#1 in a series of one night stands
Title: #1 in a series of one night stands
Author: cmonkatiekatie
Team: ROMANCE
Prompt: Touch
Word count: 1,100
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Notes: betaed by laria_gwyn and templemarker who are both ever so lovely.
Mal and Dom get married in Paris. It's a slapdash, thrown together thing, all late summer light and folding chairs and sunshine through trees.
Dom's half of the aisle is light on seat fillers, what with his friends and family half a world away, so the usher informs Arthur that he can sit wherever he likes. It fits, kind of. He met Mal and Dom together and wouldn't know which side he belonged on anyway. Arthur picks a spot towards the back, close to the center aisle. He's got a good line of sight on all the action.
He's on the early side, so he watches guests filter in, listens to their conversations, fills the time by memorizing the sound of scattered words he's yet to learn. His French is far from perfect, but he can follow a simple conversation well enough.
He doesn't recognize anyone. There's no one from the dream business in attendence, at least not that he can pick out. No one's body language screams "I'm involved in a clandestine crime ring that infiltrates your dreams to ferret out the most lucrative secrets and sell them to the highest bidder." It's just as well. He's found that, for the most part, people in the industry tend to be just as terrible at small talk as he is.
Arthur adjusts his cuffs and idly wonders whether Dom's nervous, whether Mal isn't. They're not terribly close, but he knows enough about the both of them to figure his assumptions aren't too far off.
When the seats are as full as they're going to get, when Dom takes his place up front and the music abruptly changes, that's when Eames slides into the seat next to him.
He smells faintly familiar in a way that he shouldn't. Arthur's known Eames for all of a week in total. A week spread out over a couple months, yes, but a week nevertheless. It's less time than he's known Dom and Mal, but not by much.
"Hey," Arthur whispers. That's one familiar face, anyway.
Eames holds a finger to his lips. Because of course. Eames is late, but Arthur's the one with terrible manners. Sure.
Arthur turns away and smiles. He's still fighting the tug at his cheeks when he stands to watch Mal walk down the aisle.
-
Arthur shakes Dom's outstretched hand and smiles through his congratulations. When Dom turns to Eames, though, Eames reels him in by the hand and slaps him on the back. Arthur only hears his, "Well done, mate," because he's standing so close.
Arthur meets Mal's eyes and they both laugh. Mal holds onto his elbow to kiss his cheek before wrapping her arms around him.
"Thank you for coming, Arthur," she says. "Thank you." It sounds weightier than it should, and Arthur feels an unexpected surge of affection for her. For Dom. Even for Eames, still holding onto Dom. He feels like maybe it wasn’t an accident of timing and location and a recent job well done that he was invited after all.
Maybe it's the dreaming. Maybe dipping into each other’s psyches has fostered some kind of manic, high-speed intimacy.
Eames sneaks in to congratulate Mal while Arthur's busy sorting through his thoughts, and rather than stand and awkwardly watch, he and Dom hug. Because apparently Arthur has become a hugger. All it took was 24 years and a rapid introduction to the criminal underworld.
Soon enough, Dom and Mal excuse themselves to continue their rounds. Eames looks at Arthur. Arthur looks at Eames.
"Do you know any of these people?" Eames asks.
"Nope," Arthur says. "Bar?"
"I knew I was fond of you for a reason," Eames says.
Eames is already making his way to the bar before Arthur can appropriately respond.
Arthur slips off his jacket and drapes it unceremoniously over a chair to save them a table. Before he follows Eames to the bar, he puts his hand on the bunched fabric and repeats "fond" to nobody in particular for no particular reason.
-
After Arthur has watched Eames successfully charm what feels like nearly all of Mal's geriatric relations with nothing but his very basic French and a sure grin, Arthur finally gets him alone.
No, wait. Arthur and Eames wind up alone. There was no premeditation involved. Arthur wasn't angling for this.
But here they are.
"Alone at last," Eames says, like he knows exactly what Arthur's thinking. Actively trying not to think.
Arthur ignores him, if not responding is ignoring. He looks at Eames, so maybe ignore is too strong a word.
Arthur touches Eames' forehead just at his hairline. It's more of a poke than a touch, so he gentles his hand. "What's this?" he asks, sliding his forefinger over Eames' scalp.
Eames looks up at Arthur's palm. "It's hair, Arthur."
Arthur rolls his eyes, an adolescent tick that he can't imagine ever losing entirely. Especially when it does the job so well.
"Don't tell me you find fault with the way I style it. Not when you have enough gel
in yours to kill a small pony."
Arthur ignores him again. "This part," he says, tracing it back, "it's like you got lessons in fixing it from an actual grandpa. Possibly Mal's."
Arthur looks pointedly at a gentleman three tables down who may or may not be Mal's maternal grandfather. The point stands, though, his hair looks just like Eames', minus some color and. Well minus some actual hair.
Eames removes Arthur's hand with his own. "You like my hair. You think it makes me look rakish and charming."
"You're delusional," Arthur says.
"Let's get out of here," Eames says. He's still holding onto Arthur's hand.
-
"Just so there are no surprises," Eames says as he leans in to kiss below Arthur's ear and deftly undo the buttons at Arthur's collar, "I'm on a flight to Johannesburg at six tomorrow morning."
Arthur pushes Eames back onto the bed and crawls after him in socked feet. "Fantastic," Arthur says. "Mine's at eight. Don't wake me."
Arthur cages him in with his forearms at Eames’ head and his knees around Eames’ thighs. Eames is very warm and very close and his mouth is very beautiful. Arthur kisses it.
"And where are you off to?" Eames asks, casual.
"South America," Arthur answers. "And that's all you're getting from me."
