Fic: Proteus
Proteus
Words: 3,200
Thanks to: fififolle for looking it over.
Written for: the i_reversebang, inspired by chibifukurou's sweet art.
In Greek mythology, Proteus is a sea-god. Some call him the god of "elusive sea change," which suggests the constantly changing nature of the sea or the liquid quality of water in general. He can foretell the future, but will change his shape to avoid having to; he will answer only to someone who is capable of capturing him.
-Wikipedia
Proteus
"Happy anniversary," Arthur murmurs as he kisses Eames, clasping his face gently with both hands. Eames' cheeks, previously clean-shaven this morning, are already scratchy with stubble.
"It's been the best one year anniversary I've ever had," Eames declares as he wriggles forward across the bed to kiss back.
"That's a low bar to meet, but I'll take it," Arthur replies, grinning.
"Good." Eames' smile is wide and easy and open. It's such a 180 degree turn from the man Arthur knows on jobs: cautious, calculating, professional with a side of sly humor. Arthur guesses that one day he'll get used to this other side of Eames, to Eames looking at him like this, but that day's still a far off one.
"I, ah," Arthur clears his throat. "I've been meaning to ask you about something."
Eames puts a hand on Arthur's waist, thumb stroking the skin in a soothing, rhythmic motion. "Fire away."
"My landlord's considering selling the building," Arthur says, gesturing vaguely at the ceiling. "She's probably going to move back to Italy to be closer to her daughters. Doesn't make much sense for her to keep this place when she leaves."
"You're thinking of buying?" Eames guesses, already connecting the dots. "It wouldn't be a bad idea. Set up a more permanent home base of sorts."
"Exactly. And it's only two floors, so when she moves out, I could convert the top apartment into an office, gym, whatever."
"All very sound reasoning." The corner of Eames' mouth quirks up. "Wherein lies the question?"
Arthur takes a deep breath to steady himself, then another. "Like I said, the rooms in the apartment upstairs could be turned into an office or a gym, or maybe a workspace like your lab. If you were-if you wanted to stay here more often or even move in, there'd be plenty of space."
It's not the smooth, articulate proposition Arthur had rehearsed in his head-the words tumble out stilted, clumsy-but he still doesn't expect the reaction that he gets.
Which is this: Eames stiffening in bed, hands pulling away. "You're asking me to move in with you?"
"I." Arthur blinks, trying to guess at why Eames is staring at him with what can only be interpreted as an unhappy expression. He'd anticipated momentary surprise, maybe some gentle teasing about 'settling down' or commitment, but nothing overtly negative. "I know your apartment lease is almost up. And there'd be no rent to deal with if I buy the building outright. But if you'd rather search for a new place together, I guess-"
"I have to go," Eames says, scrambling out of bed with a complete absence of his usual grace.
"Eames," Arthur says, sitting up in alarm. "What--"
"Arthur, you can't simply spring something like this on, on-" Eames fishes his underwear from the floor and yanks it on, seeming not to notice or care that it's inside out.
"I didn't mean for this to be a shock," Arthur says, watching Eames dress without knowing quite what to say. What to do. "I thought it'd make sense, since things seemed to be going well and the building-"
"This has the potential to be a life-changing decision. I can't be expected to decide something of this magnitude in a single night," Eames murmurs, low, almost as if he were speaking to himself.
"I wasn't expecting a decision tonight," Arthur says, though a part of him had.
"I need to go home." Eames doesn't look at Arthur.
"Do you want to-" Arthur swallows, something heavy forming in his gut. "Do you want to talk about this?"
"No," Eames says, his shirt on now. "I need to be alone. I need time to-think."
"Sure," Arthur says faintly. "Yeah, of course. Take as long as you need."
Eames says nothing else, and Arthur watches him go.
* * * * *
ONE YEAR AGO
"How did you get into forging?" Arthur asks.
Eames sits back on his barstool, silent for a long moment before he responds. "Have you ever wanted to be someone else? Even if temporarily?"
"When I was eleven, I wanted to be a rock star." Arthur finishes his beer and decides against ordering another; if this night is going where he thinks it's going, he wants to be sharp for it. "Then I found out I couldn't sing for shit."
