Inception/Mysterious Skin - Every Me and Every You (27/30)
Title: Every Me and Every You (27/30)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Fandom: Inception/Mysterious Skin fusion
Word count: 3,224
Pairing: Neil/Eames
Rating: R
Warnings: language, allusions to rape,child molestation, and prostitution
Summary: Neil McCormick is fraying at the seams. Then he meets Eames, professional dreamer.
Neil picked up a bouquet of flowers on the way to the grave site. It was different types of bright and beautiful flowers, a conglomerate of different ones Neil was sure Wendy would pretend not to like but actually would love. They smelled sweetly, but mostly they just made Neil's eyes burn.
Wendy's grave was near the back of the cemetery, her headstone sitting in the dirt with her name printed across it in all capital letters. WENDY PETERSON. BELOVED DAUGHTER AND FRIEND.
Neil wanted to spit on it, knowing her parents had probably had it carved that way. They had always had problems with Wendy, who she hung out with, how she dressed. They couldn't even care enough to bring her home for Christmas. They had probably been glad to be rid of her when she ran off to New York and only now felt guilty about that.
The wind ruffled Neil's hair and broke a few petals off of the flowers he'd brought, carrying them across the grass. He watched them go, swallowing the bile that rose up in his throat.
This cold marble stone wasn't Wendy. She would have hated it, would have wanted something more glamorous and cool. She had never made any plans though. She had been too young to even think about that sort of thing… and Neil had been the reason she was gone now, six feet under to one day be completely forgotten about except for the occasional passerby who would whisper, "Oh, look how young she was."
Neil sat down at the foot of her grave, pulling his knees up to his chest. He thought about those zombie movies he and Wendy and Eric had always liked to watch, how they would come clawing their way out of their graves, moaning and in search of dinner. Wendy had always proclaimed that she had better sense than to become a zombie, that she would be the one at the end of the movie who was alive. Neil had believed that, knowing how resourceful she was. He just wished that she would come back, even if she was a zombie. He would let her devour his flesh for causing her death to start with, and then they could be together again. The world just didn't feel right without her in his peripheral. He knew it was selfish, but he still needed her, and it just wasn't fair.
He'd never been the most selfless person anyway.
"Hey, Eric," Neil heard from behind him. "Can you give us a few minutes?"
There was a mumbled reply and then Neil heard Eric sauntering away, sniffling. A moment later Brian was sitting down next to Neil, mirroring the way he was sitting.
"So," Brian said.
"Yeah," Neil replied glumly.
Silence passed between them.
"I'm sorry I punched you," Neil offered.
"I know why you did," Brian responded, surprisingly. "I was out of line to… to say what I did. I misunderstood, and I was really angry, and I just wanted to… blame someone I could see face to face."
Neil glanced at him, noticed that Brian's gaze was very far away. Without asking, Neil just knew he was replaying those memories, probably did all the time. He had caused those as well. He had all but murdered Brian too, hadn't he? The boy looked like he might have been on the mend, but there was definitely permanent damage.
"I should have tried to stop him," Neil said. "I should have just left you at the baseball field. I shouldn't have pointed you out-"
"What's done is done," Brian replied, picking up a pebble and rolling it around in his hand, staring at the ground. "You just wanted to please him. I think he might have had you brainwashed."
Neil couldn't help but tense at that, a knee-jerk reaction to defend the man.
Brian turned his gaze on Neil and said, "You wanted to believe he loved you… but you don't pay people that you love to touch you. You don't manipulate people you love to do things for them… That's not love."
Neil felt tears well in his eyes, but he didn't let them fall. "So, what is love then? If you're so wise?"
Brian just shook his head, looking back into that unfathomable distance. "I don't know," he admitted. "It's probably different for everyone. For me, it's… someone who makes those memories not hurt so much just by being close by."
Neil couldn't help but immediately think of Eames.
"Yeah, I guess that works," Neil said, looking into that distance with Brian to see what he could see. "It doesn't matter though. It doesn't matter that I was brainwashed or whatever. I'm still sorry."
"I'm sorry too," Brian mumbled, "about your friend."
Neil sniffed and realized there were tears on his face. He didn't bother to wipe them away. "So, you went to the funeral."
"Yeah," Brian said. "For Eric. He was a mess, and I figured that since I'd been torturing him for months before that I owed him some support. She was really beautiful. They had her lips all painted red like an old movie star, and her hair was brushed and laying against her shoulders. She even had rouge on her cheeks. She looked alive, looked like she was just sleeping."
Neil made a small sound, and suddenly his head was on Brian's shoulder… and Brian, this person that Neil barely knew, this boy that had only associated with Neil under the most unfortunate of circumstances, put his arm around Neil and held him while he cried. Brian petted Neil's hair and stayed silent just like Neil had that night, and Neil could feel how apologetic Brian was even though he hadn't been involved.
For the second time in his life, Neil wished that he could disappear, leave behind this pain and grief and fucked up suffering. He wanted to escape from the terrible mistakes he'd made, to go back in time and save himself, save Brian, save Wendy.
There was nothing he could do though.
All he could hope for now was that fresh start that Wendy had so desperately wanted for him.
He really didn't want to be Neil McCormick anymore.
The drive back to Neil's house was quiet but a bit more relaxed than the drive there. Eric seemed to notice that whatever bad blood had been between Neil and Brian was now gone. Neil knew they weren't quite friends, he and Brian, but he knew they would always share a connection. If this dive into his subconscious erased absolutely everything that he once had been, he knew he would still be linked with Brian.
