Fic: Stars Hide Your Fires - NC-17
Apr. 3rd, 2011 06:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
acquiescenceTitle Stars Hide Your Fires
Gift From![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
acquiescence_
Rating NC-17
Word Count 5000
Summary Arthur is having trouble with his writing when the publishers bring in Eames to give him a little help
Author Notes Okay this was written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
eames_arthur fanworks exchange back in February. The reveals post finally went up so now I'm posting it over here and claiming it as my own, edited slightly. I wrote this for staticlights who asked for random AUs, and this is what I ended up with. Hmmm... should I post it to eames_arthur again under my own name? Or is that redundant?
"They don't like it, Arthur." Dom pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed like it was his article that was constantly being sent back for corrections, giving Arthur that weird squinty look he seemed to be so fond of when he was trying not to say something that really needed to be said.
"Don't like what, Dom?"
"The piece - the article - Arthur, you know what they didn't like." The article in question was flourished in front of his face with a bit more force than was strictly necessary in Arthur's mind, but then that was Dom, always going one step further. Pushing the boundaries until it blew up in his face.
They did this dance with every article Arthur turned in, sending it back for revisions and changes and edits and Arthur tore into it every time, changing whatever he could, and sent it back only to have it returned again before he ended up writing something completely different, something that glossed over all the important bits, something that was light and cheerful and Arthur felt like he was selling his soul to the devil every single time.
"Look I get that you're trying to make a statement or something here with all of this, but they're losing their patience." Cobb said after a few moments, Arthur was too busy fuming over the idea that yet another article he'd written could not be appreciated for what it was - why had he been hired in the first place if he was clearly so inept at coming up with good solid writing for the magazine? It was a question Arthur asked himself again and again.
"They're losing their patience?" Arthur asked, he could hear the way his tone pinched and he had to fight not to let himself lose his temper, it wouldn't help matters at all.
"Yes, Arthur."
"Fine." Arthur waved Cobb off, he could not deal with this today - not if he had to rewrite the entire article in time to make the deadline. The longer Cobb stood there in his door way, mangled first copy in his hand the more Arthur wanted to punch him in the face and be done with this entire business. Arthur snatched the draft out of Cobb's hand and flipped though the comments and edits it had gone through since he'd seen it last.
Cobb stood there like he was waiting for something more but Arthur didn't lift his eyes again, and thankfully Cobb got the idea and left him in peace, so Arthur could have his breakdown in privacy.
Six hours later the office was dark, only the dim glow of lights spilling out into the main floor from a single office - where Arthur still sat, the crumpled remains of the original article scattered around the room and pages of notes and post-its littered his desk while he worked into the night. He preferred working like this, when no one else was around, when he didn't have to deal with copy-editors asking about deadlines and Cobb reminding him just how little patience the editor had left and sticking his head in to squintingly check his progress throughout the day.
Thankfully Cobb had a family he had to go home to, a wife that would murder him if he stayed all night at the office the way Arthur sometimes thought he might like to when he was working like this. Arthur owed Mal a great deal for the peace she gave him at the end of the day, even indirectly.
Grasping for his cup, Arthur lifted the mug to his lips and frowned when he came back with nothing.
Arthur pushed away from his desk, cup in hand and went out to the little kitchenette tucked away into a corner of the office. He walked quickly, head down going over the next lines he wanted to write - he knew the path by heart after all the months he'd been staying late.
Of course this would be the night that he'd find himself not to be the only person still in the office. And what better way to learn there was someone else in the office than to run right into them dropping his mug only to have it shatter on the tile floor just inside the kitchenette.
"God damn it." Arthur swore and looked up to see - well he wasn't sure who this was and at the moment he was more concerned with his cup than the man standing far too close to him for comfort.
"Terribly sorry about that, let me help clean that up." English then, Arthur narrowed his eyes, wracking his brain for some clue as to who this was and what exactly he was doing in the office at this hour.
"Who are you?" Arthur asked, sidestepping the other man and finding the broom they kept stashed between the wall and the refrigerator, to start sweeping up the remains of his mug. He really loved that mug too - and with his luck they would have stopped carrying them when he went back to get another and he'd be stuck with some substandard coffee mug.
"Eames." The Englishman sank down there on the floor dust pan in hand along with a news paper to help shepherd the wayward pieces of broken ceramic into dust pan while Arthur swept them up. In just a few minutes they had it cleared up together and the remains of Arthur's favorite mug were disposed of.
"Eames?" Arthur repeated slowly washing and drying his hands while he took a moment to look over the other man. He was tall and lean and he looked quite a lot like the type of person that would be easily charming and get along with everyone around him. Arthur sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as he cocked his hip to lean against the counter. Just Eames it seemed, Arthur wondered if it was his first or last name.
"Yes."
"What are you doing here?"
Eames grinned at him, though it was probably closer to a smirk if Arthur wanted to get specific, and Arthur was definitely the type to enjoy a little specificity in his life. "I'm just checking out the office, getting a feel for things."
"In the middle of the night?" Arthur hedged.
"Of course, what better time than now?"
"During the day, when the offices are open?" Arthur suggested, though really he should have known better. He didn't know why he was bothering with this conversation in the first place. And yet here he was, trying to figure out just who this man was and why he was ruining his chance at more coffee.
"Tosh, it's much better at night - no one around trying to give you a guided tour, lots of office supplies ripe for the taking, desks unguarded, no sound of typing keys or phones ringing. No this is a much better time to check the place out. I'll get a feel for the people tomorrow." Arthur supposed that perhaps Eames had a point. Though he continued to watch the other man through narrowed eyes, and made a mental note to lock his desk drawers and his office before he left for the night.
