[ sweet disposition 00? ]: a moment, a love, a dream, a lie, a kiss, a cry, our rights, our wrongs
[ continued directly after this log ]
Arthur doesn't want to leave the warmth that he had missed so much in the forger's absence. It feels too good to leave and yet, he must. The sun is high enough in the sky to penetrate through the top of the blinds and Arthur can only bury his head and grumble into Eames' chest so many times before the need for coffee, the taste of it on his tongue, overcomes him and the fog of sleep is annoyingly lax in lulling him back into submission against his lover.
He disentangles himself from Eames only to stumble his way into the bathroom first before planning on supporting himself against the wall of the hallway on his way to the kitchen to make his "infernal brew" (as the forger has so often referred to it as in the past).
Arthur doesn't want to leave the warmth that he had missed so much in the forger's absence. It feels too good to leave and yet, he must. The sun is high enough in the sky to penetrate through the top of the blinds and Arthur can only bury his head and grumble into Eames' chest so many times before the need for coffee, the taste of it on his tongue, overcomes him and the fog of sleep is annoyingly lax in lulling him back into submission against his lover.
He disentangles himself from Eames only to stumble his way into the bathroom first before planning on supporting himself against the wall of the hallway on his way to the kitchen to make his "infernal brew" (as the forger has so often referred to it as in the past).