And Our Fingers, They Almost Touched
“Hey,” called a familiar voice. His head snapped up and there was Eames, walking towards him. “Yus gave me a new compound to test out. D’you want to try it?” he suggested.
Arthur blinked at him. “What, just the two of us?” he asked, rolling up his sleeves.
“Unless you want Cobb or Ari to come,” said Eames, “yes.”
He reached the table where Arthur was studying the blueprints, and for a moment their arms touched. Eames felt something unfamiliar run through him, like a twinge or a shiver. Something unwanted, of that he was 99% sure.
Arthur looked up at him and smiled. “Sure, I guess. Better than staring at a design for three hours.”
They settled into their favourite chairs. Arthur watched as Eames set up the PASIV; his shirt was pale blue, his hair messy and dark. He noticed details, he noticed the little things. That was all it was.
“You ready?” Eames said. He nodded, and together they went under.
[--]
They wake up in a garden.
The flowers are bursting with life, with vivid colour, with heady fragrances that make them breathe in deeply. The sky is blue, with clouds perfect for imagining shapes, and a perfect golden sun trails light into every space.
“Everything is so beautiful,” breathes Eames. “I’ve never quite appreciated nature, not until now. He must’ve targeted Romanticism or something.”
The word makes Arthur’s heart ache in a way he can’t begin to explain. He tips his head back and gazes up into the sky of Eames’s dreamscape. “Still, the structure is yours,” he murmurs, unable to look away. There’s a cloud shaped like a dragon, one shaped like a mushroom, one shaped like a star with a rainbow dancing through its perfect whiteness.
“I know,” replies Eames softly. “I always dream about this place when I’m happy, whether induced or natural, but it’s never been this glorious. I’ve never brought anyone else here before.” He wonders why his subconscious chose to let Arthur in. Arthur, out of all people.
His eyes find a dash of sparkling blue between two willow trees, and he grins. “Want to swim?” he offers.
Arthur looks back at him like he can’t believe he’s serious. “Come on,” he adds, “it’s sweltering here. Your shoes might melt if you’re not careful.” Refusing to crack a smile, Arthur returns his gaze to the clouds. He tries once more. “Last one to the lagoon is a lousy aim,” he gabbles before he sprints forth in the direction of the willows. But Arthur’s already past him, a whoop of laughter carried back on the wind.
[--]
Eames peels his sock off and lowers his foot into the clear water. It’s cool but not icy, the perfect temperature for swimming, and he sighs with happiness. It’s really the most beautiful place in the world. He doesn’t regret sharing it with Arthur, although he knows that logically he should. Something stops him.
“I don’t want to get my suit wet,” moans Arthur, but he can’t help his blissful smile when his fingertips trail in the sweet blue of the lagoon. He’s resisting it, but he loves it at the same time.
Funny, that.
“Take your kit off, then,” Eames suggests. He realizes what he’s just said, but in this dream, in this weather, in this situation he doesn’t care. They can do whatever they want. He doesn’t exactly know why he thinks Arthur will want to take all his clothes off, but he thinks, why not?
A blush spreads across Arthur’s cheeks and he mumbles, “I will if you will. Don’t do anything stupid.”
Eames closes his eyes and slides his shirt off, then his pants, then his underwear. The last thing to go is his other sock, and then he eases his burning body into the water with a sigh. It’s so peaceful there.
Arthur lets his tie and his shirt fall to the grass, and as he squeezes his eyes shut he rids himself of his trousers, pulls down his briefs and shakes them off his feet. He pushes his clothes underneath a gleaming rhododendron bush and slips beneath the surface of the lagoon.
After a few moments, he realizes exactly what’s going on.
He’s in Eames’s dreamscape, standing in a delectably cool lagoon, basking in the golden sunshine.
Naked.
Completely of his own accord.
He opens his eyes. Eames stands in the water before him, dripping wet, each muscle defined. His eyelashes are long. His hair is falling over his eyes, and there’s a trail of downy dark hair that disappears into the swaying reflection of the water. Thank God the water’s waist deep.
His heart’s beating fast but he doesn’t know why.
Eames sees him too. He sees the way Arthur’s tension has been relaxed, the way his façade has been erased. He sees the lean arms and the even tan and the wet dark hair and the ghost of muscle that creeps up from his crotch. He sees Arthur, and it’s taken him so long to notice that Yusuf’s compound has made him even more beautiful than the dreamscape itself. He feels electricity in the air, a warm summer silence that he wants so badly to break.
His heart’s beating fast but he doesn’t know why.
They move towards each other, slowly, their gaze never breaking. The water swirls softly around them, urging them forward.
They have to touch soon.
The clouds dance above them.
Arthur feels a sort of courage building up inside him, like he wants to do something crazy, something stupid. The possibilities rise up inside him like a sea. The risk is so easy, so accessible.
The risk is right in front of his eyes.
Eames breathes soft and shallow. He feels like taking a chance. He doesn’t know why. He’s never let this surface in him before, he’s always quieted it, told it to leave him alone. Every time they’ve touched, or spoken, he’s ignored it. The risk he’s always been too cautious to take.
The risk is right in front of his eyes.
Arthur holds his breath. He doesn’t know what to do, and yet he does at the same time. He looks into Eames’s eyes and he’s captivated.
He wonders what he’s doing. He’s straight. Both of them are straight.
Or have they been ignoring this all along?
Act now, the dreamscape wills them. Act now. Take a risk. Choose love.
“Arthur,” murmurs Eames, but his lips don’t move. “Arthur!” Someone’s calling his name.
They glance up, inches away from touching, the water swelling and falling silently around them, and the dream ends then and there.
[--]
“Arthur, wake up!” Arthur shook his head, wishing the timer hadn’t just run out, wishing the dream hadn’t collapsed. Ariadne stood in front of him, hands on her hips. “Did you finish evaluating my draft?”
“Yeah, yeah, I did,” he mumbled, waving her away with his hands. “Where’s Eames?”
“I’m right here,” said a quiet, shocked voice beside him. He turned, and Eames was sprawled on his chair with an indecipherable smile. “I guess the compound worked well. Everything was really vivid, it was excellent,” he babbled to Ariadne, reaching out for Arthur’s hand.
Arthur grabbed onto his hand, ignoring Ariadne’s confused expression, and gazed into his eyes again. There was that same indecision, hidden away again for God knows how long. The spark was dead. They had put it out together, their fingers almost touching, for the good of the team. Or so they told themselves.
Truth is, they were too scared to admit how attracted they were to one another.
They almost didn't want to believe it.
[--]
I could feel your heartbeat across the grass.
We should have run, I would go with you anywhere.
I should have kissed you by the water.
You should have asked me for it.
I would have been brave.
You should have asked me for it;
How could I say no?
[--]
A year later, Arthur had a girlfriend and Eames had a harem. One night Arthur found an email in his inbox as he lay alone and unhappy, reminiscing about a sweet, perfect love that he had let slip by. The sender: forger_darling@gmail.com.
He clicked it.
Three words.
I still remember.
Arthur blinked at him. “What, just the two of us?” he asked, rolling up his sleeves.
“Unless you want Cobb or Ari to come,” said Eames, “yes.”
He reached the table where Arthur was studying the blueprints, and for a moment their arms touched. Eames felt something unfamiliar run through him, like a twinge or a shiver. Something unwanted, of that he was 99% sure.
Arthur looked up at him and smiled. “Sure, I guess. Better than staring at a design for three hours.”
They settled into their favourite chairs. Arthur watched as Eames set up the PASIV; his shirt was pale blue, his hair messy and dark. He noticed details, he noticed the little things. That was all it was.
“You ready?” Eames said. He nodded, and together they went under.
[--]
They wake up in a garden.
The flowers are bursting with life, with vivid colour, with heady fragrances that make them breathe in deeply. The sky is blue, with clouds perfect for imagining shapes, and a perfect golden sun trails light into every space.
“Everything is so beautiful,” breathes Eames. “I’ve never quite appreciated nature, not until now. He must’ve targeted Romanticism or something.”
The word makes Arthur’s heart ache in a way he can’t begin to explain. He tips his head back and gazes up into the sky of Eames’s dreamscape. “Still, the structure is yours,” he murmurs, unable to look away. There’s a cloud shaped like a dragon, one shaped like a mushroom, one shaped like a star with a rainbow dancing through its perfect whiteness.
“I know,” replies Eames softly. “I always dream about this place when I’m happy, whether induced or natural, but it’s never been this glorious. I’ve never brought anyone else here before.” He wonders why his subconscious chose to let Arthur in. Arthur, out of all people.
His eyes find a dash of sparkling blue between two willow trees, and he grins. “Want to swim?” he offers.
Arthur looks back at him like he can’t believe he’s serious. “Come on,” he adds, “it’s sweltering here. Your shoes might melt if you’re not careful.” Refusing to crack a smile, Arthur returns his gaze to the clouds. He tries once more. “Last one to the lagoon is a lousy aim,” he gabbles before he sprints forth in the direction of the willows. But Arthur’s already past him, a whoop of laughter carried back on the wind.
