Restock Your First Aid Kit - Inception - Arthur/Cobb
Title: Restock Your First Aid Kit
Pairing: Arthur/Cobb
Word Count: 5693
Rating: R
Warning: Non-consensual blood-drinking.
A/N: I'm just cherry-picking some of my favourite parts of vampireology for this.
Summary: After Arthur goes missing for several months, he returns with a set of fangs and a dangerous taste for Cobb's blood.
The calendar on the wall says that Arthur has been missing for four months when the knocking begins on Cobb's front door. It is the middle of the night and the hallway is filled with shadows. Cobb rubs the sleep from his face as he walks half-blind; no one would be here at this hour unless it was an emergency.
He flicks the light-switch on his way past, to fill the room with a yellow glow that hurts his tired eyes. Opening the door, he finds Arthur waiting for him on the doorstep, as if he has been there the entire time.
Arthur's skin is pale, and his eyes are dark, but it is him. His suit is perfectly pressed and there is a smile on his face, small and twitching as if he isn't sure if it should be there at all. The night is trying to claw him back.
"Arthur?" Cobb says. He reaches out to catch Arthur's sleeve before he tries to slip away. The material is smooth and he twists it between his fingers. "Come in. What's going on?"
Arthur doesn't answer.
He follows when Cobb leads him into the warmth of his home, unresisting. Cobb closes the door behind him to shut out the cold, and he takes Arthur into the living room - he is acting on autopilot, unable to think through what needs to be done. "Where were you? We've been looking everywhere." On every continent, they had had someone upturning every plausible rock. Nothing. It had been like he had vanished, with no trace. He hadn't said anything, purposefully blind, but Cobb knew what that tended to mean in their industry. They made enemies; people disappeared.
Yet Arthur is here, standing in his living room as if he has forgotten how to talk or even sit down. He looks as if he hasn't eaten in the entire time he's been gone.
"You're okay, Arthur," Cobb says, surprised by the apparent need for comfort. This is Arthur. He has always been far too stoic. "No one can get to you here." He's been out of the illegal side of the business ever since the inception job, but he keeps in touch with the others. If they need extra protection, he trusts that Saito can provide it.
"I know," Arthur answers. His voice is like ripped sandpaper, and he isn't looking at Cobb at all. He is staring down at the carpet instead, his eyes boring into it, and when Cobb takes a step towards him he flinches back. "Don't."
Cobb freezes on the spot. Arthur is speaking now. That is already an improvement. "It's me. I'm not going to hurt you."
"That's not the problem."
Primitive hairs stand up on the back of Cobb's neck - a forgotten instinct whispers to him: Run. "What?"
"I shouldn't be here," Arthur says. Cobb has never heard his voice like this before. "I shouldn't have come, but I couldn't - I couldn't stop myself. I needed to..."
He doesn't finish, and Cobb finds himself irrationally grateful. "You just need some rest," he says, as if sleep has ever been able to solve their problems. "The spare room is yours for as long as you want it. Upstairs. Come on."
He places his hand on Arthur's elbow to help to lead him towards the stairs, but he finds his upper arms gripped before they can make a move. Arthur's grip is like metal, impossible to break even when Cobb tugs hard. "Arthur?" he says.
He watches his friend's eyes turn black, until he is left looking at ink pools in a pale face - there is nothing human there at all, nothing like Arthur. Arthur moves like fire, pushing them both back against the couch, so that Cobb trips and falls with blurring speed onto the cushions. Arthur follows him, cat-like, and holds him down with his hands against his shoulders. Cobb should be able to throw him off, but his thrashes have no effect and Arthur doesn't even seem to hear him when he shouts.
A hand in his hair tugs his head to the side and then there is wet pain stabbing through the side of his neck, along with the dim realisation that Arthur just bit him. He feels blood running over his skin, down his collarbone to stain his t-shirt, while Arthur's mouth is latched to the wound, sucking down every drop that he can. There is pain, and anger, and fear - but eventually there is nothing but the lure of sleep and a welcoming black.
*
He wakes to sunlight dappled over his face. His own bed swallows him, with clean sheets draped around his body. They smell like fresh laundry, and his clothes do too; these aren't the clothes he went to sleep in last night.
Cobb sits up, groggy and light-headed. Everything in his room is exactly as he left it, apart from himself. Different clothes, aching head - pain in his neck. Reaching up, his fingers touch it and he feels a thick bandage taped to his skin. He rushes out of bed through to the bathroom, where his strained reflection meets him in the mirror: dark marks under his eyes, a sickly pale shade to his skin, and a lump of white gauze against his skin.
Wincing, he reaches up to peel the tape away from his skin so that he can see what lies beneath, even if his memory wants to provide his own version of events - and that is too bizarre. He can't accept what he remembers as happening, but the reflection in the mirror tries to confirm it to him. His neck has been cleaned thoroughly, so the bite-marks on his neck look sterile and surreal. There is more than one, a couple overlapping in succession. Scabbed over and ugly, they stare at him like a stamp of reality: a confirmation that he hadn't been dreaming that is much sharper than a totem. They sting when he runs his fingers over them.
"Daddy?"
He turns and finds Phillipa in the doorway, hugging the frame. "Morning, sweetheart," he says, and for her it is easy to make himself smile.
"Are we going to school today?" she asks.
He checks the clock; they're an hour late.
It is one hell of a morning.
He manages to get everyone pulled together and dropped off, apologising to their teachers for their lateness, and then he is in his car by himself, sitting behind the wheel with the engine off. His neck aches. Thoughts of what happened last night echo in his mind, stuck on rerun. None of it makes sense. He has lost track of what he ought to do.
He pulls free his phone from his pocket and dials before he is thinking about what he's doing. The connection sounds like static, crackling through the distance, but Eames's voice is still recognisable. Cobb sinks against his seat.
It's difficult to explain what is going on. He doesn't understand it himself.
"Should I come?" Eames offers.
"It's fine. I'm fine," Cobb says. "Might've been a dream." The mark on his neck says otherwise, but he is so used to surreality that he doesn't trust the ground beneath his feet.
There is a long pause on the other end of the phone line, and only the sound of static confirms that Eames hasn't hung up.
"I'll catch the next plane," he announces, eventually. "Yusuf can come along too. It'll do him some good to get out for a while."
He won't take no for an answer. It is hard to admit it, sitting alone in his car with a bandage on his neck, but Cobb is glad for that; just this once, he needs someone to tell him what to do next.
*
"You guys need to give me another explanation," Cobb insists, pacing back and forth in his living room. By this point, the kids are tucked in their beds, and the men in his house are all tired and confused. Cobb feels like he must be going mad; yet Yusuf has looked at the wound on his neck for him. He hadn't been imagining it.