"Right." Arthur said doubtfully, because point or not it was still strange to have some man wandering through the office at night. He sighed after a moment and pushed away from the counter. "I've got to finish up an article, I wouldn't poke around too much, people get kind of prickly about their space in here." Arthur warned before he strode out of the kitchenette without his coffee, even more determined to finish his article sooner rather than later so he could get out of there.
"Arthur," Dom stuck his head into his office early that next morning, looking hesitant and worried about something, which was never a good sign. Arthur finished up his last sentence and turned toward Dom fully.
"Yeah?"
"Okay, look I know I told you they were losing their patience yesterday," Oh god, this was likely the worst way any conversation could start. They were letting him go or something, just fucking perfect. Really. Things could not get any better than this. "Well it turns out they've decided to try going in another direction."
"So should I start packing up my stuff?" Arthur asked, all ready slumping back into his chair with a defeated set to his shoulders. He could always try some other magazine, maybe even the local paper.
"What?" Dom's eyes shot open, for once proving that he could do something other than squint. "No, no, no. That's not what this is about, no they like you Arthur, they just … they think you could use a little extra help."
Arthur raised an eyebrow doubtfully at Dom, "Extra help?" He asked, because that sounded just a bit more terrible than actually getting fired. And just then, proving him right, Eames stuck his head into the office, like he'd been standing out in the hall bouncing on the balls of his feet just waiting to show himself.
"Hello, darling." Eames gave him a charming smile, and strode into the room like he belonged there, sitting down in one of the chairs across from Arthur's desk, a small box in his hands - looking like he was just waiting to hand it over as soon as they got a little space.
"Eames." Arthur said slowly, glancing back at Dom, who was looking like he wasn't sure how to explain this.
"They thought you and Mr. Eames might work well together, styles complimenting one another well and all that." Dom said in a rush. "I'll leave you two to get acquainted, and I'll be back later." Dom ducked out of the office, and then stuck his head back in again just a moment later. "Arthur, fill him in on the piece and get it done." Dom added before he'd disappeared keeping Arthur from making any further comment about the Brit's sudden appearance in his office.
Speaking of the Brit, Eames was currently leaning forward fiddling with the little things Arthur kept on the edge of his desk, a picture of his family his mother had sent him last year, a small clock and a healthy collection of pens and pencils. He'd set down the box he'd brought along with him there on the edge of the desk while he played with Arthur's things. "Flew me in special from England to work with you, Arthur." Eames said as he set the picture back down and glancing up at Arthur.
"Is that right?" Arthur wasn't about to admit just how much it chaffed that they would bring someone in special to work with him - it actually was more humiliating than being fired he decided. Bad enough they never accepted the articles he wrote on his own without them being rewritten to the point of being unrecognizable, but now to have to deal with someone else standing over his shoulder the entire time he worked. How was he supposed to get anything done?
"That's the way it looks."
"You could have mentioned this last night." Arthur said pointedly.
"You didn't exactly introduce yourself last night, now did you, Arthur?"
He had a point, yet again. Arthur sighed. "So what? You're here to rewrite what I write before I turn it in? Seems a bit much when they could just replace me with you if you're that good."
"Not at all." Eames sat back in the chair he'd taken up as his own for the time being, having gotten his fill of playing with Arthur's pen collection. "I'm here to help where you need it, to get you to the point where you don't need editing and all of this back and forth business with the editors. I've seen you're stuff - it's all very good, you just need to inject a little personality into it. You're excellent at putting forth the facts, but it's all very bland. You just need a little push in the right direction and you'll be golden."
Arthur narrowed his eyes at Eames again, and wondered if he was being insulted or not. He couldn't quite make up his mind, his writing had been called bland, but at the same time Eames had said it was very good. It couldn't have been that good though if Eames was being brought in to help him with it. He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and sent the article to the printer beside his monitor handing it over to Eames a moment later.
"Fine." He muttered.
"Aren't you going to open that?" Eames asked, arching an eyebrow and smiling innocently at Arthur. Not a very reassuring gesture to be certain.
"What is it?"
"If I told you that it wouldn't be a surprise." Eames said shaking his head.
"Why did you get me a surprise."
"It's customary."
"It's customary to get a present for your new coworker on the day you meet him?" Arthur asked doubtfully.
"Just open it." Eames sighed.
Arthur frowned and picked up the box. It wasn't wrapped, just a simple nondescript white box. He turned it over in his hands for a moment, glancing up briefly to see Eames sitting forward on the edge of his seat watching him. He shook his head and opened the box and snorted when he looked inside.
"Do you like it?" Eames asked, grinning.
"Well it's not quite like the one I had before." Arthur said pulling out the mug by its handle. The only word he could think to describe it was loud - it had a painting on the side, something from the local museum of modern art he guessed by the look of it. Some how entirely fitting that it was picked out by a person like Eames - though Arthur hardly knew him.
"But, do you like it?"
Arthur took a moment to look at the mug, it was certainly not something he would have picked for himself, but he decided that yes he did like it. "One day you'll have to explain to me how exactly it is customary to buy coffee cups for your coworkers." Eames looked satisfied though Arthur had not directly answered his question.
"All in good time, Arthur, all in good time."
They worked well into the night, Arthur writing pages and handing them to Eames as he finished each one, who scribbled in purple ink over them ("It's so much nicer than red, don't you agree? I don't want to feel like your teacher or something either, unless you're into that sort of thing.") making comments and corrections here and there as he went, and then offering them back as Arthur handed off the next page.
It felt like they were going to keep going around and around in circles all night with the way this worked. Arthur editing, taking Eames' notes and applying them where he thought they fit, creating not an entirely new piece the way he had in the past, but a different version of the original - a better version.
