Sinful.

Eames has already been working away for about twenty minutes when Arthur arrives at the studio the next morning. Eames calls out a good morning to Arthur in a singsong voice and Arthur just rolls his eyes and continues to drink his usual morning coffee. Eames makes an offhand comment about how Arthur is particularly grumpy today, did he not get enough sleep last night or something, and turns back to his painting. He doesn’t realize for quite some time that Arthur is watching him.

Eames’ eyes flit over to meet Arthur and he raises an eyebrow at the older man. “Can I help you with something, my dear?” he asks around a smile.

Arthur doesn’t say anything. He looks away and finishes his coffee staring into space, seemingly lost in thought. Eames wonders what Arthur is thinking about (actually, Eames wonders a lot of things about Arthur that he’ll probably never know) and wants to ask him, but doesn’t know how to approach something like that. So instead, he simply turns back to his painting, adding in just a little more of this lovely, rich amber color he’s come up with to Ariadne’s eyes to give them some more dimension.

The morning passes quickly, and before Eames even really realizes it, it’s already time for lunch. Everyone is gathering up their things to leave for an hour before coming back to work in the afternoon; some of them probably won’t be back in the afternoon, as few people stay for the afternoon every single day of the week like Eames does.

Eames lingers behind, hurriedly getting out his painting supplies, as he’d just had a sudden burst of inspiration, realizing what his painting had been missing, what had made it look empty and incomplete. He wants to at least get started on this before the idea slips his mind (his ideas have a tendency to run away from him like that far too often).

Eames doesn’t realize for quite some time that Arthur hangs back today as well, peeking over Eames’ shoulder at the painting. When Eames realizes that Arthur is still there, he starts, clapping a hand over his heart dramatically.

“Oh, Arthur, darling,” he pleads with this over-the-top, too dramatic tone that works just fine simply because it’s Eames. “Don’t ever sneak up on me like that again. You’ll give me a heart attack.”

Arthur gives Eames a long look, barely even blinking before his gaze shifts back to the painting. He completely ignores Eames’ comment and whatever endearment Eames managed to insert into it.

“You like painting portraits?” Arthur asks, though it’s really more of a statement of fact, because really, it should be obvious.

“Sure do,” Eames grins. He turns to it as well and gives it a speculative look. He dabs at the canvas with his paintbrush and asks, not really looking for any sort of answer at all, “It’s missing something, don’t you think?”

Arthur makes some sort of noncommittal sound of acknowledgement in the back of his throat. Eames turns to Arthur again, signature smirk in place.

“I could paint you too, if you like,” Eames offers, well aware that his voice is quickly growing more and more suggestive with each passing second. He hopes it’s getting to Arthur as much as he wants it to; at this point, it’s his most useful asset.

After a second’s pause and a quick, impulsive decision to push the limits a little, he slings an arm around Arthur’s slender waist and pulls him close so that there’s not more than perhaps a few inches separating them. Arthur doesn’t protest.

“Although,” Eames adds, in a low, conspiratorial voice, as if this is some deep, dark secret and they might be overheard at any time, “I’d have to insist that you undress for me first.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow, his eyes taking on a soft, playful look that Eames has never seen before. It almost makes him look more attainable, more human, and Eames likes it. He likes it a lot.

“I think you’re trying to take advantage of me, Mr. Eames,” Arthur says, perfectly calm, voice level.

And oh god how tempting that sounds. Right here. Right now. Eames has to force himself not to think about that, afraid that he might jump Arthur on the spot (after all, that wouldn’t be a very gentlemanly thing to do, now would it?).

“Would you let me?” Eames asks instead.

Arthur seems to really think about it for a moment – which surprises Eames; he hadn’t expected Arthur to take this seriously at all – his eyes staring straight into Eames’.

“That depends on if you prove yourself to be worth the time,” he replies, and he looks like he’s being absolutely serious, though Eames is almost positive he’s just joking (Eames really hopes Arthur isn’t joking though).

“Oh, believe me, darling,” Eames smirks, drawing out the vowel sounds in his words, which has the effect of making his British accent more pronounced than ever, “I’m very worth your time. Or so I’ve been told.”

To Eames’ surprise, Arthur returns the look, his mouth curving up into a smirk Eames wants nothing more than to crush under the weight of his own lips. The look makes Arthur look almost dangerous, like he’s keeping some really great secret to himself, and it suits him. In fact, Eames thinks, it makes Arthur look downright sexy (not that he isn’t ordinarily, it’s just that this, this is something else altogether).

“I’ll consider it,” Arthur says nonchalantly.

He slips out of Eames’ grasp with lithe grace and Eames realizes his pants feel considerably tighter than before this conversation began.

“I’ll hold you to it,” Eames calls out as Arthur goes to retrieve his messenger bag from the modeling platform.

Arthur picks up the bag and slings it over his shoulder. “I trust you will, Mr. Eames,” he says, beginning to walk towards the door to leave. His tone takes on that mildly suggestive quality that gets Eames worked up like no other. He pauses at the door with one hand on the handle and says over his shoulder, “It’d be quite a disappointment to your character if you didn’t.”

Eames doesn’t know what to say in response to that.

(This is how Arthur flirts)