undergrounds | backdated so hard/for eames

Entry tags:

arthur,
eames

backdated so hard/for eames

It doesn't take Arthur terribly long to get bored of the vampire party. He doesn't manage to establish more connections than he already has within Islington, and those being as weak as they are don't turn up much on Raymond Harris. Nothing he can use or should be brought back to Hillingdon immediately, in any case.

So he texts Eames asking if he's still around, hoping to at least end this night on a positive note. There's a few texts back and forth until Arthur is outside, spotting Eames through the open back window of an Uber waiting to leave. He slips into the car on the other side, noticing nothing wrong at first, and asks, "back to mine?"

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If he had the mental faculties to really think about what Arthur's saying, Eames might laugh about the idea that he's so beholden to bargaining and double-dealing that he can't have sex without it. Eames is a lucky one, he's not an ogre or a kelpie, and the fact that he looks human makes his life easier on a lot of different levels, but it also means he's never considered how fundamentally inhuman he is, or how much so people think he is.

Nobody's ever said as much to him anyway. Not without it being an insult.

Right now though? He still doesn't entirely get it, and it feels like he's just falling short of the mark. He sighs, feeling like he's young and struggling to understand humanity all over again. With added exhaustion and a growing headache and just a whole lot of pain all over his body and he feels cold which is a weird feeling for him if he's honest.

He shakes his head, as much as he can right now, and frowns up at Arthur. Murmuring a quiet apology because he still doesn't get it.

Arthur gives him a sigh for his trouble, putting his hand on Eames' chest in a show of sympathy and reassurance and maybe a touch of affection. He's not even sure he knows what he's talking about, so it's almost a relief that Eames can't get into this right now.

"You should get some sleep," he says. "You're going to feel awful in the morning."

With that, he pushes himself up, puts a few more things away in the case and then closes it up to carry it back to the kitchen. He comes back to flick the light off and then makes to leave. He's tired too, from the party and the bit of booze and from having to talk to Eames and from being frustrated about Harris, so he's going to lie down and sleep as long as possible.

Finally.

Eames barely takes a minute to fall asleep, curling up on the couch and pulling his jacket around himself in a makeshift blanket. He sleeps for a solid 12 hours like a log, barely moving in his sleep. There's the odd bout of snoring but otheriwise he might as well be dead for how heavily and how long he sleeps.

When he does wake up, it's with a groan as he sits up and puts his head in his hands. He doesn't remember coming back to Arthur's at first, and looks around the room because he's on the couch instead of in the bed which means he definitely didn't get any last night. Which probably makes sense because everything hurts and he has a headache and he's so hungry he feels like he could eat everything in the whole world.

There's more grey in his hair and the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth are a little more pronounced, but of course he's got no way to know about that. Mostly he's concerned with dragging himself up and to the kitchen in the hope that Arthur's put on like an entire pot of coffee at some point so that he doesn't have to put in any more work than getting a mug and pouring it out.

Arthur's never one to be caught without a pot of coffee ready to go first thing in the morning, so it's already brewed and ready in the carafe when Eames wakes up. Arthur himself has been up and grabbed himself a cup already, hiding out in his room with his laptop, since he usually works from the couch. He took a glance at Eames when he did, noting the extra grey but mostly checking to see if he bled through any of his bandages. The cushions may have to be dry-cleaned, which is never fun, but it's not like Arthur can take back any of his good will.

He hears Eames moving around down the hall but doesn't move right away. It's partly because he's engrossed with what he's reading but partly because he wants to give Eames the opportunity to leave if he wants. The man is so awkward with gratitude and all other feelings actually and Arthur doesn't want to put him in a weird situation after the night he had.

Eames isn't in any state to be going anywhere just yet, and he does feel kind of obliged to thank Arthur for helping him. He doesn't remember much except being mad that Arthur wouldn't let him sleep, but judging by the bandage on his neck he's struggling not to pick at, and likely others he can't see, he did a lot.

First things first though, he pours himself a coffee and practically downs the entire thing in one go while he snoops through Arthur's fridge and cupboards for things he can just eat without actually cooking them-- he'll make lunch or something when he feels less woozy and sick.

If Arthur thinks Eames is above just taking a slice of bread and eating it straight out of the bag, he has another thing coming.

After enough commotion, Arthur finally puts his laptop aside and gets out of his bed to go see what's going on. He stops in the doorway to the kitchen and leans on the frame, crossing his arms.

"You're hungry, I take it," he says dryly.

Even if he were the kind of person who felt shame at all ever, Eames just cannot bring himself to give a single shit right now. He turns to look at Arthur, with the coffee in one hand and a half eaten slice of bread in the other and shrugs a shoulder, eyebrow raised as if to say 'are you surprised?'

Though he does glance at the bread for a moment-- he should probably think about eating something with a bit more sugar. Does Arthur have any biscuits? He doesn't seem like the type, but then who doesn't enjoy a few digestives while they're working?

"Mm--" he starts, waiting until he's swallowed the bread before he actually says anything, "thank you, by the way." He gestures to his neck with the bread, and then in the vague direction of Arthur's living room, "I'll pay for the cleaning."

Arthur makes a noise as he shrugs, looking down at his feet. "I'm the idiot who brought you back here," he says, like he's saying that Eames doesn't have to pay for the cleaning. Arthur can pay for it, but it would be nice if the man whose blood was all over his couch did instead.

