Then I'm going to kiss you, probably in public, and I'm not going to give a shit at how many people stare.
[ OUT OF SPITE he lets it ring a few times before he picks up, not even with a hello because he knows who it is. ]
I was about three seconds away from buying a plane ticket to come haunt you even though I know you're in the middle of a job. Fucking hell, Eames, couldn't you have called in the first place?
Ok, maybe I'm a little angry. Just. Give me a minute.
[ Ugh, he got himself all worked up and now he feels like he's been hit by a train. Emotions are exhausting. There's thirty seconds of silence, because he's putting himself back together and pulling the blinds down on the rage. ]
Right, I don't want to work with anyone else either. We could retire tomorrow and I would feel the same, but you know I'd lose it if I stayed idle for too long. In case it wasn't obvious, I'm a headcase without something to do.
Well, at least you buy a house when you've a day off. That's sensible.
( He breathes slowly for a minute, the sound of rushing traffic through his window. Eames feels almost like reality is slipping away from him, and he has to fight the urge to check his totem. Instead, he cradles the phone to his ear. )
The thing is, I thought it would be easy. I take jobs halfway across the globe because I want to prove to myself that I don't -- that I'm not attached to you. And then I spend the entire time miserable because you're not there to bitch at the rest of the team, you know? And that would be fine if it were purely professional, but it isn't. Because I want more. I want to take you home at the end of the day, I want to make you smile because you have a gorgeous smile and every time I see it I feel as though I've been suckerpunched. Maybe if I hadn't had you smile at me like that I wouldn't be this much of a mess, except I've been in love with you for much longer than that.
( A rattling exhale. )
I love you. Even if the thought of it terrifies me.
[ He doesn't regret it, though. Not when he's got the first floor nearly situated to his standards. Not when he's had Cobb and Ariadne help draft up ideas with their architectural expertise. Arthur's made his decision and he's sticking with it.
And maybe one day, it won't be just him living in it.
Maybe, maybe, maybe– ]
Come over. When you've sobered.
[ This is what he can offer, because he's no good at words, even worse when he has to express himself, and Eames? What Eames is saying to him is a flood, a deluge, and it feels like he can't breathe with the intensity. ]
I wish I had something more useful to say, but– just, come over. You know where I am.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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( Why did he even text Arthur? Oh, that's right, he's ridiculously in love. )
you've ruined me, darling.
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[ wait shit he should clarify ]
I can't believe you're confessing to me when you're smashed and over text message.
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( SHUT UP, ARTHUR. )
besides.
you don't make it easy.
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And what do you mean I don't make it easy, I'm right in your space half the time.
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ur always there.
and i want.
( HE SHOULD HAVE LEFT HIS PHONE IN THE BAR. )
i can't stop. i tried.
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[ His heart's hammering in his chest over this but he has to know. ]
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( He has to pause, vision swimming and his heart hurting. )
not in the way you think though.
it would be easier if this was just that.
( It's not lust. Not alone. )
I'm dead and dying
Arthur can handle lust, the easiness of physical attraction. Sometimes he's been in agreements to fuck it out of their systems, a few days just spent lazily entangled. But afterwards was always an easy goodbye, no strings attached.
He's never felt the twist in his gut like he does now. The sudden rush that sets his heart in his throat. It seems strange, how much they hated each other in the beginning, because now he has a hard time imagining what it would be like without Eames. ]
I know.
Look, I wanted you out from under my skin for a long time. But it isn't like that anymore. Sometimes it feels like you're just taking all my air with you when you go, and I can't even be angry about it.
oh my god this is so great.
( He'd been so sure this was one sided. That Arthur returned his flirtations on the surface, but when it came down to it, Eames was the only one who was heartbroken. )
it isn't just sex, i care. i give a shit. you're the only person who's got deep enough that i spend half my time worrying about you and the rest hating that i do.
you're beautiful, and you're competent, and you make me feel safe.
this was a terrible idea.
when these two get into feels it's always nuclear
[ Why would he? Arthur's spent his whole life keeping people at arm's length. When they'd get too close, he'd disappear, or he'd go cold, like the muzzle of a gun to the ribs. There were so few who pushed past those defenses and he held onto them dearly.
Eames was no exception— he'd kept quiet because he wasn't sure it went both ways. The forger was a liar, a con man, a thief. And a good one; it was difficult to parse how he was feeling and Arthur didn't want to be a tick mark. A name crossed off on a list even if he knows he would've enjoyed himself. ]
Tell me something, why do you think I keep tabs on you?
they're so dumb
( He's not cocky. It's a fact. Eames is one of the best and that's why Arthur needs him. )
and i don't mind that, arthur? i really don't. i'd rather be at your side and able to help than anything else.
1/2
2/2
Yeah you're fucking great at your job but I would literally go out of my way to get revenge if someone fucked you up, do you understand?
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why?
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Because I'm in love with you, you dense fucker.
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what
( WHAT. )
darling, i've been gone for you since the moment we met, don't toy with me.
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Let me illustrate something for you, Mr. Eames.
The next time I see you in person, I'm going to sock you and you're going to like it and apologize for calling me a dirty liar. Then I'm going to kiss you, probably in public, and I'm not going to give a shit at how many people stare.
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Eames isn't quite slurring, but he sounds lost and kind of emotional. )
I'd shoot anyone who told us to stop.
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I was about three seconds away from buying a plane ticket to come haunt you even though I know you're in the middle of a job. Fucking hell, Eames, couldn't you have called in the first place?
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( He couldn't have called. Because calling meant that he'd have been ready. )
Darling, don't be angry. I didn't want to tell you like this. It's just I can't lie. I don't want to work with anyone else.
( A long pause. )
I actually don't give a shit about work. We could retire tomorrow and I'd still be crazy for you.
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Ok, maybe I'm a little angry. Just. Give me a minute.
[ Ugh, he got himself all worked up and now he feels like he's been hit by a train. Emotions are exhausting. There's thirty seconds of silence, because he's putting himself back together and pulling the blinds down on the rage. ]
Right, I don't want to work with anyone else either. We could retire tomorrow and I would feel the same, but you know I'd lose it if I stayed idle for too long. In case it wasn't obvious, I'm a headcase without something to do.
no subject
( He breathes slowly for a minute, the sound of rushing traffic through his window. Eames feels almost like reality is slipping away from him, and he has to fight the urge to check his totem. Instead, he cradles the phone to his ear. )
The thing is, I thought it would be easy. I take jobs halfway across the globe because I want to prove to myself that I don't -- that I'm not attached to you. And then I spend the entire time miserable because you're not there to bitch at the rest of the team, you know? And that would be fine if it were purely professional, but it isn't. Because I want more. I want to take you home at the end of the day, I want to make you smile because you have a gorgeous smile and every time I see it I feel as though I've been suckerpunched. Maybe if I hadn't had you smile at me like that I wouldn't be this much of a mess, except I've been in love with you for much longer than that.
( A rattling exhale. )
I love you. Even if the thought of it terrifies me.
no subject
[ He doesn't regret it, though. Not when he's got the first floor nearly situated to his standards. Not when he's had Cobb and Ariadne help draft up ideas with their architectural expertise. Arthur's made his decision and he's sticking with it.
And maybe one day, it won't be just him living in it.
Maybe, maybe, maybe– ]
Come over. When you've sobered.
[ This is what he can offer, because he's no good at words, even worse when he has to express himself, and Eames? What Eames is saying to him is a flood, a deluge, and it feels like he can't breathe with the intensity. ]
I wish I had something more useful to say, but– just, come over. You know where I am.