Eventually, Arthur caved in. Or, didn't so much cave in as went with intuition, the warehouse empty if not for Eames taking one last look of the file in his lap, feet on his table and a cup of coffee in hand, his expression grim as he focused in the details, slotting them with what he'd seen while 'working' with the mark's best friend. Everything had to be perfect, as the slightest mishap could, and would crumble this whole job in a pile of haphazardly put together Lego blocks.

Arthur, shutting his laptop, stretched on his seat and steered his eyes towards Eames. The man had oh, so conveniently chosen the desk right next to Arthur's, where he could pass by when getting whatever, gently ruffling the hair in the back of Arthur's head with each smooth move. Years before, Arthur would've thought it accidental. By the time he'd learned to read Eames, he'd come to a conclusion quite on the opposite… It was deliberate, but the whys and whatfors were still slightly fuzzy.

Most of the time, Arthur tried to ignore it, but when Eames leaned over his shoulder to see what Arthur was working on, his breath seemed too hot beside his ear, and the hand too possessive to be casual.

Eames, however, went about his business like nothing had never happened. A façade, perfected.

Since Arthur has overheard Eames talking with Ariadne, or rather, Ariadne lecturing Eames about the finer details of emotional affairs between two intellectal individuals (her words precisely.), the touching had become more constant. Gradually, but it was still there… What Arthur missed the most, much to his chagrin, was the lack of their verbal duels. At some point, Eames had turned into a perfect gentleman, reserving his wits only for Yusuf, who mostly just lifted a brow at Eames's attempts of riling him up.

In all honestly, even a blind man could see how miserable Eames was about the state of things.

And here they were, late-night workers, pouring over finer details, pretending to have lost into their own little worlds, when the majority of the time it was one man staring at the other, glancing away hurriedly when it was the other's turn to feat their eyes. Not a word was spoken, and the distilled silence was about to crack the camel's back. This had taken two weeks, playing this odd version of cat and mouse where no one knew which was which, or if perhaps Eames was turning into a goldfish.

Maybe a golden retriever, considering that in these days, he was doing everything asked of him, which only served for Arthur worrying about the metal health of his coworker.

It was a long time ago since Arthur had viewed Eames only as that. He'd been the fodder of many a daydreams, dreams, private once, and the sight of Eames showering had left an inerasable mark in Arthur's very, very private wank-folder. Not to mention the sounds coming through the flimsy hotel room's bathrooms door, when Eames had seen it fit to relief himself, sans Arthur. Sharing accommodations did offer safety, but there were the sides which Arthur couldn't decided whether they were on the good, or the bad.

Maybe both.

Perhaps it was time to find out.

Reaching for his lap-top case, Arthur glanced p to find Eames staring at him with a frown. "Going already?" It was a statement rather than a question, as if Eames was succumbing to his fate.

Eames's eyes conveyed as much anticipation as the urge to raise a white flag, the man's whole demeanour radiating defeat rather than the glorious triumphant that usually invaded the air.

"Suppose so. Nothing much to do before we get everything from you."

"So that's why you have your eyes on me so predatorily, " Eames flashed a smirk so rare nowadays it made Arthur's heart leap a little. He'd missed that, if he was honest with himself. He missed all of Eames, if he was perfectly honest.

Each step Arthur thought he was taking towards the door, led him closer to Eames, his feet moving him on their on volition.

"Dream?" Arthur offered, offhandedly, though there was a tremor running through his spine.

"Nah. Had enough for one day. Thos compounds of Yusuf really are as sharp as he brags. Looking forward to a void, to be honest."

Somehow, Arthur found himself sitting on the edge of Eames's desk, one leg over his knee, his bag long forgotten by the side of his own table.

"Mind if I ask you something?" I had to be the tiredness speaking. "Why have you changed? Someone changing you? For what end?" Well, subtlety was never one of Arthur's virtues, and the knot in his stomach all but allowed hi to shut the fuck up.

"Wouldn't have thought you'd noticed.." Eames seemed genuinely surprised, even reaching for his poker chip in his nervousness.

