Inception - I've Got a Rock n' Roll Life (16/16)
Title: I've Got a Rock n' Roll Life (16/16)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Word count: 2,891
Pairings/Characters: ArthurxEames, mention of YusufxAriadne
Rating: NC-17(this part)
Warnings: language, smut, alcohol use, dub-con, Arthur being an asshole, leather pants, un-betaed
Summary: AU. Arthur is a concert violinist at a prestigious arts college. His best (and only) friend Ariadne convinces him to come with her to a rock concert, aka his worst nightmare. He does seem to be quite taken with the charismatic lead guitarist though... or rather, the guitarist seems to be quite taken by him.
Bonus Track: Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy
Eames was flipping through his scrapbook when his mobile phone started to ring. His hand paused over the clipping of the article from People magazine where Arthur had been interviewed over three years ago over their relationship. He'd so smoothly brushed over the fact that he and Eames had been a bit hasty in their relationship, coming up with a story about how they'd met in Paris a year before when Arthur's class had been on a field trip and how they'd been communicating ever since. It had been a rather successful lie since both Eames and Arthur really had happened to be in Paris at the same time. Arthur was really too smart for his own good.
Currently, Eames was in New York, sprawled out in his hotel bed after a very successful concert with the band. He would have gone drinking with the Yusuf, but Ariadne happened to be in New York for work, so he figured he'd leave the two alone so that they could do lovey-dovey things. He and Nash were on better terms, sure, but they still didn't do too well when it was just the two of them, and Cobb was off at an interview, talking about his and Mal's baby daughter, Phillipa who was entirely too cute for her own good.
It didn't matter. Eames was perfectly content with relaxing.
"Hello?" he answered the phone. "Arthur?"
"Hey there," Arthur replied from the other line, sounding a little out of breath. "How'd the concert go?"
"Standing O and three encores," Eames replied with a laugh. "How's Chicago?"
"Same old, same old," Arthur said. "Robert, Ally, and the others and I just got back from a gig too."
Arthur played violin in the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, just like he'd always wanted (they'd been knocking on his door and calling him up since the S.O.S. concert all those years ago), and during his free time he and some of his friends from college that were also living in Chicago (plus one or two he'd met there) had a band where they performed contemporary songs using classical instruments. They were actually making quite a splash in the music scene there, their first EP selling out on their website after only an afternoon.
"I imagine it went well?" Eames asked.
"Extremely. I missed you though when we were playing No Fault of Mine."
"I'm assuming that's why you've called me. Usually you wait for me to call you or show up at home."
Eames and Arthur had several houses all over the world, but Arthur generally stayed at the one in Chicago. It was modest, not at all flashy with it being only one floor and a tall electrified gate to keep out intruders. Arthur had explained to Eames that they didn't need anything too ridiculous (though Arthur hadn't seen the mansion in the English countryside yet-he didn't even know about it yet, actually but he would come Christmastime. Arthur had a falling out with his parents, so he spent the holidays with Eames's folks).
"I just don't want to call you when you're busy," Arthur replied with a sigh. "When will you be back anyways?"
"The tour finishes up in just two weeks. I'll be back in Chicago then, darling."
"What are you going to do when you get back here to me?" Arthur asked, and Eames could hear the breathless smile on Arthur's face.
…and then he realized, "Arthur, are you touching yourself right now?"
Arthur grunted in response, "Well, I have to do something, right?" and started to moan.
"But… you never touch yourself," Eames said, stunned.
"I've actually gotten pretty-ah-pretty good at it with all this separation we have to do. I just decided not to let you know until now."
"Why, pet?" Eames asked, grinning filthily. "Afraid I'd be jealous of your pretty little hand?"
"Didn't want you to think I was so pathetic," Arthur gasped, and Eames could imagine him arching off of the mattress, sweat soaking the navy sheets beneath him.
"Pathetic? You've got to be fucking kidding me, Arthur! After three years, you're still that insecure about what I think of you?"
"Fuck-Eames, don't turn it into an argument," Arthur countered, but Eames had a feeling he hadn't slowed down, and that his brain was quickly scrambling his vocabulary words.
"Arthur, you don't think I do it? Fuck, you'd probably have an easier time figuring out what days I don't, rather than the days I do. I've told you before that it's all right, and you're not pathetic at all for doing it. I'd much rather you be fucking your hand rather than some other bloke, you know."
