#queenthayet

Secret Saito for @queenthayet

For @thewibblywobblystuff

Prompt: Cookies

Pairing: Arthur/Eames

Eames walked in the door of Arthur’s Torrington safehouse and sighed as he entered the warm air. He breathed in and smelled… cinnamon? Definitely cinnamon, and… cloves, and ginger also, Eames thought decisively.

“Darling?” he called, setting his bag down and shedding his wet, snow-covered coat and shoes. 

“In the kitchen,” Arthur called. 

“Pet, why on earth are we spending Christmas out in the middle-of-nowhere Connecticut? It’s miserable outside! Do you know that I couldn’t get a cab to agree to take me out here from the airport?! I had to rent a car!” Eames continued venting his travel frustrations as he made his way into the kitchen where he was greeted by a table covered in cookies. “Darling, are you… baking?”

Arthur walked over to him, looking dreadfully domestic in a flannel button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, jeans, and an apron. His hair was free of its normal gel and fell in gentle waves over his forehead. 

“I told you I’d come get you from the airport,” Arthur said. “Why didn’t you tell me you were getting in tonight? I thought your ticket was for tomorrow, and I didn’t get pinged from any of your passports.”

Eames was still staring at the incongruous sight of Arthur surrounded by baked goods, wearing an apron and – were those? Yes, they were. – Christmas socks. 

“Oh, um, there was a winter storm coming through and I figured if I came by way of Toronto tomorrow I was never going to make it. I used a new alias and got a flight through JFK to Bradley. I didn’t want to give away our location if anyone was watching.”

Eames pressed a distracted kiss to the side of Arthur’s mouth. Arthur captured Eames’ lower lip between his teeth and pulled him back for a far more serious kiss. Eames grinned and kissed back, reaching around to grab Arthur’s gorgeous arse, pulling him against his body. Arthur went deliciously pliant, molding his body to Eames’ and kissing him thoroughly, until they were interrupted by an annoying beeping sound. Arthur sprang back from Eames, and Eames’ hand went immediately to the P2000 at his waist, thankful that he had retrieved it from his luggage.

Instead of reaching for a weapon, or acting as if they were in any danger, Arthur instead scampered over to the oven, which Eames belatedly identified as the source of the beeping. Arthur pulled another tray of cookies out of the oven and turned it off. Eames re-holstered his gun and focused on stemming the flood of adrenaline that coursed through his system. Arthur looked over at him and burst out laughing. 

“It was just the oven timer, Eames, not a perimeter alarm.” 

“Yes, I’ve realized that now, pet, thank you.” 

“I don’t actually even have a perimeter alarm here,” Arthur continued, as he calmly took the cookies off the baking sheet and placed them on the cooling racks 

“That’s not actually making me feel better, darling. You’re not normally so sloppy with your safehouses.” 

Arthur looked at him in surprise. “This isn’t a safehouse, Eames, it’s my home.” 

“It’s your home?” Eames asked in shock. “You have a home?”

“Of course I have a home, don’t you?” 

“I mean, I have properties scattered across the globe, but I’m a bit of a permanent nomad, darling. As I thought you were.” Eames studied Arthur and took another long look around the kitchen. “So the extensive baking is…” 

“I make cookies to give to my neighbors at Christmas.”

“You bake hundreds of cookies to give to your neighbors at Christmas,” Eames repeated slowly, trying to reconcile this version of Arthur with the serious and deadly point man he knew from work, and the equally serious but significantly more kinky boyfriend? partner? significant other? that he had spent the last year getting to know in the biblical sense.

“Yes,” Arthur said, glaring at him as if he expected to be mocked.

“Darling, you invited me to your home for Christmas,” Eames said, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. He stepped forward and embraced Arthur tightly, burying his face in Arthur’s neck so Arthur couldn’t see the way his eyes were welling up. 

“Of course I did, Eames. I love you. How else would I spend Christmas?” Arthur said simply, as if he hadn’t just made an enormous pronouncement. As if it were just fact. That he loved Eames and therefore he would give Eames the location and knowledge of his home, that he would expose himself in such a way. Because of course. Eames almost couldn’t wrap his head around it. 

“Darling–” Eames’s voice wobbled a bit as he tried to figure out what to say. Arthur grinned at him, as if he could read the thoughts running through Eames’ head. 

“Here, have a cookie, you’ll feel better.”

“Darling–” Eames tried again to find words. 

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Eames.”