[ The boxers are hideous, which is true to form. Arthur doesn't think he's ever seen the forger own a normal pair. They're always some awful pattern that's eye searing to look at for too long.
He's pulled on a plain pair of boxer-briefs and a tshirt, choosing comfort over everything else. Standing on the other side of the bed, he flips the blanket back, rearranges the pillows. His head tilts a bit to the side at Eames' question.
The desire is always there, just a little. It's something to do with how Eames fits everything physical he could want. Right now though, he doesn't want to pursue it. ]
If by bed you mean crashing into a sleep, yes. Lie down, Mr Eames, you've had a day.
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He's pulled on a plain pair of boxer-briefs and a tshirt, choosing comfort over everything else. Standing on the other side of the bed, he flips the blanket back, rearranges the pillows. His head tilts a bit to the side at Eames' question.
The desire is always there, just a little. It's something to do with how Eames fits everything physical he could want. Right now though, he doesn't want to pursue it. ]
If by bed you mean crashing into a sleep, yes. Lie down, Mr Eames, you've had a day.