It wouldn't have been the first time it had happened, though the last time had been months--maybe more than a year. And never with a coworker.

Arthur got the feeling that he was getting very outvoted on that last point.

His eyes lidded slightly against his will at the press of Eames lips and his thumb settled a little heavy on the bruise on Ariadne's collarbone before shifting away. He tucked hair behind her ear and made an effort to focus on her, to shake his head. "You don't have to." Eames could sell sleeping pills to narcoleptics; Arthur would give her the choice.

Funny how he didn't think of refusing now, when Eames' palms were warm and heavy on his shoulders.