"'Arthur is a vampire' isn't cutting it for you?" Eames says. His voice sounds casual, but there is a cutting tension to it that he can't hide. Cobb knows him better than that. No one, not even Eames, is laid-back enough to take this kind of nonsense in their stride.
"Not really. Yusuf?"
"It's difficult to come to any conclusions without seeing him myself."
"He might come tonight." It is long past midnight, but there is still time. The stubborn ache in his neck twinges at the thought, and Cobb's jaw clenches. He tells himself that the idea doesn't frighten him. This is Arthur. There is nothing to be afraid of.
Hours pass and there is no knocking at the door. They pretend to catch up without hearing each other's stories, and Cobb cooks some frozen food in the oven as they wait: fries and mini-sausages, leftover from James's birthday party. Cobb would exchange their current tension for the stress of looking after a few dozen screaming children any day.
He has headed through to grab some new beers for them when he hears it: a coy tapping at his window, and the whisper of his name.
Dominic, the night breathes. The hair on his arms stands up and he pauses in the centre of his kitchen, surrounded by electric lights. He stares at the drawn blinds and breathes through his nose, knowing that he ought to alert Yusuf and Eames. This isn't the wind; it isn't his imagination. There is a monster in the shadows outside, and it is waiting for him. All he can see is his own scared reflection in the dark glass.
The smart thing to do would be to stay indoors, but as he jerks to life and into action he is walking towards back-door; he believes in science, not monsters, and after drawing it from a holster he has a gun in his hands. It feels heavier than it does in dreams, but he knows it will shoot true if he can make himself pull the trigger - if there is even any reason to do so.
The air outside is cold as it wraps around him, and he stands right by the doorway and looks around the backyard. Shadows yawn like black holes, and there is barely a star in the sky.
"You should have stayed indoors," Arthur says. Cobb looks around his garden, trying to work out where he is, but he can't see him. His voice sounds near-by. "It would have been safer."
"You know me," Cobb answers, still looking. "I've never been a fan of 'safe'." If he had, maybe their lives wouldn't be quite as broken or twisted as they have wound up. "Where are you? Everyone's worried."
"You brought in the boys." The voice comes from another part of the garden now. Cobb takes a step forward, trying to catch a glimpse. "I didn't realise I needed that much manpower."
"We're worried about you. All of us."
"You should worry about yourselves," Arthur says. This time, when Cobb turns his head he is there - only a few paces away, pale and sickly in the moonlight. "Just you, actually."
Cobb swallows hard, and reminds himself that he isn't afraid; monsters are dreams, not reality. "Arthur, something is wrong with you. We need to get help."
"You can't help me."
Solid and determined, Cobb recognises that tone. It makes his heart sink, but he has always managed to talk Arthur around before. "You're sick. I don't know what it is, or what's happened to you, but it's going to be okay. You just need to come with me."
"I feel better than I ever have," Arthur says. When he takes a step forward, Cobb's jaw clenches and he forces himself not to retreat. "Everything is different like this - brighter. Clearer. I can see everything."
"Arthur - "
"I've been in love with you since we first met." Hearing that makes all other sentiments choke in Cobb's throat. Arthur smiles, with no mirth to his face. Sullen. "The whole time I was alive I was terrified that you would find out. It seems stupid now. Small."
Cobb doesn't know what he's supposed to say; he isn't used to being answerless. He doesn't like it one bit.
He blinks and Arthur is suddenly several steps closer to him - breathing the same air, except he isn't. His chest doesn't rise or fall at all. Cobb starts to take a step backwards, but finds Arthur's hands clamping against his arms. He can't move an inch.
"I can hear your heart racing," Arthur says. He closes his eyes as if listening. "You're scared; it's fantastic. Put down the gun. You're not going to use it."
Cobb tightens his grip anyway, and persuades himself that if it comes to it he could pull the trigger. His life rests on that gun daily - but not tonight. He still can't believe that Arthur is dangerous, not even when every single instinct that he has tells him to get back indoors.
Arthur's hand shifts until his fingers rest against Cobb's jugular, on the other side of his neck from the mass of bandages. "I need to drink from you three times over three nights," Arthur states, as if reciting a well-learned lesson. He is staring at Cobb's neck rather than looking up into his eyes, and Cobb wonders if he's doing that on purpose; he wonders if a conscience still lingers in his friend's mind, something telling him that what he is doing isn't right.
He swallows, mouth dry, and then asks, "Why? What happens then?"
"Then you're mine," Arthur says, as if it is a foregone conclusion. "Bonded to me."
Cobb knows that he should be trying to escape, but his body won't move at all. "What does that mean?" he asks. He wishes that he didn't have to ask so many questions - he wishes that he could know everything already, to be the source of knowledge and experience. That's how he's used to this working.
"No others of my kind can touch you." Arthur looks up at him, finally, eyes black - teeth long. "It gives me easier entrance to your mind."
"Like dream-sharing?" Finally, they are on solid ground, something that he knows about.
Yet Arthur smiles, crinkling around the eyes, and shakes his head. Cobb feels his thumb stroke back and forth over his neck, and can't fight the feeling that he's being petted. "More than that. What we do - did. We crept in through the back window. This gives me the key to the door."
"I don't think I like the sound of that." In their business, boundaries are important. They are the only thing that allows them to hold onto a sense of self.
"That doesn't really matter. You don't get a whole lot of choice." Arthur has the grace to look somewhat apologetic, but that doesn't stop him from sinking his fingers into Cobb's hair and tugging his head to the side, exposing the uninjured side of his neck.
He struggles now, but Arthur's grip is like cast iron - nothing he does has an effect. Arthur's head bows and his lips press against Cobb's neck, gentle for a moment, before they part to release teeth. He groans in pain but Arthur holds him still, and the wet sounds as he swallows and drinks seem right by his ear.
The back door opens with a slam as it hits against the wall, and Arthur's head springs up - yet his grip on Cobb doesn't release, not for an instant. Eames fills the doorway with Yusuf at his back, crucifix out-stretched. Cobb doesn't even know where he got the damn thing, but when Arthur recoils he decides he doesn't care. Yusuf scurries forward to help to support him, but Cobb waves him off - he isn't weak. He won't allow himself that.
"Cobb, let's get back inside the house. I don't think he can come in." Eames holds out the crucifix as they move into the light.
The black has faded from Arthur's eyes now, and he looks pale - cold. Cobb wants to invite him in, cover him with blankets and give him a glass of something strong. He wants to promise him that they can take care of him. They can fix this, whatever it is.
"Eames," Arthur says, palms up, smile on his face. "This is a little over the top, don't you think? You know me."
"Try talking me 'round when you don't have blood on your face," Eames suggests, backing off one step at a time.
Arthur follows them, step by step, but he stops at the threshold. He glares, and it isn't in the way he used to glare at Eames. There is no playfulness or hidden affection to it. The smeared blood looks black in the night. "I'll be back tomorrow," he promises.
