Inception - "Dear Forgiveness, I Saved a Plate for You" (Arthur/Eames NC17)
For: kellifer_fic
Title: Dear Forgiveness, I Saved a Plate for You
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 78oo
Warnings: Boys being dumb, light angst
Summary: It’s been nearly two years since Arthur left to follow Cobb, now he’s back home with Eames where he belongs. Only he might not belong here anymore.
Author's Notes: Special thanks to gelbwax for the last minute beta. Title from Richard Siken’s poem “Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out”. Written using the prompts: Established relationship, premovie falling out and then making up, both of them being competent badasses job-wise but completely clueless in all other respects.
I hope you enjoy this!
Eames grins politely, holding the door open for Mrs. Peterson from down the road. Throwing yet another “Thank you, Vinnie,” over his shoulder as he leaves the butcher’s shop. Clutching the wrapped prime-cut steaks and half dozen farm-fresh eggs close, he practically floats back to the house. Arthur is finally coming home tomorrow and everything has to be perfect.
Eames makes it through the front door, living room, and almost into the kitchen before he notices there’s something wrong. None of his security alarms have been tripped and the door wasn’t forced or picked, however there are two large black bags sitting in the hallway which weren’t there when Eames left this morning.
Between one breath and the next Eames has dropped the packages and pulled his gun, getting a wall at his back as he quickly sweeps the room for anything else out of place. He doesn’t see anything, but the creak of a floorboard from one of the rooms further down the hall, master bedroom if he’s not mistaken, tells him that his presence hasn’t gone unnoticed. Eames quickly kneels to the left of the hall entrance, the bedroom door creaks open and soft footfalls shuffle from the room. He waits until he hears the door close again before making his move, keeping most of his body shielded he trains his gun on the shadowed figure at the far end of the hall.
“You have ten seconds to give me a very good reason not to shoot,” he growls, his voice echoing eerily through the emptiness of the hall. The figure freezes, then slowly raises one hand until it reaches the light switch, flipping it and flooding the hall with a warm yellow glow.
“’Good’ is a fairly vague qualifier, Eames. But I hope the fact that I live here too is sufficient.”
“Arthur?” Eames croaks, hardly believing his eyes. Arthur quirks a sardonic eyebrow in reply and there’s no forger in the world who can match that smug expression, Eames included. “Fucking Christ, give a bloke some warning next time you go around changing your itinerary like that. I nearly killed you, you silly bastard.”
“Sorry,” Arthur says, frowning slightly as he closes the distance between them. “I wanted to surprise you.”
“Well then, mission accomplished,” Eames winces when his words come out more sarcastic than playful. “It’s fine,” he soothes as he holsters his gun and begins cleaning up the broken eggs and yolk-soaked steak. “I had planned a ‘Welcome Home’ dinner for you tomorrow, but instead we can have ‘Welcome Home’ takeout and tomorrow I’ll cook you a ‘Happy Tuesday’ dinner to help put some meat back on your bones.” Eames dumps the whole gooey mess in the bin and smiles at Arthur.
“Sounds good,” Arthur says briskly, turning to grab his duffels. “If you don’t mind I’m gonna grab a shower, I smell like an airport and other people’s misery.” Without further ado Arthur disappears into the bedroom, no doubt continuing into the adjoining bath.
“No problem,” Eames tells the closed door.
It’s not until Eames has finished mopping up the kitchen and is settled in front of the telly with a beer that he realizes Arthur and he haven’t even kissed ‘hello’ yet.
~*~*~
Arthur locks the bathroom door and releases a shaky breath, he’s feeling more unsettled then he’d like to admit. Not just from his close call with Eames, he was rattled long before his partner pulled a gun on him and demanded to know why he shouldn’t just pull the trigger. Arthur scrubs a hand across his face, he should have known better than to burst in unannounced like this, but when he was able to catch an earlier flight home he hadn’t stopped to think. He’d booked his ticket and gone without a second thought. Arthur laughs bitterly, it figures the one time he decides to take Eames’ advice and act on impulse it almost gets him killed by the very person urging him to change his meticulous ways.
Looking around the room Arthur catalogues all the differences from the last time he was here. There aren’t too many, different shower curtain, some knickknacks, and- okay he’d have a word with Eames about the rubber duck. But overall, it’s not too bad. Not like the rest of the house which is...Arthur swallows. Has he really been gone long enough for so many things to change?
When he left to look after Cobb nearly two years ago he’d promised Eames that he would return as often as possible. But when you’re on the run with a suspected murderer who’s rapidly losing his grip on reality and your only source of income is mind thievery, well it doesn’t allow for many trips back home. Arthur could only manage a day or two at a time here and there, and those rare times he was able to get home he didn’t exactly spend the precious few hours he had checking out the décor, but even so he hadn’t expected the place to be so different.
He hadn’t expected Eames to be so different.
Arthur turns on the shower and climbs in before the water’s had a chance to warm up. There’d been some tension between them on the Fischer job of course, but Arthur had just assumed that was because of the heighted stakes. Performing Inception, clearing Cobb’s name, and most amazingly of all bringing Arthur home, it was enough to put anyone on edge. But they’d been nearly back to normal by the end of the job, their bickering more teasing than wounded, Eames throwing around endearments and Arthur dimpling at him when he didn’t think anyone else would notice. What had changed in the three weeks since they’d separated at LAX? Eames had looked at Arthur like he was a stranger in his own home, Arthur’s willing to admit that maybe there’s some justification for that. It doesn’t make the empty pit in his stomach feel any better though. Besides, it’s not like Eames did nothing but sit at home and pine for Arthur, he worked jobs, hell he worked some jobs with Cobb and Arthur. More often then not these past two years when they were able to see each other it was when they were both working, not here at home. That thought isn’t a comforting one either, Arthur tilts his head back into the shower spray, feeling the water shift from cool to warm to hot against his skin as it washes away the day’s grime.
Home was always a constant for Arthur when he was on the run. Something stable in the transient world he lived in, a perfect memory he held protected and dear in his mind where it could never be extracted. Now that he’s finally here, everything’s changed. The couch Eames had brought with him from his old apartment is gone, in its spot there’s a cushy-looking leather thing that actually matches the other furniture. The kitchen has been updated with a new oven and the linoleum replaced, he doesn’t recognize half the artwork on their walls, and that’s just what he saw at first glance on his way through the house with his bags. Arthur swallows down the feeling of loss threatening to overwhelm him.
It’s just a house after all. Not like Eames had any reason to tell Arthur that he thought it wasn’t good enough before he went around ‘fixing’ everything. It’s just a house.
~*~*~
Eames hears the shower cut off after about half-an-hour and the bedroom door opens ten minutes later, but Arthur doesn’t join him. It doesn’t take long for Eames’ curiosity to get the better of him and he tracks Arthur down in the study.
Arthur is examining every inch of the room, running his fingers over each piece of furniture and along every bookshelf. The sudden tension and conscious relaxation of his shoulders as he scowls at a lamp Eames had picked up the last time he was in Marrakech tells Eames that Arthur has spotted him leaning against the doorframe.
“Is something wrong?” Eames asks, hoping to spare the lamp any further emotional trauma that might come from Arthur’s scowl.
“No,” Arthur denies as he tilts his head slightly to look at the lamp from another angle. “Just seeing what else is different.”
“Different?” Eames echoes.
“Yeah,” Arthur nods at the lamp, clearly putting it into the ‘different, but acceptable’ list he’s already started in his head. “Like the hall carpet.”
Eames smiles because the hall carpet had been a horrendous eyesore left behind by their home’s former occupants. It was an offense to Arthur’s every sensibility and Eames had only insisted they keep it because of the look on Arthur’s face each week when he vacuumed and was forced to look at it for several minutes straight.
However with Arthur gone the carpet was simply an ugly reminder of someone who wasn’t there. To his surprise when he tore out the wretched thing he found beautiful hardwood beneath. He spent the next several weeks sanding down the floor in his free time and staining the wood.
Eames takes Arthur’s hand and leads him into the hall where Eames does a brief two-step on the hardwood.
“It’s lovely, Eames,” Arthur says, his voice warm if a little strained. “When did you get all of this done?” The ‘and why didn’t you even tell me’ remains unsaid, but Eames hears it in the way Arthur drops his hand and shifts his body just out of reach.
“July,” Eames bites down the disappointment he can feel beginning to churn in his stomach. It’s stupid to be hurt, Arthur’s just tired, he’ll be better in a few days. He’ll be himself again. “Took some time but I was able to finish before I had to leave for Mombasa.” He clears his throat injecting some enthusiasm into his voice. “So, what do you want for dinner? I’ve takeout menus from all over.”
If Arthur turns and reaches out for Eames as he walks into the kitchen, eyes dark with lust as he remembers his last visit at the end of June and Eames fucking Arthur on that damn carpet while Arthur spat curses at it, reluctantly clenching his fingers in its tight weave when Eames changed his angle and Arthur lost the ability to speak, Eames doesn’t notice.
~*~*~
Dinner is a strained, fragile affair. Their conversation stilted where once it flowed easily, full of awkward silences normally filled by soft chuckles and tender glances. Neither even attempts to bait the other, too worried that in this current state their teasing words would turn cutting and cruel. Cleanup is similarly painful and Arthur elects to go to bed early, pleading a long flight and jet lag, rather than suffering through an interminable evening in front of the TV trying to find something to say to each other. He’s fairly sure he doesn’t imagine the faint sigh of relief Eames utters as Arthur leaves the room.
Two hours later and Arthur is still tossing in bed, unable to sleep. The mattress is too firm, the pillows too soft, the sheets too stifling, the bed itself too big, too cold…too empty. He’s about to give up and turn the light on so he can read when he hears soft footfalls come to a stop outside the door. Arthur snuggles down into the bed, closing his eyes just Eames comes into the room.