"Okay, clearly you are not touching yourself like I am because you're trying to have a goddamned conversation," Arthur complained, and maybe he still had a little vocabulary left in him after all. Leave it to Arthur and his laser focus to be able to accomplish such a feat.
"I always think of you," Eames replied huskily, deciding that he should help Arthur along and they could talk about his still occasional self-esteem issues later. While he was at it, he decided to knock one out for himself as well, tugging down his underwear and sweatpants with his free hand.
Arthur let out a small choked sound but tried to stifle it. Apparently, he thought he needed to not be swayed by Eames because Eames had gone and made him mad.
Oh, a challenge is it? Eames thought, a wicked smile hurting his cheeks as he continued, "Every time, Arthur. I close my eyes and pretend that it's your hand touching me, and then I pretend that it's your pretty little arse, and then I imagine those sounds you make and have to keep myself from coming just from those memories alone."
Arthur mewled.
Eames could get used to this game.
"Oh, yeah," Eames persisted, "you should see the things I dream up about us when I'm alone, love. Sometimes I have to keep a grip on this overactive imagination of mind so I can stop myself from thinking about fucking you until you scream while I'm on stage. Oh, yes, you know I think about fucking you on stage in front of thousands of people because you are a bloody work of art when you're undone, aren't you-"
"Oh, God," Arthur moaned, and the satisfaction that Eames was winning the game wasn't nearly as good as the sound of Arthur's voice, even if it did make it very hard (pun not intended but definitely implied) to concentrate.
"I would fuck you against the drums and against the amplifiers, and you'd pull the curtains and moan and beg for me while everyone watched including the band and the crew and all of those people, watching you like you're the most beautiful thing they've ever seen, so jealous that they can't be like us. Even the protestors would be salivating at the sight of you writhing underneath me, wrapped in a microphone cord and-"
"Oh… Oh, fuck, Eames, I-fuck, why the fuck aren't you here with me? Ohh…"
"I'd fuck you until you came, and then I'd jerk you off until you were hard again, and I'd swallow you down straight to the hilt and suck you off until you came down my throat and were sobbing my name, and then everyone would fucking applaud-"
Arthur shouted out and then groaned Eames's name, and Eames could just see him spilling all over himself, jaw slack, eyes rolling back in his head, and the image was so vivid in Eames's head that his hips stuttered, and he fell over the edge as well, left sprawled out and gasping on the hotel's mattress.
"You still there?" Eames asked after he caught his breath.
"Y-yeah," came Arthur's reply, sounding sated and no longer angry in the slightest. "Yeah, I'm still here. Sorry."
"Don't be," Eames chuckled before lapsing into a long moment of silence. After that moment passed, he quietly said, "I miss you."
"I miss you too," Arthur said, voice taking on the sleepy quality it usually did after he'd finished up. "Keep talking… Keep me awake… I need to get in the shower. I don't want to fall asleep like this."
"Do you ever think of what would have happened if we hadn't gotten back together?" Eames asked, and even he wasn't even sure what prompted it.
"Uh… well, for starters I wouldn't need a big electrified gate around the house to protect me from paparazzi, I probably would have been fired from the Chicago Symphony Orchestra for being too depressing to watch, and I possibly would have been living with my parents until I put a gun to my head."
"That's… wow, well I'm glad we did the phone sex thing before you told me that because if I had a boner right now it would have been gone instantly. That is the saddest bloody thing I've ever heard."
"Sorry-"
"No, no, it just… Well, it just makes me so grateful that we're together. I'd probably be just as miserable without you," Eames admitted, and he knew that was the truth. Three years into the relationship, he had absolutely no idea how he had ever lived without Arthur. Hell, he'd known that from nearly the beginning, but the feeling only solidified itself more and more over time.
"Oh, please," Arthur scoffed good-humoredly. "You don't think you could find another fine piece of ass like mine in your magnificent worldly travels?"
"Perhaps there are other arses," Eames admitted with a nod. "I haven't seen one yet, but the idea is perfectly possible. However, if you think I fell in love with you just because of your arse, either you've got far too much a superiority complex about it or I'm just terrible at expressing myself."
Arthur laughed a little, voice scratchy as he tried not to drift off. "What, you think you wouldn't have found someone else if you'd stayed dumped? You don't think you would have started to hate me after a while?"
