Chapter Text
Arthur makes Eames promise that there will be no Viewing Day present this time.
“Aw,” pouts Eames, “I was going to plant you a tree in honor of the forest bedroom!”
“Outside?” asks Arthur, because you never know in their house; Arthur would only have been mildly surprised to find a tree in the middle of their bedroom one day.
“Of course outside,” says Eames. “I don’t have anywhere to plant a tree in here.” Eames frowns. “And that was a huge oversight. I should have made us some kind of solarium with huge planting beds and we could have had an indoor forest. Do you think I could still do it? We’ve got a lot of space at the other end of the house that we generally don’t use, and the ceilings are fairly high…” And Eames goes dashing off to the other side of the house to figure out how he can give them an indoor forest.
This, Arthur thinks, is just a day in their life. He doesn’t even blink at this stuff anymore.
Arthur does make Eames a cake for Viewing Day. He said no gifts but he doesn’t think baking a cake really counts as a gift.
When Eames comes home from his onsite consultation with a client, Arthur is just taking the cake out of the oven.
“What’s this?” Eames asks, already practically drooling. Eames has a demanding sweet tooth.
“I made you cake batter,” says Arthur.
“And then you ruined it by baking it,” says Eames, slinging an arm around Arthur’s waist and pulling him up against him.
“I’m saving you from bacteria,” Arthur explains.
“I know. You’re lovely,” says Eames, and kisses him, and then takes a picture of the cake and tweets it with Happy #nextbigthing Day! Arthur fully baked a cake all the way through! No evil bacteria today! #arthur4everything #arthur4eames
Arthur makes Eames let the cake cool so Arthur can frost it before they slice into it, and also he suggests the possibility that they have a real, healthy dinner like actual adults.
“But why start that now?” asks Eames, bewildered, and Arthur has to admit that they really are terrible with eating things that are not take-out.
“One of us should take a cooking class,” Arthur remarks.
“I volunteer you,” says Eames blithely.
They bring their cake into the living room with them and watch the end of the show before Next Big Thing, which is a renovation show and he and Eames both complain about it, Eames about design choices and Arthur about how they killed their resale value.
Arthur checks his watch and ventures, during the last commercial break, “So. Tonight’s episode.”
Eames lifts an eyebrow at him.
“I gave this ridiculously long, rambling interview thing to Yusuf and I’m not sure how much Mal’s going to use so I’m just trying to prepare you for how idiotic I’m going to sound.”
“Darling, I live with how idiotic you sound, I’m very used to it.”
“Thank you,” says Arthur, “you’re very supportive.”
Eames tips his head quizzically. “You’re really nervous about this. Why? Is this about Twitter? Darling, don’t stress yourself out about Twitter.”
Arthur shakes his head. “It isn’t about Twitter, it’s about you and me. I mean, Alec’s right—”
“Take that back right now.”
“He is, though, Eames, because we’re not playing roles. Well, I’m not.”
“You think I’m playing a role with you?”
“No. I’m just saying. It’s me, in the interview. It’s just…me. And so, you know, just…” Arthur shrugs.
“I’m sure it’s fine.” Eames sounds thoroughly bewildered, and Arthur doesn’t blame him because he’s doing a terrible job of attempting to explain that he thinks he made a fool of himself because Alec and his mind games are more effective than Arthur wants them to be. “You’re extraordinarily charming and sweet, you know. You are, not any role you’re playing. So I’m sure it’s fine.”
Arthur tips forward to press his face against Eames’s chest because he’s not sure he even wants to watch how embarrassing he’s going to be. “Do you know what is a thing that should exist?”
“What?” asks Eames.
“You should be able to militarize your mind.”
“Militarize your mind? Like against bacteria armies?”
“No, against people like Alec who mess all around in it. Like, wouldn’t it be nice if, every time someone tried to make you think something stupid that you know isn’t true, some piece of you would just show up with an Uzi and blow their heads off? Figuratively speaking.”
“That’s what I’m for,” says Eames. “Whenever someone tries to make you think something stupid that you know isn’t true, come and find me.”
“You don’t know how to handle an Uzi.”
“No, but I give pretty amazing head,” says Eames. “Practically the same thing.”
“International diplomacy would be so different if you were in charge,” muses Arthur.
“Well, you were talking about blowing people,” Eames tells him.