“Arthur?” Eames calls hesitantly. Arthur keeps his eyes shut and his back to Eames, feigning sleep. There’s a barely audible exhalation of breath and then Eames walks away towards the bathroom, closing the door before turning on the light so it won’t disturb Arthur’s sleep.
Arthur’s eyes fly open and he turns to watch the movement of light creeping out beneath the bathroom door. This is the Eames he fell for, considerate and caring, not the prickly, taciturn Eames who only opens his mouth to mock something, usually Arthur. He closes his eyes again, but stays turned towards the bathroom, waiting for Eames to emerge.
When he does, the light shuts off before the door opens and Eames makes his way to the bed in complete darkness. Arthur has to wonder if he knows these floors well enough to do the same, but before he can muse too long on that train of through Eames carefully climbs into bed. He’s moving slowly so as not to jostle Arthur, shifting so he’s just close enough for Arthur to feel his body heat across the space between them.
“Goodnight, Arthur,” Eames whispers into the dark and Arthur can’t take any more. The closeness of Eames’ body after so long away, the pressure of everything unsaid between them, it’s all too much. He reaches out blindly for Eames, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him close with a soft groan.
“Eames,” Arthur breathes out, his lips running across Eames’ jaw, his cheek, until Arthur finds Eames’ lips and ravishes them like he’s been longing to do from the moment he saw Eames crouched behind the wall with a gun in his hands.
Eames moans into his mouth, clutching back at Arthur just as tightly, shifting his thigh between Arthur’s legs and doing something with his hips that makes Arthur gasp and bite Eames’ lower lip in retaliation. Arthur runs his hands greedily across the miles of bare skin, sending silent thanks to whomever might be listening that Eames sleeps in boxers and little else. Eames makes a frustrated noise and tugs at Arthur’s t-shirt, looking to even the playing field. Arthur breaks the kiss long enough to tug the offending garment off before diving back in, unwilling to leave Eames’ lips alone now that he’s finally laid claim to them.
The two of them are rutting shamelessly against each other, pressure and heat building, but it’s not enough. Arthur snakes his hand into Eames’ boxers, pulling out his hard, heavy cock, gently tracing his fingers up the vein underneath before taking a firm hold, swiping the head of Eames’ cock to collect the gathered precome and smooth the slide of his hand against hot skin. It’s not quite enough, the friction still slightly rough, but Eames doesn’t seem to mind. He’s thrusting harder into Arthur’s hand and mouthing wet, broken kisses into Arthur’s neck, biting down with each twist of Arthur’s wrist.
“Arthur, please. please,” Eames pleads and Arthur has never been able to resist him like this. Not when he begs so beautifully. Arthur slides down Eames’ body, ignoring the heartfelt whimper from above him when he removes his hand, instead easing Eames’ boxers down so his cock is completely bared. He takes a moment to lap eagerly at the tip, tasting the salty tang of Eames before he goes down, swallowing Eames nearly to the hilt. That’s all it takes for Eames to release into Arthur’s mouth, orgasm burning through him, leaving Eames trembling and boneless in its wake. Arthur swallows all but the last mouthful, climbing back up Eames’ body to tangle their tongues together and share the taste.
Arthur is still achingly hard in his boxers, a situation only exacerbated when Eames rolls Arthur onto his back and covers Arthur’s body with his own. Arthur bucks up against Eames, but the bastard moves with Arthur, keeping himself scant inches above Arthur.
“Now, now, none of that,” Eames grins, slowly lowering so his hips trap Arthur’s against the bed. “Behave,” he teases as Arthur writhes beneath him, helpless to shift his weight without resorting to violence.
“Eames, I swear to god if you don’t fucking move I will-,” Arthur’s voice is cut off by the slow inexorable undulation of Eames’ hips
“What will you do, Arthur?” Eames asks nibbling at Arthur’s earlobe, his breath hissing out as his sensitive cock catches against Arthur’s boxers.
“Something, something drastic and- and big,” Arthur mumbles nonsensically in reply, all the blood his brain needs to function is too busy flowing south to help him.
“Well we wouldn’t want that would we?” Eames chuckles as he too makes the journey south, pulling off Arthur’s boxers and covering his hips with large, warm hands which hold Arthur firmly in place. “Could be disastrous,” Eames murmurs, before parting his lips around Arthur’s cock and slowly sinking down.
Arthur whines high in the back of his throat at the slow pace Eames sets as he uses lips and tongue to methodically maps each millimeter of Arthur’s dick. The teasing, light suction not nearly enough, but too good to push away. At last Eames pulls off with a wet pop, pressing soothing kisses into Arthur’s trembling thighs.
“Shh, it’s okay Arthur,” he says, biting gently at soft skin. “Let go,” Eames whispers, locking eyes with Arthur. “Just let go,” and with that he swallows Arthur down, releasing his hips.
Arthur waits half a breath before thrusting up into the wet heat of Eames’ mouth, taking what he needs as he fucks in and out between Eames lush lips. Eames seems to melt around him, throat relaxing as he just fucking takes it, a blissful expression softening his features. Arthur’s orgasm takes him by surprise, the quirk of a sated smile curling the edges of Eames lips flattening Arthur like a punch as pleasure rips through him.
He collapses back against the bed, breaths a harsh gasp. Distantly he can feel Eames licking at his cock and kissing up his chest, but it’s a hazy sensation, far away from where Arthur is. Slowly he comes back to himself, the rapid beating of his heart, the warmth of arms around him, and the soft murmur of Eames voice in his ears, soothing nonsense words that mean nothing, but comfort just the same.
Arthur curls closer, soaking in the reassurance of Eames’ presence. “Miss you,” he mumbles, pressing a tired kiss to Eames’ collarbone as sleep claims him.
When Arthur wakes the next morning he’s alone, Eames’ side of the bed long-since gone cold, fighting the hurt coiling in his gut Arthur gets up and searches the house for any sign of Eames. He finds nothing but a pot of coffee ready and waiting for him in the kitchen. Suppressing a sigh Arthur pours himself a cup and settles down to wait for Eames to come home.
~*~*~
Eames’ feet pound against the dirt path, his breath coming in harsh pants as he pushes himself harder. One more loop through the park, then he’ll head home. He’s already run half a mile farther than he usually does on his morning jogs, but he’s not quite ready to face Arthur yet. Normally exercise of any sort clears Eames’ head, and when he opened his eyes to find his body tangled around Arthur that morning, he’d needed a good run like never before. Unfortunately clarity was eluding him, all he’s accomplished so far are sore muscles and a sharp pain in his side telling him to slow down or keel over. Eames slows to a brisk walk and finally stops in front of a water fountain, he refills his water bottle with shaking hands, Arthur as always circling to the forefront of his mind.
When Eames had woken up, he was so confused he barely took the time to start a pot of coffee before he laced up his shoes and threw on a pair of cutoff sweats and a t-shirt and got the hell out of the house. Last night had been amazing, definitely the type of reunion-quality sex he’d envisioned when Arthur had called four days ago to tell Eames he was coming home. It’s just that the encounter had come out of the blue. The entire evening had been spent in some sort of hellish limbo, with neither of them able to say a civil word to the other, then the moment the lights are off and they’re in bed, Arthur jumps him. Eames doesn’t know what to make of any of it. Not Arthur’s stilted behavior and certainly not his sudden passion, nothing made sense. Not even Eames’ own feelings.
He’s happy to have Arthur back of course, but at the same time, Eames has gotten used to living alone. Now there’s this person in his space and Eames isn’t sure what to do with him. Arthur was gone a long time, and when he left there was a hole in Eames’ life that Eames had to work day and night to fill or risk drowning in his absence. Now that Arthur’s come back it’s like there isn’t room for him anymore.
Arthur’s homecoming was supposed to be as simple as the man slipping his key into the front door lock and walking back into their house. But Arthur’s key doesn’t seem to fit properly, they’re both jiggling the handle and trying to force the tumblers to move aside, but somewhere along the way the locks were changed, and maybe Arthur can never come inside.
Taking a deep breath and a gulp of water, Eames turns towards the house and Arthur. If he runs back more slowly than he left, there’s no one around to judge him for it.
The first thing Eames notices when he gets home is that the paper’s been taken in. Eames braces himself before opening the door, finding Arthur sat quietly at the kitchen island where Eames usually eats breakfast, drinking coffee and reading the paper.
“Morning Arthur,” the man in question doesn’t so much as raise his head, grunting a pseudo-greeting and turning the page. Eames nods before detouring to the bathroom. It’s not that he’s running away or anything, he just really needs a shower.
They spend the rest of the day carefully orbiting each other, avoiding a collision. Eames makes breakfast for himself when Arthur informs him that he’s already eaten and Arthur retreats to the study before Eames’ sits down. Lunch is prepared by Eames in apology for missing breakfast. Arthur takes the meal at his desk as he pours over spreadsheets of Cobb’s financials, briefly explaining that he’d promised to take a look at them. The score from the Fischer job was enough to retire on, but Cobb had given his share to Yusuf. Arthur had managed both their accounts while on the run, putting most of Cobb’s earnings away in the hope that it might buy Cobb’s innocence one day. Instead he’s using the funds to buy forgiveness from his children for the past two years and it’s a considerable drain on his financials.
Eames eats alone again then goes into his own area of the house; which is less a study and more of a workshop, large windows filling the room with natural light and stocked with various paints, canvases, inks, papers, et cetera. There he goes about his day as if Arthur isn’t even there, which to all intents and purposes he might as well not be. Eames has some documents he needs to finish for an acquaintance he owes a favor and he gets caught up in his work, the setting sun and his rumbling stomach the only way to mark the passage of time.