Eames could sense that Arthur was pretending not to be serious, that they were just conversing, but he knew Arthur well enough to know that this bothered him, probably had been for quite some time. "Of course not," Eames assured him. "Darling… you're the only man I've ever loved, and you're the only one I ever will. I don't picture my life without you in it."
"You're just saying that-"
"I am not," Eames said, stern but gentle. "I mean it, Arthur. You know how much I love you, and you know that I love you for all of your perfections and all of your faults. I love you when you smile and even when you're angry with me. I love the little wrinkle you get between your eyebrows when you're upset and the way you stick your tongue out between your teeth when you do something silly, and I love how when you nod off in the middle of a movie after a long day your head automatically finds its way to my shoulder. I love that you drool and snore, and I love how anal retentive you are about your fingernails. I love how you organize your socks by color. I love how you always pick up on the second ring when I call, no matter what you're doing. I love you, Arthur, and everything about you. Don't make me have to say it again because I didn't write all of that down and it's a lot of words for me."
There was a long moment of silence on the other end of the line, and it made Eames agitated. "You didn't fall asleep while I was confessing my love, did you? I'll have you know that's just right-"
"Marry me."
"What?" Eames asked. He couldn't have heard that right.
"Seriously. Fuck it, why don't we just do it already? It's legal in the UK, isn't it?"
"Civil unions are, and ah-Argentina, Belgium… uh… Mexico City, some states, are you really fucking serious?"
"What, you don't want to?" Arthur asked, voice quiet, hesitant.
"No, no, of course I do. I just never expected that you would propose to me, and especially over the phone like this. I was just a little caught off guard is all. We should do this whole proposal thing again properly, preferably face to face and with the appropriate jewelry."
"I know… I just… I guess I just wanted you to know that I… I wouldn't refuse you if you asked me… that I… that I want to…"
Eames crawled off of the mattress, grabbing tissues to clean himself up with and said, "I do to. My family's going to absolutely love this, by the way. You know how much they like you."
"Eames?" Arthur said unsurely.
"Yes, darling?"
"I have to admit that I'm kind of horrendously drunk right now."
So, his slurred speech wasn't just from exhaustion.
Eames burst out laughing. "Oh, love!" he laughed. "Don't act so bloody ashamed! You're an adult. You can drink all you want. If I may remind you, the first time we had sex and the first time we both decided we were in love, you were drunk. Alcohol makes you terribly honest… Even if you did wake up tomorrow and not remember asking me to marry you, I'd know you meant it."
"I was worried that-"
"You worry too much," Eames said, pulling his underwear and sweatpants back up. "I actually kind of hope that you don't remember so that I can still surprise you at some point."
"I don't need any surprises," Arthur said genuinely. "I just need you. I don't need roses or candy or sappy love songs or any of that stupid stuff."
"I have written you plenty of songs."
"Yes, you have, and I love them, but even if you didn't I would still love you just as much."
Eames smiled even though Arthur couldn't see it. "Oh, good Lord, we really have become the 'you hang up first, no you hang up first' people, just like Nash kept saying we would. That's troubling."
Arthur laughed a little, but it died out quickly, leaving both of them in silence once again.
"Fuck…" Arthur said just as Eames was about to ask if he was still awake. "This whole 'you being gone' thing is the absolute worst… I hate it… I really miss you. This place is really empty when I'm here by myself… Get back here soon, okay?"
"It won't be long now, I promise," Eames said quietly. "I hate this part too, but we promised each other and ourselves that we'd stick with it. These are our jobs, and the love of performing is worth it. We always get to see each other again."
"I know…"
Quiet.
"Eames…" Arthur said, and he knew that tone of voice after being with him so long. He knew what pleased Arthur and how he asked for it without even using words now.
Eames settled back down on the bed with a sigh and started to sing to him, "I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things; we can do the tango just for two. I can serenade and gently play on your heartstrings, be a Valentino just for you…"
Arthur snorted at the choice of song. "What is it with you and Queen lately, anyways, Eames? Last month when you came to visit, you fucked me to We Are the Champions."
"Would you rather I sang Killer Queen or Fat-Bottomed Girls?"
"I'd rather you be here singing me anything. I'd even let you fuck me to We Are the Champions again, and you know how ridiculous I thought that was."
"I like Queen because you told me they were one of your favorites. I'm no Freddie Mercury though, I suppose."
Arthur giggled, and oh yes, he was most definitely drunk. "You're my favorite," he said sleepily.