"It's all about working recursively." Eames explained, tipping his chair back the front legs lifting up off the floor, take out carton in one hand and chopsticks in the other being brandished to make his point. "Writing isn't some linear thing we do, you don't start at the beginning and then work your way through to the end. It's about telling a story, it's about engaging your audience and it's about making sure it flows from the start to the finish. You want people to have finished your article with the feeling like they've learned something new and at the same time like it comes from something they've known all ready. You never want to make people feel stupid when they're reading what you've written."
Which was apparently a problem Arthur seemed to have, he liked facts. He found them comforting and interesting. He liked drawing on the facts he'd gathered on a particular subject and creating an article that was filled with information, that should have been fascinating and new and different from anything else.
"You don't want people to feel like they're reading a textbook when they see what you've written." Eames told him, stabbing a chopstick into his box and coming up triumphant with a piece of chicken speared on the end. "No one reads textbooks."
"I read textbooks." Arthur protested, dropping his box of take out onto the desk and sighing, pushing a hand through his hair fingers scratching along his scalp in frustration and pulling his hair into disaray in a way he'd have never allowed if there were more people in the office. "You do know how to use those right?" He wondered. "They gave us forks if you're incapable."
"No one enjoys reading textbooks, better?" Eames amended, arching an eyebrow at Arthur like he was daring him to disagree with him on that particular point. He really wasn't a bad partner. Arthur appreciated this way of working, getting immediate feedback while he worked, pointers and things that would continue to help in the future rather that what was just wrong with this particular piece. "Of course I know how to use these. I'm not a heathen, Arthur." Eames snapped the chopsticks in Arthur's direction, but followed the gesture up by stabbing another piece of chicken rather than actually employing the chopsticks as they were meant to be used.
"Of course you're not." Arthur shook his head slowly watching Eames eat, eyes following the line of the chopsticks and their path to his mouth - he'd caught himself staring far too often at that mouth, he was going to do something stupid. Though it helped to remind himself that he didn't like Eames all that much, so he could ignore any sudden urges he might have felt toward his mouth, and instead he let himself focus on the line of his jaw - yes, much safer ground there.
And of course he followed his jaw up and then down to Eames neck and throat all the way down to the point where skin disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt and Arthur desperately wished he could continue letting his eyes wander - though really he had far more self control than this.
"So basically what you're saying is I write textbook articles and I need to write fluff?" Arthur asked pulling himself out of his daze to focus instead on his work.
"Did I say anything about fluff, Arthur dear? No, you need to inject personality into your writing." Eames told him, sucking on the end of one of his chopsticks. "You've been doing remarkably well with that, you just need to do it without encouragement now."
It would have been easier if Eames was an asshole, if he'd simply come in and told Arthur what they were going to change, how he was going to fix his problem or be fired. Instead he had to come in and encourage him, to show him tricks and compliment him when he got something especially right, he was just as charming as he'd appeared to be the night before. Arthur hated that.
"This really is excellent work, Arthur." Eames said handing back his article for the last time, finally getting it back without any trace of purple anywhere to be found. "I really think they'll approve."
Arthur rolled his eyes, Eames often sounded just a bit like he was a school teacher handing out grades and teaching lessons. "I'm just hoping they'll like it enough not to fire me right away, I really don't want to have to look for a new job."
"Nonsense, Arthur." Eames waved off his concern with a roll of his eyes. "This really is fantastic, there's no chance they'll let you go now - you just have to keep this up."
"So that's it then?" Arthur asked, looking up from the article, he'd hand it off to Dom before the end of the day, though he couldn't help but wonder what would happen to Eames. "You'll fly back to … wherever and that's it?"
"Why Arthur, I didn't realize you cared so much." Eames teased him, and Arthur wanted to kill himself for even asking such a question. He shouldn't care, he didn't care, but he just wanted to know. He was curious. It was just the need to satisfy some curiosity, nothing more. "No, I'll be staying."
Arthur didn't know whether he ought to feel relieved or not that Eames was staying. "They offered me a rather nice bonus to stay here rather than go back to the overseas offices. Who am I to refuse?"
"Who indeed." Arthur replied dryly.
Well this was going to be interesting, it had been one thing to have Eames there for a few days, working together with him in what could only be called companionable silence, occasionally broken by Eames rattling off about the importance of the well written word, and influencing your writing with emotion, even when all you were writing about was something that otherwise seemed utterly mundane.
"Arthur, do you have that article?" Dom stuck his head into the office, startling Arthur out of his thoughts, and he nodded, handing off the reworked article without another word about it to either Eames or Dom. In fact, the rest of the day was spent in near silence, Eames went off to see to his own office - he couldn't very well continue sharing Arthur's if he was going to be staying long term, and Arthur got to work on the next article he had coming due.
It was late when he finally tipped his chair back and tilted his neck slowly until he felt that satisfying crack and sighed sinking down into his chair feeling like he'd put in good work that day.
The office was quiet, as it almost always was when Arthur allowed himself to work late like this. Only seven and yet as soon as five rolled around everyone was in a rush to leave for the day, no one seeming like they were willing to put in any extra time there, work to finish or not.
Arthur didn't blame them all the time, he knew what it was like to toil over a measly 500 words, agonizing over every word choice, over your punctuation and just how closely you were to the designated topic, and whether or not you'd actually managed to make it something worth reading in the end. He understood that desire to be free of deadlines and word counts and editors and Dom at the end of the day.
He could have stayed later, maybe he would have on another day, but Arthur was satisfied with what he'd accomplished that day.
Flipping the light off in his office, Arthur started for the door. A light in one of the offices stopped him though. He'd thought he'd been alone, altering his path Arthur went by the open door and stuck his head in to see Eames sitting at his desk, a pair of glasses perched on the tip of his nose while slowly pecking at the keyboard.
