WIP titles meme

[skyvehicle]

My WIP titles aren't really all that funny, actually.

Comments

commenting only because nobody really follows my lj anyway. lol.

[skyvehicle]

It was in the roadtrip verse, peppered in somewhere that I think I've moved past.

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The clock reads 4:38 AM when Arthur blinks awake, disoriented, and then horrified, because it sounds like there is something in bed with him that is not human. He looks over and sees it's only Eames, dragging air in through his open mouth in a way that sounds painful. Like a lawnmower running over a chainsaw, and then tumbling down the side of a cliff.

"Eames," he mutters, rolling onto his side and nudging the back of Eames' leg with his toe. "Eames."

The snoring continues, undisturbed. Clearly, if Eames can sleep through his own snoring, then of course he can sleep through Arthur whispering his name. Arthur nudges him again, and then kicks, hard, with his heel, accompanying it with a punch into Eames' arm. "Eames!"

Eames chokes on his next snore, spluttering and coughing until his breathing returns to normal and his eyes drift open. "Hmm," he breathes, blinking sleepily at Arthur.

"You were snoring," Arthur says.

"Nonsense," Eames says, his voice light and airy, the vowels stretched out and the consonants thick like food in his mouth. "I don't snore."

Arthur only stares at him. "You do," he snaps.

"Silly," Eames admonishes, closing his eyes and scooping Arthur up in his arms, dragging him across the bed in a tangle of sheets until he is squinting so as not to get Eames' chest hair in his eyes. Arthur is too tired to do more than squirm futilely for a little, eventually relaxing into the hold Eames has him in.

It's their first real night together (because Toulouse didn't count because Arthur fell asleep before he could send Eames back to his own room, and then they got kidnapped and put into a dream before Eames could wake him with his snoring) and Arthur is exhausted. His muscles are sore from their exertions, and his skin is sticky because Eames insisted on spooning up against Arthur until he fell asleep, instead of letting him shower, and Arthur, having been well and properly fucked into happy exhaustion, can do nothing but lie bonelessly in Eames' arms, warm and filthy and worn out, and fall asleep.

So when Eames heaves a heavy sigh and buries his face into the crook of Arthur's neck, Arthur smiles and presses a kiss to the hollow of Eames' throat, crushed against it as he is. He thinks, now that Eames is lying on his side, he won't snore. Eames' breath is far from silent, warm air flowing over Arthur's forehead, but it isn't being dragged in through his nose, rattling and blaring. It just sounds like breathing, and Arthur falls asleep with little difficulty.

It's 5:10 when Eames starts snoring again, and Arthur can feel his exasperated sigh warm against Eames' throat, where his face is still squished. He extricates himself from Eames' arms, dead weight that falls heavily in Arthur's vacant space in the bed, and goes to take a shower, and get ready for the day.