Chapter Text
Eames woke up to the sensation of a warm arm slung loosely around his middle. He smiled and moved his hand down, searching for those narrow fingers he had tasted and memorized over the years. When he found them he traced along the back of a smooth hand, over the bump of a thin wrist and up the arm until he reached loose, ungelled hair. The path was familiar to him, as was this morning routine as he buried his fingers into soft curls.
Arthur hummed and pressed his forehead a little tighter against Eames’ arm, making Eames smile wider as he stroked Arthur’s hair affectionately. Eames loved that it always took a while for Arthur to wake up in the mornings, even though the sun was spilling across their bed and heating the blankets until it was almost too warm. Arthur always lounged for a while before forcing himself to wake up and in the long, unchecked minutes of the morning Eames held Arthur close.
Eames continued to pet Arthur’s hair until he felt Arthur’s head rising, a hand denting the mattress by Eames’ arm. Eames kept his hand touching Arthur so he could always keep track of him, fingers skimming down to tickle the short hairs on the back of Arthur’s neck before resting on his shoulder. He could feel Arthur sit up and lean closer, focused on each shifting muscle beneath Arthur’s t-shirt. Eames’ warning was a warm gust of air across his face before Arthur pressed their lips together, light and tender.
“Are you ready for today?” Arthur asked him when they pulled apart, though Arthur remained close enough that Eames could feel his words ghosting against his mouth.
A flash of nerves clawed at Eames but it was impossible for the fear to fully take root with Arthur in bed with him. “What if I trip?” Eames wondered. It was the one fear he couldn’t shove away regardless of all the reassurance he had received from Arthur, Abigail, and pretty much anyone who would listen.
“You won’t trip,” Arthur promised him, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I’ll be right there with you.”
“What if I trip and we both fall?” Eames groaned, unable to stop imagining it in his head. Arthur was a very prim and proper man; he wouldn’t take kindly to falling to the ground in front of a room of onlookers.
“Then we’ll help each other stand,” Arthur soothed, palm cupping Eames’ stubbly cheek. “That’s the whole point of this, isn’t it?”
Eames wasn’t sure his heart could swell anymore than it already had. “You’re right,” he said and pulled Arthur in for another warm kiss. After a moment he brushed his lips along the side of Arthur’s face, tracing the strong line of Arthur’s jaw.
Before he could reach Arthur’s cheek he felt Arthur pushing him back down against the pillow lightly, a blend of amusement and seriousness in his voice when he spoke again. “I will not stand in front of everyone with beard burn, thank you. You better not forget to shave.”
“Consider it the first thing on my list, darling,” Eames smiled.
“I’ll make breakfast,” Arthur said as he sat up fully and got off the bed. “We have an hour before Abigail gets here and two before we have to leave.”
Eames nodded and threw his leg out to the side until he felt the edge of the bed, shuffling over and standing up as he listened to Arthur bustle around the room. “I’ll shave and then meet you in the kitchen,” he said as he found the bedside table with his hand. From there he traced it to the dresser beside it, and finally the doorframe for the bathroom. “You didn’t move my razor, did you?”
“It’s where it always is,” Arthur promised. Eames stood still for a moment, the floorboards flexing under Arthur’s moving feet as he moved closer and kissed Eames on the cheek before heading out into the hallway.
Hours passed and Eames’ nervousness began to bubble up inside him again, making it difficult to eat, sit still or breathe. Arthur had left early in their car to make sure everything was in order and Abby drove Eames a short time later once he was properly dressed. Now he was standing out in the echoing foyer, listening to the buzz of many voices in the room beyond.
“Do I look okay?” Eames whispered, holding his sister’s hand as tightly as he dared.
“You look incredibly handsome, Eames,” Abigail told him, using her free hand to brush away what Eames hoped was invisible dust. “I know it breaks tradition but I’m glad Arthur picked out your tux. He has much better taste than you do.”
“That’s not difficult,” Eames laughed quietly, though it was mostly out of nerves.
“Well he has better taste than me,” Abigail added, which meant a lot more. Eames tried to smile and wasn’t sure how well he managed it. It probably came out as more of a grimace because Abby hugged him then, so tightly it was even harder to breathe. “I’m so happy for you both. You’ll be amazing.”
“Thanks.”
A throat was cleared nearby and Eames tilted his head in the direction of the sound. He heard soft-soled shoes on the foyer tile and a warm hand he would know anywhere touch his shoulder. “Ready?” Arthur asked.
Eames gulped and grinned. Slowly he released his hold on his sister’s hand – his main support during his entire life – and then held his hand out invitingly. Arthur took it solidly and then moved to stand beside him, their arms hooked together. “Good luck,” Abigail said to them both and then the doors in front of Eames opened and closed. He heard the voices being hushed and a distant choir beginning to sing.
“I love you, Arthur,” Eames proclaimed, one last time before they said it in front of everyone.
He turned his face slightly and Arthur spoke against his ear, “I love you too, Eames,” before kissing him.
They turned to face straight ahead again when the doors were pulled open ahead of them. Arthur took the first step forward and Eames matched him, step for step. Eames was grinning like a loon as he heard everyone standing in the large room for them. And as promised, Eames didn’t stumble once during his long walk up the aisle with Arthur by his side.