"Have you ever wanted to be someone else entirely, though?" Eames asks. "Not Arthur as a rock star, but say, a slightly older woman named Matilda, or a portly gent by the name of Newhouse?"
"I can't say that I have." Arthur shrugs with a smile, leaning forward and pressing his luck. "I guess that's why you're the forger and I’m not, huh?"
"Well." Eames takes a long swig from his own beer bottle, lips pursed lasciviously against the opening. "You do build rather marvelous dreams."
"Was that a compliment I heard?" Arthur brushes an imaginary piece of lint from Eames' collar. "Is this the end of the world? Am I dying?"
"I will admit that I underestimated you in the past," Eames says, the skin of his neck warm where Arthur touches him not quite accidentally. "You impressed me on the inception job. We never could have pulled it off without you."
"You're going to make me blush, Mr. Eames," Arthur says, allowing a slow grin to stretch across his face.
"Is that all it takes?" Eames asks, tone arch.
"Were you expecting me to put up more of a fight?"
"I really never know quite what to expect," Eames says. His leg slides against Arthur's knee and then makes its way forward, up his thigh.
"I could say the same about you."
"If you keep going, you might not like what you find." Eames' tone is playful, but there's a hint of something serious underneath it. A warning, maybe.
"I like a good mystery."
Eames finishes his drink. "Famous last words."
"I like my odds," Arthur says. "You want to get out of here?"
Eames presses his thigh brazenly against Arthur's cock before standing. "Yes."
Arthur doesn’t remember much about the walk back other than the feel of the humid night air, the sound of Eames' low, smoky laughter. At the entrance of his building, Eames halts and turns to Arthur, almost expectant.
"You have a tattoo," Arthur says, reaching out to trace the curl of ink visible above Eames' v-neck shirt. "I didn't know that."
"Yes, I do," Eames replies. He doesn't move away, but doesn't lean into the touch, either.
Arthur tugs lightly at the edge of Eames' shirt, where the bottom half of his tattoo disappears behind fabric. "You gonna show me the other half?"
Eames balances his fingertips on Arthur's waist, almost delicately, and leans in for a kiss that's as far from delicate as can be imagined. Arthur gets lost in it-messy, wet, open-mouthed-and exhales in a shaky gasp when Eames pulls back.
"Perhaps." Eames cocks his head to one side. "One step at a time."
"I'm ready to step forward," Arthur says, dick starting to harden. "Very ready."
"Then let me take you out again next week," Eames says as he opens his door.
"Absolutely," Arthur says, distracted, ready to agree to virtually anything at this point.
"Lovely." Eames steps through his doorway, but before Arthur can follow him in, he plants a hand in the middle of Arthur's chest. "I'll see you next week."
"I-" Arthur starts, but is left staring at a closed door before he can even begin his counterargument, much less finish it.
* * * * *
PRESENT
"Hey, Arthur," Ariadne says, glancing up from her copy of Le Monde as he approaches where she's seated at a table outdoors. "How are you?"
Arthur drops into the chair across from her, the cast iron leg screeching across the sidewalk cement as he does. "Other than feeling like I got dumped, fantastic."
"Eames didn't want to move in?"
"No, he did not." Arthur sighs. "And now I'm not sure he even wants to see me anymore."
She winces in sympathy. "It went that badly, huh?"
"Yep," Arthur replies. "We could be over for all I know. Maybe he's left the country already."
"Fleeing the nation seems kind of extreme," she says. "I mean, you guys were doing pretty well before all this, right?"
"I thought so, but Eames can be pretty secretive. He's all about the, uh, how'd he put it-slow reveal."
"And that doesn't bother you?"
"Should it?" Arthur shrugs. "He's always been forthcoming when it mattered. Except for now, I guess."
"Then to me the question is what he feels like he needs to hide," Ariadne says. "After all, you already know he's a criminal, counterfeiter, and a thief. Seems like everything else would be peanuts besides that."
"Yeah, you'd think so." Arthur smiles wryly. "He made me wait six weeks before telling me his real birthday. And he wouldn't even tell me the year until a month after that."
She chuckles. "I guess I could see how that could be highly sensitive information for men of a certain age."
Arthur shrugs. "I thought maybe he was afraid I was going to sell out his real identity or something."
