Sinful.

The party Arthur had been dreading really isn’t so bad. It’s just loud and the air is smoky and there are people everywhere, and Mal is holding a ridiculously bright blue drink in her hand as Arthur and Eames spot her when they arrive.

“Arthur!” she exclaims and gives him a one-armed hug. She holds out the drink in her hand to him. “Try this.”

Arthur eyes the drink suspiciously. It really is an awfully blinding shade of blue.

“If I didn’t know better, Mal, I’d say you’re trying to poison me,” he says flatly, smirking slightly at her. He takes the drink from her anyways and has a sip. He blinks twice, slowly, and then looks at Mal with eyebrows raised. “What is this?”

Mal grins and shakes her head. “I have no idea,” she says, not looking bothered by that at all. “Yusuf kind of just gave it to me; something of his own invention, I’m guessing. It’s really good, though, isn’t it?”

Arthur shrugs and agrees, and Mal smiles happily, reaching a slender arm over to a nearby table to get one for him as well. He gives her this “are you serious?” look and she smirks in a silent challenge, and he sighs and takes it from her.

“You want to try?” Mal asks Eames.

And the truth is yes, but Arthur steps in smoothly and says, before Eames can even get his mouth open, “He can’t. He’s driving.”

“Oh?” Mal says. “And why aren’t you driving, Arthur?”

“He doesn’t really approve of underage drinking in my case,” Eames says with a teasing lilt to his voice. “The driving thing is merely a pretext.”

Mal laughs. “I see,” she says and her eyes are dancing.

Dom emerges from the crowd and grins at Arthur, and the all chat for a little while until Mal and Dom drift off, out of sight. Arthur’s had a couple drinks by this point, and he’s loosened up considerably, though not quite drunk, just enough for his usual rigidity to melt away to be replaced by a kind of lazy languor. Eames smirks and slips an arm around Arthur’s waist.

“Let’s go dance,” he suggests.

Arthur gives Eames a sort of half-hearted glare, too affectionate to have the desired effect of threatening. “You can’t be serious,” Arthur says, words perfectly crisp as always.

Eames feigns a look of hurt and shock. “Oh but I am, darling,” he says. “I can’t believe you think I’m always joking. It hurts, really.”

Eames claps a hand dramatically over his chest and Arthur rolls his eyes. He knocks back the rest of his drink and then takes Eames hand, pulling him onto the dance floor.

“I knew you’d give in to me sooner or later,” Eames purrs in Arthur’s ear.

“Shut up,” Arthur snaps.

As it turns out, for all Arthur is unwilling, he actually is a rather fantastic dancer. He moves fluidly in time with the beat of the music, with Eames’ body, and he’s grinding his body against Eames’ and it’s all just kind of dirty and Eames loves it. Eames’ hands sneak under Arthur’s shirt (left untucked tonight because it’s a party and Eames hadn’t let Arthur dress himself up too much) and Eames feels the ripple of Arthur’s muscles under his skin, and Arthur grinds back against him with a little more force.

Arthur reaches his hand up to tangle in Eames’ hair and pull their mouths together. Arthur’s mouth is hot against Eames’ and Arthur tastes like sugar and alcohol and lust, and all Eames can think is fuck, fuck, fuck, he’s hard, painfully so, and he wants Arthur now, so badly. One of his hands goes to the front of Arthur’s pants, trying to undo the button, but Arthur grabs Eames’ wrist.

“That’s such a terribly tacky thing to do in public, don’t you think?” Arthur says into Eames’ mouth.

Eames huffs out a laugh. “And here I was, thinking you might actually be something of an exhibitionist,” he jokes.

Arthur shrugs and turns so that his chest is pressed up against Eames’, fitting their bodies together. “I could be,” Arthur murmurs, and Eames feels a thrum of excitement rush through his veins. Arthur’s voice is low, seductive. “But I don’t think I’m quite drunk enough for that yet. Why don’t we go back to my place instead? I think I’ve had enough of this party.”

Eames smirks and says, “As you wish.”

He all but drags Arthur out to the car while Arthur laughs at his eagerness, a sound almost too loud and loose to really be Arthur but it is, it is and Eames wonders if there’s any other way to get Arthur to laugh like that again.

Eames drives back to Arthur’s apartment almost as fast as Arthur normally drives (Arthur is something of a maniac driver, always way over the speed limit, but never once has he gotten in an accident nor has he ever received a speeding ticket), and the whole way back, Arthur’s doing a very good job of distracting Eames from not crashing, nimble fingers trailing lightly up and down Eames’ thigh.

Arthur fumbles with his keys as he goes to unlock the door to his apartment, and Eames is sure he’s doing this on purpose.

“You’re a terrible, terrible tease, you know that?” Eames says, hands on Arthur’s hips, lips trailing kisses along Arthur’s neck.

Arthur turns his head a little to smirk dangerously at Eames before pushing the door open. “You like it, though,” Arthur says as he walks in, dropping his keys on the counter and kicking his shoes off. “It’s what attracted you to me in the first place, isn’t it?”

Later, Eames will look back at this with a sort of shock that Arthur is able to read him so easily when no one else can, but now, Eames doesn’t even spare that a second thought. He crowds right into Arthur’s personal space and backs him up so that they fall back on the bed.

“Well it’s no fun if it’s too easy,” Eames murmurs, shivering as Arthur’s hands slip under his shirt and trail upwards to pull it up over Eames’ head.

There are tattoos mapping Eames’ chest and arms, not as many as he will have in a few years’ time, but the dark swirls of ink are beginning to canvas Eames’ skin and Arthur seems inexplicably drawn to them, tracing with his fingers and his mouth, and later, Arthur will tell Eames that he’s afraid of needles and that’s the only reason he hasn’t covered himself in tattoos by now and Eames will feel a little bit in love with Arthur and all his sharp edges and strange quirks.

But now, now Eames just stares down at Arthur, now completely naked beneath him, as if he’s never seen Arthur like this before. And in a way, he really hasn’t, because despite having spent hours drawing Arthur, he’s never seen Arthur’s eyes this wild or his hair mussed as it is, never seen the light pink in his cheeks or the rise and fall of his chest as he draws in ragged breaths through slightly parted, kiss-swollen lips.

“Fuck,” Eames breathes. “You’re so beautiful.”

Arthur laughs and wraps his arms around Eames’ neck to bring their lips together. “Stop being so corny, Eames,” he mumbles against Eames’ mouth.