They eat takeout again that night, Eames feels a momentary pang of guilt that he had forgotten his plans to make Arthur a special dinner, but he brushes it aside when Arthur doesn’t say anything. The evening progresses much the same as it did the previous night; Arthur speaks of the bland, uninteresting events happing in the world around them, Eames comments on the weather and the change in watermarks on the Dutch passport. Cleanup is quick and efficient, Eames washes, Arthur dries, and they settle in front of the telly with a glass of scotch each allowing the mindless drone to wash over them.
Eames is the first to break this time, biding Arthur goodnight and retiring to their room. Arthur joins him maybe thirty minutes later, going about his routine while Eames finishes reading a chapter in some book he doesn’t care about. He closes the book and turns off his bedside lamp before Arthur comes out of the bathroom. When Arthur emerges he shuts off the light, plunging the room into darkness and pads silently over to the bed. For several minutes the only sound is the rustling of crisp sheets as Arthur climbs in beside Eames, his foot brushes gently against Eames’ ankle sending a jolt of anticipation through Eames’ body when Arthur doesn’t move away. They still a moment before reaching for each other, desperation making their movements uncontrolled and rough, lips crashing together with more eagerness than grace.
Sex has always been as natural as breathing for them; Eames sinks into the sensation following instinct and the siren call of Arthur’s body. They move together flawlessly, without missing a beat, pulling and pushing past boundaries which cease to exist in the press of flesh and breathless gasp of ‘more’ and ‘harder’ and ‘please’. With a cry Eames collapses on top of Arthur in a tangle of limbs, pressing soft, sated kisses against his sternum until sleep claims him.
This sets the pattern for the next week and a half, Eames leaves at the crack of dawn to run or hit the gym depending on the day, Arthur wakes alone and read the paper until Eames comes home then disappears into his study for most of the day. Eames putters around the house, sometimes working on his illegal pursuits; other times planning home improvement projects (the guest bath has a slight mold problem he’s been meaning to take care of), then they share dinner and make meaningless small talk until one caves and turns in for the evening. In short they avoid each other until they can’t, pretend that there’s nothing wrong, and only touch when the lights are off and they can crash into one another without fear of upsetting the delicate balancing act that their lives have become.
~*~*~
Arthur’s twelfth morning home he’s woken by a loud thud and Eames’ sleep-roughed voice cursing.
“’Eames?” He questions, sitting up and already on alert.
“Shit, fuck, yeah I’m fine, Arthur. Go back to sleep.”
Arthur frowns, Eames is in his usual workout clothes, old t-shirt, sweats, and sneakers standing next to his dresser, its top drawer on the ground and clothes scattered on the floor, with his weight shifted off of his left foot.
“You don’t look fine, are you sure you’re alright?”
“Yeah,” Eames chuckles ruefully. “The drawer was caught and I guess I overestimated my ability to outsmart a dresser,” he sighs bending to pick up the drawer and slide it back into place. “I managed to get the drawer most of the way out but when I took my hand off the damn thing to try and dislodge my socks so it would shut properly, it attacked me.” Eames picks up the socks in question and stuffs them back in the dresser before walking gingerly over to the bed. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Arthur takes Eames hand and tugs him onto the bed. “I hope you’re not planning on going for a run on that foot today,” he says, eyebrow raised to express how very stupid it would be for Eames to even contemplate such a thing.
“Of course not, darling,” Eames lifts their entwined hands, brushing a kiss across Arthur’s knuckles. “I’ll head over to the gym, work strictly on the upper body today.”
Arthur swallows down his objections, Eames should stay home, take it easy, ice his foot; this is the longest and most genuine conversation he’s had with Eames since coming home. He doesn’t want to ruin that by insinuating that Eames doesn’t know how to take care of himself, even if it’s the truth.
“Okay,” he says, pulling his hand back. “Just take it easy.”
Eames’ shoulders slump slightly and he stands back up, anxious to be gone. “I will,” he promises with an insincere smile and is out the door before Arthur can think of anything else to say.
He waits until he hears the front door shut before getting up and wandering into the kitchen, this is the first morning he hasn’t been greeted by the welcome smell of coffee and the house feels emptier without it. Arthur’s breakfast preparations are interrupted by the trilling of his cell phone, the number is one he knows well and he answers on the third ring.
“Mr. Saito,” he says with false enthusiasm. “So good to hear from you again.”
Over 6700 miles away Saito chuckles knowingly into the phone. “I doubt that Mr. Arthur, not that I blame you, our previous business arrangement was slightly more perilous than anticipated. Do not worry, I am not planning another inception, but I am in need of your considerable skills for a rather routine encounter. One that is guaranteed to be of minimal risk and considerable monetary compensation.”
“I’m listening.”
“Of that, I am sure,” Saito says with the barest hint of amusement. “However I would rather not discuss the details over the phone, I’m sure you understand. If you would be so kind as to locate Mr. Eames and meet me at my offices in Tokyo, I would be grateful.”
“Mr. Eames? What makes you think I can find him?” Arthur says playing for time, he and Eames try to be discrete but if Saito knows about them after only a few weeks working together, it could mean a serious security breach.
“That’s what you do, is it not?”
Arthur holds in a sigh of relief, instead answering Saito’s question. “That would be part of it, yes. But Mr. Eames is notoriously difficult to pin down; it could take a few days.”
“I have complete confidence in your ability to ‘pin down’ Mr. Eames,” Arthur can practically hear him smirking on the other end of the line. “The matter is time sensitive, so if you could do so quickly it would be much appreciated.”
“Of course,” Arthur bites down on the urge to make faces at his cell. “As long as it’s understood that by coming to see you neither Mr. Eames nor I have agreed to accept your…proposition.”
“Of course,” Saito echoes.
“Very well then, Mr. Saito, I’ll contact you when Eames and I are in Tokyo.”
“I look forward to it, Mr. Arthur.”
Looking down at the blinking numbers on his cell telling him how long the call had lasted, Arthur reviews everything he knows about Proclus Global’s recent business dealings. Nothing obvious jumps out at him, with Fischer dismantling his father’s company Proclus has been on top of the world.
Arthur quickly brews a pot of coffee and settles into his study to begin researching his prospective employer.
When Eames returns an hour and a half later Arthur’s still hard at work, the hesitant knocking on the study door finally rousing him.
“Yes?” He calls out.
“Sorry to bother you, Arthur,” Eames says as he opens the door. “You weren’t at the table and I- well I just wanted to be sure you were alright.”
“Yeah, I got a call from a potential client earlier and I’m just doing some prep-work.”
“Oh,” Eames walks into the room. “You’re leaving for a job?”
“No,” Arthur grins tentatively. “If you agree to who the client is, we’ll be leaving for a job”
“Who’s the client?”
“Saito.”
“Ah.”
“I know. But he assures me that he doesn’t want another inception, sounded like he was in the market for a regular extraction.”
“Sounded like?” Eames asks sitting across from Arthur.
“He didn’t want to go into details on the phone,” Arthur explains. He tells Eames about his rather frustrating conversation with Saito and the little he’s been able to dig up on Proclus Global’s recent dealings.
“Well then, I don’t know about you, but my curiosity is piqued,” Eames grins.
Arthur smiles in return, for the first time in twelve days feeling like he and Eames are on the same page. “I’ll book our flight.”
~*~*~
“So let me get this right,” Arthur says and Eames has to struggle to keep his professional mask on at Arthur’s incredulous tone. The last few days have been invigorating to say the least, between packing, flying, and plotting, he and Arthur have been too busy to be awkward. Eames reclines in his chair, listening to Arthur bluster and can’t remember a time when he last felt this at peace.
“You believe that your CFO, Hitoshi Hamada,” Arthur continues. “Whom you left in charge of the money while your VP handled the business side of things, has been embezzling funds and you want us to prove it.”
“Exactly,” Saito says sitting back with a smile.
“But in order to prove this, you want us to go undercover as a honeymooning couple on a gay cruise you’re sending him and his partner, Masaaki Otomo, on as a thank you for all the hard work he did while you were with us performing inception,” Arthur grits out, each word seeming to come with more difficulty than the last.
“Yes,” Saito leans forward steepling his fingers. “There are only two things Hamada cares about, money and his partner, and what makes Masaaki Otomo happy is gossip, double dates to which my wife and I have been frequent victims, and a rather bizarre fascination with the British royal family. I’m sure you can come up with some sort of brilliant scheme to uncover the information I require.”
Arthur bristles, tugging at his cuffs like a knight adjusting his armor.
Eames clears his throat. “I may have a suggestion, I have some documentation proving that I’m a minor member of the royal family, if I allow something like that to drop in casual conversation, Masaaki Otomo might be the one to approach us.”
“Might?” Arthur smirks.
“Yes Arthur, the cruise is in two days, if you have a better suggestion…” Eames trails off expectantly.
The glare Arthur levels at him would make most men recoil in terror, Eames simply flashes his crooked teeth happily and waits for a reply.
“I believe this could work,” Saito interrupts. “Mr. Eames can charm with tales of his minor nobility while studying Mr. Otomo for his forge in the dream, while Arthur and Hamada discuss business matters.”
“Ooh, I like that one,” Eames says getting into the spirit of things. “Arthur can be an accountant or some such; his profession combined with the cruise being a gift from you, Mr. Saito will cause his subconscious to dwell on the embezzlement, making for an easy extraction.”
“Easy?” Arthur asks. “You don’t think that the sudden appearance of a minor royal and his accountant husband might seem a bit strange to Hamada? If anything his subconscious will be on high alert.”
“Yes, but it will be a productive alert.”