"Wasn't he engaged at some point? I remember him mentioning something about trying to pawn a diamond ring," she says. "Anyway, maybe Eames just has a lot of baggage, you know? Not everything is based in nefarious criminal intent."
"If that's the case, I wish he'd talk to me about it instead of disappearing into the night," Arthur says glumly.
"Give him a few days," Ariadne says, patting Arthur's arm consolingly. "He'll come around."
* * * * *
ONE MONTH AGO
"Hey," Arthur says when Eames stirs on the couch. "Welcome back to the waking world."
"Arthur," Eames says, muzzy, as he removes the PASIV line from his arm. "I thought we were meeting later?"
"I knocked, but you didn’t answer." Arthur holds up the spare key. "Figured I'd let myself in to wait in case you weren't home yet."
"Should I expect to have you prowling about my flat at all hours, poking at my things whilst I'm away?" Eames asks, a trace of humor returning to his voice as he sits up.
"Yep. I'm casing the place and getting ready to sell everything that's not bolted down," Arthur says as he walks over. "One day you'll wake up on the floor with no furniture. I'm that good."
"Curses," Eames replies. "Time to hide the silver, I suppose."
Arthur smiles and stops in front of Eames. "What were you dreaming about?"
"Nothing," Eames replies, a touch too quickly as he rolls up the PASIV line.
"A sex dream, huh?" Arthur grins as he reaches out to brush some hair from Eames' face. "Maybe next time I should plug in and join the fun."
"Don’t," Eames says, tone unexpectedly sharp, all playfulness dissolving from his voice in an instant. At Arthur's pause, Eames adds, "I won't be able to tell if you're a projection or another forger come to seduce away all my secrets."
"How do you know I'm not already doing that?" Arthur asks. "I can't hold a forge to save my life, but I do know a few things about secret-stealing."
After a moment, Eames' tense expression softens. "Is that what this is then? An elaborate ruse? Conning the con artist?"
"Maybe," Arthur says. "You got anything worth stealing? Besides the silver, I mean."
"Oh, tons." Eames wraps an arm around Arthur's lower back. "Stuff you wouldn't believe."
"Finally," Arthur says. "I knew all those blowjobs would pay off eventually."
"Your patience has been noted," Eames says, his smile reaching beyond his lips to finally crinkle the corners of his eyes.
* * * * *
PRESENT
"Would you care for some tea? Coffee?" Eames asks as he shows Arthur in.
"Tea would be good," Arthur says, feeling all the saliva in his mouth dry up when he sees Eames. A part of him wants to blurt out: Are we over? The other half of him wants to say nothing, to drag this out as long as possible in hopes that-what? Eames hasn't already made up his mind?
"Type?"
Arthur takes a seat at the table. There's an open copy of Vogue in front of him, which he closes and moves to the side. "I'll have what you're having."
"It's chamomile," Eames says with a knowing glance over his shoulder.
"Okay, maybe not that," Arthur says, smiling slightly. "Unless you want me to fall asleep in five minutes."
Eames stares down at the kettle for so long Arthur wonders if he's already said the wrong thing. Then Eames says, "I want to apologize for what I did the other day. I shouldn't have walked out like that with no explanation."
"I was a little confused," Arthur replies, cautiously.
"Understandable. There are some-aspects of my life that I like to keep private." Eames doesn't turn, remains facing the counter. "Your suggestion that we cohabit threw into question my ability to continue hiding those aspects and I panicked."
"If there are things you don't want to tell me, that's fine," Arthur says, wishing he could see Eames' face. "I want to see you, I want to be with you. I don't need access to all your emails or-or whatever."
"It's a bit more complicated than a racy email or two, I'm afraid."
"Complicated or not, I can respect your privacy. Even if we live together."
"You make it all sound so easy." Eames turns and brings the kettle to the table. "You won't get curious if I tell you not to look?"
"I can't promise not to get curious, but I can promise not to act on it if you don't want me to." Arthur takes Eames' hand. "I hope you can believe me."
"I want to." Eames looks down at Arthur's hand. "I want to try."
* * * * *
ONE WEEK AGO
"What's today's date?" Arthur asks.
Eames doesn't look up from the fake ID he's examining. "July first. Why?"
"Our one year anniversary is next week."
"So it is." There's a small, quiet smile playing across Eames' lips. "We should celebrate."
"Yeah," Arthur replies, feeling an answering smile grow across his face. "I've never made it to one year before. What do people usually do?"
"I don't know about what people usually do, but I spent the last one year anniversary that came up in an Albanian jail." Eames puts down his fake ID and leans against his work table, considering. "The one before, I was running a long con in Southeast Asia, and then the one before that-I completely forgot. It will come as no surprise that none of those relationships lasted long past the first year."
"Assuming you don't abscond into the night before then, do you want to do something?" Arthur asks. "Something that doesn't involve a prison or robbing someone?"
"Well, there go all of my ideas," Eames says. "Is sex on the menu?"
"Sex is always on the menu," Arthur replies, grinning. "But before the sex."
"Let's go on an adventure," Eames says, leaning forward on his elbows. "Something neither of us has ever done before."
"An adventure, huh?" Arthur stares into Eames' eyes and thinks: so this is what falling in love feels like. "Yeah. I could go for that."
* * * * *
PRESENT
"I think it might be easiest if we went under," Eames says as he pulls out the PASIV. "I can show you what I mean."
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Arthur asks. "You don't have to."
"I don't want to lose you, Arthur." Eames studies the line he's unwinding. "But I don't want to hide from you anymore, either."
"Okay," Arthur says, not sure what to expect. The descent into sleep is swift and irresistible.
He finds himself standing on a wide shopping boulevard. There's a man's suit in one storefront window, a long dress in the next. He glances down to discover he's holding pink shopping bags with one arm, a bow-topped present in the other.
"Arthur," he hears behind him, and it's Eames' voice, his accent except-higher, softer. He turns, and there Eames is.
Eames' face is the same, stubbled jaw, with a hint of what might be pink lipgloss across his lips. His shoulders aren't quite so broad, though, and the rest of his body has become leaner, resolved into gentle curves rather than hard muscle. Under the straps of the red dress he's wearing, Eames' tattoos curl across his skin.
"Eames?" Arthur says, careful. If it's a projection, it's certainly not one of Arthur's.
"I've always had this yearning to be different, as long as I can remember," Eames says, taking a small step forward. "Not all the time. Not even most days. But sometimes, some days, I want to-wear a dress. Put on heels, makeup. And if I'm in a dream, change a bit."
Not a projection, then. Arthur takes a minute to absorb all this and nods. "Okay."
"I like being a man when I'm awake," Eames says. "I don't want to change that. In dreams I can-play. Become something else temporarily."
"I can understand that," Arthur says. Eames is a forger, after all.
Eames takes a deep breath, as if gathering his strength. "Though this isn't for everyday, it's still a part of who I am and not something I'm willing to give up."
"I wouldn't want you to give it up." Arthur approaches Eames and holds out his hand, heartened when Eames takes it. "I wouldn't ask you to."
"You-wouldn't?" Eames says softly, tone almost disbelieving.
"I want to be with you. If this is a part of you." Arthur shrugs and smiles. "I want to be with this Eames, too."
"This is-turning out to be much easier than I expected," Eames says, voice sounding more sure, now.
"Is there anything you want from me?" Arthur asks. "Anything you want me to know or do differently?"
"No, you don't need to change or do anything in particular." Eames squeezes his fingers. "I just-wanted you to see. To know."
"Thank you for showing me."
"Arthur." Eames ducks in, shyly, to press a kiss to Arthur's cheek. "You don't know how happy you've made me."
"I think I've got some idea," Arthur replies as he cups Eames' jaw and brings him close for a kiss on the lips.
* * * * *
"What's this?" Arthur asks in between yawns as Eames settles a food-laden tray on the edge of the bed.
"Breakfast," Eames replies, adjusting the ruffled skirt of the rather short French maid's costume he's wearing. "Waffles with fresh fruit, whipped cream, and powdered sugar-just the way you like."
"Aw, babe." Arthur sits up and leans over to squeeze Eames' silky smooth leg. "This is amazing. Thank you."
"Happy anniversary," Eames says as he slides closer for a kiss.
"It's the best ten year anniversary I've ever had," Arthur says, mouth already full of waffle.
"That's a low bar to meet," Eames replies, thumbing a bit of whipped cream off Arthur's cheek. "But I'll take it."
fin
Poll Fic: Proteus
Words: 3,200
Thanks to: fififolle for looking it over.
