[Meatball Parade on loop for 10 hours]

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Catchall for Eames to keep clutter to a minimum! As always, PM or PP to chat it up, or just throw a starter down I'm probably amenable.

Comments

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Eames grunts something to the affirmative and settles quietly, closing his eyes and curling up a little as he tries to sleep.

He utterly fails at it, but maybe if he pointedly lays here with his eyes closed for a while his body will take the hint.

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Arthur sleeps soundly through the night, only as restless as he usually is, and while Eames' body heat is very tempting he manages to keep to himself on his side of the bed. As he falls asleep he can't deny that it is nice but he also can't help but feel just a touch foolish about the whole thing, constantly telling himself to stop worrying about whether this is awkward or too much or whatever else his brain is telling him, but it doesn't manifest as anything on the outside.

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Eames really doesn't sleep, and the effort of trying to sleep only makes him more tired. He ends up sitting up at some point during the night and polishing off the rest of that scotch. The rest being something between a third and half of the bottle, but Eames does it. He's a trooper that way.

Asleep or not, at some point he's obviously decided to give sleep another go and ended up on his side spooning the empty bottle. At least he's way too preoccupied with this to give much thought to the strangeness of having Arthur stay in his bed without them having had sex first. He doesn't need that on top of everything right now.

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Arthur wakes up later than usual but still early and reasonable by anyone else's standards. It's the peaceful sort of coming-to that one might enjoy on a weekend, except Arthur wakes to find a tense fae laying beside him. He sits up and looks around for something to tell him the time, and then down at Eames, and that's when he notices the bottle. It's empty, so Eames must have finished it while Arthur slept, and it gives Arthur enough of an indication about how Eames is probably going to feel this morning.

Might as well get it over with, though. There's a lot to do today. Arthur leans over to put his hand on Eames' upper arm with a light but soothing touch, moving up and down slowly to rouse him.

"Hey."

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Eames makes a generally disagreeable noise at being touched, blinking his eyes open to look at Arthur like he's just discovered some huge betrayal. Because he has. It's called 'being woken up'.

After a moment or two, he rolls onto his back and frowns up at Arthur, and then down at the empty bottle at his side. Eventually grumbling something that sounds like words, but isn't. Honestly if Arthur hadn't just woken him up, he wouldn't be sure that he slept at all.

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Arthur sighs, looking down at Eames with a touch of genuine sympathy for his state, but mostly with mild impatience that he's likely going to be useless for a little while. Arthur has his fair share of lazing around in bed feeling sorry for himself mornings but he's a hypocrite and doesn't want to deal with it from another person.

Well, first step is to get this bottle out of here. Arthur reaches across Eames to pick it up so he can put it on the nightstand.

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To be fair, he doesn't want to lay about so much as he wants to actually feel rested but that's not going to happen any time this century so he just groans and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"What time is it?" He basically croaks, turning on his side like he could just go back to sleep but he probably won't. Probably. Maybe.

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"Just after nine," Arthur says with a sigh. Maybe it was cruel to wake him up this early. Maybe he should have just quietly slipped out of bed and left to go about his day, but Eames looked so tense, and Arthur doesn't have much else to do. He leans over the side of the bed to fish his phone out of the pocket of his pants so he can check for messages or emails as he considers the next step of this whole morning business.

"You want me to make some coffee?"

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Eames rubs his face again while he watches Arthur do whatever he's doing. Getting his phone? That's nice for him.

He makes an agreeable noise at the mention of coffee though, and reaches out a hand to put on Arthur's hip in a mix of gratitude and affection, "please."

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Arthur spares him a soft smile before he slips out of bed and heads down to Eames' kitchen. He knows the drill by now, so five or ten minutes later he comes back upstairs with two mugs of coffee, holding out one for Eames before he gets back into bed.

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Oh, praise be. Eames is too tired to smile, but he lets out a pleased sigh before he drags himself up to sit against the headboard and take the coffee, cupping the mug in his hands like it's something precious that needs to be protected.

"Thank you," is he talking to Arthur or the coffee? It's both.

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Either way Arthur doesn't respond, focusing on his coffee instead.

"You get any sleep?" he asks.

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"Well I woke up," he says slowly over the rim of his mug, not being sarcastic but more like he's trying to figure out the answer to a mystery here, "so I can only assume that I slept at least a little."

Between that answer and the roughness of his voice, it's safe to say however much sleep he got was not a lot.

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It occurs to Arthur that it might be appropriate to say something empathetic here, but he pushes that ridiculous thought away quickly.

"I won't be in your way too long," he says instead.

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Eames considers that with a noncommittal grunt of acknowledgment, mostly focusing on getting this caffeine in him as fast as possible with how hot the damn drink is.

Rubbing his eyes again, he clears his throat and looks at Arthur with a raised eyebrow. Trying to just make himself feel more, well, like himself in tone, but the sentiment is still true.

"You don't have to go."

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Arthur smiles wryly, and there's a touch of tired in his expression as well. "It's not like I want to," he says. "I'm just saying, if you need space."

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That's considerate, and Eames appreciates it, and maybe he could say something to communicate that. A thank you or a general request for Arthur to stay.

Instead he tilts his head a little with a smirk and says, "who else am I going to try and sweet talk into making me breakfast?"

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Arthur laughs, charmed.

"Well, whenever you're ready to start sweet talking."

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"Well you are very handsome," Eames says with a smile over his mug before he finishes his coffee and puts the mug aside. (Fast? Nah.) "And some might say you're pretty good at most things you do."

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"Only most?" Arthur asks, leaning in just a little bit. He puts his coffee aside as well, in anticipation of needing his hands to put them on Eames.

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"Some others might say all," he grins. He's not one of those hypothetical others, but he highly doubts Arthur wants or expects him to be anyway. Still, he lingers on the way he says 'all' as if to imply that he might be. And maybe that when he refers to 'things Arthur does' it's not quite so innocent as it might seem at first.

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Arthur definitely doesn't expect Eames to think he's good at everything - part of why he likes being around him is because he challenges him - but that's not the important part here. He turns on his side a little to face Eames a little more squarely.

"I think the sweet talking has to get a little more specific before I feel inspired to make you breakfast."

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"No pity for a man who's barely slept?" Eames says in faux-dismay, shaking his head a little.

"You've been so helpful until now," he drops his voice a little, "so cognisant of my needs..." This is astoundingly difficult when the vast majority of his thoughts are how badly he wants to sleep, but Eames will power through. He will embarrass himself if it gets Arthur to bring him food. Eames licks his lips, glancing down at the space between them and then back to Arthur's face before he continues, "and a man who cooks is very attractive."

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Arthur laughs again, a little more bashful this time, as he holds up his hand to rest on Eames' chest. "Okay, okay," he murmurs as he leans in, "I've heard enough."

Then he goes for it, closing the rest of the distance to kiss Eames softly, do what he's wanted to do all morning. It's been a struggle not to until now.

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Ah, success. Eames smiles and hums lightly, lifting a hand to cup the side of Arthur's face. His other hand reaches for Arthur's hip to pull him a little closer-- gently, but he'd really like to feel Arthur's skin against him he thinks.