ruffians | i've got this feeling i can't shake

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i've got this feeling i can't shake

[This gathering isn't anything special, especially not by the "standards" Eames has been discovering over these last few years, but it is one of those things where the Lord of Autumn should make an appearance. A lot of fae and various other types celebrating some minor thing that Eames can't even remember. The drinks are good though, and there is the odd familiar face he actually enjoys the company of.]

[It's all just... Fine. Except for one thing, a fae who is absolutely stunning, unabashedly inhuman, somebody Eames would certainly love to take home were it a different time. But she's not interested in him by the looks of it anyway. During the latter half of the evening, he catches glimpses of her with Arthur, and he could brush off the flirting if it weren't for the way he could see it being reciprocated.]

[It becomes steadily harder to ignore, glances become hard stares with a clenched jaw for lingering moments, barely paying attention to whatever conversation he's found himself in. Entirely more interested in this display he's witnessing.]

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[Eames stays cuddled up with Arthur, kissing him and playing with his hair while he falls asleep, full of affection for this man. But once the afterglow starts to fade he's less... Well. He's not as happy.]

[This has happened a few times now, and in the past Eames always chalked it up to being in a bad mood. Somebody got under his skin or something stupid happened and put him in a mood where some rough sex is very welcome. But tonight he was significantly aware of why. Aware enough to notice a pattern, to realise this is a part of himself that he didn't know about. Part of him wonders if he was like this with previous partners, if he was possessive and aggressive and brushed it off as bad moods. A bigger part of him sees the bruise starting to change colour on Arthur's wrist and, even though it's far from the first time, this time he can barely stand it.]

[He tries going to sleep, but he just can't. He just keeps thinking about tonight and what it says about him, how it means there's this aspect of himself he was never aware of and can't control, something that he hates. After some hours of ruminating, Eames gets out of bed and goes to get a drink. Then he elects to dig out Arthur's cigarettes that he likes to pretend he absolutely doesn't have-- Eames hasn't really bothered with smoking since it fell out of fashion, but there's definitely something relaxing in the ritual of it and he could use that. Taking that and a bottle of whiskey (and a glass) out to the garden to either think or just try and relax.]

[Arthur wakes up unusually early. Maybe it's the fact that he slept so deeply, but it could also be the fact that there's usually a human shaped furnace next to him and it's been missing, so in between REM cycles his body decides that something is wrong and wakes him up. It's past dawn but the sun hasn't finished rising just yet, so there's a nice calm outside from what he can tell. It's probably dewy and a little bit chilly — sounds like kind of a nice morning to go have some coffee out in the garden, if he can drag himself out of bed.]

[First he's just going to try calling for Eames. Best case scenario is actually getting some more cuddling in, so he's going to try that option first, gently calling out with a groggy voice that Eames might be able to hear downstairs if he's listening for it.]

[Eames doesn't hear him, he's half zoned out, half pure anxiety in the garden, slowly working through this bottle. He's very stressed out and has no space in his mind for anything else.]

[Ah well. Arthur doesn't know where he is but he's not falling back to sleep, so he decides to drag himself to the bathroom for a quick shower and then he throws on some boxer briefs and a t-shirt to go downstairs.]

[He's fully intending to just sit around in the kitchen while the coffeemaker does its thing, but he catches a glimpse of Eames out in the garden and frowns in confusion. He wonders if something happened after he fell asleep, or if something else happened at the party that Eames didn't tell him about, but ultimately all his wondering is kind of useless. He picks up a throw from the living room and drapes it around his shoulders before he steps outside, confused frown deepening as he sees the whiskey.]

Hey.

Hey.

[He looks up at Arthur with a tired smile and reaches out to rest a hand lightly on Arthur's hip.]

[Arthur sits himself down on the bench next to Eames with a heavy sigh, because it's still morning and he hasn't had coffee and it feels like Eames is Going Through Something and all of this is just turning out to not be ideal. He pulls the blanket tighter around himself and raises his eyebrows sleepily.]

How long have you been out here?

Couple of hours?

[He looks at his watch with a frown, but it's not like he checked the time when he got out of bed. To be fair, a man sitting in his underwear in the garden on a chilly morning with booze and cigarettes is not a man one should expect to be fully cognisant of the passage of time.]

[He sees the cigarette in Eames' hand.]

You went through my desk.

[It's an observation, tinged with annoyance that he's been found out, as if he'll need to find a new hiding place for some reason. It smells awful and tempting at the same time but he leaves it, sighing and looking up at Eames' face for a sign or a clue.]

Something wrong?

Yeah, sorry. I'll buy you a new pack.

[He offers Arthur a lopsided smile, but it doesn't really reach his eyes. He's just so tired.]

Just got some stuff on my mind.

[Arthur's a terrible hypocrite who hates this kind of thing. He's here and he loves Eames and there's very little that could cause him to stop loving Eames so he should talk. It's not rocket science. Arthur has and will be just as avoidant but who cares.]