"Of course you will, love," Eames answers. "We'll be ready."
He slams the door shut and remains staring at it, even as Yusuf leads Cobb to the kitchen table, forcing him to sit down and press a towel against his bleeding neck. Cobb wishes he would pass out again, because he doesn't want to even try accepting any of this as an objective reality.
"I think from here on out we ought to act under the assumption that vampires are real," Eames says.
That is a sentence that should not be uttered in any seriousness. Not ever.
"I'd agree with Eames," Yusuf admits when Cobb glances at him for back-up. "We don't know exactly what is happening here, but we should assume the worst."
"This is Arthur."
"And he just bit you. On the neck. For the second time." Yusuf scratches at the back of his neck, his hand lingering there. "We're rather past the point of logic."
"If you stay inside tomorrow night and don't let him in, you should be fine," Eames says.
"So that's it? That's the plan? Hide after dark for the rest of my life. That isn't good enough."
They come up with better plans than this all the time; it is their job to overcome obstacles that no one else can, but he goes to bed with his questions unanswered, and a pain in his neck that simply won't go away.
*
James prods at his bandages in the morning while Cobb is trying to get everyone to school on time. Having Eames and Yusuf underfoot doesn't help, even though they lend a hand when they can - the kids find them too distracting. Philipa seems enchanted with Yusuf's hair.
"Daddy, what happened?" James asks, prodding more firmly as if Cobb might not have felt it the first time.
He bites back a wince and offers a smile instead, putting James down so that he can lead him into the bathroom instead. "I cut myself shaving. Daddy's clumsy sometimes."
James hums in disapproval, but he consents to brush his teeth, leaving Cobb to chase Philipa up to make sure she doesn't forget to bring her homework. It is exhausting, especially when Eames is content to sit in the way and smirk at the sight of Cobb run off his feet. It is probably a long way from the image he is used to; a father instead of an extractor. This side of him isn't half as glamorous.
The day without the kids is spent on the internet or in books, but it is almost impossible to gain any consensus about what a 'vampire' actually is, in reality. They find piles of information about pop-culture shows and book series and depictions throughout history, but none of it adds up to anything. How can they tell what to trust when there are far too many opinions on the subject?
Yusuf looks at him over the top of his book, and suggests, "It might be best to leave the house for while. Just until we can sort this out."
"You want me to run," Cobb concludes. He has bandages matting both sides of his neck and his former best friend thinks that he is a vampire. Maybe fleeing really would be the best idea, but he shakes his head. "I've spent too much of my life doing that."
"This isn't just about you," Eames says. "He knows where you live - he knows about the kids."
Eames always has known where to hit. It's what makes him useful; dangerous.
So the kids leave with Yusuf, told that they are going for a trip away. Yusuf promises to take them somewhere fun - somewhere safe - and as Cobb watches them drive away he tries to assure himself that he'll see them again soon. It won't be like before. This is a problem that can be fixed, easily. Somehow.
"What's the plan, then?" Eames asks at his side, hands in his pockets.
They have a few more hours until sunset. "I'm working on it," Cobb says, as the car disappears from view.
*
Staring out of the window hours later, as the sun disappears from the sky, Cobb's mind is still empty. Eames distracts him with his pacing, and they both spend far more time than they should watching the horizon.
"Maybe you should have gone with Yusuf," Cobb says, standing up and wandering forward to stand at Eames's side next to the window. "It isn't safe here.
"He's my friend too," Eames points out without glancing towards him. Cobb nods, once; there is nothing to argue with. "I want to see this through."
Whatever happens, Eames will be there until the end. He is a better friend than he pretends to be. He cares more than he lets on.
They leave the window and spend the evening in the kitchen instead, listening to the clock ticking while pretending to pay attention to shared conversation. It is past midnight before they hear it; a tapping at the window, like fingernails counting time.
"It's him," Cobb says needlessly. They stand up.
Opening the backdoor allows the cool air into the house, but they don't step across the threshold. Eames is a solid presence just a step behind Cobb, and they stare into the night together. "I'm not coming out, Arthur," Cobb calls into the silence, knowing that Arthur will be there, that he will be listening with sharp ears.
"You can't hide in there all night," Arthur says, in front of them in an instant.
He isn't as pale as he has been on the previous nights, some colour to his cheeks now. The twin bandages on Cobb's neck say that he was the one to put that colour there.
"Tell me what happened," Cobb says. "I deserve to know that, don't I?"
Arthur's slight frown says that he disagrees, but he takes a step forward all the same. "I was in-between jobs, and I was bored because you weren't there. I went out. I met a guy; he took me home; he turned me. Now I'm here."
It's his fault is what Cobb hears - this happened because he retired. If he had still been working, Arthur would never have gone out that night. "You're saying he turned you into a vampire?" he asks. He waits for Arthur to start laughing at him, but it isn't going to happen. His face is straight; there is no chance of a smile.
"He drank my blood and killed me, then placed his blood on my lips." Arthur moves forward, closer to the open door, but he stops one step away. "Three days later I woke up like this."
"You've been gone for months. Why didn't you come straight here?"
"I would have killed you." There is a moment where the expression on Arthur's face is almost recognisable; it is softer than the cold killer that has taken over his body, and it reminds Cobb that his friend still exists. "The hunger is like nothing you can imagine. I probably would have killed the kids too."
Cobb breathes through his nose, teeth clenched, and fights very hard not to simply slam the door in Arthur's face. He can handle threats against himself - but not the children.
He didn't come, he reminds himself, as if that means something. There's something left.
"I'm in control of it now," Arthur states. He places his hand against the door-frame, without a single digit crossing the threshold. "Come outside, Cobb. It'll be easy."
"If you're in control of it, that means that you're choosing to do this," Eames says after clearing his throat, speaking over Cobb's tense shoulder. "You bit him on purpose."
"I'm marking him as mine," Arthur says.
Cobb finds himself saying, "It creates a doorway into my mind," and wondering when his life stopped making sense. Even dream-sharing isn't possible without the correct technology.
"It's more than that," Arthur snaps, short with him in a way that he has never been before. "It means that nobody else can come here and - touch you." The wording doesn't seem quite right, as if he has bitten back what he was really going to say.
Cobb's eyes narrow. "Is that likely to happen?"
"I know some other vampires," Arthur explains. "They seem to think that you guys are tying me to humanity. You especially."
"You didn't seem especially tied to humanity last night," Eames complains. He prods at Cobb's bandage which feels rather unnecessarily painful.
"I'm a kitten compared to the others."
"Charming," Eames says. He sounds as if he is smiling - Cobb is tempted to elbow him in the ribs and remind him of their current situation.
"If that's what this is about, why didn't you just ask?" Cobb swallows. "Do you think I would have said no?"
"Yeah. That's exactly what I think." Anger stirs but Arthur shakes his head as if trying to physically throw it away. "Like you're doing now. Even knowing that I need to do this, you won't let me in. You don't trust me."
"You've hardly given us much of a reason to," Eames points out, painfully logically.
Yet Arthur isn't looking at him, his eyes focused on Cobb alone, and there is a darkness in them that hooks right into Cobb, like the prick of a needle. "Cobb, invite me in," Arthur instructs, calm and quiet.
All that Cobb can hear is Arthur's voice. The sense of the rest of the world drops away along with the ground beneath his feet,
He doesn't hear himself inviting Arthur across the threshold, and he isn't aware of Eames yelling at him to ask what he thinks he's doing.
But something isn't right.
He knows this doesn't fit.
"Arthur?" he asks - his voice doesn't sound like his own. It shakes, small and quiet, and that isn't how he talks. Something here is wrong.
Arthur hushes him and brushes his hand against Cobb's forehead, chasing away invisible strands of hair. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, and Cobb believes him. There is no choice in the matter.
He looks away when there is a flurry of movement in his peripheral vision, and shouting, but Arthur's cool fingers press against his jaw, turning him back around to catch him with his gaze. The world fades again, breaks and shatters and leaves him floating. There is a frown on his face but it won't do much, not when Arthur tells him to take the bandage off his neck. He obeys without thinking.
Arthur's fingers brush over the healing wounds, and this time when his head bows it is almost familiar. He feels Arthur's dead breath against his skin and then the sharp invasion of his teeth, followed by the loss of blood that leaves him light-headed. Arthur pushes him back against the wall so that it will hold him up as he drinks, swallowing Cobb's blood down with eager ferocity.
And Cobb can feel it now, feel the difference that comes with this third time. It is as if more than blood is being taken from him; it is life and security and every defence that he has. Arthur's fangs mark him down to the soul, piercing right through his mind and his senses.
Arthur pulls back after only a few moments, willingly putting space between them, and in an eye-blink he has retreated further into Cobb's house, as comfortable as if it were his own home. He has the good grace to look apologetic, but with blood on his face it is hard to take him seriously.
Now that there is a decent distance between them, Cobb can begin to think again. He holds his hand against his neck and feels blood seeping against his fingers, leaving him light-headed. Arthur throws a towel in his direction and it hits his chest and drops to the ground at his feet. He has to stoop to recover it.
Eames is sitting on the floor, nursing an injured arm, and the scowl on his face usually winds up with him pulling a gun. Cobb helps him to his feet, warily keeping his eyes on Arthur while stemming the bleeding from his neck.
"I'm sorry - it shouldn't have happened like that," Arthur says. "It should have been gentler."
"You just attacked him. You think it should have been 'gentler'?"
"It's done now. That's what matters, alright?" Arthur places his hands on his hips, and Cobb thinks that if he has the nerve to be pissy with them now then he might have to find Eames's crucifix again. "Cobb is safe."
"Don't act like you were doing this for my benefit." It has nothing to do with him; only with Arthur, with his own desires, and he had never been selfish like this before the change. He had never put himself first, and Cobb wonders if it makes him a bad person that he has become so used to that. A bad friend, certainly. "You broke into my mind."
"We do that all the time," Arthur points out, irritatingly unaffected. "It's our job."
Eames cuts across them to ask, "Do you feel any different?"
Cobb has to pause. His mind has been cracked open like the shell of an egg; there should be something. Yet he has to shake his head. His best friend is a vampire who has just forced a mark upon him, but he feels fine.
This isn't quite what he had expected.
*
Life begins to change, after that. He thinks he should still be angry with Arthur - and he is, in more ways than he can express - but his schedule twists and flips to accommodate him. He slowly becomes nocturnal, waking up in the morning to get the kids to school and then coming home to sleep while they learn.
Yusuf goes home, and Eames grumbles but he goes too. When night falls, Arthur comes to visit, and Cobb still isn't sure why he doesn't simply close the door in his face.
Yet he invites him in, always, and they'll sit and he'll drink beer while Arthur watches him. He will talk about his kids and Arthur will talk about nothing at all, until they are talking about movies instead, and music, and the kinds of things that float easily out of Cobb's head.
"It's been a month," he says, sitting at his kitchen table with Arthur at his side. He picks at the label on his beer bottle, because it is still infinitely safer than trying to look Arthur in the eyes.
Beside him, Arthur nods. "Your wounds have healed." His fingers brush against the new scars on Cobb's neck - and Cobb has to try hard not to shiver from the feel of it, so casual. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to that; Arthur isn't scared of touching him, these days.
"You haven't..." It is something he needs to ask, needs to know about, so he frowns as he tries to work it out. "Are you not going to bite me again?"
Arthur is silent for a long time, too long. His fingers stay on Cobb's neck, stroking back and forth slowly until Cobb feels like he can't breathe; the air is far too warm in the room, and Arthur's fingers are cold, and he still can't work out what to make of the way heat coils in his belly at the way Arthur touches him, now, like he has a right to do so - as if he has won it.
"You didn't seem to like it too much, before," Arthur points out. "I wouldn't force it on you."
"Again."
He knows without looking that a smile with twitch at Arthur's lips; he still doesn't seem ashamed of what he did, and sometimes Cobb's knuckles ache with the need to make him pay for it, for these scars that aren't ever going to heal, for the supernatural mark that won't ever fade. He wears scarves out in public because the quizzical looks are too much.
"Yeah," Arthur agrees. "Again."
He doesn't want to ask, doesn't really want to know the answer, but the question jumps ahead of him anyway, "How do you feed? Who do you use?"
"If you know the right places to look, there are plenty of willing volunteers. Vampires are cool."
Cobb grunts. He is just glad that Philipa is still too young to be part of the vampire trend. He hasn't yet been forced to see a Twilight movie.
Arthur nudges his ribs, careful with his newly increased strength. "Jealous?"
"Don't push your luck." Cobb might sound cranky, but Arthur smiles anyway, and his hand settles on Cobb's shoulder instead of on his neck. He doesn't know what is going on, what exactly they are doing here, but he is slowly learning not to question it. Sometimes he worries that it is because of the stamp that Arthur has left in his mind, that his decisions and reactions are no longer his own, but it feels real. He trusts it, even if he shouldn't. "Are you ever tempted?"
"By you?"
Cobb is too old and too wise and too fucking grown up to blush, but his cheeks feel hot anyway. "Yeah, I guess." He doesn't sound half as casual as he wants to.
"All the time." Arthur doesn't sound casual either. Cobb looks down at his beer bottle, just so that he doesn't have to look up and see the way that Arthur is looking at him, the dark hunger blackening his eyes. "Don't worry. I won't act on it."
Cobb nods, and imagines a time when he could have trusted Arthur unconditionally - a time before fangs and hunger and a bond placed on his mind. In silence they sit side-by-side, remembering what it meant to be 'normal'.