Eames shifted and sang, "When I'm not with you, I think of you always… I miss you… When I'm not with you, think of me always, I love you…"
The soft breathing he heard on the other end of the line signaled that Arthur had fallen asleep, but instead of hanging up, Eames just listened for a little while, enjoying the ability to imagine he was right next to him.
"Oh, Arthur, did you ever think it would be quite this grand?" he asked, knowing he wouldn't answer. "You really don't do anything halfway either, do you, darling?"
…and if he was a little late for the sound check at the concert the next day, none of his band mates called him on it. He still made it back from Chicago on time for the concert anyway, and it's not like he needed to practice the songs that he wrote all that much these days.
They also didn't make any show of the fact that Arthur was with him, or the fact that he was wearing one of Eames's silver, black jeweled ring on his left ring finger.
Everything's all right, just hold on tight; that's because I'm a good old-fashioned lover boy.
THUUHHH EEEEENNNDDD
Yeah, the epilogue isn't really important to the plot. Technically you can stop after chapter 15, but I figured I'd throw in this little gem because I love you all so much, and I show it with angst followed by massive amounts of fluff. Also, I couldn't help but let my undying love for Queen sneak its way in here as well.
So yeah, I probably would have had this done sooner, but I kept getting distracted by things, particularly the fact that paisleydreaming was reading this fic and actually liveblogging it as she did. How cool is that? I don't actually have a tumblr, so I just thanked her with a signed comment in her askbox, and people got all excited about me saying so... and I was all "AM I FAMOUS ON TUMBLR?!?!?!?!" Well, the answer is decidedly no, but it was still cool to feel so popular for a second or two. This story has done a whole lot for me actually. It's not only the longest fanfic I've written for the Inception fandom (unless you count Bite Hard and GUP together, but technically they are separate), and it's done way, way better than I could have possibly expected. To be honest, when I started it, I was hoping to write something comedic and light-hearted, but of course the angst fairy waved her magic wand and made this terribly dramatic. Go figure. Still, I'm happy with how it turned out, and I really appreciate the massive amounts of love and support I've gotten for this fic. I really hope to keep pleasing you guys with more fic (and trust me, I've got some ideas, including another AU I bet many of you can get excited about).
So yeah, this epilogue's for all of you lovely, wonderful fans. I wouldn't be writing all of this without you guys. ILU.
Author: osaki_nana_707
Word count: 2,891
Pairings/Characters: ArthurxEames, mention of YusufxAriadne
Rating: NC-17(this part)
Warnings: language, smut, alcohol use, dub-con, Arthur being an asshole, leather pants, un-betaed
Summary: AU. Arthur is a concert violinist at a prestigious arts college. His best (and only) friend Ariadne convinces him to come with her to a rock concert, aka his worst nightmare. He does seem to be quite taken with the charismatic lead guitarist though... or rather, the guitarist seems to be quite taken by him.
Bonus Track: Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy
Eames was flipping through his scrapbook when his mobile phone started to ring. His hand paused over the clipping of the article from People magazine where Arthur had been interviewed over three years ago over their relationship. He'd so smoothly brushed over the fact that he and Eames had been a bit hasty in their relationship, coming up with a story about how they'd met in Paris a year before when Arthur's class had been on a field trip and how they'd been communicating ever since. It had been a rather successful lie since both Eames and Arthur really had happened to be in Paris at the same time. Arthur was really too smart for his own good.
Currently, Eames was in New York, sprawled out in his hotel bed after a very successful concert with the band. He would have gone drinking with the Yusuf, but Ariadne happened to be in New York for work, so he figured he'd leave the two alone so that they could do lovey-dovey things. He and Nash were on better terms, sure, but they still didn't do too well when it was just the two of them, and Cobb was off at an interview, talking about his and Mal's baby daughter, Phillipa who was entirely too cute for her own good.
It didn't matter. Eames was perfectly content with relaxing.
"Hello?" he answered the phone. "Arthur?"
"Hey there," Arthur replied from the other line, sounding a little out of breath. "How'd the concert go?"
"Standing O and three encores," Eames replied with a laugh. "How's Chicago?"
"Same old, same old," Arthur said. "Robert, Ally, and the others and I just got back from a gig too."
Arthur played violin in the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, just like he'd always wanted (they'd been knocking on his door and calling him up since the S.O.S. concert all those years ago), and during his free time he and some of his friends from college that were also living in Chicago (plus one or two he'd met there) had a band where they performed contemporary songs using classical instruments. They were actually making quite a splash in the music scene there, their first EP selling out on their website after only an afternoon.