"What on Earth are you doing?" Arthur asked, genuinely amused and letting himself show it on his face. "You do know we're closed for the day right?" He asked him, a small smirk pulling at his mouth - so different from their previous night meeting,.
"I'm doing a bit of correspondence." Eames replied pushing his glasses up further on his nose and grinning at Arthur. "Trying to keep myself awake as well - not quite used to the time difference yet. If I go back to my hotel room I'll be done for, and then wake up at three in the morning, which will be enjoyable for no one."
"I suppose not." Arthur agreed. He paused, half of him told himself he should just push off from the door and turn on his heel, to be done with this. And yet he lingered there just inside the door. "You want to grab some dinner?" He asked in a moment of spontaneity. "I know a good place not far from here."
Eames arched an eyebrow at Arthur, and immediately Arthur regretted having made the offer. It was enough that Eames had teased him earlier in the day about his curiosity - there was no need to add to that. And yet he'd done it willingly, a moment of insanity.
"That sounds brilliant," Eames said after a moment, interrupting Arthur's thoughts and stopping them in their tracks.
"When you asked me out for dinner I didn't realize you were going to include after dinner entertainment." Eames' breath was hot against his jaw, teeth sharp points on his skin and Arthur, fumbled with the keys. Eames might have had a hotel room nearby, but Arthur had standards and an apartment with a much better bed than the one Eames no doubt had.
"If you don't shut up, I swear to god, I'm going to leave you here." Arthur warned Eames, his breath hitching in his throat though, when Eames wound his hands around his waist one finding its way over the front of his trousers settling right over his hardening cock making it hard to imagine actually making good on that threat.
"Of course, love." Eames agreed, seeming to content himself with touching Arthur as much as he could and being just about as lewd as one possibly could in a public hallway, all while impeding Arthur's ability to get the key in the door and let them inside.
It was only when Eames wrapped his finger around Arthur's wrist, and steadied his fingers that he was able to get the key into the lock and get them inside before one of Arthur's neighbors saw them.
Once they were inside though, Eames stopped any pretense of holding back. He pushed the door closed and pressed Arthur against it, working his knee between Arthur's thighs and kissed him. None of those soft teasing biting kisses Eames had given him in the taxi on the way over, and not like the chaste kiss he'd given Arthur when he'd suggested coming back here in the first place. No these kisses Arthur felt all the way down into his bones, soaking in and settling themselves in some deep dark place Arthur hadn't known was aching to be filled.
"Eames." He gasped, pressing against the other man.
"Let me, just - let me." Eames said slowly, pushing Arthur's suit jacket from his shoulders. He should complain, he's got to hang it up, to at least throw it over the back of a chair, but Eames' lips were against his throat and Arthur couldn't think of anything but that. Slowly Eames pulled him away from the door, pulled him through the apartment, somehow finding his way into the bedroom, and divesting Arthur of every article of clothing he'd put on that morning before they even reached the bedroom door.
It was kind of a miracle that they didn't end up on their faces Arthur's legs hopelessly tangled in his trousers. And yet they made it, and Eames pushed Arthur back onto the bed at the first available moment.
"You are wearing far too many clothes." Arthur said, his head clearing for the first time since they'd stepped into his apartment now that Eames was no longer touching him. He propped himself up on his elbows to watch Eames as he stood over him.
"I believe I told you to let me." Eames replied. "That means just trust that I know what I'm doing, and I've got a plan."
"Of course you do." Arthur said shaking his head slowly.
"You're kind of cute when you don't believe me."
"If you call me cute again I'll punch you in the face."
"I certainly believe that." Eames grinned easily at Arthur, like he knew with absolute certainty that Arthur would never do any such thing to him.
"Eames, if you are not naked and in my bed in the next sixty seconds I'm going to take care of this on my own and you can hitch a ride back to your hotel." Arthur said firmly, narrowing his eyes at Eames in a way that was starting to become habit between them. He'd known the man all of two days and all ready he was forming habits - this was not good.
Thankfully though, Eames took this warning to heart and he was in bed with Arthur a moment later, and all thoughts of habit and warnings and threats had disappeared. Lost in the way Eames kissed him, the way he touched and bit and pulled and stroked and fuck yes.
"Don't stop." Arthur gasped, pulling Eames down to press a biting kiss against his mouth, a leg hooked around Eames' waist pulling him in deeper with each thrust. He'd feel this in the morning, and throughout the next day and that thought alone was enough to have him racing toward completion. But it was Eames' fingers curling around his cock, pulling him in slow lazy strokes in counterpoint to the sharp rapid thrusts of his hips that tipped Arthur's balance and had him falling over the edge.
And with only a few thrusts more Eames followed right after him, joining Arthur in that inexorable drowning pull of pleasure until his mind was blank, and his ears were filled with the sound of his racing heart and his panting breaths.
Later that night, with Eames curled up against him in the dark, Arthur lay thinking in the dark. About what had happened that night, what it all meant, what would happen that next day at the office, he wondered if anyone would know - if they would be able to look at him and see what they'd done here.
"Stop thinking so much, pet." Eames muttered against the back of his neck, his breath sleep warmed and tickling at the short hairs there. "You're making it impossible to sleep."
"That's what I do, Mr. Eames."
"I am well aware of that fact, Arthur." Eames assured him pressing a lingering kiss to his shoulder. "But like I told you this afternoon, you mustn't be afraid to let go of those thoughts and just go."
"Mmm." Arthur hummed thoughtfully, remembering that conversation.
"Close your eyes, and sleep." Eames told him. "You cannot change what will happen tomorrow by thinking it to death."
Eames had a point, once again, another worryingly familiar habit that was starting to form. Eames was going to change everything, of at least that much Arthur was completely certain as he let himself drift off into his dreams.
