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[PSL with forgedfaces, Post-COA]
Apr. 12th, 2024 04:45 pmIt wasn’t all that unusual for Arthur to go 16 hours without replying to a text from Eames. As much as he instinctively prioritized his lover, there were times — especially when they were working separate jobs, especially when a job was nearing its conclusion, as it was now — that he wasn’t able to respond right away. They had contingencies in place, alerts that would notify the other if something was off. A flurry of texts was, if anything, a luxury.
And if Arthur hadn’t told Eames that his job had a window to wrap almost ten days early, if Arthur hadn’t responded because he was at cruising altitude, outside network range (that was a lie; he’d never been shy about stealing in flight wifi; he’d fallen asleep) — he didn’t get to surprise Eames very often. He almost never got to be spontaneous.
He woke up a little before landing and used his “complimentary” wifi to add his name to Eames’s hotel reservation. The concierge didn’t bat an eye at his slightly flight bedraggled appearance or sudden check-in. Thank god Eames was more prone than Arthur to the creature comforts afforded by a higher class of independent hotelier. Arthur would lean to the practicality and anonymity of a nice, higher-end chain every time, but luxury had its place.
In the room, he toed off his shoes and left them by the door, his suitcase just inside the closet where it could be seen immediately. Spontaneity was one thing; spooking a heavily armed international criminal was just stupid. He flipped on the lights with one hand, the other going to his throat to pop the first three buttons of his shirt. The slight gape as it fell open revealed the leather underneath. Over time, the hint of collar had become a nonverbal signal between them that Arthur was detached from work, relaxed. Devoid of responsibilities to anyone but Eames. That Eames could make any demand of him. Not that Eames couldn’t demand anything of him, at any time. Or that he hadn’t pushed Arthur to the wall and exposedthe collar himself on memorable occasion.
Feeling more settled than he had since the airport almost a month ago, Arthur hooked the desk chair with his ankle and settled in with his laptop while he awaited Eames’s return. He wasn’t working, but that didn’t mean he was completely detached. His nap on the plane meant a few loose ends he’d envisaged already tidied up by this point. All the better to keep himself entertained until he heard the electronic hum of the key card.
And if Arthur hadn’t told Eames that his job had a window to wrap almost ten days early, if Arthur hadn’t responded because he was at cruising altitude, outside network range (that was a lie; he’d never been shy about stealing in flight wifi; he’d fallen asleep) — he didn’t get to surprise Eames very often. He almost never got to be spontaneous.
He woke up a little before landing and used his “complimentary” wifi to add his name to Eames’s hotel reservation. The concierge didn’t bat an eye at his slightly flight bedraggled appearance or sudden check-in. Thank god Eames was more prone than Arthur to the creature comforts afforded by a higher class of independent hotelier. Arthur would lean to the practicality and anonymity of a nice, higher-end chain every time, but luxury had its place.
In the room, he toed off his shoes and left them by the door, his suitcase just inside the closet where it could be seen immediately. Spontaneity was one thing; spooking a heavily armed international criminal was just stupid. He flipped on the lights with one hand, the other going to his throat to pop the first three buttons of his shirt. The slight gape as it fell open revealed the leather underneath. Over time, the hint of collar had become a nonverbal signal between them that Arthur was detached from work, relaxed. Devoid of responsibilities to anyone but Eames. That Eames could make any demand of him. Not that Eames couldn’t demand anything of him, at any time. Or that he hadn’t pushed Arthur to the wall and exposedthe collar himself on memorable occasion.
Feeling more settled than he had since the airport almost a month ago, Arthur hooked the desk chair with his ankle and settled in with his laptop while he awaited Eames’s return. He wasn’t working, but that didn’t mean he was completely detached. His nap on the plane meant a few loose ends he’d envisaged already tidied up by this point. All the better to keep himself entertained until he heard the electronic hum of the key card.