"I imagine it went well?" Eames asked.
"Extremely. I missed you though when we were playing No Fault of Mine."
"I'm assuming that's why you've called me. Usually you wait for me to call you or show up at home."
Eames and Arthur had several houses all over the world, but Arthur generally stayed at the one in Chicago. It was modest, not at all flashy with it being only one floor and a tall electrified gate to keep out intruders. Arthur had explained to Eames that they didn't need anything too ridiculous (though Arthur hadn't seen the mansion in the English countryside yet-he didn't even know about it yet, actually but he would come Christmastime. Arthur had a falling out with his parents, so he spent the holidays with Eames's folks).
"I just don't want to call you when you're busy," Arthur replied with a sigh. "When will you be back anyways?"
"The tour finishes up in just two weeks. I'll be back in Chicago then, darling."
"What are you going to do when you get back here to me?" Arthur asked, and Eames could hear the breathless smile on Arthur's face.
…and then he realized, "Arthur, are you touching yourself right now?"
Arthur grunted in response, "Well, I have to do something, right?" and started to moan.
"But… you never touch yourself," Eames said, stunned.
"I've actually gotten pretty-ah-pretty good at it with all this separation we have to do. I just decided not to let you know until now."
"Why, pet?" Eames asked, grinning filthily. "Afraid I'd be jealous of your pretty little hand?"
"Didn't want you to think I was so pathetic," Arthur gasped, and Eames could imagine him arching off of the mattress, sweat soaking the navy sheets beneath him.
"Pathetic? You've got to be fucking kidding me, Arthur! After three years, you're still that insecure about what I think of you?"
"Fuck-Eames, don't turn it into an argument," Arthur countered, but Eames had a feeling he hadn't slowed down, and that his brain was quickly scrambling his vocabulary words.
"Arthur, you don't think I do it? Fuck, you'd probably have an easier time figuring out what days I don't, rather than the days I do. I've told you before that it's all right, and you're not pathetic at all for doing it. I'd much rather you be fucking your hand rather than some other bloke, you know."
"Okay, clearly you are not touching yourself like I am because you're trying to have a goddamned conversation," Arthur complained, and maybe he still had a little vocabulary left in him after all. Leave it to Arthur and his laser focus to be able to accomplish such a feat.
"I always think of you," Eames replied huskily, deciding that he should help Arthur along and they could talk about his still occasional self-esteem issues later. While he was at it, he decided to knock one out for himself as well, tugging down his underwear and sweatpants with his free hand.
Arthur let out a small choked sound but tried to stifle it. Apparently, he thought he needed to not be swayed by Eames because Eames had gone and made him mad.
Oh, a challenge is it? Eames thought, a wicked smile hurting his cheeks as he continued, "Every time, Arthur. I close my eyes and pretend that it's your hand touching me, and then I pretend that it's your pretty little arse, and then I imagine those sounds you make and have to keep myself from coming just from those memories alone."
Arthur mewled.
Eames could get used to this game.
"Oh, yeah," Eames persisted, "you should see the things I dream up about us when I'm alone, love. Sometimes I have to keep a grip on this overactive imagination of mind so I can stop myself from thinking about fucking you until you scream while I'm on stage. Oh, yes, you know I think about fucking you on stage in front of thousands of people because you are a bloody work of art when you're undone, aren't you-"
"Oh, God," Arthur moaned, and the satisfaction that Eames was winning the game wasn't nearly as good as the sound of Arthur's voice, even if it did make it very hard (pun not intended but definitely implied) to concentrate.
"I would fuck you against the drums and against the amplifiers, and you'd pull the curtains and moan and beg for me while everyone watched including the band and the crew and all of those people, watching you like you're the most beautiful thing they've ever seen, so jealous that they can't be like us. Even the protestors would be salivating at the sight of you writhing underneath me, wrapped in a microphone cord and-"
"Oh… Oh, fuck, Eames, I-fuck, why the fuck aren't you here with me? Ohh…"
"I'd fuck you until you came, and then I'd jerk you off until you were hard again, and I'd swallow you down straight to the hilt and suck you off until you came down my throat and were sobbing my name, and then everyone would fucking applaud-"
Arthur shouted out and then groaned Eames's name, and Eames could just see him spilling all over himself, jaw slack, eyes rolling back in his head, and the image was so vivid in Eames's head that his hips stuttered, and he fell over the edge as well, left sprawled out and gasping on the hotel's mattress.