Eames goes for Arthur's belt. "Oh, Arthur," he says indulgently, "I think we both know that's not true."
part 2
Author: cmonkatiekatie
Team: ROMANCE
Prompt: Touch
Word count: 1,100
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Notes: betaed by laria_gwyn and templemarker who are both ever so lovely.
Mal and Dom get married in Paris. It's a slapdash, thrown together thing, all late summer light and folding chairs and sunshine through trees.
Dom's half of the aisle is light on seat fillers, what with his friends and family half a world away, so the usher informs Arthur that he can sit wherever he likes. It fits, kind of. He met Mal and Dom together and wouldn't know which side he belonged on anyway. Arthur picks a spot towards the back, close to the center aisle. He's got a good line of sight on all the action.
He's on the early side, so he watches guests filter in, listens to their conversations, fills the time by memorizing the sound of scattered words he's yet to learn. His French is far from perfect, but he can follow a simple conversation well enough.
He doesn't recognize anyone. There's no one from the dream business in attendence, at least not that he can pick out. No one's body language screams "I'm involved in a clandestine crime ring that infiltrates your dreams to ferret out the most lucrative secrets and sell them to the highest bidder." It's just as well. He's found that, for the most part, people in the industry tend to be just as terrible at small talk as he is.
Arthur adjusts his cuffs and idly wonders whether Dom's nervous, whether Mal isn't. They're not terribly close, but he knows enough about the both of them to figure his assumptions aren't too far off.
When the seats are as full as they're going to get, when Dom takes his place up front and the music abruptly changes, that's when Eames slides into the seat next to him.
He smells faintly familiar in a way that he shouldn't. Arthur's known Eames for all of a week in total. A week spread out over a couple months, yes, but a week nevertheless. It's less time than he's known Dom and Mal, but not by much.
"Hey," Arthur whispers. That's one familiar face, anyway.
Eames holds a finger to his lips. Because of course. Eames is late, but Arthur's the one with terrible manners. Sure.
Arthur turns away and smiles. He's still fighting the tug at his cheeks when he stands to watch Mal walk down the aisle.
-
Arthur shakes Dom's outstretched hand and smiles through his congratulations. When Dom turns to Eames, though, Eames reels him in by the hand and slaps him on the back. Arthur only hears his, "Well done, mate," because he's standing so close.
Arthur meets Mal's eyes and they both laugh. Mal holds onto his elbow to kiss his cheek before wrapping her arms around him.
"Thank you for coming, Arthur," she says. "Thank you." It sounds weightier than it should, and Arthur feels an unexpected surge of affection for her. For Dom. Even for Eames, still holding onto Dom. He feels like maybe it wasn’t an accident of timing and location and a recent job well done that he was invited after all.
Maybe it's the dreaming. Maybe dipping into each other’s psyches has fostered some kind of manic, high-speed intimacy.
Eames sneaks in to congratulate Mal while Arthur's busy sorting through his thoughts, and rather than stand and awkwardly watch, he and Dom hug. Because apparently Arthur has become a hugger. All it took was 24 years and a rapid introduction to the criminal underworld.
Soon enough, Dom and Mal excuse themselves to continue their rounds. Eames looks at Arthur. Arthur looks at Eames.
"Do you know any of these people?" Eames asks.
"Nope," Arthur says. "Bar?"
"I knew I was fond of you for a reason," Eames says.
Eames is already making his way to the bar before Arthur can appropriately respond.
Arthur slips off his jacket and drapes it unceremoniously over a chair to save them a table. Before he follows Eames to the bar, he puts his hand on the bunched fabric and repeats "fond" to nobody in particular for no particular reason.
-
After Arthur has watched Eames successfully charm what feels like nearly all of Mal's geriatric relations with nothing but his very basic French and a sure grin, Arthur finally gets him alone.
No, wait. Arthur and Eames wind up alone. There was no premeditation involved. Arthur wasn't angling for this.
But here they are.
"Alone at last," Eames says, like he knows exactly what Arthur's thinking. Actively trying not to think.
Arthur ignores him, if not responding is ignoring. He looks at Eames, so maybe ignore is too strong a word.
Arthur touches Eames' forehead just at his hairline. It's more of a poke than a touch, so he gentles his hand. "What's this?" he asks, sliding his forefinger over Eames' scalp.
Eames looks up at Arthur's palm. "It's hair, Arthur."
Arthur rolls his eyes, an adolescent tick that he can't imagine ever losing entirely. Especially when it does the job so well.
"Don't tell me you find fault with the way I style it. Not when you have enough gel
in yours to kill a small pony."
Arthur ignores him again. "This part," he says, tracing it back, "it's like you got lessons in fixing it from an actual grandpa. Possibly Mal's."
Arthur looks pointedly at a gentleman three tables down who may or may not be Mal's maternal grandfather. The point stands, though, his hair looks just like Eames', minus some color and. Well minus some actual hair.
Eames removes Arthur's hand with his own. "You like my hair. You think it makes me look rakish and charming."
"You're delusional," Arthur says.
"Let's get out of here," Eames says. He's still holding onto Arthur's hand.
-
"Just so there are no surprises," Eames says as he leans in to kiss below Arthur's ear and deftly undo the buttons at Arthur's collar, "I'm on a flight to Johannesburg at six tomorrow morning."
Arthur pushes Eames back onto the bed and crawls after him in socked feet. "Fantastic," Arthur says. "Mine's at eight. Don't wake me."
Arthur cages him in with his forearms at Eames’ head and his knees around Eames’ thighs. Eames is very warm and very close and his mouth is very beautiful. Arthur kisses it.
"And where are you off to?" Eames asks, casual.
"South America," Arthur answers. "And that's all you're getting from me."
Eames goes for Arthur's belt. "Oh, Arthur," he says indulgently, "I think we both know that's not true."
part 2