Eames admitted it. He had somewhat of a fixation.

It wasn't the first time he'd interrupted one of the Point Man's dreams, disguised as some sultry looking blonde. Although, it was a first that the man had dreamt up something comfortable, a dim-lit bar. Classy, colours warm and soothing, the rich texture of wood amongst each item of furniture as Eames wandered underneath a light, finding himself a stool and sliding into it, a flirty smile spread across those 'coy' lips which couldn't have belonged to him, even if he were a female to begin with.

His long, feminine fingers cradled the stalk of a wine glass between the fingers as he lounged back against the bar, and stared through his now thick-lashes with a pair of not-quite green eyes which belonged solely to him. He'd been there for almost fifteen minutes now, and Arthur had done nothing but drink, and for a moment Eames questioned why he was really there.

It was true, he found endless joy in irritating the male. Ruffling those pristine little feathers of his, and causing that straight-faced man to scowl. But really, to be following him about in his dreams was something short of 'stalking', or at least, close enough as you could get in someone's dream.

It was only then that he noticed the Point Man's eyes had shifted to him and Arthur was getting to his feet. He'd figured it out? Well, now wasn't that fantastic.

Turning to face the bar, Eames faltered as a heavy hand rested on his shoulder and as he turned in the chair, his image shattered, and a smirk spread across his lips, "What gave me away?" He questioned, that taunting tone of his flush with his accent. A delightful combo which only succeeded in causing Arthur a pang of frustration.

"What are you doing here?" He urged, demand buried beneath that steady tone, and the hand not leaving his shoulder, if anything, it clenched a little tighter.

"I was enjoying a nice glass of wine," Eames responded smoothly, giving an affronted look as Arthur released him, and indicated for him to follow as if he was instructing an animal before the Point Man's back disappeared into the crowd, and Eames finally decided that drinking alone at a bar in someone else's head bordered on somewhat strange.

Wandering down amongst the halls, his eyes briefing a split instance of Arthur before the man disappeared around another corner, Eames picked up his pace and found himself outside, a hand jerking up to shield his eyes from the onslaught of sunlight and he glanced back to what had been an industrial building and found it a warm cottage. Finally facing the area ahead of him, he found a comfortable setting. Sun chairs, a couple of glasses of lemonade, and Arthur seemed to have found himself in something less than the up-tight suits that, while Eames admittedly liked, he never saw the man out of.

The jean clad male stretched out in one of the seats, a comfortable V-neck shirt on and an arm slung over his eyes, he peered under the arm only briefly, long enough to indicate Eames to make himself comfortable.

"All this for me, I'm flattered," Eames chuckled, sauntering over and settling into the seat, and back pressing into the chair and relaxing, "Any reason you've decided to play the hospitable host?" He murmured briefly, raising a brow in the dark-haired male's direction, a question look in his eyes as Arthur sat up to get himself a drink, swallowing a few mouthfuls before lowering the glass.

"I'm interested in you," He stated.

"Interested, how?" Eames mused, sitting himself up and looking at Arthur expectantly, this was turning out much different to what he'd expected, having expected to be booted out of the dream the moment the dear Point Man found out he was skulking about.

What he didn't expect was the same hand from before on his shoulder once more, a knee between his legs, and a pair of descending lips finding his and claiming them with that down-to-business way Arthur seemed to breath like it was natural.

Never one to question a good thing, Eames returned the kiss, his tongue pressing past those thin lips, exploring the warm mouth offered to him, his right hand resting at Arthur's waist, fingers pressing into the skin and drawing him nearer as his left hand reached for the edge of the chair and missed, causing him to fumble a bit, more than fumble, he felt like he was lurching forwards, and when he grasped out there was nothing. Just nothingness.

No cheery little scene, no deliciously willing Arthur.

The sound of the wooden chair beneath him colliding with the ground brought him to his senses, enough so to prevent his own head following suit as he slammed his hands down on the concrete, letting breaths come out in bouts, his head swimming and his vision doing the same.

A few blinks later, and a hand at his temple, the Forger stared blankly at the offender standing before him, Arthur rolling his eyes, "We have more important things to do than give you the opportunity to catch up on dreams, Mr. Eames, though I'm sure what it was, was of utter importance."

Smug bastard.

Pushing himself up and standing, Eames pushed his hand into his pocket, grasping for the palm-sized totem and grimacing, a half-pout forming on his lips, "Well, damn," He murmured in complaint, removing his hand and dusting himself off, the man pursued the former object of his dream, and slung an arm around the tense male.

"I'm sure you would've liked my dream," He grinned cheekily, "As always, Eames-Whatever you dreamt up was probably 'remarkable', I'm afraid I missed it," Arthur responded.

It was that wit that was the winner, and Eames rolled his eyes, "Darling, everything I dream up is remarkable."

"Very unlikely."

"Whatever you say, darling."