“Gentlemen,” Saito breaks in. “Not that this isn’t fascinating, but the likelihood of your cover stories seems to be the least of our concerns.”
“And what would our greatest concern be, Mr. Saito?” Arthur challenges.
“You and Mr. Eames passing as a honeymooning couple,” Saito replies as if they’re both dense for not having figured this out for themselves. “While you work excellently together, I wouldn’t call it…loving. At least, not as would be recognized outside the schoolyard.”
“I assure you Mr. Saito,” Eames says taking Arthur’s hand and pulling him to his feet. “We’ll make a good show of it,” with that Eames pulls Arthur in tight against his body and captures Arthur’s lips in a kiss. He had meant to simply demonstrate that he and Arthur fit together very well and are comfortable locking lips, but after a brief stiffening of the shoulders Arthur melts against him and dear lord it’s been far too long since he’s held Arthur in his arms. Eames deepens the kiss, nipping lightly at Arthur’s lips making him gasp and open for Eames’ tongue. This is the first time he’s kissed Arthur in the daylight since he returned home, Eames opens his eyes for a moment to see Arthur pressed close to him, a moan escapes without his consent and Eames can feel Arthur begin to tremble.
Saito clears his throat, calling them both back to the room, the meeting, and the fact that they’re not alone.
“Yes, well,” Eames flushes. “As I said, you’ve nothing to worry about on that front.”
“Apparently not,” Saito replies with a secret smile. “I gather that you gentlemen will be taking the job?”
“Yes,” Arthur sounds like sex and a spike of lust makes Eames’ head swim. “We will.”
~*~*~
The next two days are spent fine-tuning their plan, with Arthur filling in electronic trails supporting their story while Eames handles the documentation. They fall into an easy pattern, bantering back and forth with none of the animosity that the Fischer job had held, although Arthur is still reluctant to reach out for Eames with the lights on. They haven’t really touched outside the bedroom since that morning in Saito’s office when Eames had taken Arthur by the hand and publically claimed him.
Arthur can still feel the warmth of Eames’ body, the way they’d molded together like the past two years were nothing more than a bad dream. It makes something ache deep inside his chest every time he recalls the moment his body had opened for Eames and it hadn’t mattered that they were standing in Saito’s office. They could have been in the middle of Time’s Square and Arthur wouldn’t have been able to pull himself away.
The night before they leave for the cruise Arthur control breaks.
“I’m still not sure about this double date thing,” Arthur says sitting next to Eames. “Hamada doesn’t really strike me as the type to go in for that sort of thing.”
“True, but Otomo is, and Hamada’s the sort who goes in for what his partner enjoys,” Eames replies with an exasperated sigh. It’s possible that Arthur has raised this issue before, but he’s not about to let them go into this job halfcocked.
“I’m not about to let us go into this job halfcocked, Eames,” he says frowning.
“Of the many things I’ve been accused of in my life, darling. Going off halfcocked has never been one of them,” Eames teases with an exaggerated eyebrow waggle.
“Don’t,” Arthur shifts away slightly, folding in on himself.
“Don’t what, Arthur?”
“You know what,” Arthur snaps, the careful restraint in Eames’ voice pushing him over the edge. “Don’t flirt and joke and make believe everything’s fine. Don’t pretend that the moment we’re home in New York you won’t go back to acting like I don’t exist unless we’re fucking.”
Eames slams his fist on the table, rattling his tea cup and saucer. “No,” he slides his chair back and stands up. “No Arthur, you do not get to lay all of this on me. Not when you so obviously want to be anywhere in the world other than our home.”
“Me? I’m not the one who rolls out of bed at first light and disappears for hours. You can’t get away from me fast enough in the morning.” Arthur almost regrets his words when Eames slumps, leaning heavily against the table. “You’re not even going to try to deny it, are you?”
“No point is there, I do slip away like a bloody coward before you wake up. But not because I don’t want to be with you, Arthur”
“Then why?”
“Because I’m terrified of waking up next to you, and having you treat me like a stranger,” Eames smiles weakly, lips trembling as he attempts to hold the expression in place.
“Maybe if you’d stuck around I would have surprised you,” Arthur whispers.
Eames laughs brokenly. “Yeah, well your last surprise didn’t go over so well.”
“Right,” Arthur says bitterly. “How dare I come home early, what was I thinking?”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it!”
“Do I? From the moment I walked through the door it’s like I’ve been an unwelcome guest in someone else’s home. Just admit it Eames, you were happier with me gone.”
“Don’t you dare say that Arthur,” Eames backs away, his fists clenched. “Don’t you dare.”
“Why not,” Eames’ sudden anger catches Arthur by surprise, but he can’t back down, now that he’s started the words won’t stop pouring out of him. “It’s the truth.”
“Nearly two years you were gone, Arthur,” Eames swallows harshly his hands shaking. “Two years and I nearly went mad with missing you.” He laughs, a high-pitched gust of air and pain, and it’s so wrong that Arthur wants to take his words back, sit down at the table again and keep pretending that everything is fine but he can’t make himself move.
“I spent that whole first week ripping out the linoleum in the kitchen so I wouldn’t have to think about you being gone. After that was finished I couldn’t’ stand to be in our home a moment longer so I started working, at first I tried to tag along with whatever job you and Cobb were on, but you didn’t always need a forger. So instead I worked with anyone else who would have me, I took so many jobs Yusuf grounded me, said that if I didn’t slow down he was going to sedate me and have me involuntarily committed for 72 hours just so I’d get some rest.”
“I- I didn’t know that,” Arthur whispers.
“Of course you didn’t, Arthur. You never asked, hell, you never called unless you had a job for me.”
“I was busy, taking care of Cobb-“
“Wasn’t easy, yes I know. But being the one left behind wasn’t exactly a piece of cake either Arthur. How do you think I felt, knowing that you’d rather be off globetrotting with Cobb, one step ahead of the authorities than at home with me?”
“It wasn’t like that,” Arthur protests.
“Of course not, Arthur, you had your reasons. But I don’t know about all that, all I know is I spent nearly two years learning how to live without you. I took a bunch of fancy cooking classes so I’d have something to do in the evenings, I completely remodeled the kitchen around high end cooking equipment I barely use, and planned at least a dozen heists to keep my mind occupied, half the artwork in our house I stole while you were away.” Eames sounds close to tears and Arthur doesn’t know how much more he can take. “You know, I even tried my hand at reupholstering the couch? Of course chain smoking and furniture fabrics don’t exactly mix and I set the bloody thing on fire,” Eames’ laugh sounds like broken glass.
Arthur tentatively reaches out, taking Eames’ hand.
“The hall carpet,” he says.
“Yeah, that was for you too.”
Arthur squeezes Eames’ hand, pulling him closer.
“And the rubber ducky?”
Eames huffs out a quick breath of laughter, sounding more like his old self. “Had to have something to keep me company in the tub, didn’t I? Named him Arthur Two and spent far more time than I’d like to admit talking out jobs and tricky recipes with him.”
“You could have called,” Arthur says wrapping his arms around Eames.
“You were busy, besides, I didn’t think I could handle it if you didn’t answer.”
Arthur pulls back, suddenly angry. “I will always answer, Eames. Always, do you hear me?” He cups Eames’ face, gently pressing his lips against Eames’, not kissing just holding them together. “I never wanted to leave you,” he breathes.
Eames groans, taking over the kiss, deepening it until his tongue is fucking Arthur’s mouth. He pulls away and Arthur whimpers at the loss.
“I know you had to leave, and it killed me, but I told you to go,” Eames presses his forehead against Arthur’s. “But why did you stay gone? You barely called, almost never visited, and then when Cobb was finally home. When you were finally free to come back to me, you stayed away. Three weeks Arthur, without a word from you, not until a few days before you came back,” Eames pulls away completely. “If you didn’t want to leave, why didn’t you come home?”
Arthur moves forward, he’s left too much distance between him and Eames; he’s not going to keep making that mistake. “I wanted to come home, Eames you have no idea how much I wanted to come back to you. I stared at my cell every night and ached to call you. But if I did, if I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop. It was so hard leaving you that first time, and every visit home it was worse,” Arthur takes Eames’ hands in both of his. “I knew that one day I would come back to you and I just wouldn’t leave. I couldn’t let Mal and the kids down like that.”
Eames rubs circles against Arthur’s wrists. “And after Fischer?”
“Phillipa and James barely knew their father, I visited them when I could, and I know you did too, but it’s not the same as having Dom with them. For three weeks I tucked the kids into bed at night and taught Dom how to make breakfast each morning. I thought getting him home would be it, but James and Phillipa deserved more, I couldn’t just leave them.”
Eames’ eyes slide shut; understanding and pain mingling together. “I’m sorry, I should have known.”
“How could you?” Arthur asks, kissing Eames again, now that again he has permission to touch. “I never said, I didn’t want to call you unless it was to say I was coming home, God I was so stupid.”
Eames grins, gently brushing Arthur’s cheek. “I don’t think either one of us has a monopoly on that, darling.”
“No,” Arthur laughs. “I suppose not.”
Tomorrow Arthur and Eames will board the cruise ship, a quintessential couple, madly in love, ready to take on anything the high seas have to offer. One week later and several hundred thousand dollars richer they’ll get on a plane headed for home. Three days after they rechristen each room and horizontal object in the house, Saito will receive a thank you note and a fruit basket.
But for now Eames takes Arthur in his arms, peppering kisses down his neck. “What do you say,” Eames asks nipping at Arthur’s ear. “We retire for the evening?” Eames slides his hands down Arthur’s back to grip his ass. “But this time, we leave the lights on?”
Arthur grins, rolling his hips against Eames’ erection, moaning at the contact.
