The first time Eames sees him is at a musky, full of drunks dancing around and horribly singing, bar. Though Eames had around three drinks prior to seeing this figure and is stumbling around laughing at everything said and done, he can still recognize a handsome man when he sees one. And this particular night, his sights land on an individual sitting at the bar in a suit.
Eames snorts at the image of such, because, who wears a suit to a bar that's clearly meant for drunks that are willing to get down dirty? Apparently that guy over there.
But, suit or not, when the man briefly glances over in his direction, Eames' eyes happen to settle on the young face, and immediately, his breath is taken away from him.
The man, from a second's look, is absolutely gorgeous.
Eames doesn't believe in love at first sight or fairy tale endings, but he has a fair idea that, seeing the individual right now, this moment is something like love at first sight (or perhaps lust at first sight). Whatever it is, he finds that he's obsessively attracted to the other just from one look, and of course, when he's obsessively attracted to someone, he has to approach them.
Eames does just that. Sweeping the stray strands of light brown hair out of his eyes, he saddles up close next to the man so that their arms are brushing. That successfully gets the other's attention. When Mr. Bloody Gorgeous peers in his direction to acknowledge him with a distinctive frown, Eames says the first thing that crosses his mind.
"Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?"
If not for the fact that he is a trained forger— or actor, whatever people say these days— he would have died of humiliation right now. Luckily, Eames manages to push the temperature in his cheeks down to a bare minimum as he plays off his embarrassment, with a simple grin, for not thinking correctly and using that pick up line with a very attractive stranger.
The man slowly blinks at him, inspecting him with cautious brown eyes. A few counted seconds later, he proceeds to answer. "The first time I saw you, you weren't walking, and even if you do happen to walk by again, it'll be the second time that I see you."
That voice. Eames wants it begging and moaning underneath him right now, but he ends up pouting a bit in response. He hates party poopers (in this case, someone with comebacks to his pick up line), but this man may be the only exception.
"Fine," he mumbles, still concealing his embarrassment, "I'll just turn invisible now."
Eames gazes away for a moment, contemplating on another, more wittier, pick up line that he could use. Few moments later, when he's not able to think of one, he glances back at the opposing male. Seeing that the man is posed in a stiffened posture sipping on a drink and obviously ignoring him, Eames leans a few inches closer.
"Can you see me?" he questions, allowing the words to roll off his tongue in a suggestive manner.
The man removes the glass from his lips and peers over at him, looking him once over. "Unfortunately, yes."
A light smirk lifts up on the corner of Eames' mouth as he leers towards the other's ear. "How about tonight, then?" he breathes, feeling his chest touch the male's shoulder.
"That depends on the amount of light. And you smell of alcohol; leave."
Eames pulls back into his space with a barked laugh. He really likes this man, even though the constant rejection is slowly getting to him. Usually, he gets everyone with his accent, charms, and pick up lines, but this man— he's a different story with all his comebacks.
"This is a bar, darling. Alcohol is everywhere." He pauses briefly, his eyes flickering over the other's facial features before returning to the captivating brown orbs. "I'm Eames."
The man appears to survey him for another second before turning back to his drink. "I'm not interested, Mr. Eames."
Well, that's a first.
Fighting a frown, Eames clears his throat and tilts his head slightly in the direction of Mr. Bloody Gorgeous. "I'll have you know that you just rejected a poor bloke three times. At least let me have your name."
His eyes meet with chocolate brown ones again after he finishes drawing out the words. For the silent moment between them, Eames examines the other man closely and takes note that he is stunning at this distance; his dark brown hair is gelled back out of his eyes, giving him a dangerous complexion that matches well with the firm, unwavering look. Eames, at this moment, really, really wants to kiss him, but he wills himself not to.
"Arthur." The answer is clipped but still with a fuck off tone.
Eames ignores the tone, though. "Arthur," he tries out, rolling the last R and extending the name by a second. "I like it. It suits you ... get it, suits you?" He laughs at his own joke.
When Arthur glances away and ignores him, Eames leans against the counter and peers intently at the other, refusing to go anywhere. "You know, Arthur," he drawls, using that as an excuse to say the name again, "I kinda lost my phone number. Can I have yours?"
Arthur's eyes flicker over at him. "I'm not a fan of receiving phone calls from strangers."
Eames doesn't miss a beat as he tactfully answers, "You know my name; I do believe that means we're pass the stage of being strangers."
Arthur, that damn witty bastard, responds without a moment's hesitation. "If you take my number as your own, then I'm bound to be receiving ten each hour."
Is Arthur calling him a whore? He better not be.
"You're too stubborn for your own good." Eames sniffs and considers leaving; really, if Arthur's this complicated, then he would— well, if this wasn't Arthur, he would've been up someone's arse by now. But, unfortunately for his own wants, Arthur's arse is the only one he's interested in at this moment.
"Flattery will get you no where, Mr. Eames." There is a slight taunt in Arthur's words, as if issuing a challenge.
And here, Eames is bound to run out of pick up lines if he's spitting them out at this rate, but he uses another one anyways: "If I could rearrange the letters in the alphabet, I would put U and I together."
Arthur's brows furrow a bit at the sound of that. "You have terrible grammar." Of course Arthur would say that.
"Well, it depends on where you put it in a sentence, yes?" In your face.
"In your case, it's grammatically incorrect."
Eames tries not to roll his eyes. "You're no fun."
Arthur finally leaves his drink alone and turns to him. "If I could to rearrange the alphabet, I would put F and U together."
On the bright side, it's not like Eames hasn't heard that one before.
He huffs. "Now, that's just cruel, darling."
Arthur narrows his eyes a bit. "Fuck you," he says promptly before turning back to his drink.
"Lovely," Eames quips. "What time?"
Arthur doesn't even bother throwing him a dirty look; he just wordlessly pushes his drink away, stands and disappears out the door. Eames finds himself disappointed.
"That went well," a voice comments.
Eames peers up at the bartender and grins. The man is quite a looker. "Quite," he comments, leaning over a bit. "So, what's your sign?"
— ox — xo —
Arthur is not impressed at all. Pick up lines were just used on him, and he started spitting comebacks before he could even interpret them. Apparently, the last line caught him off guard, so he simply got up and left, figuring that he no longer needs to be around an unintellectual being. Unfortunately, though, that's not going to be the last time he's going to set sights on Eames (unless he goes blind, which he isn't planning to).
Squashing the thoughts, he unlocks the door to the warehouse and steps inside.
"Well?" Dom asks as Arthur makes his way over.
"No," he replies steadily.
Arthur's gaze switches from Dom to the other Cobb, Mallorie— or Mal, if he doesn't want to get smacked.
"He'll fuck up everything. His personality is obnoxious, and his outfit looks as if he just stepped out of Hawaii."
Mal laughs, and Dom cracks a small smile. "But he's the best."
Arthur resists the temptation to roll his eyes at Dom's comment. "He doesn't seem like it," he comments, turning around and pulling out his laptop. "I don't like him."
"You don't like anyone," Mal murmurs, patting him on the shoulder before proceeding towards her architectural design.
"We need a forger," Dom reminds him for what seems like the millionth time, "and he's the best one."
Arthur knows he's not winning this argument since Dom is aimed on bringing the drunk, pick up line using, outrageous bastard into the team.
"Fine," he responds, a bit snappy. "But I'm only speaking to him when it's absolutely necessary."
Author's Notes;; Suggest pick up lines? o: