[ sweet disposition 00? ]: a moment, a love, a dream, a lie, a kiss, a cry, our rights, our wrongs

[littlspecificty]

[ 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

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[paisleythief]

This whole "waking up" idea is not something Eames wants to do at warm-and-comfy o'clock. He likes the "moving around and disentangling from a warm body" thing even less. So Arthur can blame Eames entirely if he intentionally (as much as one can do such a thing while stilly mostly asleep) makes himself heavier around the other in an attempt to keep him there. For a moment, his sleepy brain conveys the lack of movement with Arthur having gone back to sleep, but there's something itching at the back of his mind. Pawing the space next to him, Eames' fingers meet nothing but bedsheets.

This is going to be the most painful thing in the world, but...

Eames cracks open an eye, just enough to see that Arthur is not in bed with him. Blearily, the eyelid slips shut, vague thoughts of I should get up and drag his arse back to bed flitting through his mind with slightly less frequency than just one more minute... When the faucet in the washroom starts up, Eames nods to himself, waiting until the sound stops before he cracks an eye open again.

[littlspecificty]

Arthur hears Eames but only makes a grunt and then garbles out something sounding like "coffee" in return, the point man still rubbing at his face before a shoulder hits the doorframe on his way out (which is followed by a bump from the hallway from where Arthur is now using the wall for support on his way to the kitchen).

[paisleythief]

"That's entirely unfair," Eames calls out, knowing his voice is still muffled from sleep (and probably carrying badly) but not arsed enough to wake up and make his objections any clearer. "You hardly gave me a chance to trick you back into bed."

Because, it's pretty obvious to anyone who has ever seen an early morning Arthur that he does not function well when his coffee meter is on low and the only way Arthur would be coming back to bed is if he was conned there. Eames has very few scruples and he's probably sleepy enough to not feel Arthur's retaliation until later.

For now though, he'll lie in the bed and doze, pouting when he surfaces from his in-and-out state.

[littlspecificty]

Arthur has made the mistake of stopping to talk to Eames in situations like this; he is familiar with the forger trying to trick him back into bed and, Arthur is a little embarrassed to say, a few times he was successful as a result

[paisleythief]

It's still quite novel, those noises of domesticity coming from the kitchen that only ever occasionally serviced Eames. Somehow, the kettle sounds different when Arthur's the one slamming it about (possibly for just that reason, since Eames is a bit more coordinated when he finally struggles his way out of bed)-- the metal against the dip of the sink, the top against the faucet, the bottom against the top of the stove-- and it helps keep him from slipping too deeply into his mid-morning snooze. By the time Arthur makes his way back to the bedroom, Eames has had enough time to start almost-dreaming about Arthur in an apron, his lips just beginning to purse in the inevitable question Eames, why are you looking at me like that or Eames, don't even think about itThe poke vanishes the dream (wishful thinking, more so, considering the state of natural dreaming in the dreamshare community) and Eames blinks up at the man more or less diving into his coffee cup. His words don't really make sense when Eames is sure Arthur was just in an apron

[littlspecificty]

Arthur nods slowly while taking a few more sips. Blinking and then pointing to the mug near Eames on the bedside table, "Tea."

And then nodding his head a little further down the bed, "And wood."

[paisleythief]

"Ah," A glance down himself reveals, yes, there is definitely a salute going on down there. "Yes. Which one will get my attention first, I wonder..."

But Eames' hand is reaching down to palm it, not really doing anything to keep it from ebbing since morning wood is notoriously greedy for any kind of attention.

[littlspecificty]

Arthur can't help rolling his eyes at that, still unable to understand how Eames can have enough energy to already be like that (along with having a seemingly endless sex drive to spur him on). Arthur, more than half the time, is too damn tired to be sporting anything when he wakes up; he's lucky enough to drag his ass out of bed for coffee let alone be ready for jerking off.

He shuffles his way back over to his side of the bed - managing to reach down and pinch the back of that hand Eames is using to palm himself through the covers, shameless creature the Brit is, as he goes - and sits back down gingerly on his side of the bed, his unused pillow propping up his back against the headboard.

[paisleythief]

Eames has always assumed that morning wood was a natural perfusion of blood back into regular circulation-- something he couldn't help; because there are times when he's had to make a hasty retreat (from either a poolside or a residence he's squatted in) when he'd love to not wake up stiff and ready for action. Why Arthur doesn't pop wood at his age (not that he's much younger, Eames reminds himself) is a mystery to Eames--

A mystery Eames is never unenthusiastic to investigate, nonetheless.

After a moment of petting (a promise that more will come later if it's patient), Eames adjusts himself in his pants and rolls over to Arthur's side of the bed. Face mostly buried in his own pillow, Eames nudges Arthur's elbow with his forehead. "No more sleep?"

[littlspecificty]

What was natural for Eames, and several other men apparently, was not so much for Arthur. He had wondered a few times what it meant for him not to be able to "sport" such a feature like other men could and did but eventually just accepted it as another attribute of having his own body type and biology along with it (just like how he could actually have dry orgasms when other men couldn't).

At the nudge to his elbow, Arthur yawns into his cup after swallowing another mouthful of coffee. With his free hand, he rubs at his eyelids again, "In a minute."

Looking down at Eames before he moves his free hand to smooth down the forger's hair, "How is your back?"

[paisleythief]

Eyes slipping closed at the hand on his scalp, palm extra warm thanks to the coffee Arthur had been holding previously, Eames takes a moment longer than usual to answer. When he does answer, its a rumble of approval that could pertain to anything. "Mmm, feels good."

[littlspecificty]

Smirking into his mug at the rumble, thinking how Eames is indeed like his own personal overgrown kitten, "I have the feeling you'll be saying that no matter where I touch you..."