[--]
Eames peels his sock off and lowers his foot into the clear water. It’s cool but not icy, the perfect temperature for swimming, and he sighs with happiness. It’s really the most beautiful place in the world. He doesn’t regret sharing it with Arthur, although he knows that logically he should. Something stops him.
“I don’t want to get my suit wet,” moans Arthur, but he can’t help his blissful smile when his fingertips trail in the sweet blue of the lagoon. He’s resisting it, but he loves it at the same time.
Funny, that.
“Take your kit off, then,” Eames suggests. He realizes what he’s just said, but in this dream, in this weather, in this situation he doesn’t care. They can do whatever they want. He doesn’t exactly know why he thinks Arthur will want to take all his clothes off, but he thinks, why not?
A blush spreads across Arthur’s cheeks and he mumbles, “I will if you will. Don’t do anything stupid.”
Eames closes his eyes and slides his shirt off, then his pants, then his underwear. The last thing to go is his other sock, and then he eases his burning body into the water with a sigh. It’s so peaceful there.
Arthur lets his tie and his shirt fall to the grass, and as he squeezes his eyes shut he rids himself of his trousers, pulls down his briefs and shakes them off his feet. He pushes his clothes underneath a gleaming rhododendron bush and slips beneath the surface of the lagoon.
After a few moments, he realizes exactly what’s going on.
He’s in Eames’s dreamscape, standing in a delectably cool lagoon, basking in the golden sunshine.
Naked.
Completely of his own accord.
He opens his eyes. Eames stands in the water before him, dripping wet, each muscle defined. His eyelashes are long. His hair is falling over his eyes, and there’s a trail of downy dark hair that disappears into the swaying reflection of the water. Thank God the water’s waist deep.
His heart’s beating fast but he doesn’t know why.
Eames sees him too. He sees the way Arthur’s tension has been relaxed, the way his façade has been erased. He sees the lean arms and the even tan and the wet dark hair and the ghost of muscle that creeps up from his crotch. He sees Arthur, and it’s taken him so long to notice that Yusuf’s compound has made him even more beautiful than the dreamscape itself. He feels electricity in the air, a warm summer silence that he wants so badly to break.
His heart’s beating fast but he doesn’t know why.
They move towards each other, slowly, their gaze never breaking. The water swirls softly around them, urging them forward.
They have to touch soon.
The clouds dance above them.
Arthur feels a sort of courage building up inside him, like he wants to do something crazy, something stupid. The possibilities rise up inside him like a sea. The risk is so easy, so accessible.
The risk is right in front of his eyes.
Eames breathes soft and shallow. He feels like taking a chance. He doesn’t know why. He’s never let this surface in him before, he’s always quieted it, told it to leave him alone. Every time they’ve touched, or spoken, he’s ignored it. The risk he’s always been too cautious to take.
The risk is right in front of his eyes.
Arthur holds his breath. He doesn’t know what to do, and yet he does at the same time. He looks into Eames’s eyes and he’s captivated.
He wonders what he’s doing. He’s straight. Both of them are straight.
Or have they been ignoring this all along?
Act now, the dreamscape wills them. Act now. Take a risk. Choose love.
“Arthur,” murmurs Eames, but his lips don’t move. “Arthur!” Someone’s calling his name.
They glance up, inches away from touching, the water swelling and falling silently around them, and the dream ends then and there.
[--]
“Arthur, wake up!” Arthur shook his head, wishing the timer hadn’t just run out, wishing the dream hadn’t collapsed. Ariadne stood in front of him, hands on her hips. “Did you finish evaluating my draft?”
“Yeah, yeah, I did,” he mumbled, waving her away with his hands. “Where’s Eames?”
“I’m right here,” said a quiet, shocked voice beside him. He turned, and Eames was sprawled on his chair with an indecipherable smile. “I guess the compound worked well. Everything was really vivid, it was excellent,” he babbled to Ariadne, reaching out for Arthur’s hand.
Arthur grabbed onto his hand, ignoring Ariadne’s confused expression, and gazed into his eyes again. There was that same indecision, hidden away again for God knows how long. The spark was dead. They had put it out together, their fingers almost touching, for the good of the team. Or so they told themselves.
Truth is, they were too scared to admit how attracted they were to one another.
They almost didn't want to believe it.
[--]
I could feel your heartbeat across the grass.
We should have run, I would go with you anywhere.
I should have kissed you by the water.
You should have asked me for it.
I would have been brave.
You should have asked me for it;
How could I say no?
[--]
A year later, Arthur had a girlfriend and Eames had a harem. One night Arthur found an email in his inbox as he lay alone and unhappy, reminiscing about a sweet, perfect love that he had let slip by. The sender: forger_darling@gmail.com.
He clicked it.
Three words.
I still remember.