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“Don’t worry about the luggage, you fuckwit. I’ve got it. Just get inside!”
Travelling on an aeroplane, even first class, with a medicated and therefore slightly high idiot with a pair of crutches was not the most fun thing Arthur had ever done. He bitterly regretted suggesting the skiing break since it had ended with just that; a break.
Eames gave up trying to drag a wheeled suitcase through the front door, his jovial demeanour not the least bit diminished. “Could have been worse, poppet,” grinned Eames over his shoulder as he crutched his way towards the living room. “Could have happened on the first day instead of the last.”
Arthur wrestled their suitcases into the hall after generously tipping their taxi driver for having to put up with Eames’ ridiculous flirting all the way from Heathrow, and apologising profusely.
“Gotcher 'ands full wiv that one, mayte,” the driver had sagely advised.
Don’t I know it agreed Arthur to himself, smiling ruefully at the taxi driver.
When he finally entered the living room Eames was sprawled untidily on one of the sofas, his crutches lying on the floor beside him and a happy smile on his face. “Home sweet home, darling. Now come on over here and ravish me.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “I will not take advantage of you while you’re doped to the gills.”
Eames offered his most doe-eyed hurt-puppy look but Arthur was unaffected.
“You really are a ridiculous man, Eames.”
“Part of my charm and one of the reasons you love me, love,” Eames beamed affably.
Arthur would endure the nails being ripped from his fingers before he admitted to the truth of that statement.
*
Getting Eames into the bath without soaking his cast was an ordeal Arthur tried desperately to block from his mind as he got Eames dry and into pyjamas. It was hard to be sure who was wetter; he or Eames. Considering it was Eames who immersed every part of his body in the water, save for his leg, being prepared to practically drown for the cause really spoke volumes for Arthur’s dedication to his boyfriend.
Now, finally, said boyfriend was tucked up in bed, sleeping like a baby (albeit a still-medicated and particularly whiskery one) as Arthur sat next to him in their king-size bed, tapping efficiently on his laptop as he caught up with some work.
A sleepy snuffle from beside him made him look down fondly at the relaxed features of the man who exasperated and irritated him, and sometimes made his jaw drop with his outrageousness – but the man who brought Arthur his greatest joy.
Love was neither logical nor rational. It just was.