A/N-This is my first time writing domesticated Eames and Arthur. I wanted to try writing them all ready as a couple but with angst of course! I'm having a blast writing this, I feel it's so low pressure compared to what else I've written which has loads more action/suspense and building up of the relationship.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I do and please review-thanks so much!

Things that happen at midnight

Witching Hour

"I'm bored. Let's fuck."

His tone was completely serious yet the other man didn't react. Not one part of his perfectly tailored self flinched or moved one inch. His body was completely still. He continued to keep his steady eyes carefully trained to his Ayn Rand's: Atlas Shrugged. Eames shuddered; he never knew how he could read those dreadfully long, dreadfully stale things for hours on end. But he was Arthur.

Eames swirled his drink in his glass, one hand firmly planted on the white, expansive kitchen counter wanting to start chaos. He was good at it.

Their apartment was eerily calm and quiet. The one lamp and the small fire glowing in the fireplace the only light sources casting odd shadows on the wall, bouncing and playing off the corners of the room. And clean, much too clean. Arthur liked it dark and quiet-two things that summed up the young man very well.

Eames' eyes wandered from Arthur's silhouette planted in his favorite chair, his back to him facing the windows. His eyes seemed to warble and dance to the windows, the curtain surprisingly not drawn. Big fat flakes were falling silently and aggravatingly slowly like they couldn't make up their mind making the whole situation more mind numbing.

"You're drunk," he turned a page with a sudden flick of his wrist and deft fingers, too fast for Eames to comprehend. He still hadn't given him the courtesy of looking at him.

Eames swirled his drink faster, liking the CHINK noise of the ice hitting the glass as if giving him the answer.

"And why aren't you again?"He took a long gulp setting the glass down almost too hard on the counter, it slipped from the condensation and almost slid off the edge, Eames catching it a second later and successfully jabbing his arm on the edge of the counter as well. He released a little grunt of pain.

Everything was so hard, angular, filled with sharp points and 90 degree angles. Eames like comfort, soft, soothing, round, plush, relaxing things, things that couldn't hurt him but when it came to decorating he was told he had no taste. To say he made a lot of sacrifices for him would be an understatement.

Eames could sense his smile as he studied his page, silently mocking him for his half drunken foolishness.

"I'm tired," he shut his book with a sudden SNAP, getting up quickly, moving around the small living room with quiet authority, everything has its place. He padded to the bookshelf on stocking feet-about as casual as he got, carefully putting Ms. Rand back in her intimate place among the other books with the same last initial. He hovered there for a moment and Eames knew without seeing what he was doing from his angle that he was running his fingertips lightly over the bindings of his many volumes of novels, marveling, liking the feel of them. He told Eames he would always buy hardcover for that reason-he had to feel them and to smell them whatever that meant.

Eames finished his drink liking how it successfully made him warmer, the room slightly spinning and his mind sloshy.

Arthur had crossed back to the coffee table downing his wine with one last shot and came quietly towards the kitchen. Eames was in the way but didn't move. He knew how to push the other man's buttons and again he thought chaos was in order on a cold winter night with nothing to do. It was only witching hour and for once he wanted Arthur to break out from his routine.

Arthur tapped on his wine glass to get his attention. Eames greeted him like he hadn't even noticed he was standing, leaning against the counter, totally blocking his way. He flashed him the biggest grin he could muster, cheeks literally hurting.

Arthur was not pleased.

They stared at each other for a moment, maybe uncomfortably if they hadn't been living together for several months and lately been around each other 24/7 from the incessant snow, stuck inside. Arthur gave him the blank faced, no expression stare, his eyes looking a million miles away which Eames knew meant he was exasperated and or tired which in this case were both.

Eames responded by leaning into the counter more sticking out his behind to further block his path, shooting him a challenging yet smoldering look, all eyes and a pout.

"You gotta pay the toll, luv." He loved acting like a child like this to see what he would do.

He tapped on his wingless again, inhaling and exhaling slowly-a hasty sigh.

"You're being an asshole. I don't want to play games now. I want to sleep, move."

Eames tapped his foot on the polished floor. He leaned towards him.

"Quick, give me a kiss."

Eames knew he took it too far, Arthur's smooth face going hard. Eames was always pushing it but he blamed the alcohol.

In one of their sweeter, more pleasant memories Arthur told Eames in a drunken rush at their favorite bar, blushing, that he had kissed Ariadne during the inception job. He told him, fumbling, what he did and how he instructed her, tricked her. This didn't shock Eames very much. He had heard far worse things. Eames knew that Arthur had successfully hidden his feelings for him at that time and was still trying to convince himself that he could be attracted to others, namely women. Arthur saw it differently; he felt he needed to tell him-to "clear the air" and to be honest with him as they started the relationship since she was a colleague. Eames did appreciate his honesty but didn't give a flying fart who he kissed, colleague or otherwise before he was with him. As long as he came home to him every night he didn't care who he was with in dreams. Eames answered him by pulling him into a fierce kiss not caring who was watching in the crowded bar.

"Was it like that?" He asked smugly when he released him, again not caring about the kiss just loving Arthur's startled, ruffled reaction.

Arthur was blushing harder, his dimple on the right side of his mouth in full force, looking damn near irresistible, straightening his crooked bow tie. He shook his head. "No, it was more like this," He came in more slowly and gently brushed his small, smooth lips to his own larger, plump ones, releasing him about a second later. Arthur looked rather pleased with himself with "recreating it."

Eames couldn't help but smile and smother a laugh threatening to come out. It was a kiss you would give to your Grandmother for Christ sakes, why was he even worried? That was Arthur though, old fashioned, by the books, however small the detail had to be accounted for.

That was the very beginning of something, their time together. And now?

