Arthur and Eames (April 27)
Apr. 27th, 2015 10:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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om_mainArthur wakes up sick.
Arthur had never exactly been a morning person. He was a light sleeper, sure, but waking up wasn't the same as being awake. Still, for the most part he'd learn to work around that, forcing himself out of bed to get moving before his brain caught up with him. He very rarely lingered, unless Eames had decided to get handsy enough that breaking away was a bit of a struggle.
And it was even more rare that, immediately after waking up, he just groaned and tried to bury his head under the pillow and pretend morning didn't exist. Then again, it was incredibly rare for him to feel quite so much like the living dead.
Eames stirred beside him, reaching to slide a hand up Arthur's back. He would have likely made overtures toward luring him to stay but when his hand came into contact with the back of Arthur's neck he remarked, "God, you're hot," in a tone far different than his usual. "You okay love?"
The only response was a faint, incoherent groan as Arthur tried to bury himself deeper into the pillow. Why was someone trying to talk to him.
Eames carefully slipped out of the bed and then came back a few minutes later with a thermometer from the medicine cabinet and a bottle of water. "Sit up for a minute. If you've a fever I'm dragging you off to Simon."
Arthur grumbled again, but finally shifted enough to peer up at Eames with one bleary, bloodshot eye. "Why," he demanded, voice rough. "Let me sleep."
"Shush. This will take 1 minute." Fortunately, they'd invested in a less invasive thermometer so Eames didn't have to shove the things into Arthur's protesting mouth. He held it to his ear, waited until the contraption beeped, and then judged the temperature. Low grade fever, no reason to force him into the infirmary. Eames twisted open the bottle of water and held it out. "Take a few swallows and go back to bed."
"You are not the boss of me," Arthur grunted, but took the water bottle anyway. He was pretty thirsty. A few sips later and he carefully set the bottle down on the nightstand and slid right back down onto the bed, pulling the covers over his head as he went.
Only to sit bolt upright (if slightly woozy) a second later. "Wait, no, shit. Have to teach the class."
"Lord, I love you," Eames said, because cranky Arthur was somehow ridiculously adorable. "I will go explain the situation to Mr. Roth and bring him what you prepared. Don't worry." Arthur was probably in this state because he'd stayed up too late preparing despite feeling off last night. It wasn't as if teaching was his life calling, so he couldn't be too crushed he wouldn't get to deliver.
Something about that really should have set off warning bells, but it was hard to hear them through the misery in Arthur's head. "Fine," he sighed, dropping back to the pillows. He didn't exactly feel like dealing with anyone else at the moment anyway.
"Rest. I'll check on you later." He stroked Arthur's hair and then slipped quietly off the bed to go gather his papers.
Arthur was already mostly incoherent again, grumbling something indistinct as he drifted back off.
Arthur had never exactly been a morning person. He was a light sleeper, sure, but waking up wasn't the same as being awake. Still, for the most part he'd learn to work around that, forcing himself out of bed to get moving before his brain caught up with him. He very rarely lingered, unless Eames had decided to get handsy enough that breaking away was a bit of a struggle.
And it was even more rare that, immediately after waking up, he just groaned and tried to bury his head under the pillow and pretend morning didn't exist. Then again, it was incredibly rare for him to feel quite so much like the living dead.
Eames stirred beside him, reaching to slide a hand up Arthur's back. He would have likely made overtures toward luring him to stay but when his hand came into contact with the back of Arthur's neck he remarked, "God, you're hot," in a tone far different than his usual. "You okay love?"
The only response was a faint, incoherent groan as Arthur tried to bury himself deeper into the pillow. Why was someone trying to talk to him.
Eames carefully slipped out of the bed and then came back a few minutes later with a thermometer from the medicine cabinet and a bottle of water. "Sit up for a minute. If you've a fever I'm dragging you off to Simon."
Arthur grumbled again, but finally shifted enough to peer up at Eames with one bleary, bloodshot eye. "Why," he demanded, voice rough. "Let me sleep."
"Shush. This will take 1 minute." Fortunately, they'd invested in a less invasive thermometer so Eames didn't have to shove the things into Arthur's protesting mouth. He held it to his ear, waited until the contraption beeped, and then judged the temperature. Low grade fever, no reason to force him into the infirmary. Eames twisted open the bottle of water and held it out. "Take a few swallows and go back to bed."
"You are not the boss of me," Arthur grunted, but took the water bottle anyway. He was pretty thirsty. A few sips later and he carefully set the bottle down on the nightstand and slid right back down onto the bed, pulling the covers over his head as he went.
Only to sit bolt upright (if slightly woozy) a second later. "Wait, no, shit. Have to teach the class."
"Lord, I love you," Eames said, because cranky Arthur was somehow ridiculously adorable. "I will go explain the situation to Mr. Roth and bring him what you prepared. Don't worry." Arthur was probably in this state because he'd stayed up too late preparing despite feeling off last night. It wasn't as if teaching was his life calling, so he couldn't be too crushed he wouldn't get to deliver.
Something about that really should have set off warning bells, but it was hard to hear them through the misery in Arthur's head. "Fine," he sighed, dropping back to the pillows. He didn't exactly feel like dealing with anyone else at the moment anyway.
"Rest. I'll check on you later." He stroked Arthur's hair and then slipped quietly off the bed to go gather his papers.
Arthur was already mostly incoherent again, grumbling something indistinct as he drifted back off.
