Eames sent him a smirk. "Now you're speaking my language, darling," he practically purred. He much preferred a good single malt over wine any day of the week. Eames arched a brow at the mention of absinthe. "That can be arranged."

He didn't mind getting drunk or at least drinking enough to see where the night ends up. Where they end up. It all had to do with the fact that they could, dare he say think it, be themselves here, where no one knew where they were and weren't watching them from afar.

"What's the fun in staying sober in a place like this," he asked with a smirk. "Least we're bound to end up in one of our rooms."

Eames looked up when their waiter came over to take their drink orders and ordered a single malt scotch for himself, the best they had.