“I say, that’s the best idea either of us has had in two years.”
Title: Dear Forgiveness, I Saved a Plate for You
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 78oo
Warnings: Boys being dumb, light angst
Summary: It’s been nearly two years since Arthur left to follow Cobb, now he’s back home with Eames where he belongs. Only he might not belong here anymore.
Author's Notes: Special thanks to gelbwax for the last minute beta. Title from Richard Siken’s poem “Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out”. Written using the prompts: Established relationship, premovie falling out and then making up, both of them being competent badasses job-wise but completely clueless in all other respects.
I hope you enjoy this!
Eames grins politely, holding the door open for Mrs. Peterson from down the road. Throwing yet another “Thank you, Vinnie,” over his shoulder as he leaves the butcher’s shop. Clutching the wrapped prime-cut steaks and half dozen farm-fresh eggs close, he practically floats back to the house. Arthur is finally coming home tomorrow and everything has to be perfect.
Eames makes it through the front door, living room, and almost into the kitchen before he notices there’s something wrong. None of his security alarms have been tripped and the door wasn’t forced or picked, however there are two large black bags sitting in the hallway which weren’t there when Eames left this morning.
Between one breath and the next Eames has dropped the packages and pulled his gun, getting a wall at his back as he quickly sweeps the room for anything else out of place. He doesn’t see anything, but the creak of a floorboard from one of the rooms further down the hall, master bedroom if he’s not mistaken, tells him that his presence hasn’t gone unnoticed. Eames quickly kneels to the left of the hall entrance, the bedroom door creaks open and soft footfalls shuffle from the room. He waits until he hears the door close again before making his move, keeping most of his body shielded he trains his gun on the shadowed figure at the far end of the hall.
“You have ten seconds to give me a very good reason not to shoot,” he growls, his voice echoing eerily through the emptiness of the hall. The figure freezes, then slowly raises one hand until it reaches the light switch, flipping it and flooding the hall with a warm yellow glow.
“’Good’ is a fairly vague qualifier, Eames. But I hope the fact that I live here too is sufficient.”
“Arthur?” Eames croaks, hardly believing his eyes. Arthur quirks a sardonic eyebrow in reply and there’s no forger in the world who can match that smug expression, Eames included. “Fucking Christ, give a bloke some warning next time you go around changing your itinerary like that. I nearly killed you, you silly bastard.”
“Sorry,” Arthur says, frowning slightly as he closes the distance between them. “I wanted to surprise you.”
“Well then, mission accomplished,” Eames winces when his words come out more sarcastic than playful. “It’s fine,” he soothes as he holsters his gun and begins cleaning up the broken eggs and yolk-soaked steak. “I had planned a ‘Welcome Home’ dinner for you tomorrow, but instead we can have ‘Welcome Home’ takeout and tomorrow I’ll cook you a ‘Happy Tuesday’ dinner to help put some meat back on your bones.” Eames dumps the whole gooey mess in the bin and smiles at Arthur.
“Sounds good,” Arthur says briskly, turning to grab his duffels. “If you don’t mind I’m gonna grab a shower, I smell like an airport and other people’s misery.” Without further ado Arthur disappears into the bedroom, no doubt continuing into the adjoining bath.
“No problem,” Eames tells the closed door.
It’s not until Eames has finished mopping up the kitchen and is settled in front of the telly with a beer that he realizes Arthur and he haven’t even kissed ‘hello’ yet.
~*~*~
Arthur locks the bathroom door and releases a shaky breath, he’s feeling more unsettled then he’d like to admit. Not just from his close call with Eames, he was rattled long before his partner pulled a gun on him and demanded to know why he shouldn’t just pull the trigger. Arthur scrubs a hand across his face, he should have known better than to burst in unannounced like this, but when he was able to catch an earlier flight home he hadn’t stopped to think. He’d booked his ticket and gone without a second thought. Arthur laughs bitterly, it figures the one time he decides to take Eames’ advice and act on impulse it almost gets him killed by the very person urging him to change his meticulous ways.
Looking around the room Arthur catalogues all the differences from the last time he was here. There aren’t too many, different shower curtain, some knickknacks, and- okay he’d have a word with Eames about the rubber duck. But overall, it’s not too bad. Not like the rest of the house which is...Arthur swallows. Has he really been gone long enough for so many things to change?
When he left to look after Cobb nearly two years ago he’d promised Eames that he would return as often as possible. But when you’re on the run with a suspected murderer who’s rapidly losing his grip on reality and your only source of income is mind thievery, well it doesn’t allow for many trips back home. Arthur could only manage a day or two at a time here and there, and those rare times he was able to get home he didn’t exactly spend the precious few hours he had checking out the décor, but even so he hadn’t expected the place to be so different.
He hadn’t expected Eames to be so different.
Arthur turns on the shower and climbs in before the water’s had a chance to warm up. There’d been some tension between them on the Fischer job of course, but Arthur had just assumed that was because of the heighted stakes. Performing Inception, clearing Cobb’s name, and most amazingly of all bringing Arthur home, it was enough to put anyone on edge. But they’d been nearly back to normal by the end of the job, their bickering more teasing than wounded, Eames throwing around endearments and Arthur dimpling at him when he didn’t think anyone else would notice. What had changed in the three weeks since they’d separated at LAX? Eames had looked at Arthur like he was a stranger in his own home, Arthur’s willing to admit that maybe there’s some justification for that. It doesn’t make the empty pit in his stomach feel any better though. Besides, it’s not like Eames did nothing but sit at home and pine for Arthur, he worked jobs, hell he worked some jobs with Cobb and Arthur. More often then not these past two years when they were able to see each other it was when they were both working, not here at home. That thought isn’t a comforting one either, Arthur tilts his head back into the shower spray, feeling the water shift from cool to warm to hot against his skin as it washes away the day’s grime.
Home was always a constant for Arthur when he was on the run. Something stable in the transient world he lived in, a perfect memory he held protected and dear in his mind where it could never be extracted. Now that he’s finally here, everything’s changed. The couch Eames had brought with him from his old apartment is gone, in its spot there’s a cushy-looking leather thing that actually matches the other furniture. The kitchen has been updated with a new oven and the linoleum replaced, he doesn’t recognize half the artwork on their walls, and that’s just what he saw at first glance on his way through the house with his bags. Arthur swallows down the feeling of loss threatening to overwhelm him.
It’s just a house after all. Not like Eames had any reason to tell Arthur that he thought it wasn’t good enough before he went around ‘fixing’ everything. It’s just a house.
~*~*~
Eames hears the shower cut off after about half-an-hour and the bedroom door opens ten minutes later, but Arthur doesn’t join him. It doesn’t take long for Eames’ curiosity to get the better of him and he tracks Arthur down in the study.
Arthur is examining every inch of the room, running his fingers over each piece of furniture and along every bookshelf. The sudden tension and conscious relaxation of his shoulders as he scowls at a lamp Eames had picked up the last time he was in Marrakech tells Eames that Arthur has spotted him leaning against the doorframe.
“Is something wrong?” Eames asks, hoping to spare the lamp any further emotional trauma that might come from Arthur’s scowl.
“No,” Arthur denies as he tilts his head slightly to look at the lamp from another angle. “Just seeing what else is different.”
“Different?” Eames echoes.
“Yeah,” Arthur nods at the lamp, clearly putting it into the ‘different, but acceptable’ list he’s already started in his head. “Like the hall carpet.”
Eames smiles because the hall carpet had been a horrendous eyesore left behind by their home’s former occupants. It was an offense to Arthur’s every sensibility and Eames had only insisted they keep it because of the look on Arthur’s face each week when he vacuumed and was forced to look at it for several minutes straight.
However with Arthur gone the carpet was simply an ugly reminder of someone who wasn’t there. To his surprise when he tore out the wretched thing he found beautiful hardwood beneath. He spent the next several weeks sanding down the floor in his free time and staining the wood.
Eames takes Arthur’s hand and leads him into the hall where Eames does a brief two-step on the hardwood.
“It’s lovely, Eames,” Arthur says, his voice warm if a little strained. “When did you get all of this done?” The ‘and why didn’t you even tell me’ remains unsaid, but Eames hears it in the way Arthur drops his hand and shifts his body just out of reach.
“July,” Eames bites down the disappointment he can feel beginning to churn in his stomach. It’s stupid to be hurt, Arthur’s just tired, he’ll be better in a few days. He’ll be himself again. “Took some time but I was able to finish before I had to leave for Mombasa.” He clears his throat injecting some enthusiasm into his voice. “So, what do you want for dinner? I’ve takeout menus from all over.”
If Arthur turns and reaches out for Eames as he walks into the kitchen, eyes dark with lust as he remembers his last visit at the end of June and Eames fucking Arthur on that damn carpet while Arthur spat curses at it, reluctantly clenching his fingers in its tight weave when Eames changed his angle and Arthur lost the ability to speak, Eames doesn’t notice.
~*~*~
Dinner is a strained, fragile affair. Their conversation stilted where once it flowed easily, full of awkward silences normally filled by soft chuckles and tender glances. Neither even attempts to bait the other, too worried that in this current state their teasing words would turn cutting and cruel. Cleanup is similarly painful and Arthur elects to go to bed early, pleading a long flight and jet lag, rather than suffering through an interminable evening in front of the TV trying to find something to say to each other. He’s fairly sure he doesn’t imagine the faint sigh of relief Eames utters as Arthur leaves the room.
Two hours later and Arthur is still tossing in bed, unable to sleep. The mattress is too firm, the pillows too soft, the sheets too stifling, the bed itself too big, too cold…too empty. He’s about to give up and turn the light on so he can read when he hears soft footfalls come to a stop outside the door. Arthur snuggles down into the bed, closing his eyes just Eames comes into the room.
