eternalsojourn | At the Two Lions

This little fic reaches new levels of happy-fun-times for me, and just in time to clear it out of my brain before the first angst prompt tomorrow. I hope you like it; it’s meant to be a feel-good place at the beginning of a relationship. I apologize in advance for the lack of sex; it turns out I do (occasionally) have a bit of restraint.

Rating: PG-13 for a bit of gratuitous making out
Word Count: ~1200
Warnings: None
Pairings or Characters: Arthur/Eames
Summary: Non-established relationship. Arthur and Eames get a little drunk in the pub, spy on other patrons, and flirt a little. Or a lot.
Beta:

night_reveals, whose imaginary voice I hear in my head when I do occasionally manage to catch my own mistakes. You’ve incepted my brain, Em.

At the Two Lions

“Pint of lager and a Shefford, please, mate,” Eames says, voice cutting through the cheerful cacophony of the pub’s Thursday night crowd. The bartender nods as he hands two drinks to another customer, and with effortless grace tips an empty glass under the tap, amber liquid cascading to the bottom. Not for the first time, Eames reflects that he should make the effort to return to England more often.

When he has the drinks in hand, Eames carefully dodges amongst the crowd to return to his table in the corner. He sees Arthur idly thumbing his phone, taking the last sip of his beer. Eames sets the glasses on the small round table and takes his seat beside Arthur on the bench. His arm stretches across, resting on the vinyl seat back.

Arthur looks up, smiles, lifts his head in a ‘thank you’ for the beer: their fourth -- fifth? -- of the evening. Arthur leans in, glances pointedly over to a couple across the way: an older grey-haired gentleman in a tweed suit with a pile of books, and a fresh-faced young woman, obviously professor and student. They have their heads together and his fingers trail over her arm. Arthur speaks close, voice focused.

“I’ve been watching this unfold since we got here. They were going over the books when we came in.”

Eames discreetly takes in the scene; he’d noticed them, too, but in the time that it took him to get the drinks, the couple have closed the distance between them. Eames looks back towards Arthur, turns his head to speak directly into Arthur’s ear.

“Definitely their first time crossing this boundary, I’d say.”

Arthur laughs softly in response and ducks his head in a surprisingly endearing gesture. Eames lets his arm slip every so slightly lower while Arthur leans forward to take a sip. When he sits back, he bumps into Eames’s arm but doesn’t seem to have noticed.

“What do you suppose the appeal is: discussing ideas together? The taboo of overstepping professional boundaries?” Arthur muses.

“Maybe he’s just wildly charismatic and she’s actually in love with him,” Eames offers, and casually rubs his thumb over Arthur’s shoulder.

“That has to be some charisma,” Arthur says, amused. “He looks nothing like the professors I lusted after in university.”

“Oh?” Eames asks, and brushes his nose across Arthur’s cheekbone in a ghost of a touch on his way to speaking into his ear again. “You don’t like the distinguished English type, Arthur?”

“Oh, English is fine. Just -- younger.”

“Mm, is that so?” Eames murmurs, so close now that he brushes his lips gently, deliberately, over the rim of Arthur’s ear. He half expects Arthur to recoil, or at least put on the brakes, distract himself with another sip of beer, anything. He does not expect Arthur to turn, look into Eames’s eyes for a moment with a playful glint, and take Eames’s upper lip between his own.

It draws a meaningless murmur from Eames as he lets his eyes drift closed and suckles on Arthur’s lower lip. It’s nothing more than that for long moments, then they switch, slotting together once more. It’s soft, a little suction, the scent of beer between them. Arthur is unexpectedly gentle, patient, and Eames just drinks in the moment.

It’s Arthur who pushes things further, a few hesitant presses of his tongue against the seam of Eames’s mouth, seeking permission. Eames opens and captures Arthur’s tongue in a gentle suck before loosening, caressing, tilting his head to slot them together more neatly.

Eames is surprised; he’d never suspected Arthur of being one for public displays. He’s even more pleasantly surprised by the way Arthur’s hand finds its way onto Eames’s thigh, and by the way he sighs when Eames wraps his arm more firmly around, pulling Arthur in closer.

