Yusuf couldn't remember ever having felt as bad as he did right now, not even after accidentally swallowing one of his own compounds at an inopportune moment and falling into a two-day coma. Tired did not even begin to cover it, nor did exhausted… worn out… beat… spent…
He had been awake for more hours than he could count, all due to a combination of a technical defect, a sick pilot, several screaming children and an escaped pug that had led the cabin crew on a merry two-hour chase.
He would have literally killed for a bed and eight to ten hours of untroubled sleep right now.
Since he knew all about Dom's insomnia (and its causes), Arthur's habit of staying up late to go over his meticulously kept notes, Eames' predilection for seedy bars (even though Yusuf doubted that there were many of those in Monte Carlo) and Ariadne's fear of missing anything if she went to bed too early, he counted on them to still be awake.
When he found that Dom and Ariadne had apparently gone out together for drinks, Yusuf entertained a brief vision of the pretty little architect sinking into her mentor's arms, but quickly dismissed it. Both Ariadne and Dom were way too professional to allow such a thing, and while they were on excellent terms, they would never be more than friends. Besides, Dom wasn't the kind of man who would enter into a relationship with his protégée.
As for the other two members of their little team, Yusuf assumed that Eames had either joined Dom and Ariadne, or gone out by himself. Monte Carlo was just too tempting a place for a semi-professional gambler… and Arthur – well, Arthur was way more likely to be found perched over his papers or reading a book than at a gambling table or in a bar.
Yusuf actually felt a little relieved. Arthur would understand. Arthur would show him his room, wish him a good night and make sure that nobody disturbed him. And that was all he asked for.
He knocked at the door, listened, but everything was quiet. They probably had good soundproofing in a hotel like this… for various reasons. Yusuf rapped again, louder this time.
Come on, Arthur, open the goddamn door.
Nothing.
Oh well. Seemed like he would have to do this the impolite way. Yusuf still pined for good old-fashioned lock picking, but he had learned to disable a keycard system just as fast (Eames had helped with that). It was all a matter of practice and proper equipment… Arthur would probably mind, but Yusuf was just too tired to bring himself to care.
His fingers were shaking, which made the process more difficult, but eventually, he managed to get it right. The door opened, and Yusuf more stumbled than stepped into an elegantly furnished suite. The lights in the main living room area were dimmed down to a minimum, the semi-darkness soothing for his tired eyes.
Arthur was probably in the bedroom, reading. Or rather: in one of the bedrooms, since there appeared to be at least two, judging from the number of doors. Yusuf idly wondered who he was sharing with. Dom? That would have made sense. Dom and Arthur not only worked well together, but they were also close friends and had been for years.
He quietly moved towards the bedroom door closest to him, gently rapping his knuckles against it, just in case the occupant of this room was already asleep.
No verbal reply, no reply at all.
Yusuf pushed open the door. "Arthur? Arthur, it's me, Yusuf. Can I come in?"
The light in the bedroom was dimmed; and such half-light, combined with jetlag and some serious lack of sleep could play odd tricks upon the mind, yet if Yusuf's mind had dreamt up the scene that presented itself to him now, it was in even worse shape than he had previously thought.
Arthur was asleep; though how he had ever managed to get as far completely eluded Yusuf. Nobody, nobody, not even Arthur, went to sleep in a position like that. Yusuf was shocked enough to find that the point man was naked, at least down to the waist, and possibly even below that, though the rest of him was thankfully covered with a sheet. What really disturbed him, though, was the fact that Arthur's wrists were tied to the wrought iron bedposts. Bound with a set of black, silken ties; the left arm had slipped down and lay flat and spread out on the bed, the wrist only loosely circled by its former binding. The right arm, though, was still bound.
That arm is going to hurt like hell when he wakes up, a strangely detached part of Yusuf's mind noted, before adding: Arthur is going to have a fit when he sees what happened to those ties…
He was positive that those ties were Arthur's and had not initially been intended for this sort of thing, but rather as accessories for one of those well fitting suits. As for who had so shamefully diverted them from their intended use… well, Eames was sleeping peacefully, his strong, well-muscled body a strange contrast to Arthur's lithe features. His head rested on the other man's chest as if to say 'pillows are so totally overrated, pet'.
How the hell did they end up here?
Actually, there weren't that many explanations. Yusuf's mind flat-out refused the most obvious one, focusing instead on the idea that Eames had probably drugged Arthur and artfully arranged this little scene merely for the fun of it.
Suddenly, he became aware of the fact that someone was watching him. Half-closed bluish-gray eyes had settled on the intruder, their gaze still a little clouded with sleep.
"Eames, what on Earth…?" Yusuf whispered.
A slow smile spread over Eames' face, widening itself to the single most self-satisfied grin Yusuf had ever seen.
"Rather obvious, no?" Eames purred.
"You… Arthur will kill you. Or me. Or both of us. And I need brain-soap. Seriously! Or alcohol. Lots of alcohol. Something that'll make sure I won't remember this tomorrow! You know what – just get me the key to my room. I don't want to know anything about this!"
"Living room, on the glass table. Room number is 207."
"Thanks." Yusuf breathed, taking a step backwards. At the door he remembered something. "You know, you should probably untie him. Blood circulation and all that. Wouldn't want to lose our point man because of your… anyway…"
Eames grinned again, a brief flash of teeth. "Maybe I should. But you ought to get out before I wake him… out of the suite. Probably off this floor. Maybe out of the building…"
Yusuf fled, deciding that he'd had enough for one night.
Poor Yusuf... My grin was almost as broad as Eames' when I wrote this, and all the while I had "Eine Nacht in Monte Carlo" ("A night in Monte Carlo"), which is a classic tango, playing in my head. Evil me, huh? ;)
Once again, thank you so much for your wonderful reviews. It's a combination of them and caffeine (lots and lots of caffeine...) that keeps me going ^^