Pairing: Arthur/Cobb
Word Count: 5693
Rating: R
Warning: Non-consensual blood-drinking.
A/N: I'm just cherry-picking some of my favourite parts of vampireology for this.
Summary: After Arthur goes missing for several months, he returns with a set of fangs and a dangerous taste for Cobb's blood.
The calendar on the wall says that Arthur has been missing for four months when the knocking begins on Cobb's front door. It is the middle of the night and the hallway is filled with shadows. Cobb rubs the sleep from his face as he walks half-blind; no one would be here at this hour unless it was an emergency.
He flicks the light-switch on his way past, to fill the room with a yellow glow that hurts his tired eyes. Opening the door, he finds Arthur waiting for him on the doorstep, as if he has been there the entire time.
Arthur's skin is pale, and his eyes are dark, but it is him. His suit is perfectly pressed and there is a smile on his face, small and twitching as if he isn't sure if it should be there at all. The night is trying to claw him back.
"Arthur?" Cobb says. He reaches out to catch Arthur's sleeve before he tries to slip away. The material is smooth and he twists it between his fingers. "Come in. What's going on?"
Arthur doesn't answer.
He follows when Cobb leads him into the warmth of his home, unresisting. Cobb closes the door behind him to shut out the cold, and he takes Arthur into the living room - he is acting on autopilot, unable to think through what needs to be done. "Where were you? We've been looking everywhere." On every continent, they had had someone upturning every plausible rock. Nothing. It had been like he had vanished, with no trace. He hadn't said anything, purposefully blind, but Cobb knew what that tended to mean in their industry. They made enemies; people disappeared.
Yet Arthur is here, standing in his living room as if he has forgotten how to talk or even sit down. He looks as if he hasn't eaten in the entire time he's been gone.
"You're okay, Arthur," Cobb says, surprised by the apparent need for comfort. This is Arthur. He has always been far too stoic. "No one can get to you here." He's been out of the illegal side of the business ever since the inception job, but he keeps in touch with the others. If they need extra protection, he trusts that Saito can provide it.
"I know," Arthur answers. His voice is like ripped sandpaper, and he isn't looking at Cobb at all. He is staring down at the carpet instead, his eyes boring into it, and when Cobb takes a step towards him he flinches back. "Don't."
Cobb freezes on the spot. Arthur is speaking now. That is already an improvement. "It's me. I'm not going to hurt you."
"That's not the problem."
Primitive hairs stand up on the back of Cobb's neck - a forgotten instinct whispers to him: Run. "What?"
"I shouldn't be here," Arthur says. Cobb has never heard his voice like this before. "I shouldn't have come, but I couldn't - I couldn't stop myself. I needed to..."
He doesn't finish, and Cobb finds himself irrationally grateful. "You just need some rest," he says, as if sleep has ever been able to solve their problems. "The spare room is yours for as long as you want it. Upstairs. Come on."
He places his hand on Arthur's elbow to help to lead him towards the stairs, but he finds his upper arms gripped before they can make a move. Arthur's grip is like metal, impossible to break even when Cobb tugs hard. "Arthur?" he says.
He watches his friend's eyes turn black, until he is left looking at ink pools in a pale face - there is nothing human there at all, nothing like Arthur. Arthur moves like fire, pushing them both back against the couch, so that Cobb trips and falls with blurring speed onto the cushions. Arthur follows him, cat-like, and holds him down with his hands against his shoulders. Cobb should be able to throw him off, but his thrashes have no effect and Arthur doesn't even seem to hear him when he shouts.
A hand in his hair tugs his head to the side and then there is wet pain stabbing through the side of his neck, along with the dim realisation that Arthur just bit him. He feels blood running over his skin, down his collarbone to stain his t-shirt, while Arthur's mouth is latched to the wound, sucking down every drop that he can. There is pain, and anger, and fear - but eventually there is nothing but the lure of sleep and a welcoming black.
*
He wakes to sunlight dappled over his face. His own bed swallows him, with clean sheets draped around his body. They smell like fresh laundry, and his clothes do too; these aren't the clothes he went to sleep in last night.
Cobb sits up, groggy and light-headed. Everything in his room is exactly as he left it, apart from himself. Different clothes, aching head - pain in his neck. Reaching up, his fingers touch it and he feels a thick bandage taped to his skin. He rushes out of bed through to the bathroom, where his strained reflection meets him in the mirror: dark marks under his eyes, a sickly pale shade to his skin, and a lump of white gauze against his skin.
Wincing, he reaches up to peel the tape away from his skin so that he can see what lies beneath, even if his memory wants to provide his own version of events - and that is too bizarre. He can't accept what he remembers as happening, but the reflection in the mirror tries to confirm it to him. His neck has been cleaned thoroughly, so the bite-marks on his neck look sterile and surreal. There is more than one, a couple overlapping in succession. Scabbed over and ugly, they stare at him like a stamp of reality: a confirmation that he hadn't been dreaming that is much sharper than a totem. They sting when he runs his fingers over them.
"Daddy?"
He turns and finds Phillipa in the doorway, hugging the frame. "Morning, sweetheart," he says, and for her it is easy to make himself smile.
"Are we going to school today?" she asks.
He checks the clock; they're an hour late.
It is one hell of a morning.
He manages to get everyone pulled together and dropped off, apologising to their teachers for their lateness, and then he is in his car by himself, sitting behind the wheel with the engine off. His neck aches. Thoughts of what happened last night echo in his mind, stuck on rerun. None of it makes sense. He has lost track of what he ought to do.
He pulls free his phone from his pocket and dials before he is thinking about what he's doing. The connection sounds like static, crackling through the distance, but Eames's voice is still recognisable. Cobb sinks against his seat.
It's difficult to explain what is going on. He doesn't understand it himself.
"Should I come?" Eames offers.
"It's fine. I'm fine," Cobb says. "Might've been a dream." The mark on his neck says otherwise, but he is so used to surreality that he doesn't trust the ground beneath his feet.
There is a long pause on the other end of the phone line, and only the sound of static confirms that Eames hasn't hung up.
"I'll catch the next plane," he announces, eventually. "Yusuf can come along too. It'll do him some good to get out for a while."
He won't take no for an answer. It is hard to admit it, sitting alone in his car with a bandage on his neck, but Cobb is glad for that; just this once, he needs someone to tell him what to do next.
*
"You guys need to give me another explanation," Cobb insists, pacing back and forth in his living room. By this point, the kids are tucked in their beds, and the men in his house are all tired and confused. Cobb feels like he must be going mad; yet Yusuf has looked at the wound on his neck for him. He hadn't been imagining it.
"'Arthur is a vampire' isn't cutting it for you?" Eames says. His voice sounds casual, but there is a cutting tension to it that he can't hide. Cobb knows him better than that. No one, not even Eames, is laid-back enough to take this kind of nonsense in their stride.
