loadedparadox | (no subject)

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(no subject)

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eamesofdreams
What: Playing poolside
Warning: Adult themes and for mature audiences only.

Following Eames into the cabana, Arthur pulled the curtains closed and secured them. He knew he should be going to see Mike, see to things with him and after Tony's behavior but it was the difference in the man that Arthur had once been and who he was now. Those he answered to were secondary to him now, perhaps even less, whereas those that he loved came first and always would.

Yet he didn't move for Eames to touch and fondle. He watched him, looking a bit nervous.

"You're certain you're okay from what happened?"

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That has him frowning, kicking off the wet clothes before he can stop himself, and turning to sink down before Arthur push him back under the hard but warm weight of his body.

"No, it does bloody well not mean I think less of you, I love you. You're a human being with soft parts underneath darling, and I hate anyone who can get to them and use it to wound you. I simply meant that you're not comfortable with certain things we've done, and you don't have to do them, I can live without."

In truth part of him hated that there were those soft parts unless they were for the love he had for Eames and Ariadne. He'd worked hard to hide them, had them torn open time and again. By Mal. By Cobb. By himself when he'd given up this he had right now. All of it.

Slipping up, he pressing himself against Eames, needy and turned on and needful for more at the same time. Stealing a kiss, trailing them just under his ear, hands sliding along his hips. "There's nothing I don't want to do with you. I trust you, love you, need you. I want to make love to you and screw you until you're comatose. There's things I've never shared with another and I'm learning. I accept that, but I never not want to do them."

"You're rather violently affectionate," Eames tells him with a groan, amused and with the rough drag of his stubble against the hollow of Arthur's throat, "I do love it so."

"Complain I'm too perfect and put together, complain I'm too affectionately violent," he said with a snort, smiling though. "No pleasing you, is there?"

"Not at all, Arthur. I'm most certainly not complaining. There's not a single part of you that I don't adore."

"You know you don't have to say that. Much as I might abhor them, I know I have flaws like anyone else," he murmured softly.

"Shut up," Eames whispers, pressing his hands to the warmth of Arthur's chest, "I don't care about your flaws. You're beautiful to me."

"You're biased," he pointed out, voice softer than it had been a moment before. "I knew better than to come here, to deal with him. I really thought he'd understand I have no desire to stay here, to take back over where I was. I don't want that life."

"No, I'm in love, there's a difference."

He listens, head tilted to catch it better, and when Arthur's finished his expression is soft, pained on Arthur's behalf, "He's a twat, and you're better than him."

"And loved, but you're still biased." He shrugged though, looking down and away slightly. "I worry if I stand up for myself now, if I go too far, I'm bringing a war down on all our heads. I would handle it but I won't do that to either of you."

"You don't think we'd be able to take care of ourselves?"

That made him sigh, shaking his head. "That isn't what I meant. You have to know I don't think that."

"We've got to stop having these conversations when I'm not wearing any pants, love."

He gives Arthur a gentle little smile, fingers curling underneath his chin, "I know you don't, but we don't like it when you end up putting yourself down for us. We're able to take care of ourselves."

"I don't know. We do seem to be our most honest when one, or both of us, is without clothes. Might be helping."

He wanted to look away but his gaze met Eames'. "When have I put myself down? Not starting a war with the second to a mob boss is a bit beyond you taking care of yourself. It is me not giving him the satisfaction of Mike approving my death."

"You're not standing up for yourself, Arthur," he replies, and there's just the hint of something stern behind his voice, like this is something he doesn't like, doesn't agree with, "It's the same thing. You're better than anyone here and you shouldn't have to let someone walk all over you."

His expression froze, everything a bit hollow and shuttered as it used to so often be. Pushing himself to his feet, he stared down at Eames, considering his words, taking them poorly and then giving a single nod. "I apologize that my behavior hasn't been satisfactory," he said in a low, careful voice. "I'm sorry."

Despite the lack of clothing he stood as he often did in a suit, ramrod straight and tense.

He doesn't rise, just sits on the ground, looking up at Arthur. Pinching his nose, he sighs.

"You know - sometimes you can be such an idiot. I'm not telling you off, Arthur. All I'm saying is that you've got to stop letting people use you as a doormat."

"You say it as if I allow anyone and everyone to do that. I am refusing to start a war. You don't know how badly Mike wants me back here, the bargaining I have made to ensure this visit went smoothly and now you're calling me a doormat because I protect you and her and myself?" He sounded so stunned, utterly hurt, and turned to look for his shorts.

"I..." He snapped his teeth closed, closing his eyes a minute, trying to control his emotions. "As you said, apparently being an idiot."

"Darling," Eames is moving then, rising to his feet fluidlym reaching for him, "You're taking what I'm saying out of context. I'm not attacking you."

Arthur didn't move away, jaw tight but there was nothing in him that wanted to move away from that touch. "Then what," he asked in a soft whisper. "Because it sounds like you're calling me a doormat for doing my best for those I love. Not laying him out, not putting him in the hospital, is not being a doormat. It is being diplomatic and knowing that I will never come back here, never endure this, again.

"All right, I'm sorry, okay? I apologise. I just don't like having to watch someone put you down because of who you are. You're worried about how I see you now, because of what he said, and that's making me furious, do you understand?"

"I don't need you to apologize, Eames. You're speaking your mind. If that's how you feel, I accept that." He leaned in towards Eames, meeting the other man's gaze. "And if you do see me differently because of this, then I need to know. I can't fix things if I don't find out what's wrong."

"No, I don't see you any bloody different because of something that wanker said."

He was silent a moment and then lightly brushed his fingers against the inside of Eames' wrist. "Maybe I'm worried that I do," he said softly. "That I'm seeing myself as less of the man I've been because of what you saw." He was hesitant in his touch, watching Eames closely, trying to judge where they stood after his outburst.

"You shouldn't," he comments quietly, hesitantly, "You shouldn't let a roach like him win."