They were on the ground in an alley behind a seedy bar, kissing. It couldn't have been anymore cliche unless it was the type of place Arthur had frequented earlier that week. He didn't want to think about that. He wanted to think about Eames. The taste of scotch on his lips, not remembering which of them started drinking it first but knowing that taste alone and now knowing it would always remind him of this kiss

Especially the moment when his weight shifted and his knee dropped to the ground, hitting something wet and he damn sure didn't want to know what it was.

"Fucking hell," he muttered against Eames' beautiful, full lips. "You owe me slacks now."