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The apartment feels like an oven. Even with all the windows thrown wide, the air is barely moving, except when Arthur moves. With each shift of his body, there’s the tiniest sensation of shifting air, and Eames is going more than a little mad for it.Arthur is languorous with the heat,, sweat shining on his chest, dripping off his chin onto Eames’ chest. When Eames reaches up to push the limp, sopping hair out of his eyes, Arthur nuzzles into his palm, kisses it, like they’re in absolutely no hurry at all.Maybe they’re not, Eames thinks. After all, when it’s so bloody hot, who would want to rush anywhere?