Written for: the i_reversebang, inspired by chibifukurou's sweet art.
In Greek mythology, Proteus is a sea-god. Some call him the god of "elusive sea change," which suggests the constantly changing nature of the sea or the liquid quality of water in general. He can foretell the future, but will change his shape to avoid having to; he will answer only to someone who is capable of capturing him.
-Wikipedia
Proteus
"Happy anniversary," Arthur murmurs as he kisses Eames, clasping his face gently with both hands. Eames' cheeks, previously clean-shaven this morning, are already scratchy with stubble.
"It's been the best one year anniversary I've ever had," Eames declares as he wriggles forward across the bed to kiss back.
"That's a low bar to meet, but I'll take it," Arthur replies, grinning.
"Good." Eames' smile is wide and easy and open. It's such a 180 degree turn from the man Arthur knows on jobs: cautious, calculating, professional with a side of sly humor. Arthur guesses that one day he'll get used to this other side of Eames, to Eames looking at him like this, but that day's still a far off one.
"I, ah," Arthur clears his throat. "I've been meaning to ask you about something."
Eames puts a hand on Arthur's waist, thumb stroking the skin in a soothing, rhythmic motion. "Fire away."
"My landlord's considering selling the building," Arthur says, gesturing vaguely at the ceiling. "She's probably going to move back to Italy to be closer to her daughters. Doesn't make much sense for her to keep this place when she leaves."
"You're thinking of buying?" Eames guesses, already connecting the dots. "It wouldn't be a bad idea. Set up a more permanent home base of sorts."
"Exactly. And it's only two floors, so when she moves out, I could convert the top apartment into an office, gym, whatever."
"All very sound reasoning." The corner of Eames' mouth quirks up. "Wherein lies the question?"
Arthur takes a deep breath to steady himself, then another. "Like I said, the rooms in the apartment upstairs could be turned into an office or a gym, or maybe a workspace like your lab. If you were-if you wanted to stay here more often or even move in, there'd be plenty of space."
It's not the smooth, articulate proposition Arthur had rehearsed in his head-the words tumble out stilted, clumsy-but he still doesn't expect the reaction that he gets.
Which is this: Eames stiffening in bed, hands pulling away. "You're asking me to move in with you?"
"I." Arthur blinks, trying to guess at why Eames is staring at him with what can only be interpreted as an unhappy expression. He'd anticipated momentary surprise, maybe some gentle teasing about 'settling down' or commitment, but nothing overtly negative. "I know your apartment lease is almost up. And there'd be no rent to deal with if I buy the building outright. But if you'd rather search for a new place together, I guess-"
"I have to go," Eames says, scrambling out of bed with a complete absence of his usual grace.
"Eames," Arthur says, sitting up in alarm. "What--"
"Arthur, you can't simply spring something like this on, on-" Eames fishes his underwear from the floor and yanks it on, seeming not to notice or care that it's inside out.
"I didn't mean for this to be a shock," Arthur says, watching Eames dress without knowing quite what to say. What to do. "I thought it'd make sense, since things seemed to be going well and the building-"
"This has the potential to be a life-changing decision. I can't be expected to decide something of this magnitude in a single night," Eames murmurs, low, almost as if he were speaking to himself.
"I wasn't expecting a decision tonight," Arthur says, though a part of him had.
"I need to go home." Eames doesn't look at Arthur.
"Do you want to-" Arthur swallows, something heavy forming in his gut. "Do you want to talk about this?"
"No," Eames says, his shirt on now. "I need to be alone. I need time to-think."
"Sure," Arthur says faintly. "Yeah, of course. Take as long as you need."
Eames says nothing else, and Arthur watches him go.
* * * * *
ONE YEAR AGO
"How did you get into forging?" Arthur asks.
Eames sits back on his barstool, silent for a long moment before he responds. "Have you ever wanted to be someone else? Even if temporarily?"
"When I was eleven, I wanted to be a rock star." Arthur finishes his beer and decides against ordering another; if this night is going where he thinks it's going, he wants to be sharp for it. "Then I found out I couldn't sing for shit."