Last time on Next Big Thing! proclaims the cheerful narrator, and Arthur peeks out from Eames’s chest. “Do not call me ‘Artie.’ Do not touch my shoulder. And we’re not doing a (beep) handshake, either,” says Arthur onscreen, followed by a cut to him saying to Eames, “I don’t think you’re funny,” and Eames replying, grinning at him, “I think you’re hilarious,” a shot so intimate they might as well have been making out. There are a couple of Eames’s harsher comments—real-life Eames winces under Arthur—and an excerpt from Eames’s speech about flight, with his hard look at Alec and Alec’s less-than-pleased-looking reaction shot. And then, almost as an afterthought, there are some shots of the micro-apartments, including one of Arthur climbing up into the sleeping loft, naturally.
And then the episode goes directly into Alec, black eye vivid and intense, in his interview.
“Ouch,” says Eames at the black eye.
“I forgot you didn’t really see it. They played that up,” Arthur says. “Enhanced it with makeup.”
“It’s actually a very intense profession,” says Alec onscreen, sounding very grave. “Disagreements can get very heated. They can even get physical.” Light laugh, gesture to his black eye. The camera actually zooms in a little to emphasize it. “I mean, Arthur didn’t really mean this, but you would be surprised the lengths people will go to to defend an aesthetic. It can be hard to hear criticism. And, of course, Arthur’s not really a designer so he has an even harder time accepting that sometimes he has…difficulty seeing the ‘hart.’”
And the episode shifts to Arthur’s interview. He looks prim and proper in his shirt and tie and sweater and it contrasts with the hard, weary look on his face and the set to his jaw when he says, “Okay, yes, I punched Alec.”
Arthur turns his face back into Eames’s chest, because he doesn’t actually want to watch this awkwardness. So instead he just listens.
“But I didn’t punch him over ‘aesthetic differences.’ That is so…You shouldn’t solve your disagreements with violence, and of course I shouldn’t have punched him, but I didn’t punch him over, like, paint colors or something.”
There is a long pause. Arthur hears his on-screen self sigh before continuing. “Look. Here’s the thing, right? You get used to the things people can say about you. You kind of know what they’re going to be. There are a lot of things Alec could say about me. Starting with how I’m ‘not really a designer.’ And that’s fine. I mean, not fine, you wouldn’t want people to say unpleasant things about you, but you can handle it. You kind of…grow up learning how to handle that. I get that. I am…a difficult and unpleasant person, a lot of people will tell you that. But the thing about Eames is that he…isn’t. He’s…Eames is the most genuine, sincere person I know. He gives off this impression, right, this kind of flippant, frivolous sort of…And I have been known to fall for that myself, to sell him short, to think that he’s less than…extraordinary. Because he is. Eames is so incredibly…He’s so ridiculously giving and generous and kind and he doesn’t deserve a single bad word said about him. Not a single one. And I wasn’t prepared to…I mean, I couldn’t possibly be prepared for Alec to say something about Eames. He can say anything he wants about me, because he’d have a point, but to say anything about Eames, to imply that he isn’t…wonderful…I don’t…So that’s what Alec did. It wasn’t an aesthetic difference. He went after the best person I know.”
Onscreen Arthur sighs again. “I don’t know what else to say. If you’re sitting there wondering how it is that Eames ended up with me, I don’t know. I don’t have the answer to that. I can’t tell you. But I’m not sure I’m ever really going to apologize for fighting to make sure that I defend the most incredible gift the universe has ever given me.”
There’s a moment of silence on the television, and Arthur keeps his face pressed against Eames and waits for him to say something.
He says, “Darling—” and then cuts himself off, because Arthur can hear Alec onscreen saying, “You just…opened the envelope.”
“Yeah,” onscreen Arthur responds. “That is something that can be done really very quickly and easily. Sorry Eames isn’t here, he’s sick, he sends a very inappropriate piece of advice I’m not going to repeat, and here is your challenge: ‘Design a bedroom.’ Okay, good luck.”
“Some of you may be wondering about my black eye,” says Alec onscreen.
“Fine,” says onscreen Arthur. “I punched him.”
Arthur listens to Alec onscreen perform his little melodramatic speech. “Shocking, shocking. I know. But this is a lesson to all of you. There is so much hart in design. And I don’t just mean me. Feelings get involved, emotions can run high, and—”
“And obnoxious, rude, idiotic people can insult your boyfriend in your presence for no reason other than a complete and utter inability to stay professional and out of other people’s personal lives,” cuts in onscreen Arthur. “You want to start (beep) ridiculous rumors about me and sex dungeons and orgies, fine, go right ahead. Don’t go near Eames. Not even a step in his direction.”
