The sound of rushing waves and children playing resounded along the beach on this warm and pleasant summer day. Families gathered with blankets and coolers and children played in the sand; building castles and even some managing to bury their fathers from head to toe. Fishing boats could be seen out on the horizon and some were ankle-deep in the surf, walking their dogs.
Further from the water, back by the large flower mounds that bordered the area between the sand and the parking fields, Eames lounged back on his elbows, the afternoon sun bathing his skin, giving his tone a little touch up since it had been a few months seen he’d been back in Mombasa. His short sleeve blue and white flannel shirt hung open, exposing his taut stomach. His matching blue and white swim trunks were still drying after taking a dip in the ocean. He lifted his hand to adjust his sunglasses and sipped his frozen margarita (which he had hidden in a thick water jug with a swirly straw) and dug his toes deeper into the warm, white earth beneath his feet.
Beside him, Arthur sat hidden under the shade of their umbrella bent over his fucking laptop.
Hair slicked back with pomade and everything.
At least he had his swim trunks on.
Eames slurped his beverage noisily.
“It’s illegal to drink alcohol on public beaches,” Type type.
“It’s annoying for someone to be working in a designated vacation spot,”
Type type type. “You know if you don’t drink at least some water, you’ll get dehydrated,”
“You know if you never have any fun you run the risk of being lame,” Slurp.
Arthur sighed and it seemed like he only typed faster.
Eames sat up and stretched, setting his drink on their towel. He reached over and grabbed the sunblock and popped open the lid.
A soft noise too close for comfort got Arthur’s attention.
“What are you doing?”
“You need to protect that insanely pale hide of yours from the sun,”
A brown-eyed glare. “I’m not in the sun,”
The Forger quirked an eyebrow. “You’re about to be. This is the beach, Arthur,”
“Eames, I have to get this list to –“
“Your skin or the laptop. Your choice, darling,” Eames tilted the bottle, threatening to squirt the device at any second…
“Alright! Jesus Christ,” The Point Man growled, frustrated, as he hit ‘Save’ and closed his computer and stuffing it safely in his duffle bag. He put on his sunglasses and scooted forward into the sun, his dark red swim shorts clashing brightly against the light sand.
Eames crouched behind him and got to work. At this angle, he could barely tell the difference between Arthur’s back and the sand in front of him. He gently worked the lotion into Arthur’s skin. He heard the younger man try to hide a soft moan.
“See love? This is a vacation, right?”
Eames leaned back on his heels and put the lotion away.
“Alright, your back is good, now lay down on your stomach and see if you can’t get some color, yes?”
Arthur said nothing and did as he was told, resting his chin on his wrists as he seemingly stared out into the waves, where all the beach goers were still enjoying their perfect summer day. Eames shrugged off his shirt and mimicked Arthur’s position on his stomach, except he laid the side of his face on his arms, facing away from Arthur. He sighed contentedly. It took him two weeks to talk Arthur into coming with him. The man needed a break, anyone could see. The younger man had probably never ever been to a beach, judging by his pale complexion. Which is why he bought the strongest SPF level of sunblock just for him. The day before the trip, Eames hid all of Arthur’s electronics, phone, files and guns so that while the furious Point Man searched, he had time to pack his suitcase for him.
It had to be done. People cut their own lives short by never handling their stress and taking breaks in their schedules. Even just for a nap. The Forger had read online once that Google has nap pods in their corporate building so that their employees can take 30 minute nap breaks in the middle of their days because it improves efficiency and productivity, not to mention moral and mood. He often wondered if the Point Man ever napped, let alone slept. He must have, otherwise there would be awful bags on that otherwise perfect face of his.
So that’s when he decided. He would force this man to go on vacation, if only just for the weekend. It’s not like he was taking him across the world for a full week or anything. Not a long, drawn out trip, just a power-break.
He did enjoy the moments when Arthur did relax, rare as they were. It seemed that Eames could truly relax once he finally got Arthur at ease and loosened up. Speaking of loosened up…
He giggled and smirked and let his mind wander to what else of Arthur’s he could get into by the end of today. Halfway lost into his dirty day dream, he heard shuffling next to him and glanced over.
And was horrified.
Arthur had grabbed his iPad and was now on his elbows, fingertips moving all about the touch screen.
For a long moment, the sound of rushing waves were all Eames could hear.
And then, abruptly, he stood.
He reached down and roughly plucked the device from Arthur’s hands and walked briskly towards the water. Stunned, all Arthur could do was watch helplessly…
…as Eames waded out waist deep and chucked his iPad into the ocean.