Gift From
acquiescence_Rating NC-17
Word Count 5000
Summary Arthur is having trouble with his writing when the publishers bring in Eames to give him a little help
Author Notes Okay this was written for the
eames_arthur fanworks exchange back in February. The reveals post finally went up so now I'm posting it over here and claiming it as my own, edited slightly. I wrote this for staticlights who asked for random AUs, and this is what I ended up with. Hmmm... should I post it to eames_arthur again under my own name? Or is that redundant?"They don't like it, Arthur." Dom pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed like it was his article that was constantly being sent back for corrections, giving Arthur that weird squinty look he seemed to be so fond of when he was trying not to say something that really needed to be said.
"Don't like what, Dom?"
"The piece - the article - Arthur, you know what they didn't like." The article in question was flourished in front of his face with a bit more force than was strictly necessary in Arthur's mind, but then that was Dom, always going one step further. Pushing the boundaries until it blew up in his face.
They did this dance with every article Arthur turned in, sending it back for revisions and changes and edits and Arthur tore into it every time, changing whatever he could, and sent it back only to have it returned again before he ended up writing something completely different, something that glossed over all the important bits, something that was light and cheerful and Arthur felt like he was selling his soul to the devil every single time.
"Look I get that you're trying to make a statement or something here with all of this, but they're losing their patience." Cobb said after a few moments, Arthur was too busy fuming over the idea that yet another article he'd written could not be appreciated for what it was - why had he been hired in the first place if he was clearly so inept at coming up with good solid writing for the magazine? It was a question Arthur asked himself again and again.
"They're losing their patience?" Arthur asked, he could hear the way his tone pinched and he had to fight not to let himself lose his temper, it wouldn't help matters at all.
"Yes, Arthur."
"Fine." Arthur waved Cobb off, he could not deal with this today - not if he had to rewrite the entire article in time to make the deadline. The longer Cobb stood there in his door way, mangled first copy in his hand the more Arthur wanted to punch him in the face and be done with this entire business. Arthur snatched the draft out of Cobb's hand and flipped though the comments and edits it had gone through since he'd seen it last.
Cobb stood there like he was waiting for something more but Arthur didn't lift his eyes again, and thankfully Cobb got the idea and left him in peace, so Arthur could have his breakdown in privacy.
Six hours later the office was dark, only the dim glow of lights spilling out into the main floor from a single office - where Arthur still sat, the crumpled remains of the original article scattered around the room and pages of notes and post-its littered his desk while he worked into the night. He preferred working like this, when no one else was around, when he didn't have to deal with copy-editors asking about deadlines and Cobb reminding him just how little patience the editor had left and sticking his head in to squintingly check his progress throughout the day.
Thankfully Cobb had a family he had to go home to, a wife that would murder him if he stayed all night at the office the way Arthur sometimes thought he might like to when he was working like this. Arthur owed Mal a great deal for the peace she gave him at the end of the day, even indirectly.
Grasping for his cup, Arthur lifted the mug to his lips and frowned when he came back with nothing.
Arthur pushed away from his desk, cup in hand and went out to the little kitchenette tucked away into a corner of the office. He walked quickly, head down going over the next lines he wanted to write - he knew the path by heart after all the months he'd been staying late.
Of course this would be the night that he'd find himself not to be the only person still in the office. And what better way to learn there was someone else in the office than to run right into them dropping his mug only to have it shatter on the tile floor just inside the kitchenette.
"God damn it." Arthur swore and looked up to see - well he wasn't sure who this was and at the moment he was more concerned with his cup than the man standing far too close to him for comfort.
"Terribly sorry about that, let me help clean that up." English then, Arthur narrowed his eyes, wracking his brain for some clue as to who this was and what exactly he was doing in the office at this hour.
"Who are you?" Arthur asked, sidestepping the other man and finding the broom they kept stashed between the wall and the refrigerator, to start sweeping up the remains of his mug. He really loved that mug too - and with his luck they would have stopped carrying them when he went back to get another and he'd be stuck with some substandard coffee mug.
"Eames." The Englishman sank down there on the floor dust pan in hand along with a news paper to help shepherd the wayward pieces of broken ceramic into dust pan while Arthur swept them up. In just a few minutes they had it cleared up together and the remains of Arthur's favorite mug were disposed of.
"Eames?" Arthur repeated slowly washing and drying his hands while he took a moment to look over the other man. He was tall and lean and he looked quite a lot like the type of person that would be easily charming and get along with everyone around him. Arthur sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as he cocked his hip to lean against the counter. Just Eames it seemed, Arthur wondered if it was his first or last name.
"Yes."
"What are you doing here?"
Eames grinned at him, though it was probably closer to a smirk if Arthur wanted to get specific, and Arthur was definitely the type to enjoy a little specificity in his life. "I'm just checking out the office, getting a feel for things."
"In the middle of the night?" Arthur hedged.
"Of course, what better time than now?"
"During the day, when the offices are open?" Arthur suggested, though really he should have known better. He didn't know why he was bothering with this conversation in the first place. And yet here he was, trying to figure out just who this man was and why he was ruining his chance at more coffee.
"Tosh, it's much better at night - no one around trying to give you a guided tour, lots of office supplies ripe for the taking, desks unguarded, no sound of typing keys or phones ringing. No this is a much better time to check the place out. I'll get a feel for the people tomorrow." Arthur supposed that perhaps Eames had a point. Though he continued to watch the other man through narrowed eyes, and made a mental note to lock his desk drawers and his office before he left for the night.