“Arthur?” Eames calls hesitantly. Arthur keeps his eyes shut and his back to Eames, feigning sleep. There’s a barely audible exhalation of breath and then Eames walks away towards the bathroom, closing the door before turning on the light so it won’t disturb Arthur’s sleep.
Arthur’s eyes fly open and he turns to watch the movement of light creeping out beneath the bathroom door. This is the Eames he fell for, considerate and caring, not the prickly, taciturn Eames who only opens his mouth to mock something, usually Arthur. He closes his eyes again, but stays turned towards the bathroom, waiting for Eames to emerge.
When he does, the light shuts off before the door opens and Eames makes his way to the bed in complete darkness. Arthur has to wonder if he knows these floors well enough to do the same, but before he can muse too long on that train of through Eames carefully climbs into bed. He’s moving slowly so as not to jostle Arthur, shifting so he’s just close enough for Arthur to feel his body heat across the space between them.
“Goodnight, Arthur,” Eames whispers into the dark and Arthur can’t take any more. The closeness of Eames’ body after so long away, the pressure of everything unsaid between them, it’s all too much. He reaches out blindly for Eames, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him close with a soft groan.
“Eames,” Arthur breathes out, his lips running across Eames’ jaw, his cheek, until Arthur finds Eames’ lips and ravishes them like he’s been longing to do from the moment he saw Eames crouched behind the wall with a gun in his hands.
Eames moans into his mouth, clutching back at Arthur just as tightly, shifting his thigh between Arthur’s legs and doing something with his hips that makes Arthur gasp and bite Eames’ lower lip in retaliation. Arthur runs his hands greedily across the miles of bare skin, sending silent thanks to whomever might be listening that Eames sleeps in boxers and little else. Eames makes a frustrated noise and tugs at Arthur’s t-shirt, looking to even the playing field. Arthur breaks the kiss long enough to tug the offending garment off before diving back in, unwilling to leave Eames’ lips alone now that he’s finally laid claim to them.
The two of them are rutting shamelessly against each other, pressure and heat building, but it’s not enough. Arthur snakes his hand into Eames’ boxers, pulling out his hard, heavy cock, gently tracing his fingers up the vein underneath before taking a firm hold, swiping the head of Eames’ cock to collect the gathered precome and smooth the slide of his hand against hot skin. It’s not quite enough, the friction still slightly rough, but Eames doesn’t seem to mind. He’s thrusting harder into Arthur’s hand and mouthing wet, broken kisses into Arthur’s neck, biting down with each twist of Arthur’s wrist.
“Arthur, please. please,” Eames pleads and Arthur has never been able to resist him like this. Not when he begs so beautifully. Arthur slides down Eames’ body, ignoring the heartfelt whimper from above him when he removes his hand, instead easing Eames’ boxers down so his cock is completely bared. He takes a moment to lap eagerly at the tip, tasting the salty tang of Eames before he goes down, swallowing Eames nearly to the hilt. That’s all it takes for Eames to release into Arthur’s mouth, orgasm burning through him, leaving Eames trembling and boneless in its wake. Arthur swallows all but the last mouthful, climbing back up Eames’ body to tangle their tongues together and share the taste.
Arthur is still achingly hard in his boxers, a situation only exacerbated when Eames rolls Arthur onto his back and covers Arthur’s body with his own. Arthur bucks up against Eames, but the bastard moves with Arthur, keeping himself scant inches above Arthur.
“Now, now, none of that,” Eames grins, slowly lowering so his hips trap Arthur’s against the bed. “Behave,” he teases as Arthur writhes beneath him, helpless to shift his weight without resorting to violence.
“Eames, I swear to god if you don’t fucking move I will-,” Arthur’s voice is cut off by the slow inexorable undulation of Eames’ hips
“What will you do, Arthur?” Eames asks nibbling at Arthur’s earlobe, his breath hissing out as his sensitive cock catches against Arthur’s boxers.
“Something, something drastic and- and big,” Arthur mumbles nonsensically in reply, all the blood his brain needs to function is too busy flowing south to help him.
“Well we wouldn’t want that would we?” Eames chuckles as he too makes the journey south, pulling off Arthur’s boxers and covering his hips with large, warm hands which hold Arthur firmly in place. “Could be disastrous,” Eames murmurs, before parting his lips around Arthur’s cock and slowly sinking down.
Arthur whines high in the back of his throat at the slow pace Eames sets as he uses lips and tongue to methodically maps each millimeter of Arthur’s dick. The teasing, light suction not nearly enough, but too good to push away. At last Eames pulls off with a wet pop, pressing soothing kisses into Arthur’s trembling thighs.
“Shh, it’s okay Arthur,” he says, biting gently at soft skin. “Let go,” Eames whispers, locking eyes with Arthur. “Just let go,” and with that he swallows Arthur down, releasing his hips.
Arthur waits half a breath before thrusting up into the wet heat of Eames’ mouth, taking what he needs as he fucks in and out between Eames lush lips. Eames seems to melt around him, throat relaxing as he just fucking takes it, a blissful expression softening his features. Arthur’s orgasm takes him by surprise, the quirk of a sated smile curling the edges of Eames lips flattening Arthur like a punch as pleasure rips through him.
He collapses back against the bed, breaths a harsh gasp. Distantly he can feel Eames licking at his cock and kissing up his chest, but it’s a hazy sensation, far away from where Arthur is. Slowly he comes back to himself, the rapid beating of his heart, the warmth of arms around him, and the soft murmur of Eames voice in his ears, soothing nonsense words that mean nothing, but comfort just the same.
Arthur curls closer, soaking in the reassurance of Eames’ presence. “Miss you,” he mumbles, pressing a tired kiss to Eames’ collarbone as sleep claims him.
When Arthur wakes the next morning he’s alone, Eames’ side of the bed long-since gone cold, fighting the hurt coiling in his gut Arthur gets up and searches the house for any sign of Eames. He finds nothing but a pot of coffee ready and waiting for him in the kitchen. Suppressing a sigh Arthur pours himself a cup and settles down to wait for Eames to come home.
~*~*~
Eames’ feet pound against the dirt path, his breath coming in harsh pants as he pushes himself harder. One more loop through the park, then he’ll head home. He’s already run half a mile farther than he usually does on his morning jogs, but he’s not quite ready to face Arthur yet. Normally exercise of any sort clears Eames’ head, and when he opened his eyes to find his body tangled around Arthur that morning, he’d needed a good run like never before. Unfortunately clarity was eluding him, all he’s accomplished so far are sore muscles and a sharp pain in his side telling him to slow down or keel over. Eames slows to a brisk walk and finally stops in front of a water fountain, he refills his water bottle with shaking hands, Arthur as always circling to the forefront of his mind.
When Eames had woken up, he was so confused he barely took the time to start a pot of coffee before he laced up his shoes and threw on a pair of cutoff sweats and a t-shirt and got the hell out of the house. Last night had been amazing, definitely the type of reunion-quality sex he’d envisioned when Arthur had called four days ago to tell Eames he was coming home. It’s just that the encounter had come out of the blue. The entire evening had been spent in some sort of hellish limbo, with neither of them able to say a civil word to the other, then the moment the lights are off and they’re in bed, Arthur jumps him. Eames doesn’t know what to make of any of it. Not Arthur’s stilted behavior and certainly not his sudden passion, nothing made sense. Not even Eames’ own feelings.
He’s happy to have Arthur back of course, but at the same time, Eames has gotten used to living alone. Now there’s this person in his space and Eames isn’t sure what to do with him. Arthur was gone a long time, and when he left there was a hole in Eames’ life that Eames had to work day and night to fill or risk drowning in his absence. Now that Arthur’s come back it’s like there isn’t room for him anymore.
Arthur’s homecoming was supposed to be as simple as the man slipping his key into the front door lock and walking back into their house. But Arthur’s key doesn’t seem to fit properly, they’re both jiggling the handle and trying to force the tumblers to move aside, but somewhere along the way the locks were changed, and maybe Arthur can never come inside.
Taking a deep breath and a gulp of water, Eames turns towards the house and Arthur. If he runs back more slowly than he left, there’s no one around to judge him for it.
The first thing Eames notices when he gets home is that the paper’s been taken in. Eames braces himself before opening the door, finding Arthur sat quietly at the kitchen island where Eames usually eats breakfast, drinking coffee and reading the paper.
“Morning Arthur,” the man in question doesn’t so much as raise his head, grunting a pseudo-greeting and turning the page. Eames nods before detouring to the bathroom. It’s not that he’s running away or anything, he just really needs a shower.
They spend the rest of the day carefully orbiting each other, avoiding a collision. Eames makes breakfast for himself when Arthur informs him that he’s already eaten and Arthur retreats to the study before Eames’ sits down. Lunch is prepared by Eames in apology for missing breakfast. Arthur takes the meal at his desk as he pours over spreadsheets of Cobb’s financials, briefly explaining that he’d promised to take a look at them. The score from the Fischer job was enough to retire on, but Cobb had given his share to Yusuf. Arthur had managed both their accounts while on the run, putting most of Cobb’s earnings away in the hope that it might buy Cobb’s innocence one day. Instead he’s using the funds to buy forgiveness from his children for the past two years and it’s a considerable drain on his financials.
Eames eats alone again then goes into his own area of the house; which is less a study and more of a workshop, large windows filling the room with natural light and stocked with various paints, canvases, inks, papers, et cetera. There he goes about his day as if Arthur isn’t even there, which to all intents and purposes he might as well not be. Eames has some documents he needs to finish for an acquaintance he owes a favor and he gets caught up in his work, the setting sun and his rumbling stomach the only way to mark the passage of time.