"Have you ever wanted to be someone else entirely, though?" Eames asks. "Not Arthur as a rock star, but say, a slightly older woman named Matilda, or a portly gent by the name of Newhouse?"
"I can't say that I have." Arthur shrugs with a smile, leaning forward and pressing his luck. "I guess that's why you're the forger and I’m not, huh?"
"Well." Eames takes a long swig from his own beer bottle, lips pursed lasciviously against the opening. "You do build rather marvelous dreams."
"Was that a compliment I heard?" Arthur brushes an imaginary piece of lint from Eames' collar. "Is this the end of the world? Am I dying?"
"I will admit that I underestimated you in the past," Eames says, the skin of his neck warm where Arthur touches him not quite accidentally. "You impressed me on the inception job. We never could have pulled it off without you."
"You're going to make me blush, Mr. Eames," Arthur says, allowing a slow grin to stretch across his face.
"Is that all it takes?" Eames asks, tone arch.
"Were you expecting me to put up more of a fight?"
"I really never know quite what to expect," Eames says. His leg slides against Arthur's knee and then makes its way forward, up his thigh.
"I could say the same about you."
"If you keep going, you might not like what you find." Eames' tone is playful, but there's a hint of something serious underneath it. A warning, maybe.
"I like a good mystery."
Eames finishes his drink. "Famous last words."
"I like my odds," Arthur says. "You want to get out of here?"
Eames presses his thigh brazenly against Arthur's cock before standing. "Yes."
Arthur doesn’t remember much about the walk back other than the feel of the humid night air, the sound of Eames' low, smoky laughter. At the entrance of his building, Eames halts and turns to Arthur, almost expectant.
"You have a tattoo," Arthur says, reaching out to trace the curl of ink visible above Eames' v-neck shirt. "I didn't know that."
"Yes, I do," Eames replies. He doesn't move away, but doesn't lean into the touch, either.
Arthur tugs lightly at the edge of Eames' shirt, where the bottom half of his tattoo disappears behind fabric. "You gonna show me the other half?"
Eames balances his fingertips on Arthur's waist, almost delicately, and leans in for a kiss that's as far from delicate as can be imagined. Arthur gets lost in it-messy, wet, open-mouthed-and exhales in a shaky gasp when Eames pulls back.
"Perhaps." Eames cocks his head to one side. "One step at a time."
"I'm ready to step forward," Arthur says, dick starting to harden. "Very ready."
"Then let me take you out again next week," Eames says as he opens his door.
"Absolutely," Arthur says, distracted, ready to agree to virtually anything at this point.
"Lovely." Eames steps through his doorway, but before Arthur can follow him in, he plants a hand in the middle of Arthur's chest. "I'll see you next week."
"I-" Arthur starts, but is left staring at a closed door before he can even begin his counterargument, much less finish it.
* * * * *
PRESENT
"Hey, Arthur," Ariadne says, glancing up from her copy of Le Monde as he approaches where she's seated at a table outdoors. "How are you?"
Arthur drops into the chair across from her, the cast iron leg screeching across the sidewalk cement as he does. "Other than feeling like I got dumped, fantastic."
"Eames didn't want to move in?"
"No, he did not." Arthur sighs. "And now I'm not sure he even wants to see me anymore."
She winces in sympathy. "It went that badly, huh?"
"Yep," Arthur replies. "We could be over for all I know. Maybe he's left the country already."
"Fleeing the nation seems kind of extreme," she says. "I mean, you guys were doing pretty well before all this, right?"
"I thought so, but Eames can be pretty secretive. He's all about the, uh, how'd he put it-slow reveal."
"And that doesn't bother you?"
"Should it?" Arthur shrugs. "He's always been forthcoming when it mattered. Except for now, I guess."
"Then to me the question is what he feels like he needs to hide," Ariadne says. "After all, you already know he's a criminal, counterfeiter, and a thief. Seems like everything else would be peanuts besides that."
"Yeah, you'd think so." Arthur smiles wryly. "He made me wait six weeks before telling me his real birthday. And he wouldn't even tell me the year until a month after that."
She chuckles. "I guess I could see how that could be highly sensitive information for men of a certain age."
Arthur shrugs. "I thought maybe he was afraid I was going to sell out his real identity or something."
