The undo button is one of life’s great gifts, Eames thinks. It really is the best thing that's happened to the human race. Sure, fire is nice, but being able to undo what you’ve done - now that's useful. The only problem is that it doesn’t work in reality. It doesn’t even work in dreams, which is something that he’s working on correcting, but it’ll take time.
There aren’t a lot of things that Eames would take back. He thinks through the things he says (most of the time) and he is confident in his actions (almost eighty percent of the time). The only time that he slips up is when Arthur is around.
When Arthur is around, all bets are off. Eames could say or do just about anything. He’s tried to rectify that, but the way that Arthur walks around with his trademark frown plastered to his face, deepening whenever he looks at Eames, as if he didn’t have his pants tailored to hug his arse and drive Eames crazy with lust. And then there’s the problem with the way that he twirls his pens and bites his lip if he’s trying to work out a difficult problem.
All in all, Arthur throws Eames off, and that’s why he will defend, probably on his gravestone, that he cannot possibly be held responsible for asking Arthur, in no uncertain terms, if he wants to fuck that night.
The glare that Arthur fixes Eames with is something that makes Eames wish life was a computer game and he could just hit CTL-Z. But then Arthur stands up, right in Eames' personal space. “Mr. Eames, if you are trying to proposition me, at least attempt to have some sort of pretense. Like dinner.”
Eames takes it as a challenge, because really, it’s not like he can be killed twice. “Fine. Dinner?”
He expects for Arthur to laugh in his face or shoot him in the face or any number of things in between. That’s why when Arthur smirks at him and says, “I’ll pick you up at your room at seven,” Eames is left with his mind racing and staring at Arthur’s arse while Arthur walks to where Ariadne is working, his hips swaying far more than necessary.