Of Love & Hot Chocolate
Arthur sniffles, his nose already runny from being outdoors. "I don't understand why we're here. It's below freezing."
"Because it's the lighting of the Rockefeller Christmas tree, pet," Eames states, as if this should be blatantly obvious.
"The tree will be here, every day. In the sunlight."
"It's my first holiday in the States. I want it to be picturesque." Eames pouts a little for effect, looking into Arthur's eyes.
Arthur sighs, tugging at his hat. "My ears are cold."
Eames grins, knowing Arthur's giving in. "I can see. You look like Santa's little elf, what with the rosy cheeks and all." He leans over to rub their noses together, despite the warning glare he receives.
"I'm hardly an elf. I'm taller than you, thank you very much." All of Arthur's smugness is lost, however, as his teeth begin to chatter.
"Yes, but think of how you could spruce up the North Pole! The little helpers, clad in tiny Armani suits..."
Arthur snorts good-naturedly. "I would never wear the curly shoes." He smirks, dimples showing.
Eames watches as a tiny snowflake lands on perfectly long lashes, and Arthur blinks it away. His eyes are smiling as he places his earmuffs over Arthur's ears, and he thinks he falls just a little bit more in love.
His fingertips brush his skin lightly, and he frowns.
"You are freezing. Hang on." Eames rummages in the bag he's brought along, pulling out a horrifically plaid thermos. He pours a small cup of hot chocolate, the thick Italian kind Arthur is partial to, and passes it over.
Arthur blushes, because really. Not that his cheeks could get any more color into them. "You brought cocoa?"
Eames looks into the distance at the unlit tree. "Picturesque, remember?"
Arthur watches him over the rim of his mug and thinks he'd have to agree. He drinks down the sweet, creamy concoction, enjoying the silence.
Eames finally looks back towards him, reaching the tip of his thumb out to wipe the corner of his mouth. He opens his mouth, probably preparing for another teasing comment, but Arthur just reaches out to grab the edges of his (hideously purple) scarf, tugging him close.
The countdown starts, and Arthur kisses him tenderly for a moment. The lights on the famed Christmas tree light up, and he pulls back just enough to murmur against his lips.
"Merry Christmas, Eames."
"Because it's the lighting of the Rockefeller Christmas tree, pet," Eames states, as if this should be blatantly obvious.
"The tree will be here, every day. In the sunlight."
"It's my first holiday in the States. I want it to be picturesque." Eames pouts a little for effect, looking into Arthur's eyes.
Arthur sighs, tugging at his hat. "My ears are cold."
Eames grins, knowing Arthur's giving in. "I can see. You look like Santa's little elf, what with the rosy cheeks and all." He leans over to rub their noses together, despite the warning glare he receives.
"I'm hardly an elf. I'm taller than you, thank you very much." All of Arthur's smugness is lost, however, as his teeth begin to chatter.
"Yes, but think of how you could spruce up the North Pole! The little helpers, clad in tiny Armani suits..."
Arthur snorts good-naturedly. "I would never wear the curly shoes." He smirks, dimples showing.
Eames watches as a tiny snowflake lands on perfectly long lashes, and Arthur blinks it away. His eyes are smiling as he places his earmuffs over Arthur's ears, and he thinks he falls just a little bit more in love.
His fingertips brush his skin lightly, and he frowns.
"You are freezing. Hang on." Eames rummages in the bag he's brought along, pulling out a horrifically plaid thermos. He pours a small cup of hot chocolate, the thick Italian kind Arthur is partial to, and passes it over.
Arthur blushes, because really. Not that his cheeks could get any more color into them. "You brought cocoa?"
Eames looks into the distance at the unlit tree. "Picturesque, remember?"
Arthur watches him over the rim of his mug and thinks he'd have to agree. He drinks down the sweet, creamy concoction, enjoying the silence.
Eames finally looks back towards him, reaching the tip of his thumb out to wipe the corner of his mouth. He opens his mouth, probably preparing for another teasing comment, but Arthur just reaches out to grab the edges of his (hideously purple) scarf, tugging him close.
The countdown starts, and Arthur kisses him tenderly for a moment. The lights on the famed Christmas tree light up, and he pulls back just enough to murmur against his lips.
"Merry Christmas, Eames."