Work Text:
Today has been hideous. All Arthur wants to do is sleep. Why, therefore, is he obliged to stay awake and puzzle out why Mr. Eames is presently standing in his room, grinning expectantly at the lone bed?
Every carefully constructed plan, every well-thought-out timetable has been left in ruins today. Arthur got pulled for the random check at security today. He had to bear being felt up by a greasy, grossly-unkempt TSA agent while Eames leered like a prat, as per usual. His lighter got mistaken for an instrument of mass destruction so several hours in a locked room with surly guards and some tense interrogation later, they missed their flight. The new flight of course was delayed. At least Eames had waited for him. The town car in Chicago had not. They had to stand in a driving rain, desperately trying to hail a cab. Eames didn’t even have the decency to look unhappy. At the hotel, it finally seemed things were back on track. Their keys were waiting just as they should have been.
“Mr. Eames, why are you not in your room?” Arthur asks pointedly, civility strained. He just wants to strip down and pass out. Maybe not even strip, never mind the suit. Arthur Never never-minds his suit.
“This -is- my room, Darling,” Eames explains patiently, entirely too delighted. "I only reserved us one room. I thought it would be nice. We’ve shared a bed before.“
"Yeah. When we’re fucking,” Arthur spits tensely, putting the bed between them. "I’ve been pawed up, rained on, and I just want this day to be over.“ He sighs gustily, trying to blow the hair from his face; the goofy, wispy little curly hairs that seem to take over whenever his hair gets wet. He hates that. He hates everything right now. Even Eames. Especially Eames.
Eames immediately deflates, face falling. Oh Christ, are those puppy eyes?
"Ugh,” Arthur flops down on the bed fully clothed, barely bothering to kick his shoes off and yank his tie free before he curls up and turns his back to Eames, sulking. It isn’t long before he feels someone pull the covers over him with tender concern. Arthur sighs again. Damn it. “Go to sleep, Mr. Eames” he mumbles, defeated. He feels Eames join him, sliding his arms around Arthur’s waist, nuzzling into his neck.
“I won’t lay a finger on you, scout’s honor,” Eames murmurs triumphantly as Arthur growls, mostly for show.
“Go to sleep, Mr. Eames!” Arthur grumbles again as Eames lays a warm, almost sloppy kiss on his neck and settles in. He can’t help but smile though as he feels Eames’s breathing even out and his muscles slacken. It Is nice. God help him but he loves this sweet, irrepressible man. Arthur’s own breathing starts to slow and he falls into the deepest, most peaceful sleep he’s had in ages.