[ Eames is, in no uncertain terms, a man who does better with a partner than without one. He gets clingier than he'll admit. Attached. He'll say, of course, that it's all about learning a role, a person, a place. There's a reason for everything.
(Except sometimes that reason is nothing more than want, and what he wants is more than fleeting glances and flirtations. Something real).
But despite however he does better, facts are not desires and the fact sometimes is that there is no partner present. At least not when his eyes are open and he believes what he can see and the other senses that follow.
Irritating.
Tonight is one of those nights. Lonely, listless, and it seems to stretch endlessly in the face of that companionable emptiness. Which is why he's propped up in bed of a shared hotel room, stripped down to nothing, with his eyes firmly closed.
He doesn't traverse dreams. Not tonight, not after the week he's had. Or month, or even year. But behind the harsh reality of the lights reflecting off the tangible border of the walls around him is a picture that's quite different. Behind his eyelids waits warm hands, inviting lips, and a sly smile that is an immediate tell that this is nothing but a sweet lie.
But as his own hands do the work of those he imagines, he decides the lie is better than nothing. ]
no subject
(Except sometimes that reason is nothing more than want, and what he wants is more than fleeting glances and flirtations. Something real).
But despite however he does better, facts are not desires and the fact sometimes is that there is no partner present. At least not when his eyes are open and he believes what he can see and the other senses that follow.
Irritating.
Tonight is one of those nights. Lonely, listless, and it seems to stretch endlessly in the face of that companionable emptiness. Which is why he's propped up in bed of a shared hotel room, stripped down to nothing, with his eyes firmly closed.
He doesn't traverse dreams. Not tonight, not after the week he's had.
Or month, or even year. But behind the harsh reality of the lights reflecting off the tangible border of the walls around him is a picture that's quite different. Behind his eyelids waits warm hands, inviting lips, and a sly smile that is an immediate tell that this is nothing but a sweet lie.But as his own hands do the work of those he imagines, he decides the lie is better than nothing. ]