"Not really. Yusuf?"
"It's difficult to come to any conclusions without seeing him myself."
"He might come tonight." It is long past midnight, but there is still time. The stubborn ache in his neck twinges at the thought, and Cobb's jaw clenches. He tells himself that the idea doesn't frighten him. This is Arthur. There is nothing to be afraid of.
Hours pass and there is no knocking at the door. They pretend to catch up without hearing each other's stories, and Cobb cooks some frozen food in the oven as they wait: fries and mini-sausages, leftover from James's birthday party. Cobb would exchange their current tension for the stress of looking after a few dozen screaming children any day.
He has headed through to grab some new beers for them when he hears it: a coy tapping at his window, and the whisper of his name.
Dominic, the night breathes. The hair on his arms stands up and he pauses in the centre of his kitchen, surrounded by electric lights. He stares at the drawn blinds and breathes through his nose, knowing that he ought to alert Yusuf and Eames. This isn't the wind; it isn't his imagination. There is a monster in the shadows outside, and it is waiting for him. All he can see is his own scared reflection in the dark glass.
The smart thing to do would be to stay indoors, but as he jerks to life and into action he is walking towards back-door; he believes in science, not monsters, and after drawing it from a holster he has a gun in his hands. It feels heavier than it does in dreams, but he knows it will shoot true if he can make himself pull the trigger - if there is even any reason to do so.
The air outside is cold as it wraps around him, and he stands right by the doorway and looks around the backyard. Shadows yawn like black holes, and there is barely a star in the sky.
"You should have stayed indoors," Arthur says. Cobb looks around his garden, trying to work out where he is, but he can't see him. His voice sounds near-by. "It would have been safer."
"You know me," Cobb answers, still looking. "I've never been a fan of 'safe'." If he had, maybe their lives wouldn't be quite as broken or twisted as they have wound up. "Where are you? Everyone's worried."
"You brought in the boys." The voice comes from another part of the garden now. Cobb takes a step forward, trying to catch a glimpse. "I didn't realise I needed that much manpower."
"We're worried about you. All of us."
"You should worry about yourselves," Arthur says. This time, when Cobb turns his head he is there - only a few paces away, pale and sickly in the moonlight. "Just you, actually."
Cobb swallows hard, and reminds himself that he isn't afraid; monsters are dreams, not reality. "Arthur, something is wrong with you. We need to get help."
"You can't help me."
Solid and determined, Cobb recognises that tone. It makes his heart sink, but he has always managed to talk Arthur around before. "You're sick. I don't know what it is, or what's happened to you, but it's going to be okay. You just need to come with me."
"I feel better than I ever have," Arthur says. When he takes a step forward, Cobb's jaw clenches and he forces himself not to retreat. "Everything is different like this - brighter. Clearer. I can see everything."
"Arthur - "
"I've been in love with you since we first met." Hearing that makes all other sentiments choke in Cobb's throat. Arthur smiles, with no mirth to his face. Sullen. "The whole time I was alive I was terrified that you would find out. It seems stupid now. Small."
Cobb doesn't know what he's supposed to say; he isn't used to being answerless. He doesn't like it one bit.
He blinks and Arthur is suddenly several steps closer to him - breathing the same air, except he isn't. His chest doesn't rise or fall at all. Cobb starts to take a step backwards, but finds Arthur's hands clamping against his arms. He can't move an inch.
"I can hear your heart racing," Arthur says. He closes his eyes as if listening. "You're scared; it's fantastic. Put down the gun. You're not going to use it."
Cobb tightens his grip anyway, and persuades himself that if it comes to it he could pull the trigger. His life rests on that gun daily - but not tonight. He still can't believe that Arthur is dangerous, not even when every single instinct that he has tells him to get back indoors.
Arthur's hand shifts until his fingers rest against Cobb's jugular, on the other side of his neck from the mass of bandages. "I need to drink from you three times over three nights," Arthur states, as if reciting a well-learned lesson. He is staring at Cobb's neck rather than looking up into his eyes, and Cobb wonders if he's doing that on purpose; he wonders if a conscience still lingers in his friend's mind, something telling him that what he is doing isn't right.
He swallows, mouth dry, and then asks, "Why? What happens then?"
"Then you're mine," Arthur says, as if it is a foregone conclusion. "Bonded to me."
Cobb knows that he should be trying to escape, but his body won't move at all. "What does that mean?" he asks. He wishes that he didn't have to ask so many questions - he wishes that he could know everything already, to be the source of knowledge and experience. That's how he's used to this working.
"No others of my kind can touch you." Arthur looks up at him, finally, eyes black - teeth long. "It gives me easier entrance to your mind."
"Like dream-sharing?" Finally, they are on solid ground, something that he knows about.
Yet Arthur smiles, crinkling around the eyes, and shakes his head. Cobb feels his thumb stroke back and forth over his neck, and can't fight the feeling that he's being petted. "More than that. What we do - did. We crept in through the back window. This gives me the key to the door."
"I don't think I like the sound of that." In their business, boundaries are important. They are the only thing that allows them to hold onto a sense of self.
"That doesn't really matter. You don't get a whole lot of choice." Arthur has the grace to look somewhat apologetic, but that doesn't stop him from sinking his fingers into Cobb's hair and tugging his head to the side, exposing the uninjured side of his neck.
He struggles now, but Arthur's grip is like cast iron - nothing he does has an effect. Arthur's head bows and his lips press against Cobb's neck, gentle for a moment, before they part to release teeth. He groans in pain but Arthur holds him still, and the wet sounds as he swallows and drinks seem right by his ear.
The back door opens with a slam as it hits against the wall, and Arthur's head springs up - yet his grip on Cobb doesn't release, not for an instant. Eames fills the doorway with Yusuf at his back, crucifix out-stretched. Cobb doesn't even know where he got the damn thing, but when Arthur recoils he decides he doesn't care. Yusuf scurries forward to help to support him, but Cobb waves him off - he isn't weak. He won't allow himself that.
"Cobb, let's get back inside the house. I don't think he can come in." Eames holds out the crucifix as they move into the light.
The black has faded from Arthur's eyes now, and he looks pale - cold. Cobb wants to invite him in, cover him with blankets and give him a glass of something strong. He wants to promise him that they can take care of him. They can fix this, whatever it is.
"Eames," Arthur says, palms up, smile on his face. "This is a little over the top, don't you think? You know me."
"Try talking me 'round when you don't have blood on your face," Eames suggests, backing off one step at a time.
Arthur follows them, step by step, but he stops at the threshold. He glares, and it isn't in the way he used to glare at Eames. There is no playfulness or hidden affection to it. The smeared blood looks black in the night. "I'll be back tomorrow," he promises.
"Of course you will, love," Eames answers. "We'll be ready."
