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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[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.]

Right.

[Arthur reaches out to take the bottle, calmly putting it down on the grass out of Eames' reach because that's frankly enough of that. It's morning time and the only drink allowed is coffee. Eames can make his Irish later if he wants.]

But it's not like you would have forced me or anything.

[Well okay, that's unfair. Eames is certainly a little upset to see Arthur take the bottle, but there's more important things to deal with. Like the visible surprise on his face at what Arthur says.]

No, never.

[Well good. Not that he was actually worried, but it's always nice to confirm it again. Arthur gestures with his cigarette as he pulls the blanket tighter around himself with his free hand.]

We've all got shit in our heads we can't help, Eames. It's about what you actually do.

[Another drag on the cigarette. How nice.]

'Sides, I was kinda into it while it was happening.

[He frowns, looking at the cigarette between his fingers. He just doesn't want to be this way.]

I just don't want to be someone who thinks of you like... A thing that I own. I don't want to see you talk to someone and get mad about it.

[Arthur sighs and looks out at the garden. It feels like it's going to be a really nice day. He's quiet for a while, thinking about this whole thing and how to move forward. The reality is that he doesn't feel this thing that Eames is talking about, that this battle's happening almost entirely in his head. Dealing with Eames' bad moods just come with the territory, but the how's and why's of the moods aren't something he can really wrangle with. That's ultimately up to Eames.]

[He looks back at Eames, a gentle and tired look on his face.]

Do you want me to stop talking to other fae like that?

No.

[It's instant, he's not about to start dictating who Arthur can speak to or how, even aside from how even something that "small" is enough to make his stomach lurch, it's such a slippery slope. How easily it could become deciding anyone Arthur's "allowed" to see, to talk to. He doesn't want that.]

I don't want to start dictating what you can do. I just have to deal with it.

I'm offering to reel it in.

[He sighs again, looking down at his cigarette and then back to Eames.]

It's not like I'm shopping around. I don't have to flirt if you don't like it—it's just kind of fun, not a huge loss.

Arthur, I'd tell you to go fuck yourself if you told me not to flirt with... Anyone at all, honestly.

[He might be a dick but he's not that much of a hypocrite.]

[Maybe he's just feeling generous because he's tired and he wants to be cuddled, but Arthur doesn't see it as that big a deal. Either way, Eames is refusing, so he doesn't pursue it further. He lifts the cigarette to his lips once again and takes another long drag.]

Well I don't know what to do, then.

[It's soft, a little sad. He wants Eames to be happy.]

Neither do I.

[He sighs softly, quiet for a few moments, and then reaches out to tug lightly on the blanket Arthur's covering himself with.]

Come here.

[Arthur adjusts the blanket so he can drape it over both of them, sliding closer on the bench to get as close to Eames as possible. He just wants to be held for a little bit..]

[Eames shuffles closer and pulls the other side around them, putting an arm around Arthur and leaning close to nose at the side of his face.]

I love you so much.

[Arthur leans into him and grins at the attention.]

I love you too.

[He keeps nosing at Arthur's face, pressing light kisses to his cheek and temple. He has this urge to keep apologising and explaining himself, but maybe right now isn't the time.]

[Arthur hums happily, relaxing against Eames. He refuses to turn and kiss him because he's still working through his cigarette, and as soon as he's ready to put it out he makes a slightly mournful sound because he's about to say something that will disrupt this bliss.]

I need coffee.

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