They eat takeout again that night, Eames feels a momentary pang of guilt that he had forgotten his plans to make Arthur a special dinner, but he brushes it aside when Arthur doesn’t say anything. The evening progresses much the same as it did the previous night; Arthur speaks of the bland, uninteresting events happing in the world around them, Eames comments on the weather and the change in watermarks on the Dutch passport. Cleanup is quick and efficient, Eames washes, Arthur dries, and they settle in front of the telly with a glass of scotch each allowing the mindless drone to wash over them.
Eames is the first to break this time, biding Arthur goodnight and retiring to their room. Arthur joins him maybe thirty minutes later, going about his routine while Eames finishes reading a chapter in some book he doesn’t care about. He closes the book and turns off his bedside lamp before Arthur comes out of the bathroom. When Arthur emerges he shuts off the light, plunging the room into darkness and pads silently over to the bed. For several minutes the only sound is the rustling of crisp sheets as Arthur climbs in beside Eames, his foot brushes gently against Eames’ ankle sending a jolt of anticipation through Eames’ body when Arthur doesn’t move away. They still a moment before reaching for each other, desperation making their movements uncontrolled and rough, lips crashing together with more eagerness than grace.
Sex has always been as natural as breathing for them; Eames sinks into the sensation following instinct and the siren call of Arthur’s body. They move together flawlessly, without missing a beat, pulling and pushing past boundaries which cease to exist in the press of flesh and breathless gasp of ‘more’ and ‘harder’ and ‘please’. With a cry Eames collapses on top of Arthur in a tangle of limbs, pressing soft, sated kisses against his sternum until sleep claims him.
This sets the pattern for the next week and a half, Eames leaves at the crack of dawn to run or hit the gym depending on the day, Arthur wakes alone and read the paper until Eames comes home then disappears into his study for most of the day. Eames putters around the house, sometimes working on his illegal pursuits; other times planning home improvement projects (the guest bath has a slight mold problem he’s been meaning to take care of), then they share dinner and make meaningless small talk until one caves and turns in for the evening. In short they avoid each other until they can’t, pretend that there’s nothing wrong, and only touch when the lights are off and they can crash into one another without fear of upsetting the delicate balancing act that their lives have become.
~*~*~
Arthur’s twelfth morning home he’s woken by a loud thud and Eames’ sleep-roughed voice cursing.
“’Eames?” He questions, sitting up and already on alert.
“Shit, fuck, yeah I’m fine, Arthur. Go back to sleep.”
Arthur frowns, Eames is in his usual workout clothes, old t-shirt, sweats, and sneakers standing next to his dresser, its top drawer on the ground and clothes scattered on the floor, with his weight shifted off of his left foot.
“You don’t look fine, are you sure you’re alright?”
“Yeah,” Eames chuckles ruefully. “The drawer was caught and I guess I overestimated my ability to outsmart a dresser,” he sighs bending to pick up the drawer and slide it back into place. “I managed to get the drawer most of the way out but when I took my hand off the damn thing to try and dislodge my socks so it would shut properly, it attacked me.” Eames picks up the socks in question and stuffs them back in the dresser before walking gingerly over to the bed. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Arthur takes Eames hand and tugs him onto the bed. “I hope you’re not planning on going for a run on that foot today,” he says, eyebrow raised to express how very stupid it would be for Eames to even contemplate such a thing.
“Of course not, darling,” Eames lifts their entwined hands, brushing a kiss across Arthur’s knuckles. “I’ll head over to the gym, work strictly on the upper body today.”
Arthur swallows down his objections, Eames should stay home, take it easy, ice his foot; this is the longest and most genuine conversation he’s had with Eames since coming home. He doesn’t want to ruin that by insinuating that Eames doesn’t know how to take care of himself, even if it’s the truth.
“Okay,” he says, pulling his hand back. “Just take it easy.”
Eames’ shoulders slump slightly and he stands back up, anxious to be gone. “I will,” he promises with an insincere smile and is out the door before Arthur can think of anything else to say.
He waits until he hears the front door shut before getting up and wandering into the kitchen, this is the first morning he hasn’t been greeted by the welcome smell of coffee and the house feels emptier without it. Arthur’s breakfast preparations are interrupted by the trilling of his cell phone, the number is one he knows well and he answers on the third ring.
“Mr. Saito,” he says with false enthusiasm. “So good to hear from you again.”
Over 6700 miles away Saito chuckles knowingly into the phone. “I doubt that Mr. Arthur, not that I blame you, our previous business arrangement was slightly more perilous than anticipated. Do not worry, I am not planning another inception, but I am in need of your considerable skills for a rather routine encounter. One that is guaranteed to be of minimal risk and considerable monetary compensation.”
“I’m listening.”
“Of that, I am sure,” Saito says with the barest hint of amusement. “However I would rather not discuss the details over the phone, I’m sure you understand. If you would be so kind as to locate Mr. Eames and meet me at my offices in Tokyo, I would be grateful.”
“Mr. Eames? What makes you think I can find him?” Arthur says playing for time, he and Eames try to be discrete but if Saito knows about them after only a few weeks working together, it could mean a serious security breach.
“That’s what you do, is it not?”
Arthur holds in a sigh of relief, instead answering Saito’s question. “That would be part of it, yes. But Mr. Eames is notoriously difficult to pin down; it could take a few days.”
“I have complete confidence in your ability to ‘pin down’ Mr. Eames,” Arthur can practically hear him smirking on the other end of the line. “The matter is time sensitive, so if you could do so quickly it would be much appreciated.”
“Of course,” Arthur bites down on the urge to make faces at his cell. “As long as it’s understood that by coming to see you neither Mr. Eames nor I have agreed to accept your…proposition.”
“Of course,” Saito echoes.
“Very well then, Mr. Saito, I’ll contact you when Eames and I are in Tokyo.”
“I look forward to it, Mr. Arthur.”
Looking down at the blinking numbers on his cell telling him how long the call had lasted, Arthur reviews everything he knows about Proclus Global’s recent business dealings. Nothing obvious jumps out at him, with Fischer dismantling his father’s company Proclus has been on top of the world.
Arthur quickly brews a pot of coffee and settles into his study to begin researching his prospective employer.
When Eames returns an hour and a half later Arthur’s still hard at work, the hesitant knocking on the study door finally rousing him.
“Yes?” He calls out.
“Sorry to bother you, Arthur,” Eames says as he opens the door. “You weren’t at the table and I- well I just wanted to be sure you were alright.”
“Yeah, I got a call from a potential client earlier and I’m just doing some prep-work.”
“Oh,” Eames walks into the room. “You’re leaving for a job?”
“No,” Arthur grins tentatively. “If you agree to who the client is, we’ll be leaving for a job”
“Who’s the client?”
“Saito.”
“Ah.”
“I know. But he assures me that he doesn’t want another inception, sounded like he was in the market for a regular extraction.”
“Sounded like?” Eames asks sitting across from Arthur.
“He didn’t want to go into details on the phone,” Arthur explains. He tells Eames about his rather frustrating conversation with Saito and the little he’s been able to dig up on Proclus Global’s recent dealings.
“Well then, I don’t know about you, but my curiosity is piqued,” Eames grins.
Arthur smiles in return, for the first time in twelve days feeling like he and Eames are on the same page. “I’ll book our flight.”
~*~*~
“So let me get this right,” Arthur says and Eames has to struggle to keep his professional mask on at Arthur’s incredulous tone. The last few days have been invigorating to say the least, between packing, flying, and plotting, he and Arthur have been too busy to be awkward. Eames reclines in his chair, listening to Arthur bluster and can’t remember a time when he last felt this at peace.
“You believe that your CFO, Hitoshi Hamada,” Arthur continues. “Whom you left in charge of the money while your VP handled the business side of things, has been embezzling funds and you want us to prove it.”
“Exactly,” Saito says sitting back with a smile.
“But in order to prove this, you want us to go undercover as a honeymooning couple on a gay cruise you’re sending him and his partner, Masaaki Otomo, on as a thank you for all the hard work he did while you were with us performing inception,” Arthur grits out, each word seeming to come with more difficulty than the last.
“Yes,” Saito leans forward steepling his fingers. “There are only two things Hamada cares about, money and his partner, and what makes Masaaki Otomo happy is gossip, double dates to which my wife and I have been frequent victims, and a rather bizarre fascination with the British royal family. I’m sure you can come up with some sort of brilliant scheme to uncover the information I require.”
Arthur bristles, tugging at his cuffs like a knight adjusting his armor.
Eames clears his throat. “I may have a suggestion, I have some documentation proving that I’m a minor member of the royal family, if I allow something like that to drop in casual conversation, Masaaki Otomo might be the one to approach us.”
“Might?” Arthur smirks.
“Yes Arthur, the cruise is in two days, if you have a better suggestion…” Eames trails off expectantly.
The glare Arthur levels at him would make most men recoil in terror, Eames simply flashes his crooked teeth happily and waits for a reply.
“I believe this could work,” Saito interrupts. “Mr. Eames can charm with tales of his minor nobility while studying Mr. Otomo for his forge in the dream, while Arthur and Hamada discuss business matters.”
“Ooh, I like that one,” Eames says getting into the spirit of things. “Arthur can be an accountant or some such; his profession combined with the cruise being a gift from you, Mr. Saito will cause his subconscious to dwell on the embezzlement, making for an easy extraction.”
“Easy?” Arthur asks. “You don’t think that the sudden appearance of a minor royal and his accountant husband might seem a bit strange to Hamada? If anything his subconscious will be on high alert.”
“Yes, but it will be a productive alert.”