"Right." Arthur said doubtfully, because point or not it was still strange to have some man wandering through the office at night. He sighed after a moment and pushed away from the counter. "I've got to finish up an article, I wouldn't poke around too much, people get kind of prickly about their space in here." Arthur warned before he strode out of the kitchenette without his coffee, even more determined to finish his article sooner rather than later so he could get out of there.
"Arthur," Dom stuck his head into his office early that next morning, looking hesitant and worried about something, which was never a good sign. Arthur finished up his last sentence and turned toward Dom fully.
"Yeah?"
"Okay, look I know I told you they were losing their patience yesterday," Oh god, this was likely the worst way any conversation could start. They were letting him go or something, just fucking perfect. Really. Things could not get any better than this. "Well it turns out they've decided to try going in another direction."
"So should I start packing up my stuff?" Arthur asked, all ready slumping back into his chair with a defeated set to his shoulders. He could always try some other magazine, maybe even the local paper.
"What?" Dom's eyes shot open, for once proving that he could do something other than squint. "No, no, no. That's not what this is about, no they like you Arthur, they just … they think you could use a little extra help."
Arthur raised an eyebrow doubtfully at Dom, "Extra help?" He asked, because that sounded just a bit more terrible than actually getting fired. And just then, proving him right, Eames stuck his head into the office, like he'd been standing out in the hall bouncing on the balls of his feet just waiting to show himself.
"Hello, darling." Eames gave him a charming smile, and strode into the room like he belonged there, sitting down in one of the chairs across from Arthur's desk, a small box in his hands - looking like he was just waiting to hand it over as soon as they got a little space.
"Eames." Arthur said slowly, glancing back at Dom, who was looking like he wasn't sure how to explain this.
"They thought you and Mr. Eames might work well together, styles complimenting one another well and all that." Dom said in a rush. "I'll leave you two to get acquainted, and I'll be back later." Dom ducked out of the office, and then stuck his head back in again just a moment later. "Arthur, fill him in on the piece and get it done." Dom added before he'd disappeared keeping Arthur from making any further comment about the Brit's sudden appearance in his office.
Speaking of the Brit, Eames was currently leaning forward fiddling with the little things Arthur kept on the edge of his desk, a picture of his family his mother had sent him last year, a small clock and a healthy collection of pens and pencils. He'd set down the box he'd brought along with him there on the edge of the desk while he played with Arthur's things. "Flew me in special from England to work with you, Arthur." Eames said as he set the picture back down and glancing up at Arthur.
"Is that right?" Arthur wasn't about to admit just how much it chaffed that they would bring someone in special to work with him - it actually was more humiliating than being fired he decided. Bad enough they never accepted the articles he wrote on his own without them being rewritten to the point of being unrecognizable, but now to have to deal with someone else standing over his shoulder the entire time he worked. How was he supposed to get anything done?
"That's the way it looks."
"You could have mentioned this last night." Arthur said pointedly.
"You didn't exactly introduce yourself last night, now did you, Arthur?"
He had a point, yet again. Arthur sighed. "So what? You're here to rewrite what I write before I turn it in? Seems a bit much when they could just replace me with you if you're that good."
"Not at all." Eames sat back in the chair he'd taken up as his own for the time being, having gotten his fill of playing with Arthur's pen collection. "I'm here to help where you need it, to get you to the point where you don't need editing and all of this back and forth business with the editors. I've seen you're stuff - it's all very good, you just need to inject a little personality into it. You're excellent at putting forth the facts, but it's all very bland. You just need a little push in the right direction and you'll be golden."
Arthur narrowed his eyes at Eames again, and wondered if he was being insulted or not. He couldn't quite make up his mind, his writing had been called bland, but at the same time Eames had said it was very good. It couldn't have been that good though if Eames was being brought in to help him with it. He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and sent the article to the printer beside his monitor handing it over to Eames a moment later.
"Fine." He muttered.
"Aren't you going to open that?" Eames asked, arching an eyebrow and smiling innocently at Arthur. Not a very reassuring gesture to be certain.
"What is it?"
"If I told you that it wouldn't be a surprise." Eames said shaking his head.
"Why did you get me a surprise."
"It's customary."
"It's customary to get a present for your new coworker on the day you meet him?" Arthur asked doubtfully.
"Just open it." Eames sighed.
Arthur frowned and picked up the box. It wasn't wrapped, just a simple nondescript white box. He turned it over in his hands for a moment, glancing up briefly to see Eames sitting forward on the edge of his seat watching him. He shook his head and opened the box and snorted when he looked inside.
"Do you like it?" Eames asked, grinning.
"Well it's not quite like the one I had before." Arthur said pulling out the mug by its handle. The only word he could think to describe it was loud - it had a painting on the side, something from the local museum of modern art he guessed by the look of it. Some how entirely fitting that it was picked out by a person like Eames - though Arthur hardly knew him.
"But, do you like it?"
Arthur took a moment to look at the mug, it was certainly not something he would have picked for himself, but he decided that yes he did like it. "One day you'll have to explain to me how exactly it is customary to buy coffee cups for your coworkers." Eames looked satisfied though Arthur had not directly answered his question.
"All in good time, Arthur, all in good time."
They worked well into the night, Arthur writing pages and handing them to Eames as he finished each one, who scribbled in purple ink over them ("It's so much nicer than red, don't you agree? I don't want to feel like your teacher or something either, unless you're into that sort of thing.") making comments and corrections here and there as he went, and then offering them back as Arthur handed off the next page.
It felt like they were going to keep going around and around in circles all night with the way this worked. Arthur editing, taking Eames' notes and applying them where he thought they fit, creating not an entirely new piece the way he had in the past, but a different version of the original - a better version.
