Author: wrenton / Artist: keelain
Word Count: 408
Summary: Random cat boy kiss in the rain.
Arthur hates rain.
Eames doesn’t even have to ask to be certain about this little fact, because as soon as the first drop fell from the sky--which had been sunny and clear only moments before--Arthur had glared at the incoming clouds with a rage he reserved for personal betrayals and incompetency.
“I blame you for this,” he had said to Eames, with that same look, just as the rain decided to go from light sprinkling to hard sheets without so much as an awning or building overhang in sight to take cover underneath.
Eames tries his best not to laugh. But it’s hard when Arthur, who can gun down projections without so much as a hair out of place, is the perfect picture of misery: shoulders tucked to his chin, tail an angry bristle behind him, and ears flat against his head. He says, “Actually, it’s Cobb you should be blaming, seeing as he’s the one who’s late and all.”
“Sure you didn’t get the time wrong?” Arthur asks, and Eames suspects he’s only trying to be contrary at this point.
So in answer, Eames tugs Arthur close, throwing an arm over his shoulders and bodily shields him from the worst of the downpour. “Better, darling?”
“Marginally,” Arthur says. “You could have brought an umbrella.”
Eames doesn’t point out that the forecast claimed that there would be sunny skies all through the week or that Arthur didn’t think it necessary to bring one either. Instead, he reaches up from Arthur’s shoulder to slide his fingers over Arthur’s drenched hair and ears. With his palm, he smooths the strands of Arthur’s hair that had been set askew, hanging heavy with water against the sides of his face. Eames is in no position to judge, with his own hair falling into awkward bangs across his forehead and eyes, but Arthur looks uncharacteristically touchable like this. Eames allows his fingers to massage along Arthur’s scalp and he leans into Eames’ touch, eyes closing automatically.
“It’s really not so bad darling, is it?”
“Hmm,” Arthur answers, practically purring as he leans into Eames’ chest.
At that moment, Eames wants nothing more than to strip Arthur down, towel off every bit of cold rain, kissing each inch of newly-dried skin, and then wrap Arthur up into his lap for the remainder of the evening.
In lieu of that, Eames kisses him, feeling Arthur’s tail flick against his leg as Arthur smiles against his lips.