Arthur shoved at him, rudely, almost successfully pushing him over and stumbled into the kitchen, swooping up Eames' now drained glass and placing both glasses in the sink, rinsing them out meticulously. He never could sleep with dirty dishes lying around he always said. His eyes were narrowed; jaw set tight, clenching, chewing on anger.

Eames pointed to his now spot clean glass that was drying on a towel. "Didn't say I was done with that."

"Well you are now. Don't you think you've had enough?"

Arthur was tidying this and that, not even aware he was doing it, working out his anger.

Eames closed the gap between them placing his much too hot hands on his thin shoulders, him trying to shrug them off immediately but Eames gripped tighter not letting go.

"Sorry, forgive my intoxicated ramblings and nonsense."

He tried again to shrug him off but it was a weak attempt Eames noticed.

"Would if you didn't do it all the fucking time," it wasn't completely harsh, more of an observation.

Eames squeezed coming closer still, taking whatever kitchen gadget out of his hand and tossing it to the side. He ran his hands down his arms slowly liking the feel of his waistcoat and shirt, his muscles and bones, settling around his thin waist nuzzling his cold neck. "Calm down luv, I'm sorry, truly," he breathed. He was always apologizing for something it seemed. Maybe it was because he wanted and needed his attention so badly like a schoolboy, the little scraps he tossed him weren't enough. Somewhere deep within there was a fear too but the alcohol had successfully blotted most of it out. It was a fear that Arthur was growing bored, namely with him so Eames devised a plan right then and there.

Arthur squeezed his hand that was resting on his waist, his breathing slowed Eames noticed. Eames' system was flooded by a warm feeling by his cold touch. Even the simplest, tiniest gestures did wonders on him. Whatever Arthur felt like giving him was always accepted easily.

Arthur patted his hand, a: "Let go now, I'm tired and this folly has gone on for too long" gesture.

Eames released him thinking that he at least wasn't too cross with him now.

Arthur surprisingly reached for his hand giving him a crooked smile. He looked like he was going to say something when he yawned hugely. "Let's go to bed," he managed after a moment tugging at his hand moving out of the kitchen.

Eames let him lead him as far as the living room when he began to resist so that Arthur couldn't pull at him very easily. Arthur stopped and looked over his shoulder at him, eyes searching, shadows dancing on his pale face.

"Stay up with me for a change. We don't have to go in tomorrow," he jerked a thumb to the window and tried to keep the plead and beg out of his voice.

Arthur looked suspicious but he wasn't shooting him down right off the bat so Eames supposed it might actually be working.

He released his hand. "What did you have in mind?"

Eames released a pleasured sigh. "Don't ever ask me that, darling. You're not going to like the answer," he winked.

Arthur looked smug and raised his eyebrows. "Fine. I'm tired of your games anyway. I'm going to bed with or without you."

He swooped in quickly and planted him a small kiss, too stealthy for Eames to react in his partially drunken state and he was breaking away just as quickly. "Goodnight," he turned his head and was moving to put the fire out.

It was now or never. "You won't fall asleep you know. You like it so bloody cold in here and you like to use your own personal furnace," he pointed to himself.

He shrugged as he extinguished the fire. "I'll manage."

Eames chuckled. "That's not what you said last night. Remember? It was bloody freezing in here you said but you just instructed me to spoon you and I had to hold you a certain way and you said that you could never sleep any other way again in cold weather-I was just too damn comfortable and you loved the feel of my..."

"Enough all ready. I know what you're doing and it's still no. I'll sleep by the fireplace if I need to."

Eames was always concerned about his zero percent body fat and how he got so freezing cold so fast yet he said he liked the cold! Ha-and he was the bloody Queen of England. He just didn't like to admit that he was uncomfortable or that he loved that Eames was a furnace, always running a tad too hot, clutching at him under the covers or on the couch under a blanket, nuzzling him, loving his warmth. Eames was grateful, he felt needed if only for his body heat.

"Don't be ridiculous, darling. No need for that. Let's make a small wager to settle all this silliness shall we?"

He used his most confident tone-the one he used for forging.

Arthur turned and faced him finally, hands on hips, an incredulous look on his face. "You've got to be kidding me."

"If you stay up with me tonight for as long as I want or can then I will do all the housework and all your other beckonings without question or hesitation. I won't even pester you for sex."

Arthur shot him a hard, disbelieving look, crossing his arms, staying close mouthed. Eames could literally hear the gears turning in Arthur's head. Eames ran with it.

"Think of it, darling. You would be gaining so much in this deal compared to what I'm getting. All that I ask is that you stay awake and keep an open mind especially when it comes to…well you know," he scratched the back of his head.

Arthur exhaled deeply, pinching at his tired eyes.

"What is this about really? Where did this come from?"

"Are you taking the deal? Because if you are then as part of it I'll tell you."

Arthur mumbled something under his breath about him being an asshole again.

He blinked several times, chewing his lip, face impassive.

"Are we staying up all night?"

"Oh, quite possibly. Don't worry, I'll be gentle."

Eames couldn't believe that Arthur was actually considering it!

"Just for tonight and then you'll do my every beck and call? No whinings for sex? And just to clarify I don't want you doing any housework. I don't want you anywhere near any cleaning supplies or breakable objects."

Eames had to literally bite his tongue from the pure glee he was feeling. He wanted dance and to shout out in pure excitement.

He nodded tasting a little blood in his mouth.

"Just keep an open mind. You just have to go with it, within reason of course."

It was like they were hashing out an extraction deal expect with bedroom politics and talks of cleaning the apartment. Both men were dreadfully serious now, staring each other down, making sure the other was serious before sealing the deal.

"All right I'll do it but if I'm cranky tomorrow then you're to blame."