"Wasn't he engaged at some point? I remember him mentioning something about trying to pawn a diamond ring," she says. "Anyway, maybe Eames just has a lot of baggage, you know? Not everything is based in nefarious criminal intent."
"If that's the case, I wish he'd talk to me about it instead of disappearing into the night," Arthur says glumly.
"Give him a few days," Ariadne says, patting Arthur's arm consolingly. "He'll come around."
* * * * *
ONE MONTH AGO
"Hey," Arthur says when Eames stirs on the couch. "Welcome back to the waking world."
"Arthur," Eames says, muzzy, as he removes the PASIV line from his arm. "I thought we were meeting later?"
"I knocked, but you didn’t answer." Arthur holds up the spare key. "Figured I'd let myself in to wait in case you weren't home yet."
"Should I expect to have you prowling about my flat at all hours, poking at my things whilst I'm away?" Eames asks, a trace of humor returning to his voice as he sits up.
"Yep. I'm casing the place and getting ready to sell everything that's not bolted down," Arthur says as he walks over. "One day you'll wake up on the floor with no furniture. I'm that good."
"Curses," Eames replies. "Time to hide the silver, I suppose."
Arthur smiles and stops in front of Eames. "What were you dreaming about?"
"Nothing," Eames replies, a touch too quickly as he rolls up the PASIV line.
"A sex dream, huh?" Arthur grins as he reaches out to brush some hair from Eames' face. "Maybe next time I should plug in and join the fun."
"Don’t," Eames says, tone unexpectedly sharp, all playfulness dissolving from his voice in an instant. At Arthur's pause, Eames adds, "I won't be able to tell if you're a projection or another forger come to seduce away all my secrets."
"How do you know I'm not already doing that?" Arthur asks. "I can't hold a forge to save my life, but I do know a few things about secret-stealing."
After a moment, Eames' tense expression softens. "Is that what this is then? An elaborate ruse? Conning the con artist?"
"Maybe," Arthur says. "You got anything worth stealing? Besides the silver, I mean."
"Oh, tons." Eames wraps an arm around Arthur's lower back. "Stuff you wouldn't believe."
"Finally," Arthur says. "I knew all those blowjobs would pay off eventually."
"Your patience has been noted," Eames says, his smile reaching beyond his lips to finally crinkle the corners of his eyes.
* * * * *
PRESENT
"Would you care for some tea? Coffee?" Eames asks as he shows Arthur in.
"Tea would be good," Arthur says, feeling all the saliva in his mouth dry up when he sees Eames. A part of him wants to blurt out: Are we over? The other half of him wants to say nothing, to drag this out as long as possible in hopes that-what? Eames hasn't already made up his mind?
"Type?"
Arthur takes a seat at the table. There's an open copy of Vogue in front of him, which he closes and moves to the side. "I'll have what you're having."
"It's chamomile," Eames says with a knowing glance over his shoulder.
"Okay, maybe not that," Arthur says, smiling slightly. "Unless you want me to fall asleep in five minutes."
Eames stares down at the kettle for so long Arthur wonders if he's already said the wrong thing. Then Eames says, "I want to apologize for what I did the other day. I shouldn't have walked out like that with no explanation."
"I was a little confused," Arthur replies, cautiously.
"Understandable. There are some-aspects of my life that I like to keep private." Eames doesn't turn, remains facing the counter. "Your suggestion that we cohabit threw into question my ability to continue hiding those aspects and I panicked."
"If there are things you don't want to tell me, that's fine," Arthur says, wishing he could see Eames' face. "I want to see you, I want to be with you. I don't need access to all your emails or-or whatever."
"It's a bit more complicated than a racy email or two, I'm afraid."
"Complicated or not, I can respect your privacy. Even if we live together."
"You make it all sound so easy." Eames turns and brings the kettle to the table. "You won't get curious if I tell you not to look?"
"I can't promise not to get curious, but I can promise not to act on it if you don't want me to." Arthur takes Eames' hand. "I hope you can believe me."
"I want to." Eames looks down at Arthur's hand. "I want to try."
* * * * *
ONE WEEK AGO
"What's today's date?" Arthur asks.
Eames doesn't look up from the fake ID he's examining. "July first. Why?"
"Our one year anniversary is next week."
"So it is." There's a small, quiet smile playing across Eames' lips. "We should celebrate."
