“You can shed the costume now, I’m not overly fond of soft curves and satin underwear anyway…” Nimble fingers pluck at the blindfold, and he sees the predatory hunger in the other man’s eyes.
“Arthur,” He hums, dropping his guise and crossing his arms in an irrational attempt to shield his bare chest. “Are you sure you want to do this. I mean, this was just meant as an exercise in forge-control…”
The crisp cotton of a half-unbuttoned shirt is suddenly pressed against the flesh of his back, and he feels those delicate hands against his hips, skimming reverentially before gripping possessively. Arthur’s face is close, a few inches away from nuzzling against his ear. His voice is low and unbearably calm.
“I always know what I want, Mr. Eames.The question is, what do you want?”
When they meet again, all the Point Man manages to say, before the Forger is on his feet and stalking across the room to push him back into the table and roughly slam their mouths together is,
“Well at least you’ve foregone the lingerie this time.”