Bringing the chip to his lips, gathering his thoughts, he finally managed; "The glaring lights of the place really do kill the mood, "Eames pocketed the chip again. "Yes, someone has made me change, after long last."

The unexpected roil of jealousy attacking Arthur's insides nearly had him roughing Eames up, just to get him to spill the rest so that Arthur could happily rummage around and find this person, person, who, apparently, had changed something in the man Arthur had become to think as his. Obviously, Arthur's rational side offered, that happens when you work with someone for months. Eames was part of his team, after all…

Fuck it. There was denying it. Not consciously, not subconsciously - The man had wiggled himself in Arthur's black little heart, weaseled his way until Arthur had caged it and called it his own. And now this.

"Someone I know?

"Someone you know quite intimately, darling. At least I hope so."

The machines behind Arthur's eyes worked overtime, calculating, comparing the odds, and nothing comprehensible came out. The scorch of the endearment hurt deeper than Arthur ever allowed.

"Oh," was the only intelligible thing he could think to say.

Eames lounged back in his chair, averting Arthur's eyes while arranging a pile of scattered papers on his desk. "Yes, and I think we've done dancing around the elephant in the room. Time to come clear, after all this time."

"I agree," since what else could Arthur have said? 'No, I don't want to lose my fantasies? No, I don't want to stop pretending waking up next to you? No, I'll all but die if I can't find you smiling at me again?'

"You see, Arthur, while you take the bait so deliciously, that's not what I want. It's become more than that. I can't rile you up at every given moment and think you'll fall for me."

"Excuse me?"

"You, Arthur, this is about you, and I guess this is a good time as any to spill by guts. It's not that it's going to get any easier, stalling."

"Me?" The cogs of the machines wrirred once and ground to a halt, leaving Arthur to his own devices.

"To be frank, I haven't slept at all, unless my last thoughts are on you, love. I can't eat, unless I have some of your favourite foods, imagining of how you enjoy them. It's like I need you beside me even in the most mundane things. I can't even shower without fantasizing about you there, wet, glorious in your tousled hair and bare feet." Eames brushed his face tiredly. "Everything seems out of place without you, so work is what I drown myself in. At least you're here." Eames hid his face in his hand's with a groan. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this. It's not like it's making me any better."

"Mr. Eames." Somehow Arthur found his voice. "I'll have you know that I've been wondering," he shifted from his perch, standing up, glancing at the door to the warehouse as if to banish all and everything about to spoil this moment. "I've been wondering about your quietness, and delved into my memories to find you there." He shifted again, something placating in his eyes to assuage the panic in Eames's, which worked wonders for Eames's fear that Arthur would just leave.

"I've been wondering about the distance between us, why you refuse to share accommodation even when it would be imperative, and finding you sleeping in your car, well… Not one of my proudest moments."

"I just didn't think I could keep my hands off you," Eames said quietly. "I'm merely a man, contrary to popular belief."

Slowly, as if not to frighten a tender butterfly, Arthur sat, lightly, straddling Eames's knees, ignoring the loud screech the chair gave in protest.

Folding his arms behind Eames's neck, then, as Eames sat petrified, coaxed his hands to wrap around his waist, Arthur pressed their foreheads together, breathing the same air, staying there, not believing this was happening. But the toss of his die just a few moments before had assured that this was nothing like a dream.

A dream didn't smell like Eames, like he did now. Dream didn't clasp his hands around Arthur like a drowning man clutching at straws.

Finally, at long last, Arthur made to bring one more aspect to his current reality - brushing his lips lightly over Eames's, slowly, savoring, yet urgent, as if time would end before he could get his fill.

The kiss deepened, gradually, peacefully, unlike all the fantasies, unlike what romance novels led people to believe. Not chaste, no, but neither of the men protruded an arousal either. This was not a time for carnal thoughts. This was only them, at the barest, their hopes and wishes floating around them only to come together in almost-coherent thoughts, with no fear of tomorrow. This was where they lingered, until…

"My suggestion, Mr. Eames, if you don't have any objections, would be to take this elsewhere. And this time you will not sleep in the car, or so help me gods.

"Oh, so it did work," Eames grinned against Arthur's lips, barely missing the, no doubt affectionate, swat aimed for his head.