"It's all about working recursively." Eames explained, tipping his chair back the front legs lifting up off the floor, take out carton in one hand and chopsticks in the other being brandished to make his point. "Writing isn't some linear thing we do, you don't start at the beginning and then work your way through to the end. It's about telling a story, it's about engaging your audience and it's about making sure it flows from the start to the finish. You want people to have finished your article with the feeling like they've learned something new and at the same time like it comes from something they've known all ready. You never want to make people feel stupid when they're reading what you've written."
Which was apparently a problem Arthur seemed to have, he liked facts. He found them comforting and interesting. He liked drawing on the facts he'd gathered on a particular subject and creating an article that was filled with information, that should have been fascinating and new and different from anything else.
"You don't want people to feel like they're reading a textbook when they see what you've written." Eames told him, stabbing a chopstick into his box and coming up triumphant with a piece of chicken speared on the end. "No one reads textbooks."
"I read textbooks." Arthur protested, dropping his box of take out onto the desk and sighing, pushing a hand through his hair fingers scratching along his scalp in frustration and pulling his hair into disaray in a way he'd have never allowed if there were more people in the office. "You do know how to use those right?" He wondered. "They gave us forks if you're incapable."
"No one enjoys reading textbooks, better?" Eames amended, arching an eyebrow at Arthur like he was daring him to disagree with him on that particular point. He really wasn't a bad partner. Arthur appreciated this way of working, getting immediate feedback while he worked, pointers and things that would continue to help in the future rather that what was just wrong with this particular piece. "Of course I know how to use these. I'm not a heathen, Arthur." Eames snapped the chopsticks in Arthur's direction, but followed the gesture up by stabbing another piece of chicken rather than actually employing the chopsticks as they were meant to be used.
"Of course you're not." Arthur shook his head slowly watching Eames eat, eyes following the line of the chopsticks and their path to his mouth - he'd caught himself staring far too often at that mouth, he was going to do something stupid. Though it helped to remind himself that he didn't like Eames all that much, so he could ignore any sudden urges he might have felt toward his mouth, and instead he let himself focus on the line of his jaw - yes, much safer ground there.
And of course he followed his jaw up and then down to Eames neck and throat all the way down to the point where skin disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt and Arthur desperately wished he could continue letting his eyes wander - though really he had far more self control than this.
"So basically what you're saying is I write textbook articles and I need to write fluff?" Arthur asked pulling himself out of his daze to focus instead on his work.
"Did I say anything about fluff, Arthur dear? No, you need to inject personality into your writing." Eames told him, sucking on the end of one of his chopsticks. "You've been doing remarkably well with that, you just need to do it without encouragement now."
It would have been easier if Eames was an asshole, if he'd simply come in and told Arthur what they were going to change, how he was going to fix his problem or be fired. Instead he had to come in and encourage him, to show him tricks and compliment him when he got something especially right, he was just as charming as he'd appeared to be the night before. Arthur hated that.
"This really is excellent work, Arthur." Eames said handing back his article for the last time, finally getting it back without any trace of purple anywhere to be found. "I really think they'll approve."
Arthur rolled his eyes, Eames often sounded just a bit like he was a school teacher handing out grades and teaching lessons. "I'm just hoping they'll like it enough not to fire me right away, I really don't want to have to look for a new job."
"Nonsense, Arthur." Eames waved off his concern with a roll of his eyes. "This really is fantastic, there's no chance they'll let you go now - you just have to keep this up."
"So that's it then?" Arthur asked, looking up from the article, he'd hand it off to Dom before the end of the day, though he couldn't help but wonder what would happen to Eames. "You'll fly back to … wherever and that's it?"
"Why Arthur, I didn't realize you cared so much." Eames teased him, and Arthur wanted to kill himself for even asking such a question. He shouldn't care, he didn't care, but he just wanted to know. He was curious. It was just the need to satisfy some curiosity, nothing more. "No, I'll be staying."
Arthur didn't know whether he ought to feel relieved or not that Eames was staying. "They offered me a rather nice bonus to stay here rather than go back to the overseas offices. Who am I to refuse?"
"Who indeed." Arthur replied dryly.
Well this was going to be interesting, it had been one thing to have Eames there for a few days, working together with him in what could only be called companionable silence, occasionally broken by Eames rattling off about the importance of the well written word, and influencing your writing with emotion, even when all you were writing about was something that otherwise seemed utterly mundane.
"Arthur, do you have that article?" Dom stuck his head into the office, startling Arthur out of his thoughts, and he nodded, handing off the reworked article without another word about it to either Eames or Dom. In fact, the rest of the day was spent in near silence, Eames went off to see to his own office - he couldn't very well continue sharing Arthur's if he was going to be staying long term, and Arthur got to work on the next article he had coming due.
It was late when he finally tipped his chair back and tilted his neck slowly until he felt that satisfying crack and sighed sinking down into his chair feeling like he'd put in good work that day.
The office was quiet, as it almost always was when Arthur allowed himself to work late like this. Only seven and yet as soon as five rolled around everyone was in a rush to leave for the day, no one seeming like they were willing to put in any extra time there, work to finish or not.
Arthur didn't blame them all the time, he knew what it was like to toil over a measly 500 words, agonizing over every word choice, over your punctuation and just how closely you were to the designated topic, and whether or not you'd actually managed to make it something worth reading in the end. He understood that desire to be free of deadlines and word counts and editors and Dom at the end of the day.
He could have stayed later, maybe he would have on another day, but Arthur was satisfied with what he'd accomplished that day.
Flipping the light off in his office, Arthur started for the door. A light in one of the offices stopped him though. He'd thought he'd been alone, altering his path Arthur went by the open door and stuck his head in to see Eames sitting at his desk, a pair of glasses perched on the tip of his nose while slowly pecking at the keyboard.
