From the kink meme. Prompt: Eames used to be an art forger and he still draws in his spare time. Arthur develops a fixation on his hands.

Disclaimer: I do not own Inception!

There is no sound in the warehouse except the clunking of the decades-old radiator and the scratching of a pen on rough paper. There is no light but the one above Eames's desk. It is very late, close to two in the morning, but the forger is still here, drawing. It calms him down, helps him think. It works a little like practice, his fingers, through the pen, shaping what he sees in his mind. He lets his eyes wander to the middle distance as he carves out another curving line on the page, his hand so practiced in the motions that he doesn't even need to look now. When he does focus again, it is to see Arthur glancing up at him from the paper, his eyes black and curious. Familiar.

Arthur is also in the warehouse, though he is not working. He is sitting on his desk, in the dark, and watching Eames. Eames is sketching again. Arthur knows that Eames is prone to doodling – everyone does: they have all had their papers defaced before. But he is fairly certain he is the only one who knows Eames is actually good at drawing. In the lamplight he can see Eames turning the page, tapping his pen against his thigh somewhere in the darkness under the desk. Soon it will be visible again, curled in Eames's fingers and competently swishing about.

Eames draws with his left hand, because that is his strongest one. He forges papers lefty, too. When he was young, the nuns tried to break him of it, to please his Catholic mother and God. Whoever He was. He writes with his right hand, which is why his handwriting is so sloppy. But no one needs to know that. It's personal.

There is no wedding ring on Eames's hand, notices Arthur, because that's what he does: noticing things. And he is remarkably glad. Eames's hands belong to him. He is the only one who sees them properly.

There is a papercut on Eames's thumb that is bothering him. It's on the pad, where it rests against the pen, and it's chafing.

There is a papercut on Eames's thumb. Arthur saw him get it earlier that day, ruffling through his papers in some kind of jaded frustration. He still recalls Eames's hiss of displeasure. The forger had placed his thumb in his mouth, frowning. Arthur wants Eames's thumb in his mouth. He wants all of him.

Eames pushes his papers away and sighs, placing his hands flat on his desk as if to steady himself. It is three AM and he hasn't slept for twenty-two hours. Nonetheless, he feels like he can relax now and leave his tension here. He stands slowly, stretches, well half-stretches before a painful crick in his neck stops him. He rubs it ruefully and reaches for the light.

Arthur watches Eames's hands as the warehouse is plunged into night. One moment they are there, calm, skillful, the next they could be anywhere. Arthur shivers and imagines Eames's finger on his lips, Eames's palm cupping his cheek, his hip, his- He stands as well, when Eames is gone, and leaves the warehouse alone. He locks it up behind him and heads for home.

Chiaroscuro is a drawing/painting technique that emphasizes light and shadow.

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