[ 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.
[Eames' eyes can't help but stay glued to his form. He's absolutely gorgeous like this, hair curling, lean muscles showing, smelling fresh like soap. Eames grins and crawls onto the bed and under the covers, his cheeks warm (from the shower probably.)]
Arthur... [He closes his eyes for a beat once he's snuggled under the covers, lashes sweeping low.]
I couldn't... When it happened, it was just... a whirlwind. I didn't think much, but I did feel. And all I could feel was... [He opens his eyes again, throat tight as he reaches for him. He bets Arthur can guess what he felt. Terrified for his life, and terrified at the thought of never seeing Arthur again. Too ridiculously pathetic-sounding to say outloud, though, so he just reaches for him.] Come here. Please.
[ After Eames gets comfortable, he joins him and slides under the covers with a sigh. His hair is still damp, which means it's going to be an absolute horror when he wakes up. He takes solace in knowing Eames won't be that much better off.
And, as he thinks on it again, he's ridiculously glad he can just take in those small details. That Eames is still here, in one piece.
They're both on the same train of thought, it seems. With a small frown, Arthur rolls towards him on his stomach, one hand tentatively set on his chest. His chin rests on the forger's shoulder and somehow the closeness makes some of that fearful tension smooth away. ]
I know. [ Because he'd gone through a similar slew of thoughts. Not quite the same, being on the other side of it. But close. ]
[That's nice. Better. He presses his head against Arthur's, his wet hair cool against his forehead.]
Can't get rid of me that easily, [he says with a breathless, rueful laugh. He turns his head to cough again, groaning in frustration.]
If I wasn't bloody dying every five seconds with this fucking cough... I'd be having 'thank god I'm alive' sex, [he says through a yawn. Yeah, like that's happening tonight. But this is good. The closeness is... really good.]
[ He doesn't believe that for a second. The yawn sort of punctuates the point. Arthur can feel the beginnings of sleep trying to drag him down, a comfortable warmth cocooning him from all sides. It's nice, laying so close. He can feel Eames' heartbeat under his palm, the steady rise and fall of his chest as his breathing starts to even out.
His eyes drift closed and exhaustion creeps in fully. Normally, he'd try to fight it, but falling asleep so easily escapes him most days. In the morning, they might talk about this. And what it means for them. Or maybe they'll just pretend it didn't happen.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
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.
no subject
Arthur... [He closes his eyes for a beat once he's snuggled under the covers, lashes sweeping low.]
I couldn't... When it happened, it was just... a whirlwind. I didn't think much, but I did feel. And all I could feel was... [He opens his eyes again, throat tight as he reaches for him. He bets Arthur can guess what he felt. Terrified for his life, and terrified at the thought of never seeing Arthur again. Too ridiculously pathetic-sounding to say outloud, though, so he just reaches for him.] Come here. Please.
no subject
And, as he thinks on it again, he's ridiculously glad he can just take in those small details. That Eames is still here, in one piece.
They're both on the same train of thought, it seems. With a small frown, Arthur rolls towards him on his stomach, one hand tentatively set on his chest. His chin rests on the forger's shoulder and somehow the closeness makes some of that fearful tension smooth away. ]
I know. [ Because he'd gone through a similar slew of thoughts. Not quite the same, being on the other side of it. But close. ]
I'm glad you're here.
no subject
Can't get rid of me that easily, [he says with a breathless, rueful laugh. He turns his head to cough again, groaning in frustration.]
If I wasn't bloody dying every five seconds with this fucking cough... I'd be having 'thank god I'm alive' sex, [he says through a yawn. Yeah, like that's happening tonight. But this is good. The closeness is... really good.]
no subject
[ He doesn't believe that for a second. The yawn sort of punctuates the point. Arthur can feel the beginnings of sleep trying to drag him down, a comfortable warmth cocooning him from all sides. It's nice, laying so close. He can feel Eames' heartbeat under his palm, the steady rise and fall of his chest as his breathing starts to even out.
His eyes drift closed and exhaustion creeps in fully. Normally, he'd try to fight it, but falling asleep so easily escapes him most days. In the morning, they might talk about this. And what it means for them. Or maybe they'll just pretend it didn't happen.
Whatever the case, he'll tackle it then. ]