He slams the door shut and remains staring at it, even as Yusuf leads Cobb to the kitchen table, forcing him to sit down and press a towel against his bleeding neck. Cobb wishes he would pass out again, because he doesn't want to even try accepting any of this as an objective reality.
"I think from here on out we ought to act under the assumption that vampires are real," Eames says.
That is a sentence that should not be uttered in any seriousness. Not ever.
"I'd agree with Eames," Yusuf admits when Cobb glances at him for back-up. "We don't know exactly what is happening here, but we should assume the worst."
"This is Arthur."
"And he just bit you. On the neck. For the second time." Yusuf scratches at the back of his neck, his hand lingering there. "We're rather past the point of logic."
"If you stay inside tomorrow night and don't let him in, you should be fine," Eames says.
"So that's it? That's the plan? Hide after dark for the rest of my life. That isn't good enough."
They come up with better plans than this all the time; it is their job to overcome obstacles that no one else can, but he goes to bed with his questions unanswered, and a pain in his neck that simply won't go away.
*
James prods at his bandages in the morning while Cobb is trying to get everyone to school on time. Having Eames and Yusuf underfoot doesn't help, even though they lend a hand when they can - the kids find them too distracting. Philipa seems enchanted with Yusuf's hair.
"Daddy, what happened?" James asks, prodding more firmly as if Cobb might not have felt it the first time.
He bites back a wince and offers a smile instead, putting James down so that he can lead him into the bathroom instead. "I cut myself shaving. Daddy's clumsy sometimes."
James hums in disapproval, but he consents to brush his teeth, leaving Cobb to chase Philipa up to make sure she doesn't forget to bring her homework. It is exhausting, especially when Eames is content to sit in the way and smirk at the sight of Cobb run off his feet. It is probably a long way from the image he is used to; a father instead of an extractor. This side of him isn't half as glamorous.
The day without the kids is spent on the internet or in books, but it is almost impossible to gain any consensus about what a 'vampire' actually is, in reality. They find piles of information about pop-culture shows and book series and depictions throughout history, but none of it adds up to anything. How can they tell what to trust when there are far too many opinions on the subject?
Yusuf looks at him over the top of his book, and suggests, "It might be best to leave the house for while. Just until we can sort this out."
"You want me to run," Cobb concludes. He has bandages matting both sides of his neck and his former best friend thinks that he is a vampire. Maybe fleeing really would be the best idea, but he shakes his head. "I've spent too much of my life doing that."
"This isn't just about you," Eames says. "He knows where you live - he knows about the kids."
Eames always has known where to hit. It's what makes him useful; dangerous.
So the kids leave with Yusuf, told that they are going for a trip away. Yusuf promises to take them somewhere fun - somewhere safe - and as Cobb watches them drive away he tries to assure himself that he'll see them again soon. It won't be like before. This is a problem that can be fixed, easily. Somehow.
"What's the plan, then?" Eames asks at his side, hands in his pockets.
They have a few more hours until sunset. "I'm working on it," Cobb says, as the car disappears from view.
*
Staring out of the window hours later, as the sun disappears from the sky, Cobb's mind is still empty. Eames distracts him with his pacing, and they both spend far more time than they should watching the horizon.
"Maybe you should have gone with Yusuf," Cobb says, standing up and wandering forward to stand at Eames's side next to the window. "It isn't safe here.
"He's my friend too," Eames points out without glancing towards him. Cobb nods, once; there is nothing to argue with. "I want to see this through."
Whatever happens, Eames will be there until the end. He is a better friend than he pretends to be. He cares more than he lets on.
They leave the window and spend the evening in the kitchen instead, listening to the clock ticking while pretending to pay attention to shared conversation. It is past midnight before they hear it; a tapping at the window, like fingernails counting time.
"It's him," Cobb says needlessly. They stand up.
Opening the backdoor allows the cool air into the house, but they don't step across the threshold. Eames is a solid presence just a step behind Cobb, and they stare into the night together. "I'm not coming out, Arthur," Cobb calls into the silence, knowing that Arthur will be there, that he will be listening with sharp ears.
"You can't hide in there all night," Arthur says, in front of them in an instant.
He isn't as pale as he has been on the previous nights, some colour to his cheeks now. The twin bandages on Cobb's neck say that he was the one to put that colour there.
"Tell me what happened," Cobb says. "I deserve to know that, don't I?"
Arthur's slight frown says that he disagrees, but he takes a step forward all the same. "I was in-between jobs, and I was bored because you weren't there. I went out. I met a guy; he took me home; he turned me. Now I'm here."
It's his fault is what Cobb hears - this happened because he retired. If he had still been working, Arthur would never have gone out that night. "You're saying he turned you into a vampire?" he asks. He waits for Arthur to start laughing at him, but it isn't going to happen. His face is straight; there is no chance of a smile.
"He drank my blood and killed me, then placed his blood on my lips." Arthur moves forward, closer to the open door, but he stops one step away. "Three days later I woke up like this."
"You've been gone for months. Why didn't you come straight here?"
"I would have killed you." There is a moment where the expression on Arthur's face is almost recognisable; it is softer than the cold killer that has taken over his body, and it reminds Cobb that his friend still exists. "The hunger is like nothing you can imagine. I probably would have killed the kids too."
Cobb breathes through his nose, teeth clenched, and fights very hard not to simply slam the door in Arthur's face. He can handle threats against himself - but not the children.
He didn't come, he reminds himself, as if that means something. There's something left.
"I'm in control of it now," Arthur states. He places his hand against the door-frame, without a single digit crossing the threshold. "Come outside, Cobb. It'll be easy."
"If you're in control of it, that means that you're choosing to do this," Eames says after clearing his throat, speaking over Cobb's tense shoulder. "You bit him on purpose."
"I'm marking him as mine," Arthur says.
Cobb finds himself saying, "It creates a doorway into my mind," and wondering when his life stopped making sense. Even dream-sharing isn't possible without the correct technology.
"It's more than that," Arthur snaps, short with him in a way that he has never been before. "It means that nobody else can come here and - touch you." The wording doesn't seem quite right, as if he has bitten back what he was really going to say.
Cobb's eyes narrow. "Is that likely to happen?"
"I know some other vampires," Arthur explains. "They seem to think that you guys are tying me to humanity. You especially."
"You didn't seem especially tied to humanity last night," Eames complains. He prods at Cobb's bandage which feels rather unnecessarily painful.
"I'm a kitten compared to the others."
"Charming," Eames says. He sounds as if he is smiling - Cobb is tempted to elbow him in the ribs and remind him of their current situation.
"If that's what this is about, why didn't you just ask?" Cobb swallows. "Do you think I would have said no?"
"Yeah. That's exactly what I think." Anger stirs but Arthur shakes his head as if trying to physically throw it away. "Like you're doing now. Even knowing that I need to do this, you won't let me in. You don't trust me."
