Sinful.

Eames doesn’t know how, but Arthur manages to slip by him without his noticing. It isn’t until Arthur is halfway out the door that Eames even realizes Arthur is leaving. And then by the time he’s turned around and ready to speak to Arthur, Arthur is already disappearing down the hall and out of sight.

Eames frowns, half out of disappointment, half out of fondness. Slick little bastard. He must get a kick out of pushing every last one of Eames’ buttons – or something. No matter; Eames will catch him sooner or later. If Arthur wants to play hard to get, so be it. It’s never any fun if everything is handed right to you anyways.

Eames calls Ariadne later that day to squeal about the kiss.

(Okay, maybe not squeal, because Eames has never, under any circumstances, squealed, and he certainly doesn’t plan on it anytime soon, but you get the point)

Eames shows up later the next day on purpose, partly because he doesn’t even want to look at his painting right now (he knows he’ll just go about overworking everything and messing it up) but mostly because he kind of wants to spite Arthur a little. He doesn’t know if it’ll work. He doesn’t know how Arthur will react, or if he’ll react at all. But, regardless, when Eames shows up the next day, Arthur is already there and so are a couple other people.

“Good morning, Mr. Eames,” Arthur says evenly, brown eyes soft on Eames.

Eames nods once and allows himself a slight smile, “Morning, darling.”

The two girls in the room look back and forth between Arthur and Eames. They wonder if something is going on and whisper quietly with each other, heads bent close and hair providing a secretive little curtain. Both men pretend not to notice.

Arthur doesn’t speak to Eames for the rest of the morning, and Eames doesn’t know what it is but Arthur is looking particularly attractive today. It’s the way he holds himself so delicately, the sway in his step, the perfectly straight lines and sharp angles that define his body. It’s probably nothing new and it’s most definitely just the temptation getting to Eames now that he knows that what he wants could possibly be his, but Eames doesn’t think about that. All he thinks about as he smudges charcoal shapes and shadows into paper is that he better get a fucking award for not raping Arthur right then and there, because it’s getting damn hard to control himself.

When everyone leaves for lunch, Arthur stays behind to speak with Patty for a moment before leaving, sparing Eames just a passing glance and a slight smirk as he leaves. Sexual frustration would be an understatement at this point.

Tomorrow, he repeats to himself as Ariadne would tell him if he didn’t have the sense to keep these particular thoughts to himself and ranted about it to her. Tomorrow.

Friday, for the first time ever, Arthur arrives late – or really, it’s not exactly late, because he arrives promptly at eight o’clock but it feels late because Arthur has never been less than fifteen minutes early. Eames is itching with impatience; he just wants to talk to Arthur again, but maybe, he thinks, maybe Arthur already knows this and is avoiding him on purpose. Eames doesn’t know if that’s a good sign or a bad one.

“Good morning, Mr. Eames,” Arthur says as if nothing’s wrong as he passes Eames’ worktable.

“You’re late,” is the first thing out of Eames’ mouth.

The corner of Arthur’s mouth turns up into an amused almost-half-smile and Arthur turns away to get into place so class can start. He doesn’t say anything more to Eames all morning.

(This is how Arthur flirts)

Eames can’t even focus all morning and none of his drawings turn out the way he wants them to. He feels restless and antsy and he just knows that Arthur is being particularly provocative in his poses on purpose to get on his nerves – well, provocative for Arthur, anyways (it’s subtle, always, little differences that most people wouldn’t pick up on but Eames does). Eames is torn between wanting to completely defile Arthur in the filthiest way possible and wanting to punch him in the face for being so difficult.

Somewhere halfway through the morning Eames realizes that this is Arthur’s last day with them and completely freezes. His head snaps up and he kind of just stares at Arthur in shock for a long time until Patty’s soft murmur of “five minutes” brings him back to reality. Eames pretends like he’s working on his drawing even though his focus is anywhere but.

When they take a break, he feels Arthur’s eyes on him and instantly knows that the older man noticed Eames watching him earlier. Arthur probably wants Eames to look his way. Eames, however, refuses to meet Arthur’s eyes, afraid of what he’ll see, afraid of what he’ll do.

The morning drags on.

When at last class breaks for lunch and everyone is putting away their things, Eames finds himself moving slower than ever. Though earlier, he’d desperately wanted it to just be noon already, he now found that he was dreading it more than ever, because every second that went by was a second less that Eames had with Arthur. After all, who knew if Eames would ever see that slender, witty man ever again?

Everyone begins to file out the door, the room quieting. Eames hangs behind, taking his time washing his hands and picking up stray pieces of charcoal off of his worktable.

“Thank you for modeling for us,” Patty smiles at Arthur on her way out.

Arthur smiles a polite smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes and nods once. Patty slips out the door. Arthur straightens out his clothing, smoothing every last wrinkle out of his shirt, before picking up his messenger bag and making as if to leave. He walks to the door silently, without hesitation, and Eames wonders what will happen if he doesn’t call out for Arthur to stop. Will Arthur simply walk out of Eames’ life without another glance back? Eames doesn’t want to risk it.

“Darling, if you’re not hurrying off to anywhere, could you wait a moment?” Eames calls out in a perfectly innocent voice that doesn’t give away anything just before Arthur reaches the door.

Eames watches as Arthur pauses mid-step, hand outstretched for the door handle, and then slowly lowers his arm to his side, turning ever so slowly to face Eames with a look that reads of polite interest and nothing more. A few of the students who haven’t left yet purposefully slow their movements with the intention of eavesdropping, but one quick glare from Eames is all it takes to make them reconsider.

When they leave, Eames gestures to the door and says, “If you don’t mind.”

Arthur shuts the door and then walks back over to Eames, that politely interested look falling from his face in favor of expectant curiosity. He stands some three feet away from Eames and it feels too far, but Eames doesn’t push it, not yet.

“Well, then,” Eames begins, grinning a smile that’s more confident than he feels. “I believe we have quite a bit to talk about, don’t we?”

Arthur’s mouth curves up into a deliciously dangerous smirk (surely, Eames thinks, surely Arthur must know what this does to Eames) and he says evenly, “I suppose we do.”