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Summary
Arthur’s issue was simple: without constructing a perfect fort of cushions, he could not get comfortable, and therefore could not sleep. It wasn’t dramatic, and it wasn’t insurmountable— as long as he could pile pillows and blankets around him to keep his battle worn body in a reasonably stable position, he could get a good five hours.
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Arthur is in pain. Eames help. This is tender as hell.
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Bookmark Notes:
Past injuries from military causes Arthur pain when he doesn't sleep in correct position, normally held up by pillows, nothing works as good anymore after a night of spooning w eames
Eventually desperate for pain relief Arthur comes back to eames, feelings awareness, getting together
Lol dirty talk but about cuddling, bedsharing
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Prompt: One of them is a side-sleeper used to sleeping with a lot of pillows for support but there are no pillows to spare in this shared bed unless one counts their coworker
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Arthur was a little bit of a princess when it came to actual sleep. He could still sleep wherever he landed; he didn’t need a fancy mattress or Egyptian cotton sheets. He had fairly regular insomnia, sure, but that was to be expected with dreamsharing. Arthur’s issue was simple: without constructing a perfect fort of cushions, he could not get comfortable, and therefore could not sleep. It wasn’t dramatic, and it wasn’t insurmountable— as long as he could pile pillows and blankets around him to keep his battle worn body in a reasonably stable position, he could get a good five hours.Without the support, he couldn’t relax past the pain of the literal war wounds he carried. Specifically, it was his hip. It was particularly bad that night after all the running. Worse than the running, however, was the rain. Arthur could work past the pain if he kept moving. It didn’t even slow him down. The trouble came once he paused.
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With a grunt, Eames bodily shifted Arthur, rolling him up like a teddy bear into his embrace. He slipped his knee between Arthur’s, and gently wrapped an arm around his waist. Arthur was too stunned to even freeze, a loose-limbed and fantastically relaxed little spoon.He was comfortable. His leg was at a perfect angle, the tension entirely out of the scar-twisted cartilage. He was absolutely shocked. And he was even more shocked when he blinked and Eames’ alarm was going off, nine hours later.
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Sitting only worsened the pain, and made it harder for him to pretend nothing was wrong. When he stood up from his desk, Arthur felt the shrapnel all over again, blown from the pressure of the IED into the tendons and muscles surrounding his hip.At least he’d walked away.
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he wants me to spoon him.”“Why would that help him—“ Eames started, but then the smile on his face suddenly grew three sizes. “Darling,” he purred.
“Eames, shut up,” Arthur warned.
“Is there anything I can help you with Arthur?” Eames asked, merrily.
“I told you to begin with you should ask him,” Ariadne grumbled. Eames eyebrows darted upward.
“To begin with? How long as this been going on?”
“Ariadne, don’t—“
“Two months, at least,” she supplied.
“Darling!” Eames gasped, at once aghast and gleeful.
Arthur turned. He turned so sharply that he twisted his already bad hip, and nearly stumbled. He stormed off, teeth gritted. An insistent voice in the back of his mind said, “just go back and ask him to hold you.” It wasn’t like he didn’t know he could. Eames had made his openness to the idea pretty clear over the years.
Arthur leaned against his desk and rolled his die instead.
“You mustn’t be afraid to ask for help, Arthur!” Eames called. Arthur closed his eyes
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Eames’ smile was cocky as he stood in the doorframe, pushing the safety back on his beretta. “You couldn’t live with your own failure,” Eames quoted. “Where did it bring you? Back to me.”“Shut up, Eames,” Arthur sighed, exhausted. He stood as still as possible, his bad hip throbbing.
“Let’s get you off that leg, hmm?” Eames suggested, keen to the almost imperceptible lean and limp Arthur perpetually carried. He wrapped a strong arm around Arthur’s waist and hoisted him up, just slightly. Arthur sighed with relief as the ball of his hip drifted back from the socket. He limped heavily against Eames’ side, the hotel room door banging shut behind him.
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“I’m gonna make you so fucking comfortable,” Eames murmured against Arthur’s throat. Arthur sighed, almost a moan, and leaned in. “I’m gonna make you sleep until you can’t even remember your own name.”“Fuck,” Arthur hissed.
“I’m gonna slip my knee between your legs, spread them open, and just fucking spoon you until you’re begging for it, until my name is dripping off your tongue as you sigh in your dreams.” He stepped back and lifted Arthur into a bridal carry. Arthur, thoroughly exhausted and disturbingly aware of his own heartbeat in his hip, allowed it.
“Yeah baby,” he purred, as Eames carried him toward the bed. “Keep going.”
“I’m not going to let you out of bed for a whole day,“ Eames groaned. “And I’m going to snuggle you, over and over, until you feel like you couldn’t possibly handle anymore, and then I’m going to snuggle you again.”
Arthur laughed as Eames gently dropped him onto the bed.