"You've hardly given us much of a reason to," Eames points out, painfully logically.
Yet Arthur isn't looking at him, his eyes focused on Cobb alone, and there is a darkness in them that hooks right into Cobb, like the prick of a needle. "Cobb, invite me in," Arthur instructs, calm and quiet.
All that Cobb can hear is Arthur's voice. The sense of the rest of the world drops away along with the ground beneath his feet,
He doesn't hear himself inviting Arthur across the threshold, and he isn't aware of Eames yelling at him to ask what he thinks he's doing.
But something isn't right.
He knows this doesn't fit.
"Arthur?" he asks - his voice doesn't sound like his own. It shakes, small and quiet, and that isn't how he talks. Something here is wrong.
Arthur hushes him and brushes his hand against Cobb's forehead, chasing away invisible strands of hair. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, and Cobb believes him. There is no choice in the matter.
He looks away when there is a flurry of movement in his peripheral vision, and shouting, but Arthur's cool fingers press against his jaw, turning him back around to catch him with his gaze. The world fades again, breaks and shatters and leaves him floating. There is a frown on his face but it won't do much, not when Arthur tells him to take the bandage off his neck. He obeys without thinking.
Arthur's fingers brush over the healing wounds, and this time when his head bows it is almost familiar. He feels Arthur's dead breath against his skin and then the sharp invasion of his teeth, followed by the loss of blood that leaves him light-headed. Arthur pushes him back against the wall so that it will hold him up as he drinks, swallowing Cobb's blood down with eager ferocity.
And Cobb can feel it now, feel the difference that comes with this third time. It is as if more than blood is being taken from him; it is life and security and every defence that he has. Arthur's fangs mark him down to the soul, piercing right through his mind and his senses.
Arthur pulls back after only a few moments, willingly putting space between them, and in an eye-blink he has retreated further into Cobb's house, as comfortable as if it were his own home. He has the good grace to look apologetic, but with blood on his face it is hard to take him seriously.
Now that there is a decent distance between them, Cobb can begin to think again. He holds his hand against his neck and feels blood seeping against his fingers, leaving him light-headed. Arthur throws a towel in his direction and it hits his chest and drops to the ground at his feet. He has to stoop to recover it.
Eames is sitting on the floor, nursing an injured arm, and the scowl on his face usually winds up with him pulling a gun. Cobb helps him to his feet, warily keeping his eyes on Arthur while stemming the bleeding from his neck.
"I'm sorry - it shouldn't have happened like that," Arthur says. "It should have been gentler."
"You just attacked him. You think it should have been 'gentler'?"
"It's done now. That's what matters, alright?" Arthur places his hands on his hips, and Cobb thinks that if he has the nerve to be pissy with them now then he might have to find Eames's crucifix again. "Cobb is safe."
"Don't act like you were doing this for my benefit." It has nothing to do with him; only with Arthur, with his own desires, and he had never been selfish like this before the change. He had never put himself first, and Cobb wonders if it makes him a bad person that he has become so used to that. A bad friend, certainly. "You broke into my mind."
"We do that all the time," Arthur points out, irritatingly unaffected. "It's our job."
Eames cuts across them to ask, "Do you feel any different?"
Cobb has to pause. His mind has been cracked open like the shell of an egg; there should be something. Yet he has to shake his head. His best friend is a vampire who has just forced a mark upon him, but he feels fine.
This isn't quite what he had expected.
*
Life begins to change, after that. He thinks he should still be angry with Arthur - and he is, in more ways than he can express - but his schedule twists and flips to accommodate him. He slowly becomes nocturnal, waking up in the morning to get the kids to school and then coming home to sleep while they learn.
Yusuf goes home, and Eames grumbles but he goes too. When night falls, Arthur comes to visit, and Cobb still isn't sure why he doesn't simply close the door in his face.
Yet he invites him in, always, and they'll sit and he'll drink beer while Arthur watches him. He will talk about his kids and Arthur will talk about nothing at all, until they are talking about movies instead, and music, and the kinds of things that float easily out of Cobb's head.
"It's been a month," he says, sitting at his kitchen table with Arthur at his side. He picks at the label on his beer bottle, because it is still infinitely safer than trying to look Arthur in the eyes.
Beside him, Arthur nods. "Your wounds have healed." His fingers brush against the new scars on Cobb's neck - and Cobb has to try hard not to shiver from the feel of it, so casual. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to that; Arthur isn't scared of touching him, these days.
"You haven't..." It is something he needs to ask, needs to know about, so he frowns as he tries to work it out. "Are you not going to bite me again?"
Arthur is silent for a long time, too long. His fingers stay on Cobb's neck, stroking back and forth slowly until Cobb feels like he can't breathe; the air is far too warm in the room, and Arthur's fingers are cold, and he still can't work out what to make of the way heat coils in his belly at the way Arthur touches him, now, like he has a right to do so - as if he has won it.
"You didn't seem to like it too much, before," Arthur points out. "I wouldn't force it on you."
"Again."
He knows without looking that a smile with twitch at Arthur's lips; he still doesn't seem ashamed of what he did, and sometimes Cobb's knuckles ache with the need to make him pay for it, for these scars that aren't ever going to heal, for the supernatural mark that won't ever fade. He wears scarves out in public because the quizzical looks are too much.
"Yeah," Arthur agrees. "Again."
He doesn't want to ask, doesn't really want to know the answer, but the question jumps ahead of him anyway, "How do you feed? Who do you use?"
"If you know the right places to look, there are plenty of willing volunteers. Vampires are cool."
Cobb grunts. He is just glad that Philipa is still too young to be part of the vampire trend. He hasn't yet been forced to see a Twilight movie.
Arthur nudges his ribs, careful with his newly increased strength. "Jealous?"
"Don't push your luck." Cobb might sound cranky, but Arthur smiles anyway, and his hand settles on Cobb's shoulder instead of on his neck. He doesn't know what is going on, what exactly they are doing here, but he is slowly learning not to question it. Sometimes he worries that it is because of the stamp that Arthur has left in his mind, that his decisions and reactions are no longer his own, but it feels real. He trusts it, even if he shouldn't. "Are you ever tempted?"
"By you?"
Cobb is too old and too wise and too fucking grown up to blush, but his cheeks feel hot anyway. "Yeah, I guess." He doesn't sound half as casual as he wants to.
"All the time." Arthur doesn't sound casual either. Cobb looks down at his beer bottle, just so that he doesn't have to look up and see the way that Arthur is looking at him, the dark hunger blackening his eyes. "Don't worry. I won't act on it."
Cobb nods, and imagines a time when he could have trusted Arthur unconditionally - a time before fangs and hunger and a bond placed on his mind. In silence they sit side-by-side, remembering what it meant to be 'normal'.