“Gentlemen,” Saito breaks in. “Not that this isn’t fascinating, but the likelihood of your cover stories seems to be the least of our concerns.”
“And what would our greatest concern be, Mr. Saito?” Arthur challenges.
“You and Mr. Eames passing as a honeymooning couple,” Saito replies as if they’re both dense for not having figured this out for themselves. “While you work excellently together, I wouldn’t call it…loving. At least, not as would be recognized outside the schoolyard.”
“I assure you Mr. Saito,” Eames says taking Arthur’s hand and pulling him to his feet. “We’ll make a good show of it,” with that Eames pulls Arthur in tight against his body and captures Arthur’s lips in a kiss. He had meant to simply demonstrate that he and Arthur fit together very well and are comfortable locking lips, but after a brief stiffening of the shoulders Arthur melts against him and dear lord it’s been far too long since he’s held Arthur in his arms. Eames deepens the kiss, nipping lightly at Arthur’s lips making him gasp and open for Eames’ tongue. This is the first time he’s kissed Arthur in the daylight since he returned home, Eames opens his eyes for a moment to see Arthur pressed close to him, a moan escapes without his consent and Eames can feel Arthur begin to tremble.
Saito clears his throat, calling them both back to the room, the meeting, and the fact that they’re not alone.
“Yes, well,” Eames flushes. “As I said, you’ve nothing to worry about on that front.”
“Apparently not,” Saito replies with a secret smile. “I gather that you gentlemen will be taking the job?”
“Yes,” Arthur sounds like sex and a spike of lust makes Eames’ head swim. “We will.”
~*~*~
The next two days are spent fine-tuning their plan, with Arthur filling in electronic trails supporting their story while Eames handles the documentation. They fall into an easy pattern, bantering back and forth with none of the animosity that the Fischer job had held, although Arthur is still reluctant to reach out for Eames with the lights on. They haven’t really touched outside the bedroom since that morning in Saito’s office when Eames had taken Arthur by the hand and publically claimed him.
Arthur can still feel the warmth of Eames’ body, the way they’d molded together like the past two years were nothing more than a bad dream. It makes something ache deep inside his chest every time he recalls the moment his body had opened for Eames and it hadn’t mattered that they were standing in Saito’s office. They could have been in the middle of Time’s Square and Arthur wouldn’t have been able to pull himself away.
The night before they leave for the cruise Arthur control breaks.
“I’m still not sure about this double date thing,” Arthur says sitting next to Eames. “Hamada doesn’t really strike me as the type to go in for that sort of thing.”
“True, but Otomo is, and Hamada’s the sort who goes in for what his partner enjoys,” Eames replies with an exasperated sigh. It’s possible that Arthur has raised this issue before, but he’s not about to let them go into this job halfcocked.
“I’m not about to let us go into this job halfcocked, Eames,” he says frowning.
“Of the many things I’ve been accused of in my life, darling. Going off halfcocked has never been one of them,” Eames teases with an exaggerated eyebrow waggle.
“Don’t,” Arthur shifts away slightly, folding in on himself.
“Don’t what, Arthur?”
“You know what,” Arthur snaps, the careful restraint in Eames’ voice pushing him over the edge. “Don’t flirt and joke and make believe everything’s fine. Don’t pretend that the moment we’re home in New York you won’t go back to acting like I don’t exist unless we’re fucking.”
Eames slams his fist on the table, rattling his tea cup and saucer. “No,” he slides his chair back and stands up. “No Arthur, you do not get to lay all of this on me. Not when you so obviously want to be anywhere in the world other than our home.”
“Me? I’m not the one who rolls out of bed at first light and disappears for hours. You can’t get away from me fast enough in the morning.” Arthur almost regrets his words when Eames slumps, leaning heavily against the table. “You’re not even going to try to deny it, are you?”
“No point is there, I do slip away like a bloody coward before you wake up. But not because I don’t want to be with you, Arthur”
“Then why?”
“Because I’m terrified of waking up next to you, and having you treat me like a stranger,” Eames smiles weakly, lips trembling as he attempts to hold the expression in place.
“Maybe if you’d stuck around I would have surprised you,” Arthur whispers.
Eames laughs brokenly. “Yeah, well your last surprise didn’t go over so well.”
“Right,” Arthur says bitterly. “How dare I come home early, what was I thinking?”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it!”
“Do I? From the moment I walked through the door it’s like I’ve been an unwelcome guest in someone else’s home. Just admit it Eames, you were happier with me gone.”
“Don’t you dare say that Arthur,” Eames backs away, his fists clenched. “Don’t you dare.”
“Why not,” Eames’ sudden anger catches Arthur by surprise, but he can’t back down, now that he’s started the words won’t stop pouring out of him. “It’s the truth.”
“Nearly two years you were gone, Arthur,” Eames swallows harshly his hands shaking. “Two years and I nearly went mad with missing you.” He laughs, a high-pitched gust of air and pain, and it’s so wrong that Arthur wants to take his words back, sit down at the table again and keep pretending that everything is fine but he can’t make himself move.
“I spent that whole first week ripping out the linoleum in the kitchen so I wouldn’t have to think about you being gone. After that was finished I couldn’t’ stand to be in our home a moment longer so I started working, at first I tried to tag along with whatever job you and Cobb were on, but you didn’t always need a forger. So instead I worked with anyone else who would have me, I took so many jobs Yusuf grounded me, said that if I didn’t slow down he was going to sedate me and have me involuntarily committed for 72 hours just so I’d get some rest.”
“I- I didn’t know that,” Arthur whispers.
“Of course you didn’t, Arthur. You never asked, hell, you never called unless you had a job for me.”
“I was busy, taking care of Cobb-“
“Wasn’t easy, yes I know. But being the one left behind wasn’t exactly a piece of cake either Arthur. How do you think I felt, knowing that you’d rather be off globetrotting with Cobb, one step ahead of the authorities than at home with me?”
“It wasn’t like that,” Arthur protests.
“Of course not, Arthur, you had your reasons. But I don’t know about all that, all I know is I spent nearly two years learning how to live without you. I took a bunch of fancy cooking classes so I’d have something to do in the evenings, I completely remodeled the kitchen around high end cooking equipment I barely use, and planned at least a dozen heists to keep my mind occupied, half the artwork in our house I stole while you were away.” Eames sounds close to tears and Arthur doesn’t know how much more he can take. “You know, I even tried my hand at reupholstering the couch? Of course chain smoking and furniture fabrics don’t exactly mix and I set the bloody thing on fire,” Eames’ laugh sounds like broken glass.
Arthur tentatively reaches out, taking Eames’ hand.
“The hall carpet,” he says.
“Yeah, that was for you too.”
Arthur squeezes Eames’ hand, pulling him closer.
“And the rubber ducky?”
Eames huffs out a quick breath of laughter, sounding more like his old self. “Had to have something to keep me company in the tub, didn’t I? Named him Arthur Two and spent far more time than I’d like to admit talking out jobs and tricky recipes with him.”
“You could have called,” Arthur says wrapping his arms around Eames.
“You were busy, besides, I didn’t think I could handle it if you didn’t answer.”
Arthur pulls back, suddenly angry. “I will always answer, Eames. Always, do you hear me?” He cups Eames’ face, gently pressing his lips against Eames’, not kissing just holding them together. “I never wanted to leave you,” he breathes.
Eames groans, taking over the kiss, deepening it until his tongue is fucking Arthur’s mouth. He pulls away and Arthur whimpers at the loss.
“I know you had to leave, and it killed me, but I told you to go,” Eames presses his forehead against Arthur’s. “But why did you stay gone? You barely called, almost never visited, and then when Cobb was finally home. When you were finally free to come back to me, you stayed away. Three weeks Arthur, without a word from you, not until a few days before you came back,” Eames pulls away completely. “If you didn’t want to leave, why didn’t you come home?”
Arthur moves forward, he’s left too much distance between him and Eames; he’s not going to keep making that mistake. “I wanted to come home, Eames you have no idea how much I wanted to come back to you. I stared at my cell every night and ached to call you. But if I did, if I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop. It was so hard leaving you that first time, and every visit home it was worse,” Arthur takes Eames’ hands in both of his. “I knew that one day I would come back to you and I just wouldn’t leave. I couldn’t let Mal and the kids down like that.”
Eames rubs circles against Arthur’s wrists. “And after Fischer?”
“Phillipa and James barely knew their father, I visited them when I could, and I know you did too, but it’s not the same as having Dom with them. For three weeks I tucked the kids into bed at night and taught Dom how to make breakfast each morning. I thought getting him home would be it, but James and Phillipa deserved more, I couldn’t just leave them.”
Eames’ eyes slide shut; understanding and pain mingling together. “I’m sorry, I should have known.”
“How could you?” Arthur asks, kissing Eames again, now that again he has permission to touch. “I never said, I didn’t want to call you unless it was to say I was coming home, God I was so stupid.”
Eames grins, gently brushing Arthur’s cheek. “I don’t think either one of us has a monopoly on that, darling.”
“No,” Arthur laughs. “I suppose not.”
Tomorrow Arthur and Eames will board the cruise ship, a quintessential couple, madly in love, ready to take on anything the high seas have to offer. One week later and several hundred thousand dollars richer they’ll get on a plane headed for home. Three days after they rechristen each room and horizontal object in the house, Saito will receive a thank you note and a fruit basket.
But for now Eames takes Arthur in his arms, peppering kisses down his neck. “What do you say,” Eames asks nipping at Arthur’s ear. “We retire for the evening?” Eames slides his hands down Arthur’s back to grip his ass. “But this time, we leave the lights on?”
Arthur grins, rolling his hips against Eames’ erection, moaning at the contact.
“I say, that’s the best idea either of us has had in two years.”