The restaurant is nice. Expensive, and in line with the mark’s tastes. When Arthur arrives Eames is already at the table. A quick glance around the room fails to produce the woman they’re here to watch.
He sits, noting that Eames is dressed decently for a change in a charcoal suit and black shirt. His collar is open and Arthur can make out the ink along his collar bones. Eames takes a sip of wine, eyes trailing over Arthur appreciatively.
“Mr. Eames,” Arthur greets him curtly, eyeing the open bottle of Malbec on the table.
“Arthur,” Eames purrs, smirking.
“I don’t see Desjardins, are we early?” Arthur scans the specials sheet.
Eames clears his throat. “No, she’s not coming.”
Arthur eyes narrow over his menu. “Then what are you and I doing here?”
“Well, darling, I thought you could use a break.” Eames says in a rush.
Arthur puts down his menu and slides his chair back, preparing to stand.
“What’s the date?” Eames asks, reaching his hand out.
Arthur frowns and checks his watch. “Dammit.”
He scoots his chair back to the table, ignoring Eames’ smug look. He goes back to selecting his meal, fighting the blush that is making its way across his cheeks. They have a deal, Eames and he, and some rules are not allowed to be broken.
They’ve been together three years, covertly, of course, and in that time they have never missed a birthday or an anniversary. No matter where they are, or what the job is, the rule states that these three nights a year are date nights. Mandatory celebrations.
“I cannot believe the frequency with which you forget your own birthday.” Eames teases.
“We’re working,” Arthur sniffs. “It’s always riskier when we’re working.”
“All the more fun, no?” Eames raises his eyebrow and takes another sip of wine.
“The bottle should have tipped me off. You only order Malbec for me.”
“Hmm,” Eames agrees. “You taste so lovely when you drink it. I can only handle it once a year.”
Arthur cracks a small smile, shaking his head. The waiter appears and pours Arthur’s wine before taking their orders.
Eames raises his glass. “To my darling Arthur. May your excellent taste in men never change.”
Arthur touches his glass to Eames’. “May you never tire of me.” He says quietly.
“Never, love.” Eames winks.
“So what do you think about Ryna’s theory on-”
“No. No, no, no,” Eames shakes his finger at Arthur. “Rules, darling. No shop talk on date night.”
“Eames, we’re three days out from an extraction. We should be discussing the possibility that our extractor is going to change the entire plan.” Arthur leans forward, elbows on the table.
“And we can do that. At 12:01. Not a minute before. Drink your wine.” Eames says sternly.
“Fine,” Arthur takes a mouthful of wine, savouring the notes.
The conversation moves to where they’ll go once the job is over and they can chance taking some time off to spend together. By the time their meals arrive, they’ve fallen into a comfortable argument about the house they’re renovating on their down time.
“I saw the paint samples you picked for the kitchen.” Eames tells him.
“And? What did you think?”
“They’re all hideous. I hate them.”
Arthur laughs. “Of course you do. Not every room has to make a statement, you know.”
“Of course it does. Our kitchen should shout ‘We eat here! And sometimes shag on the island!” Eames throws his hands up.
“Oh, my God, shut up!” Arthur smile tightly at the couple glaring from the next table.
“Arthur, you know there’s only one way to shut me up.” Eames waggles his eyebrows.
“And even then you still find a way to make noise,” Arthur smirks at him. “In fact, I’m beginning to think it’s impossible for you to be quiet. Ever.” He drains his glass, frowning at the empty bottle and signalling the waiter for another.
“That sounds like a challenge, pet.” Eames’ look is predatory from across the table.
Feeling bold and slightly drunk, Arthur slides off his loafer and rubs his foot against Eames’ calf.
“Maybe it is.”
Eames freezes, eyes widening fractionally. “Oh, really?”
Arthur’s foot slides up to his knee, nudging until Eames shifts and lets his legs fall open under the table. The tablecloth is almost floor length and the waiter doesn’t notice anything amiss when he brings a second bottle.
Eames is staring at Arthur, head tilted to the side, as if he’s waiting for Arthur to back down. But Arthur feels warm with drink and heavy with contentment. He has a job he loves, a man he adores, and a home they’re building. Why not be a little daring?
He lets his foot glide slowly up the inseam of Eames’ pants, then back down to his knee. Eames’ nostrils flare. Arthur smirks and his foot goes back up, brushing lightly at Eames’ crotch. Eames knuckles go white around his cutlery and Arthur grins, sipping his wine.
“Arthur,” Eames says in warning.
“Yes, Eames?” He answers sweetly, pressing his toes against the growing erection beneath them.
“That’s not playing fair, love.”
“It’s my birthday, I don’t have to play fair.” His foot moves with more intent.
Eames closes his eyes briefly, exhaling forcefully. He squirms in his seat, wincing.
“Something wrong, dear?” Arthur asks.
“I’m a bit...crooked.” He grimaces.
“Do you need a moment?” Arthur moves his foot away and Eames discretely adjusts himself, giving Arthur’s toes a squeeze when he’s done.
“Much better.” Eames smiles, popping the last bite of his steak into his mouth.
“You should ask for the check.” Arthur wiggles his toes along the length of Eames’ cock, delighted at how it strains against the material of his pants.
“Will we be done so soon?”
“Oh, I think so.” Arthur smiles.
He cups Eames with the arch of his foot, feeling the heat of him. He almost moans when Eames’ cock jumps, pressing itself into the movement. He runs his big toe up to the head, where he knows Eames must already be leaking. It doesn’t take much with him, and for a moment Arthur considers dragging him into the fancy bathroom to lick and suck, not wanting to waste a single drop. The look on Eames’ face keeps him in his seat.
He’s tense, edgy at the possibility of getting caught, yet thrilled at the fact that they are doing this. Arthur is rarely this public or forward, and he knows Eames loves it. He would have them holding hands and skipping onto jobs together in a heartbeat, but Arthur knows how dangerous it would be. The two of them, together, are each other’s greatest weakness. Arthur isn’t willing to jeopardize their lives just to prove to people who don’t matter that Arthur isn’t a robot, and Eames isn’t a lech.
But Eames is an excellent boyfriend, and Arthur wants to reward him, so he rubs faster, grinding his heel lightly into the base of Eames’ cock. Eames swallows, sweat popping out on his brow. Arthur dimples at him, nodding his encouragement. He can’t take his eyes off the man across from him. Eames’ pulse is beating frantically and Arthur wants to feel it under his tongue. His plush bottom lip is white, caught under his crooked front tooth, and he’s blinking rapidly as Arthur strokes his cock, the friction warming his foot and making Eames squirm.
Eames whines softly, tendons in his neck straining.
“Eames,” Arthur leans forward, trailing his fingers over the taut muscles in Eames’ hand. “Come for me.”
“Arthur,” Eames' breath rushes out, his eyes closing as he comes.
Arthur watches Eames fight the need to shake and moan that consumes him when he’s climaxing, and thinks about all the sacrifices they make for each other. He thinks about a ring, in a safety deposit box in Paris under his real name. He slips his shoe back on, signalling the waiter for the check.
When Eames opens his eyes, Arthur is beaming at him. Eames drains his wine glass and grins back.