Arthur is not wearing green, and Eames finds that as a perfect excuse to get close to the other.

A smirk flies across the forger's lips as he paces over to where the point man is sitting. He places both of his palms faced down on the wooden desk and leans forward, the amused expression still playing on his facial features.

Arthur then peers up, frowning slightly, as usual.

"Is there anything I can help you with, Mr. Eames?" he asks, and fuck, Eames swears Arthur is drawing out his words in that sexy manner on purpose. Nevertheless, he tries to ignore it.

"Do you have any idea what today is, darling?" he questions.

Arthur bookmarks a place in the book he was reading before turning his gaze back to the forger.

"It seems to be 'Irritate-Arthur-Day'." He puts the book down and strings his fingers together on the desk. "Is that all you wanted to ask me?"

Oh, there are plenty questions that Eames wants to ask, but at the moment, he is strung on his original plan.

"Incorrect. Really, Arthur. I thought that you would've known what day it is three years before the actual day. Well, today is—"

"St. Patrick's Day, Mr. Eames, I am aware."

Eames gazes into the brown eyes, detecting the challenge almost immediately.

"So it is. And traditionally, we wear green on St. Patrick's Day, hm? If not, we will get pinched."

Eames reaches towards Arthur's arm, but the man grabs his wrist before he can issue the pinch.

"You don't have proof that I'm not wearing green," Arthur states, "so don't assume."

Eames raises an amused brow. "Are you, now?"

"Yes, I am," the point man responds before letting go of the wrist.

Eames lightly places his hand back on the desk to brace himself.

"And where are you wearing green, exactly?"

Arthur, the bastard, leans back in his chair and allows his hand to hover his crotch area as a smirk appears on his lips. The fucking tease.

"I assure you that I am wearing green, Mr. Eames," he insists, and Eames swears that Arthur fucking purred that.

Eames licks his lips unconsciously while allowing his gaze to linger on the area where Arthur's hand is at.

"It would be more believable if you were the type to wear green," he says moments later, raising his eyes to the brown ones once more. "For now, there's no proof that you are wearing green underneath. I have to see it to believe."

Arthur's hand moves away and rests back on the table. He leans forward slightly, the smirk still playing on his lips.

"If that is the case, then perhaps you should dream a little bigger, Mr. Eames, because I am wearing green."