Before anything else, Eames would like to say, this was definitely not his fault.

Okay, perhaps a little his fault. But it's not like he had known better, last he had heard, Arthur had been in the States visiting Cobb and his sprogs and so the Forger had assumed his darling's Paris flat would be available.

Of course, he only realized he had been mistaken when he was already in said flat, trying and failing to lock the door against the two suited men who had managed to follow him. Thrown to the carpeted floor when one of the men had kicked the door open, Eames gripped his gun, already readying an explanation to Arthur for the blood stains.

'Really darling, it was horrific, I was just visiting when I saw these men in your flat, I tried to stop them but I was on my lonesome,' or maybe appeal to the Point Man's soft side, 'Oh darling, they tortured me, but I tried to get as little blood on the carpet as possible,'

Of course, any excuse he could come up with was useless as a familiar and very beloved voice spoke up from the direction of the bedroom (And yes, Eames knew that was the direction of the bedroom, sadly not because he had ever been inside it with Arthur, but stalking the Point Man meant knowing these things).

"What the fuck is going on here?" Was the growled question.

Eames looked up, ready to defend himself, because a pissed off Arthur would always be much more frightening than any mafia. Only to freeze again at the sight that met him.

Arthur stood at the entrance to his bedroom, clad in nothing but a half open dress shirt and boxers. The Point Man's usually perfectly coiffed hair was for once lacking any hair products and hung loosely, curling slightly and Eames swears they're just begging for him to reach out and pet. As Arthur was clad in such tiny boxers, Eames' eyes of course gravitated to the smooth flesh of his darling's thighs where a holster was strapped, the gun held and pointed to them by a slightly sleepy, very annoyed Point. Huh. Eames had always wondered what Arthur's sleeping (or really any non-work attire) attire looked like.

"Well," Eames couldn't help but mutter, congratulating himself on at least having a wonderful eyeful before his death, "Hello darling."

And of course that would drag Arthur's attention to him. Being on the receiving end of Arthur's glare was usually quite fun, but in their current state, well, Eames' pants were starting to get uncomfortable, and considering the fact he was splayed on the floor on his back, that was a tad embarrassing. "Well, darling-" he tried again.

Yelling in french interrupted their conversation, which really was just rude and totally earned the shot to the knee courtesy of pissed off Arthur. And yeah, definitely not comfortable for Eames.

"I'll have you know, that I have neighbors and yelling in the middle of the night is rude,"

And Eames, because apparently self preservation instincts and higher brain functioning were thrown out the window because Arthur was wearing NOTHING BUT A DRESS SHIRT AND BOXERS, spoke up, "Actually darling, this flat is sound proof,"

A simple glare that translated to 'Shut up, Mr. Eames,' and Arthur was back to dealing with his unwelcome visitors, gracefully strolling past Eames (and no, Eames did NOT stare at Arthur's ass...much)

One of the men was on the ground, clutching his knee and moaning in pain, the other frozen and gaping, obviously recognizing the infamous Point Man. The man just had enough time to snap out of it and try to form an explanation before Arthur was pointing his gun to his head, pulling the trigger before a word of explanation could be uttered.

The man on the ground received the same treatment. And Eames was left staring at the two bodies now bleeding all over the carpeted floor.

And well, that should not have such a turn on at all, Eames tried to convince himself, as he shifted in his position when Arthur turned to him. Walking to the Forger and crouching between the British man's splayed legs, Arthur rubbed at his eyes, somehow emanating adorableness and being a fucking turn on at the same time.

Of course, turn on or no, Arthur's gun which was dangling much too close to his crotch was enough to silence any of the thoughts running through Eames' mind. "Uhm, pet..."

"You're doing the cleanup," Arthur snapped, and Eames eagerly nodded, "Of course, darling, wouldn't have it any other way,"

Arthur sighed and stood and Eames gulped because with the lack of space and the sudden move, he found himself much too close to temptation than was comfortable. But Arthur just stood there for a few more seconds before strolling back to his room, muttering a "Good night, Mr. Eames." before slamming the door shut.

And fuck, Eames swears the hip swaying was definitely not necessary, thank you very much Arthur.

Crossposted at my tumblr (hardyjoegasm . tumblr . com)