Arthur stirred the batter once more and waited for the butter to melt. He had promised waffles in the morning, and he was a man of his word.
"Morning," Eames yawned as he staggered into the kitchen, shirtless, and Arthur swallowed. Eames scratched his belly and searched the cupboard for a mug.
Arthur turned back to the iron to pour the perfect waffle, focusing, and Eames, warm and smelling like sleep, curled up behind him. His fingers teased at Arthur's waistband.
"Mmm," he rumbled against Arthur's neck. "Really, darling? Waffles? I was just going to eat you."
The waffles burned.