It's a bad place to call Arthur from, and an even worse time. Eames knows this, he's not stupid, he's just—
"Utterly wasted, Eames?" Arthur's voice is heavy with sleep, makes sense as it's a bit past three in the morning, but he's amused, a little chuckle in his throat, so Eames isn't worried just yet. "Where are you, a fucking wind tunnel?"
"No, a club, you know, you could come? Right across town from the hotel, just pop in a car and scoot over, we'll dance like real people." Eames has to shout over the throbbing music and his own slurring, because if Arthur realizes just how drunk Eames is he'll probably call a cab and the cops in that order.
"A club? Eames," he can hear Arthur stifle a yawn, just picture his hand over his mouth, his hair loose and soft in sleep. "Eames, it's three in the goddamn morning and I am asleep."
"No, no you're not, because you're talking to me, innit? And you're talking so you must be awake, so come dance!"
"Don't say 'innit,' Eames, you're not a chav."
"That's not a no, is it, you know where I am, come on, love, come dance with me." A click on the other end.
Eames loses time, there, for a bit, lost in the rhythm and the next shot and the flashing strobe. He loves to dance, always has, even when he was in the service, and other people love to dance with him. He brushes them all off, though, because he's waiting, every nerve fired up, because he's sure that Arthur will come any minute now and dance with him.
So when he feels a strong, thin hand on his hip, Eames doesn't even flinch. He knows from the pressure and the shape and most of all the shudder of anticipation down his neck. The blue lights flicker on his wide, loose grin, and he turns to rub up against Arthur, feeling kittenish in his hazy state. "You came, love, you're here, hi, hello, you're dancing—"
Arthur's mouth covers his, and they're grinding and shaking and kissing and Eames is about to explode from happiness and desire and sheer unadulterated pleasure. Arthur is here, in Ibiza, with him, on a vacation, dancing, and they'll kiss and dance until Eames is about to puke and then they'll go home and maybe have fantastic sex or maybe just nod off together and save the sex for the morning. Because Arthur will be there in the morning, finally, like it's always been this way instead of being something new. And they'll dance until then and dance the next night and it's a good thing Eames called from the wrong kind of place because Arthur's here, isn't he?
