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Arthur’s already in bed when Eames exits their en suite bathroom, naked and freshly dripping from the shower. Arthur looks up, currently wrapped up in a soft quilt, his moleskine open in his lap.

“Aww come on, Eames, you’re getting water all over the rug,” Arthur groans. He closes his moleskine, places it on the table next to their bed, and snuggles deeper into their pillow-soft mattress.

“There were no fresh towels on the rack, only these,” Eames grins, holding up a tiny washcloth.

“I did the wash this morning,” Arthur murmurs, his eyes drifting from Eames’ sharp collar bones to the pronounced jut of his hip bones. Arthur licks his lips, his mouth suddenly dry.

“See something you like?” Eames wiggles his ass in Arthur’s general direction.

“There are fresh towels in the closet, just dry off and get in,” Arthur directs, and Eames isn’t complaining as he quickly dries himself off, slips into a pair of flannel pajama pants and climbs in, plastering himself against Arthur’s side. He gets his arm around Arthur’s middle and nuzzles at his neck.

“Mmm, you smell good,” Eames murmurs against Arthur’s jaw, his stubble tickling Arthur’s neck.

Arthur squirms as Eames gets his flannel-clad thigh between Arthur’s legs. “It’s good to be home, back in our own bed, isn’t it?” Arthur hums while scattering kisses along Eames’ forehead, cheekbones, and the tip of his nose.

Eames grinds his thigh up against Arthur’s hardening cock and steers Arthur’s mouth towards his. “I’m always home when I’m with you, Arthur.”