[His tone isn't impatient yet though. Still just tired.]

You gonna tell me what it is?

[Eames narrows his eyes for a moment, clearly thinking it over instead of immediately deciding to talk to Arthur, and when he does talk he's obviously struggling with actually saying it.]

I'm... Sorry. About last night.

[It's too early for Arthur to try and be intuiting shit, so he rubs his face and does his best to stay patient.]

Which part?

All of that... [He gestures with the hand holding the cigarette, trying to find the right word, and when he does there's some emphasis on it that suggests he's pretty disgusted about it.] Possessive shit.

[He can't believe Eames would steal his cigarettes and wave one around in front of him like this. It's clear Eames is deeply unhappy with his behaviour and Arthur genuinely wants to hear him out and be there for him and sort through this, but... mm.]

[Arthur turns to sit sideways on the bench, stretching his arm out along the back of it behind Eames.]

It's okay. I know that's not really what you're like.

It is though.

[He sighs, frowning deeply, trying to figure out how to explain it.]

I always thought it wasn't, but... Well, it's hardly as if this was the first time.

[Arthur sighs deeply and really tries to consider this. It probably wasn't the first time, no... Arthur can remember another party or two where the night ended pretty much the same way, and maybe he had been talking to someone at those parties or not, but it's never really occurred to him as a problem. Also that cigarette is horribly distracting.]

[He frowns in silence for a while before he finally holds out his hand.]

Give me one of my cigarettes.

[Eames opens the pack and holds it out for Arthur, waiting patiently for him to take one so he can light it for him.]

[Arthur takes one and leans forward for Eames to light, and then he takes a nice long drag. That... feels really fucking good. And it also clears the distraction from his mind so he can think about the actual shit Eames is talking about. He scratches at his temple and then speaks with a shrug. It's not dismissive, just gently confused and curious.]

I thought we had a good time last night.

It's not that, it's...

[His mind is going a mile a minute and Eames is struggling to slow it down enough to pick out the right thoughts, to find the right words to explain why he's so shaken up about this. It's unusual for him, adds an extra layer of stress to this whole thing.]

[He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to try and slow it all down, eyes cast downward toward a patch of grass when he thinks he has it.]

Most fae have a tendency to covet, to possess and control. It's an ugly thing, really. Taking ownership of somebody because they're beautiful or they entertain you. [He breathes an unamused laugh.] And foolishly, I let myself think I was different.

[Eames shakes his head, still looking at the ground, and then leans against the back of the bench, shoulders slumped and a deep frown on his face.]

I don't want to be that. Especially not with you.

[Arthur's not as well-read on fae as he is on vampires or werewolves, but he's done enough research to know this much about them. He doesn't know how much of it is cultural and how much of it is just baked into them as beings, but he does know he's never felt it from Eames.]

[He lifts his hand from the back of the bench to Eames' shoulder, fingers brushing his neck in what is hopefully a soothing gesture while he takes another long drag from his cigarette.]

I don't think you are that way, Eames. Maybe... something about that fae at the party just set you off, and you needed to get it out of your system.

[He brings the cigarette back up, and his eyes catch on the bruising as he lifts his arm.]

You'd have stopped if I asked.

[He sighs softly at the touch of Arthur's fingers, eyes falling closed. He doesn't know if Arthur's just making excuses, trying to reason it out, or if he really doesn't understand, but Eames has been thinking about this all night.]

And every other time you spoke to some fae and I dragged you home in a bad mood?

[He turns his head to look at Arthur, eyebrows raised.]

[Arthur's visibly tired, eyes heavy and shoulders slumped, jaw almost slack compared to the tense state it seems to default to when he's awake and alert. He shrugs lazily and shakes his head.]

It's allowed to happen more than once.

[He flicks some ashes away and then takes another drag. One of the things he misses about this horrible habit is the active pauses it allows him in conversation — the finite amount of time it excuses him to think about what he's going to say next. After he exhales and breathes in the fresh air for a beat, he goes on curiously:]

Were you mad at me last night?

Not exactly.

[Eames frowns, thinking. He's not sure exactly how to describe it, especially when these aren't feelings that are exactly normal for him. That, and the words coming out of his mouth feel rancid on his tongue. He hates them. Hates being this.]

I was mad at both of you when I watched you talk, but it was more this need to remind you who's whose.

[Arthur sighs and looks down at the ground, a wry look flashing across his face as he remembers Eames' words last night. In the moment he hadn't thought about very deeply, distracted by all the sex that was happening. He frowns and looks back up at Eames.]

What would you have done if I wasn't in the mood?

[There's no fear in his voice. Maybe a little concern, but mostly it's a mix of curiosity and sympathy that Eames seems to be hurting over this right now. It's a good thing he hasn't quite fully woken up yet, otherwise he might start overthinking all this, but right now he's primarily focused on what Eames is feeling and how he can help.]

Probably more of this.

[He hold up the bottle.]

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