"Yeah," Arthur replies, feeling an answering smile grow across his face. "I've never made it to one year before. What do people usually do?"
"I don't know about what people usually do, but I spent the last one year anniversary that came up in an Albanian jail." Eames puts down his fake ID and leans against his work table, considering. "The one before, I was running a long con in Southeast Asia, and then the one before that-I completely forgot. It will come as no surprise that none of those relationships lasted long past the first year."
"Assuming you don't abscond into the night before then, do you want to do something?" Arthur asks. "Something that doesn't involve a prison or robbing someone?"
"Well, there go all of my ideas," Eames says. "Is sex on the menu?"
"Sex is always on the menu," Arthur replies, grinning. "But before the sex."
"Let's go on an adventure," Eames says, leaning forward on his elbows. "Something neither of us has ever done before."
"An adventure, huh?" Arthur stares into Eames' eyes and thinks: so this is what falling in love feels like. "Yeah. I could go for that."
* * * * *
PRESENT
"I think it might be easiest if we went under," Eames says as he pulls out the PASIV. "I can show you what I mean."
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Arthur asks. "You don't have to."
"I don't want to lose you, Arthur." Eames studies the line he's unwinding. "But I don't want to hide from you anymore, either."
"Okay," Arthur says, not sure what to expect. The descent into sleep is swift and irresistible.
He finds himself standing on a wide shopping boulevard. There's a man's suit in one storefront window, a long dress in the next. He glances down to discover he's holding pink shopping bags with one arm, a bow-topped present in the other.
"Arthur," he hears behind him, and it's Eames' voice, his accent except-higher, softer. He turns, and there Eames is.
Eames' face is the same, stubbled jaw, with a hint of what might be pink lipgloss across his lips. His shoulders aren't quite so broad, though, and the rest of his body has become leaner, resolved into gentle curves rather than hard muscle. Under the straps of the red dress he's wearing, Eames' tattoos curl across his skin.
"Eames?" Arthur says, careful. If it's a projection, it's certainly not one of Arthur's.
"I've always had this yearning to be different, as long as I can remember," Eames says, taking a small step forward. "Not all the time. Not even most days. But sometimes, some days, I want to-wear a dress. Put on heels, makeup. And if I'm in a dream, change a bit."
Not a projection, then. Arthur takes a minute to absorb all this and nods. "Okay."
"I like being a man when I'm awake," Eames says. "I don't want to change that. In dreams I can-play. Become something else temporarily."
"I can understand that," Arthur says. Eames is a forger, after all.
Eames takes a deep breath, as if gathering his strength. "Though this isn't for everyday, it's still a part of who I am and not something I'm willing to give up."
"I wouldn't want you to give it up." Arthur approaches Eames and holds out his hand, heartened when Eames takes it. "I wouldn't ask you to."
"You-wouldn't?" Eames says softly, tone almost disbelieving.
"I want to be with you. If this is a part of you." Arthur shrugs and smiles. "I want to be with this Eames, too."
"This is-turning out to be much easier than I expected," Eames says, voice sounding more sure, now.
"Is there anything you want from me?" Arthur asks. "Anything you want me to know or do differently?"
"No, you don't need to change or do anything in particular." Eames squeezes his fingers. "I just-wanted you to see. To know."
"Thank you for showing me."
"Arthur." Eames ducks in, shyly, to press a kiss to Arthur's cheek. "You don't know how happy you've made me."
"I think I've got some idea," Arthur replies as he cups Eames' jaw and brings him close for a kiss on the lips.
* * * * *
"What's this?" Arthur asks in between yawns as Eames settles a food-laden tray on the edge of the bed.
"Breakfast," Eames replies, adjusting the ruffled skirt of the rather short French maid's costume he's wearing. "Waffles with fresh fruit, whipped cream, and powdered sugar-just the way you like."
"Aw, babe." Arthur sits up and leans over to squeeze Eames' silky smooth leg. "This is amazing. Thank you."
"Happy anniversary," Eames says as he slides closer for a kiss.
"It's the best ten year anniversary I've ever had," Arthur says, mouth already full of waffle.
"That's a low bar to meet," Eames replies, thumbing a bit of whipped cream off Arthur's cheek. "But I'll take it."
fin
Poll Fic: Proteus