"You still there?" Eames asked after he caught his breath.
"Y-yeah," came Arthur's reply, sounding sated and no longer angry in the slightest. "Yeah, I'm still here. Sorry."
"Don't be," Eames chuckled before lapsing into a long moment of silence. After that moment passed, he quietly said, "I miss you."
"I miss you too," Arthur said, voice taking on the sleepy quality it usually did after he'd finished up. "Keep talking… Keep me awake… I need to get in the shower. I don't want to fall asleep like this."
"Do you ever think of what would have happened if we hadn't gotten back together?" Eames asked, and even he wasn't even sure what prompted it.
"Uh… well, for starters I wouldn't need a big electrified gate around the house to protect me from paparazzi, I probably would have been fired from the Chicago Symphony Orchestra for being too depressing to watch, and I possibly would have been living with my parents until I put a gun to my head."
"That's… wow, well I'm glad we did the phone sex thing before you told me that because if I had a boner right now it would have been gone instantly. That is the saddest bloody thing I've ever heard."
"Sorry-"
"No, no, it just… Well, it just makes me so grateful that we're together. I'd probably be just as miserable without you," Eames admitted, and he knew that was the truth. Three years into the relationship, he had absolutely no idea how he had ever lived without Arthur. Hell, he'd known that from nearly the beginning, but the feeling only solidified itself more and more over time.
"Oh, please," Arthur scoffed good-humoredly. "You don't think you could find another fine piece of ass like mine in your magnificent worldly travels?"
"Perhaps there are other arses," Eames admitted with a nod. "I haven't seen one yet, but the idea is perfectly possible. However, if you think I fell in love with you just because of your arse, either you've got far too much a superiority complex about it or I'm just terrible at expressing myself."
Arthur laughed a little, voice scratchy as he tried not to drift off. "What, you think you wouldn't have found someone else if you'd stayed dumped? You don't think you would have started to hate me after a while?"
Eames could sense that Arthur was pretending not to be serious, that they were just conversing, but he knew Arthur well enough to know that this bothered him, probably had been for quite some time. "Of course not," Eames assured him. "Darling… you're the only man I've ever loved, and you're the only one I ever will. I don't picture my life without you in it."
"You're just saying that-"
"I am not," Eames said, stern but gentle. "I mean it, Arthur. You know how much I love you, and you know that I love you for all of your perfections and all of your faults. I love you when you smile and even when you're angry with me. I love the little wrinkle you get between your eyebrows when you're upset and the way you stick your tongue out between your teeth when you do something silly, and I love how when you nod off in the middle of a movie after a long day your head automatically finds its way to my shoulder. I love that you drool and snore, and I love how anal retentive you are about your fingernails. I love how you organize your socks by color. I love how you always pick up on the second ring when I call, no matter what you're doing. I love you, Arthur, and everything about you. Don't make me have to say it again because I didn't write all of that down and it's a lot of words for me."
There was a long moment of silence on the other end of the line, and it made Eames agitated. "You didn't fall asleep while I was confessing my love, did you? I'll have you know that's just right-"
"Marry me."
"What?" Eames asked. He couldn't have heard that right.
"Seriously. Fuck it, why don't we just do it already? It's legal in the UK, isn't it?"
"Civil unions are, and ah-Argentina, Belgium… uh… Mexico City, some states, are you really fucking serious?"
"What, you don't want to?" Arthur asked, voice quiet, hesitant.
"No, no, of course I do. I just never expected that you would propose to me, and especially over the phone like this. I was just a little caught off guard is all. We should do this whole proposal thing again properly, preferably face to face and with the appropriate jewelry."
"I know… I just… I guess I just wanted you to know that I… I wouldn't refuse you if you asked me… that I… that I want to…"
Eames crawled off of the mattress, grabbing tissues to clean himself up with and said, "I do to. My family's going to absolutely love this, by the way. You know how much they like you."
"Eames?" Arthur said unsurely.
"Yes, darling?"
"I have to admit that I'm kind of horrendously drunk right now."
So, his slurred speech wasn't just from exhaustion.
Eames burst out laughing. "Oh, love!" he laughed. "Don't act so bloody ashamed! You're an adult. You can drink all you want. If I may remind you, the first time we had sex and the first time we both decided we were in love, you were drunk. Alcohol makes you terribly honest… Even if you did wake up tomorrow and not remember asking me to marry you, I'd know you meant it."