"What on Earth are you doing?" Arthur asked, genuinely amused and letting himself show it on his face. "You do know we're closed for the day right?" He asked him, a small smirk pulling at his mouth - so different from their previous night meeting,.
"I'm doing a bit of correspondence." Eames replied pushing his glasses up further on his nose and grinning at Arthur. "Trying to keep myself awake as well - not quite used to the time difference yet. If I go back to my hotel room I'll be done for, and then wake up at three in the morning, which will be enjoyable for no one."
"I suppose not." Arthur agreed. He paused, half of him told himself he should just push off from the door and turn on his heel, to be done with this. And yet he lingered there just inside the door. "You want to grab some dinner?" He asked in a moment of spontaneity. "I know a good place not far from here."
Eames arched an eyebrow at Arthur, and immediately Arthur regretted having made the offer. It was enough that Eames had teased him earlier in the day about his curiosity - there was no need to add to that. And yet he'd done it willingly, a moment of insanity.
"That sounds brilliant," Eames said after a moment, interrupting Arthur's thoughts and stopping them in their tracks.
"When you asked me out for dinner I didn't realize you were going to include after dinner entertainment." Eames' breath was hot against his jaw, teeth sharp points on his skin and Arthur, fumbled with the keys. Eames might have had a hotel room nearby, but Arthur had standards and an apartment with a much better bed than the one Eames no doubt had.
"If you don't shut up, I swear to god, I'm going to leave you here." Arthur warned Eames, his breath hitching in his throat though, when Eames wound his hands around his waist one finding its way over the front of his trousers settling right over his hardening cock making it hard to imagine actually making good on that threat.
"Of course, love." Eames agreed, seeming to content himself with touching Arthur as much as he could and being just about as lewd as one possibly could in a public hallway, all while impeding Arthur's ability to get the key in the door and let them inside.
It was only when Eames wrapped his finger around Arthur's wrist, and steadied his fingers that he was able to get the key into the lock and get them inside before one of Arthur's neighbors saw them.
Once they were inside though, Eames stopped any pretense of holding back. He pushed the door closed and pressed Arthur against it, working his knee between Arthur's thighs and kissed him. None of those soft teasing biting kisses Eames had given him in the taxi on the way over, and not like the chaste kiss he'd given Arthur when he'd suggested coming back here in the first place. No these kisses Arthur felt all the way down into his bones, soaking in and settling themselves in some deep dark place Arthur hadn't known was aching to be filled.
"Eames." He gasped, pressing against the other man.
"Let me, just - let me." Eames said slowly, pushing Arthur's suit jacket from his shoulders. He should complain, he's got to hang it up, to at least throw it over the back of a chair, but Eames' lips were against his throat and Arthur couldn't think of anything but that. Slowly Eames pulled him away from the door, pulled him through the apartment, somehow finding his way into the bedroom, and divesting Arthur of every article of clothing he'd put on that morning before they even reached the bedroom door.
It was kind of a miracle that they didn't end up on their faces Arthur's legs hopelessly tangled in his trousers. And yet they made it, and Eames pushed Arthur back onto the bed at the first available moment.
"You are wearing far too many clothes." Arthur said, his head clearing for the first time since they'd stepped into his apartment now that Eames was no longer touching him. He propped himself up on his elbows to watch Eames as he stood over him.
"I believe I told you to let me." Eames replied. "That means just trust that I know what I'm doing, and I've got a plan."
"Of course you do." Arthur said shaking his head slowly.
"You're kind of cute when you don't believe me."
"If you call me cute again I'll punch you in the face."
"I certainly believe that." Eames grinned easily at Arthur, like he knew with absolute certainty that Arthur would never do any such thing to him.
"Eames, if you are not naked and in my bed in the next sixty seconds I'm going to take care of this on my own and you can hitch a ride back to your hotel." Arthur said firmly, narrowing his eyes at Eames in a way that was starting to become habit between them. He'd known the man all of two days and all ready he was forming habits - this was not good.
Thankfully though, Eames took this warning to heart and he was in bed with Arthur a moment later, and all thoughts of habit and warnings and threats had disappeared. Lost in the way Eames kissed him, the way he touched and bit and pulled and stroked and fuck yes.
"Don't stop." Arthur gasped, pulling Eames down to press a biting kiss against his mouth, a leg hooked around Eames' waist pulling him in deeper with each thrust. He'd feel this in the morning, and throughout the next day and that thought alone was enough to have him racing toward completion. But it was Eames' fingers curling around his cock, pulling him in slow lazy strokes in counterpoint to the sharp rapid thrusts of his hips that tipped Arthur's balance and had him falling over the edge.
And with only a few thrusts more Eames followed right after him, joining Arthur in that inexorable drowning pull of pleasure until his mind was blank, and his ears were filled with the sound of his racing heart and his panting breaths.
Later that night, with Eames curled up against him in the dark, Arthur lay thinking in the dark. About what had happened that night, what it all meant, what would happen that next day at the office, he wondered if anyone would know - if they would be able to look at him and see what they'd done here.
"Stop thinking so much, pet." Eames muttered against the back of his neck, his breath sleep warmed and tickling at the short hairs there. "You're making it impossible to sleep."
"That's what I do, Mr. Eames."
"I am well aware of that fact, Arthur." Eames assured him pressing a lingering kiss to his shoulder. "But like I told you this afternoon, you mustn't be afraid to let go of those thoughts and just go."
"Mmm." Arthur hummed thoughtfully, remembering that conversation.
"Close your eyes, and sleep." Eames told him. "You cannot change what will happen tomorrow by thinking it to death."
Eames had a point, once again, another worryingly familiar habit that was starting to form. Eames was going to change everything, of at least that much Arthur was completely certain as he let himself drift off into his dreams.