“Arthur for violent threats, eh?” says onscreen Alec.
“Arthur for Eames,” onscreen Arthur spits out, and Arthur can hear his own footsteps on the television as he walks out.
And then the network shifts to a rather jarring commercial.
“Fuck,” says Eames.
Arthur winces. “Okay, I know that it’s—”
“Shut up,” says Eames and shuts off the television.
Arthur lifts his head. “It’s just—”
Eames kisses him so hard it tumbles both of them off the couch, jostles them into the coffee table, and Eames is pawing at his clothing and panting, “Jesus fucking Christ, that was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”
Arthur is startled, looking up at him and not helping at all as Eames peels off his shirt. “Really?”
“Really?” Eames repeats. “Really? Darling.” Eames ducks down to plant kisses over Arthur’s chest, punctuating each one with “I love you—I love you—I love you—I love you.”
“Eames, I…” says Arthur, but he’s not sure what he meant to say, and anyway, Eames’s hands have dispensed with his pants at this point so he’s mildly distracted.
Eames draws his nose up Arthur’s breastbone, heaving for breath underneath him, and strokes him to full hardness, and shifts himself further up so he can press his lips against Arthur’s, and murmurs, “Say you love me. Just say you love me.”
“I love you,” gasps Arthur.
Eames shifts upward slightly, just enough so Arthur can pull his face into focus instead of being dizzy with his closeness. “You’re amazing,” Eames says.
“I—”
“No.” Eames kisses him swiftly, rests his forehead against Arthur’s, and Arthur closes his eyes. “Just say you love me. That’s it.”
“I love you,” manages Arthur.
Eames kisses him again. “Arthur for Eames,” he says thickly, and tugs Arthur’s lower lip between his teeth. “Eames for Arthur.”
And then he moves down Arthur’s body, nipping and licking and nibbling, his hands shoving Arthur’s pants and briefs out of his way, and Arthur arches to give him room to work, trying to shove at the coffee table that’s hemming them in so close to the couch, but it doesn’t matter because Eames doesn’t seem to feel hampered at all by the closeness of the quarters. Eames teases, like they have all the time in the world, biting at Arthur’s hipbone, lapping at his belly, ignoring the way Arthur squirms and swears at him.
“You’ve forgotten the rule,” Eames says, from the inside of Arthur’s thigh, where he really isn’t doing anything productive as far as Arthur is concerned.
“What fucking rule?” demands Arthur.
Eames flashes him a smile, and the thing about this smile is that it is no leer, it is not the least bit filthy, except for the fact that it originates from directly over Arthur’s erection. This is the smile Eames gives him when he thinks Arthur is adorable. This is Eames’s Christmas-morning-aren’t-I-the-luckiest-bastard-in-the-universe smile.
Arthur’s breath catches in his throat. Because that smile, straight at him, gets him every single fucking time.
Eames notices. He pauses, and his smile fades, and his eyes get very serious, and he says, very softly, “Just say you love me.”
“I love you,” breathes Arthur, and Eames’s eyes hold his as he swallows him down, and Arthur kind of wants to keep that gaze through the blowjob, he kind of wants to keep that gaze through the rest of his life, but he can’t help it that Eames is basically as good at this as he thinks that he is and Arthur ends up losing track of his limbs and his thoughts and definitely his vision.
“Eames for Arthur,” Eames says afterward, dragging his way up Arthur’s boneless body. “Best fucking hashtag in the universe.”
“You’re right,” Arthur says, sloppily brushing a hand through Eames’s hair. “That is a little like having your head blown off by an Uzi.”
Eames laughs. Eames laughs until his head is collapsed onto Arthur’s shoulder and he’s snorting with the laughter.
Arthur smiles and combs at his hair and brushes kisses over him and says, “I love you.”
Eames says, “Did you think I wouldn’t love that speech, you utter mad lunatic?”
“I know,” says Arthur, because he does feel stupid for his nervousness now. “Thank you.”
“Darling, I’ll blow you anytime you like, I’m easy like that.”
“Not what I’m thanking you for.”
Eames shifts his weight against the coffee table to give Arthur a little breathing room and kisses behind Arthur’s jaw and says, “Right back at you.”