"I was worried that-"
"You worry too much," Eames said, pulling his underwear and sweatpants back up. "I actually kind of hope that you don't remember so that I can still surprise you at some point."
"I don't need any surprises," Arthur said genuinely. "I just need you. I don't need roses or candy or sappy love songs or any of that stupid stuff."
"I have written you plenty of songs."
"Yes, you have, and I love them, but even if you didn't I would still love you just as much."
Eames smiled even though Arthur couldn't see it. "Oh, good Lord, we really have become the 'you hang up first, no you hang up first' people, just like Nash kept saying we would. That's troubling."
Arthur laughed a little, but it died out quickly, leaving both of them in silence once again.
"Fuck…" Arthur said just as Eames was about to ask if he was still awake. "This whole 'you being gone' thing is the absolute worst… I hate it… I really miss you. This place is really empty when I'm here by myself… Get back here soon, okay?"
"It won't be long now, I promise," Eames said quietly. "I hate this part too, but we promised each other and ourselves that we'd stick with it. These are our jobs, and the love of performing is worth it. We always get to see each other again."
"I know…"
Quiet.
"Eames…" Arthur said, and he knew that tone of voice after being with him so long. He knew what pleased Arthur and how he asked for it without even using words now.
Eames settled back down on the bed with a sigh and started to sing to him, "I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things; we can do the tango just for two. I can serenade and gently play on your heartstrings, be a Valentino just for you…"
Arthur snorted at the choice of song. "What is it with you and Queen lately, anyways, Eames? Last month when you came to visit, you fucked me to We Are the Champions."
"Would you rather I sang Killer Queen or Fat-Bottomed Girls?"
"I'd rather you be here singing me anything. I'd even let you fuck me to We Are the Champions again, and you know how ridiculous I thought that was."
"I like Queen because you told me they were one of your favorites. I'm no Freddie Mercury though, I suppose."
Arthur giggled, and oh yes, he was most definitely drunk. "You're my favorite," he said sleepily.
Eames shifted and sang, "When I'm not with you, I think of you always… I miss you… When I'm not with you, think of me always, I love you…"
The soft breathing he heard on the other end of the line signaled that Arthur had fallen asleep, but instead of hanging up, Eames just listened for a little while, enjoying the ability to imagine he was right next to him.
"Oh, Arthur, did you ever think it would be quite this grand?" he asked, knowing he wouldn't answer. "You really don't do anything halfway either, do you, darling?"
…and if he was a little late for the sound check at the concert the next day, none of his band mates called him on it. He still made it back from Chicago on time for the concert anyway, and it's not like he needed to practice the songs that he wrote all that much these days.
They also didn't make any show of the fact that Arthur was with him, or the fact that he was wearing one of Eames's silver, black jeweled ring on his left ring finger.
Everything's all right, just hold on tight; that's because I'm a good old-fashioned lover boy.
THUUHHH EEEEENNNDDD
Yeah, the epilogue isn't really important to the plot. Technically you can stop after chapter 15, but I figured I'd throw in this little gem because I love you all so much, and I show it with angst followed by massive amounts of fluff. Also, I couldn't help but let my undying love for Queen sneak its way in here as well.
So yeah, I probably would have had this done sooner, but I kept getting distracted by things, particularly the fact that paisleydreaming was reading this fic and actually liveblogging it as she did. How cool is that? I don't actually have a tumblr, so I just thanked her with a signed comment in her askbox, and people got all excited about me saying so... and I was all "AM I FAMOUS ON TUMBLR?!?!?!?!" Well, the answer is decidedly no, but it was still cool to feel so popular for a second or two. This story has done a whole lot for me actually. It's not only the longest fanfic I've written for the Inception fandom (unless you count Bite Hard and GUP together, but technically they are separate), and it's done way, way better than I could have possibly expected. To be honest, when I started it, I was hoping to write something comedic and light-hearted, but of course the angst fairy waved her magic wand and made this terribly dramatic. Go figure. Still, I'm happy with how it turned out, and I really appreciate the massive amounts of love and support I've gotten for this fic. I really hope to keep pleasing you guys with more fic (and trust me, I've got some ideas, including another AU I bet many of you can get excited about).
So yeah, this epilogue's for all of you lovely, wonderful fans. I wouldn't be writing all of this without you guys. ILU.