Arthur wakes with a start. He's on a cushy hotel bed, and that's as much as he knows.
Except that there's a figure hidden beneath the blankets beside him. He has no idea, none, who this could possibly be. He pokes it cautiously. It's warm, but there's no reaction to his finger. Arthur braces himself, then peels back the blankets.
"Uh…Eames?"
"WHAT?" Eames eyes spring open as he himself springs halfway off the bed. "Oh," he says, his face and shoulders relaxing. "Arthur, good to see you! Wasn't expecting to see you awake this early in the morning."
"It's, uh," Arthur glances at the clock beside the bed. "noon."
"Exactly."
Arthur rolls his eyes
"So," he says. "You mind telling me what's going on?"
"Well, looks to me as if you and I just woke up from a long night's sleep and now, I dunno, maybe we could get some breakfast or some-"
"I mean what the hell are you doing in my bed, Eames?" Eames looks shocked.
"I- YOUR bed? Well excuse me, who do you think is forking over two hundred dollars a night for this, for my hotel room?" Arthur raises his eyebrows.
"Okaaaay," he says, "then, what am I doing in your bed?"
"Not what I wish you were doing," Eames says. Arthur is not amused. "You don't remember, do you?" Eames says with a smirk. Obviously not, says Arthur's expression. It's then that Arthur realizes what Eames is hinting at. Arthur can't remember how the hell he got there, so of course there's only one explanation. He stuffs a hand in his pocket and feels around. His hand relaxes on a small textured cube. Eames shakes his head.
"This isn't a dream, Arthur dear." Arthur produces the red loaded die from his pocket. Eames is right.
"Then what is it?"
"This, Arthur, is you having waaaaaaaaaaay too much to drink last night." Eames looks pleased with himself, with Arthur, with everything. Arthur makes sure that his face says exactly the opposite. But he realizes that Eames must be speaking the truth.
"Did I?" he says, his voice all innocent confusion. Eames looks as though those are the best words he's ever heard.
"To put it lightly," Eames says.
"And you, what, you didn't ?" Arthur asks incredulously. "I'm supposed to believe that you sat there and watched me get drunk and then, what, carried me back to your hotel room like the gentleman you are?"
"So you do remember," Eames responds. Arthur doesn't crack a smile. He knows that's not how the story ends.
"And…you ended up in bed with me how?" Arthur says before he has a chance to stop himself. Eames smile makes Arthur wish he hadn't asked. Eames clearly has been waiting for this. He looks to his left, looks to his right.
"Well do you see any other beds around? Any couches? Where would you have liked for me to sleep? The floor? I know I sure as hell wouldn't-"
"So we didn't…" Arthur interrupts. Eames stares at him, his eyes wide, waiting for him to continue. Arthur doesn't go on.
"Didn't what, love?" Eames says. Arthur groans. There's no getting away with this one.
"Ugh, Eames," he says. "Did you or didn't you fuck me in this hotel room last night?" He waits. Eames looks as though Christmas has come early.
"And let you get back into last night's clothing afterwards? I don't think so, Arthur." Arthur wants to die. Instead he just avoids looking Eames in the eye. "Soooooo," Eames says after a particularly long silence. "Breakfast?"
"Not hungry," Arthur mumbles.
"Suit yourself," Eames says, making as though to get up.
"Wait," Arthur says quickly. Eames sits back down and looks at Arthur with patience as Arthur finds the right words. "I'm glad," is what finally comes out.
"Right," Eames says. "Me too. I wish I could stop being hungry all the-"
"I'm glad nothing happened between us last night," Arthur goes on.
"Ah."
"Because…the first time with you…I want to be able to remember it."
What happens next is a little bit of Arthur pulling Eames down on top of him, a little bit of Eames' soft lips brushing up against his own, a little of Eames finally getting Arthur out of last night's clothing.