It’s almost lazy, the way they play, teasing, tangling. Arthur pushes into Eames’s mouth, bold and sure while he explores, then coyly retreats, inviting Eames back in. Eames can’t help the little smile at Arthur’s playfulness, and Arthur laughs into Eames’s mouth but neither breaks the kiss.

Arthur’s hand slips up Eames’s arm, lingers on his bicep before slipping around to the back of Eames’s neck, thumb just brushing the skin above his collar. Eames lets his free hand rest on Arthur’s knee but doesn’t do more than simply squeeze a little; he’s savoring the kiss as it is and has no urge to push its boundaries.

When he nips at Arthur’s lip, it’s like a punctuation, his signal to end things but Arthur just smiles, glances down at Eames’s lips, then back to his eyes and kisses him again, and by now they’ve surely exceeded the acceptable public snog time but Eames realizes he really couldn’t give a toss, so he squeezes Arthur’s knee harder and kisses back.

When at long last they pull apart, Eames brushes his thumb across Arthur’s plumped and softened lower lip.

“You are a surprise, Arthur.”

Arthur just looks at Eames slyly and picks up Eames’s drink, hands it to him. He lifts his chin in the direction of the couple’s table, and when Eames looks he sees they’ve gone.

“Do you think they left together?” Arthur asks, picking up his own glass.

“Hard to say, but it seems likely,” Eames replies, taking in Arthur’s profile and idly caressing Arthur’s shoulder. “I wonder why they left; perhaps they felt upstaged.”

“I could hardly blame them if they did,” Arthur says, smirking. When he puts his drink down again, he runs the back of his fingers along Eames’s thigh; it would seem absent-minded to anyone who didn’t observe Arthur as closely as Eames did.

Eames takes it for the permission it is and over the course of finishing their drinks he allows himself all the little touches he’s been so careful to avoid during the entire time he’s known Arthur. He presses his thigh lightly against Arthur’s, brings their shoulders into contact, occasionally rests his hand on Arthur’s thigh. He even allows his fingers to drift lightly to Arthur’s inseam, not missing the way Arthur flexes his leg open just a fraction.

By silent agreement, they get up after they finish their drinks and find themselves standing outside, the cool London air clearing their heads slightly, the muted sounds of chatter and music drifting from beyond the pub doors.

Eames knows Arthur’s hotel is in the opposite direction from his, and there’s an awkward moment where they just stand, silent. For the first time this evening, Arthur looks unsure, and before Eames can even think about what he’s doing, he steps in to kiss away the expression. It’s chaste, soft, and Eames leaves his fingertips just barely touching Arthur’s jaw until they break apart.

There are little crinkles at the corners of Arthur’s eyes, and he just looks at Eames for a moment, evaluating. “I’m --” Arthur points vaguely with his thumb behind him.

“Yeah, I know,” Eames interrupts. He makes the decision for both of them, and says simply, warmly, “I’ll see you, then.”

Arthur nods and turns around to go. Eames is a few steps down the payment when Arthur stops him.

“Eames,” he says and Eames turns around. “Dinner tomorrow?”

Eames doesn’t grin, but it’s a close thing. “Mm, that’d be lovely. Good night, Arthur.”

“G‘night, Eames.”

**End**

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

metacheese.livejournal.com

Ohhh how lovely! I LOVE that they didn't just go back to the hotel and bury the bone. (Though it would've been hot if they had!) It made it just seem that much more realistic and romantic in a very understated way. Once again your romance is heart-melting but not sappy.

And their conversation and watching the couple, and THIS: “What do you suppose the appeal is: discussing ideas together? The taboo of overstepping professional boundaries?” Arthur muses. OH ARTHUR. YOU SLY DEVIL.

AND THE KISSING. OH LORD, THE KISSING. I have such a weakness for tongue-sucking and wary public displays of affection and this is SO hot. Porn not even necessary here.

From:

All roads lead to porn

At the Two Lions

At the Two Lions

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