"You're looking spiffy."

"Is that an insult?"

"No, darling, it means you're looking smart. Do you always assume I'm insulting you?"

"Not my fault I don't understand what you're saying half the time."

Eames chuckled and snagged Arthur's wrist as he passed. He pressed a kiss to his lips, and smacked the Point Man butt with a cheeky grin. Arthur gave a long suffering sigh and rolled his eyes, but Eames saw them sparkle, and knew he'd got away with it.

"I won't be back until late. What are you going to do with yourself all day?"

"Cause trouble."

"You'll give me an ulcer one day. Right, I'm off. Don't mess up the house."

"Send Cobb my regards."

"Will do."

The apartment door shut, and Eames found himself standing in the middle of an empty space that had suddenly turned cold.

He flipped out his phone as he padded wearily over the bed. He threw himself into the covers and just about managed to cocoon himself deeply into their folds before the connection picked up.

"Hello?"

"I'm bored."

"I haven't even got out of the building yet, Eames, how can you be bored?"

"I'm bored and lonely. Can't you call in sick too?"

"I promised Cobb I'd have an update on the Barker research-"

"Just email it over to him. It's what technology is there for. Come on Arthur, you don't want to leave me bored and alone and horny in your house all day long?"

"Horny?"

"Depressingly so."

"How can you be 'horny' when you've come down with the flu?"

"It's a miracle. Come on baby, I kissed you this morning so you've probably got the lurgie now too. Don't want to pass it on to Ariadne, not now the little thing's pregnant."

Dammit, Arthur thought with narrowed eyed. He'd forgotten that Eames had broken the no exchanging of body fluids embargo Arthur had put on him by giving him a kiss that morning. If he came down with the flu he was going to kill Eames.

He stopped at the last step, pausing with his briefcase dangling from his fingertips. The doorman watched him suspiciously, hand on the door and waiting for Arthur to stride towards him.

"Arrrtthuuuurrr," Eames drawled, "It's cold and lonely in this bed. We can be ill and disgusting together. In bed. All day."

Arthur snapped his phone shut, and gave the doorman a guilty little nod of the head. The doorman went to open the door, but Arthur turned his heel and marched back up the stairs. Halfway back up the miles of stairs he gave up, and slammed his palm against the button for the elevator. He had an uncomfortable, hot feeling that was making him sweat in his suit, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to strip off his clothes and cool off naked. And then the thought of being naked made his groin twitched a little. He stabbed away at the button irritably. When the doors finally pinged open he fell inside and gripped hold of the rail inside.

The apartment door was unlocked, unsurprisingly, and he threw his case onto the sofa and toed off his shoes before the door had chance to shut behind him. He snapped on the latch, and yanked at his tie. The living room was empty, so was the kitchen. He hung his suit jacket on the back of the armchair and snuck into the bedroom, wondering mournfully if Eames had gone to sleep in the time it had taken him to get upstairs.

His face fell at the sight of Eames in the bed, eyes closed and breathing steadily into the pillow. He was about to find a shoe to throw at his irritating bed mate, when Eames raised a hand and, without opening his eyes, curled a finger towards Arthur, beckoning him over. Arthur stripped feverishly and slipped into next to Eames, naked as the Forger and about as hot.

"I think you've given me the flu."

Eames smiled, opening his blood shot eyes and feathering his fingers through Arthur's hair. He felt the sweat at the Point Man's brow, the little goosebumps on his arms, the arch of his hips.

"That's not the flu, pet," he whispered, before pulling Arthur flush to him and kissing him, Arthur's lashes fluttering against his skin, "But I think I know a cure."