He takes a few steps into the kitchen to sit down at the table, considering another mug of coffee. "Looks like you didn't bleed through any of them."

He's gonna pay for it, it's his blood and he has the money so he feels vaguely like he should.

They don't need to talk about it though, Eames has other things to deal with, like devouring everything in this kitchen. He makes a quiet noise to indicate he agrees it is good and turns around to inspect a cupboard.

"Do you have anything sugary?"

"Cupboard above the fridge," Arthur says as he drags himself up to get some coffee. There's a slightly obscured box of assorted biscuits up there that he indulges in from time to time, and he keeps them out of sight for a reason. He supposes he can let Eames in on this one little secret given his traumatic experience.

That gets a noise like it's the best thing he's ever heard, and Eames goes to get the box down, cradling it in an arm while he takes the lid off and observes this holy grail of delicious goods.

"I'm... Going to eat all of these. I hope that's okay."

He probably will not eat all of them, but right now he really feels like he could.

With a sigh, Arthur makes a mental note to add it to the list, and he gestures vaguely for Eames to go ahead when he sits back down with a full mug of coffee. He decides is high time to change the subject from Eames being ravenous this morning to something far more interesting.

"What's going on with your hair?"

"What?" He gives Arthur a plainly confused look and drags a hand through his hair as if he's gonna be able to tell what's going on by feel alone. His hair feels fine though, if a little in need of washing.

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's greyer than last night," Arthur says all nonchalant. "Is it because you're injured?"

That doesn't make much sense. He's seen Eames injured before. Maybe never this bad but he would have noticed if Eames just sprouted grey hairs whenever he bled.

Oh fuck. What a blissful hour where he'd completely forgotten about this curse. Eames swears under his breath and immediately puts the box down to go to the bathroom and look at his reflection.

He's there for a while, inspecting every wrinkle and combing his fingers through his hair like that's gonna make it go back to its normal colour. It doesn't look bad, not yet, but fucking hell he needs to find a solution to this before it progresses much more. He smacks a palm on the rim of the sink, angry at whoever the hell did this to him, but angrier still at himself because everything he's done over the last 24 hours has been fucking stupid and now he has to deal with Arthur and his fucking bloodhound nose when it comes to information he doesn't already have. He swears again, composing himself before he leaves the bathroom so he can face this situation with some dignity.

"It's not because I'm injured," Eames says casually when he comes back, hoping Arthur will just let it go even though he knows it's pointless to think he will.

Arthur has meanwhile poured himself some cereal and is now crunching away at it while he waits for Eames to come back. He doesn't have much stock into why Eames' hair is grey or whatever, but now he can tell it's something that has him upset, and regardless he presses on.

"So what is it, then?" he asks. "Last night you made it sound like it was intentional."

"Nothing you need to worry about," Eames answers dismissively, pouring himself a new coffee and regretting sticking around to thank Arthur.

He glances at Arthur's bowl of cereal instead of thinking about how annoying this curse is, jutting his chin a little in its direction. "I was thinking I could whip up some lunch, put together a little show of gratitude," he continues on easily, something about the way he lingers on the word 'gratitude' that should make it clear that food isn't the only offer on the table.

Arthur picks up on the tone and raises his eyebrows a little, though he isn't definitely sure that's what Eames means.

"Well, only if you're up to it," he says, and he means both the food preparation and whatever else is implied. "You were pretty out of it last night."

Objectively speaking, Eames absolutely shouldn't be having sex when he's probably going to need at least a week to recover from last night. That kind of blood loss isn't really a 'nap and have a meal and feel better' kind of situation.

Is that going to stop Eames? Not at all. He just shrugs a shoulder and reopens the discarded box of biscuits, picking one out before he puts the box back where it was, "food first is probably a good idea."

"Alright," Arthur says before he takes another bite of cereal. And that's all Eames is going to get from him because he's still thinking over the sex bit. He's wondering what he's going to do if Eames has to stop and/or passes out while they're doing it. But he's trying to be optimistic about Eames' magic recovery times.

Eames is already rooting through Arthur's fridge and cupboards, this time for things that he could cobble together into a quick meal. A frittata sounds good. With ham and a ludicrous amount of cheese? Eames could high five himself he's a genius.

He knows his way around Arthur's kitchen by now, so he just gets underway with making the food. The heat from the stove is actually... Not great right now, but he'll power through it. Pure strength of will keeping him from getting dizzy up there.

Arthur just watches with mild curiosity as Eames goes about making them some food. He's still a little preoccupied with Eames' hair, but he'll drop it for now, since Eames clearly doesn't want to share that information with him.

"You need any help?" he asks after a while, realizing he could be doing more than sitting back and drinking coffee.

"I could always do with another coffee," Eames says, glancing over his shoulder while he busies himself peeling a potato. There's probably a lot of stuff Arthur could help with, but none of that comes to mind.

Well Arthur did offer, so he pulls himself up and grabs Eames' coffee mug, taking it with him to the coffee maker so he can refill it. Once that's done he goes back to his own coffee and his cereal to continue on with his sad pre-breakfast breakfast.

Oh sweet coffee never leave him. Eames gives an aside thanks to Arthur and gets on with what he's doing. He's usually a relatively upbeat cook, but there's none of that energy today, for entirely understandable reasons really.

Twenty minutes or so later though, there's two plates of delicious ham and potato frittata being brought over for them to eat and enjoy.

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