Eric stopped at the grocery store and picked up tubs of ice cream and snagged a few different movies from the video rental store. He apparently had every intention of making sure Neil did what he said he was going to do.
From there it was back to Monroe Street where they found Eames and Neil's mother outside, sharing a cigarette while they waited for their group to return. When Neil got out of the car he didn't go directly towards the house, instead going back into his mother's arms. He figured he should get as much of it in as he could before tomorrow. They all went inside together, it seeming to be an unspoken agreement that Brian and Eric were staying.
Nobody talked about what was going to happen even though it hung over all of them like a heavy black cloud. Neil was pretty sure that all of them, himself included, had mastered the task of pretending nothing was wrong, so everyone still seemed to be able to enjoy the festivities. Sometime around midnight they ordered a pizza and devoured it within ten minutes, and then there was beer drinking (everyone but Ellen who was apparently twelve-stepping again) and more ice cream. Honestly Neil felt like vomiting, but he was content to be sitting on the floor with his head between Eames's knees, letting the man brush his hair back off of his forehead. Even though he knew that this only continued because ending it would mean facing the future, Neil couldn't find it in him to mind too much.
He still wished Wendy could have been there.
Around three a.m., Eric rolled a joint and passed it around, all of them lazing in front of the television as infomercials chattered on about their amazing new products. Neil's mom had never cared about weed smoking and even took a puff or two herself, but for once Neil didn't want it. He'd lost his taste for the drugs and alcohol after using them in such excess after Wendy's untimely end. He was physically drooping by then, his words slurring together even though he'd only had one or two beers. He was absolutely exhausted.
The joint burned away and the laughter died. Brian was dozing with his head in Eric's lap. The sun would probably be up in an hour or so, Neil thought.
…and he also thought about what Brian had said earlier, the thing about love. The people Brian loved didn't take the memories away, but they dulled the sting of the blow. Neil couldn't help but remember how much better he felt when Eames took care of him, how Eames soothed the ache in a way that no amount of drugs or alcohol or sex could do. He remembered how Wendy's presence had made Neil's life easier since she never judged him for his past. Eric had been around as much as possible after Wendy had left for New York, keeping Neil from being alone with his thoughts. His mother had instantly attempted to take all of Neil's guilt and put it on herself because she didn't want him to suffer. Brian had held him at the grave even though out of all the people Neil didn't deserve it from it was Brian.
There, sitting in that room just before dawn, Neil could still feel the pain and the sadness, but in that moment it wasn't overwhelming him. Eames's hand in his hair was enough to keep the dark thoughts at bay.
He looked around the room to find that everyone had drifted off to sleep, his mother's head against Eames's shoulder, Eric's lolled back against the coffee table in a rather undignified way, Eames's chin tilted down onto his chest.
Neil let a small, sad smile tug at his lips, and he whispered, "I love you," to none of them in particular.
Neil chain smoked an entire pack of cigarettes throughout the early morning since he didn't want to fall asleep. He left everyone in the living room to return to his bedroom and found himself looking through all of the things he'd ever owned, everything that had helped to mold him into Neil McCormick.
Baseball trophies and old photographs and tapes with Coach's voice. Porno magazines and small stacks of bills and a fake I.D.. Thrift store t-shirts. A photograph of Wendy that she'd penned her name onto like a movie star. Ticket stubs. Receipts.
Neil might have moved to New York months ago, and he might vanish after Eames went digging around in his brain, but he realized that no matter what happened to him, he would always still be here in this room. This was where his tome was written; this was the everlasting museum to Neil McCormick and his life. Everything that he had kept had some sort of significance, even if it was lost on him now.
For a moment he fantasized that millions of years after he was gone, archaeologists would come across the remains of this house and find Neil's things, that they would write their own stories about who he had been and what he had done. Perhaps they would think he was something great. Maybe they would think he was a baseball player.
It was a stupid thought. He knew that eventually someone else would probably move into this house, lots of different people would, and the house might even eventually be torn down. He knew these things would all be worn away or tossed out at some point. People who hung onto everything eventually ran out of room, after all.
It was ridiculous, but he liked the idea, so he kept it.
To make his mark, he dug out a pen from one of his drawers, and he slipped into the closet where he scrawled on the wall, Here lies Neil McCormick. His body is still alive, but who the hell knows what became of the rest of him?
He snorted and tossed the pen aside, patting the wall almost affectionately as he exited the closet. Eames was waiting for him in the doorway, still looking a bit drowsy.
"Morning," Eames said.
"Yes, it is," Neil replied blandly.
Eames looked around the room, taking a few steps further inside. "How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Well, I haven't slept since before we left for Hutchinson and my best friend is dead, but overall a little bit better than I have," Neil said and shut his bedroom door so that the two of them were sealed off from the rest of the house. "You?"
"Not quite sure how to describe it," Eames said, turning around to face Neil. "A little nervous and afraid… hopeful… cautiously optimistic?"
"You don't have to do this," Neil told him softly. "You can use my money to hire other people to go into my head."
"Not a chance," Eames responded assuredly. "I owe this to you. I created this mess that's going on inside your head by stupidly assuming that it would all work itself out. I should have tried to help you from the beginning."
"Don't be an idiot. I never would have let you help me from the beginning." Neil playfully shoved Eames's shoulder, and Eames gave him a halfhearted smile. They both knew it was true. "Before we do this… how about one more time? You and me, um, on the bed."
Eames carded his fingers through Neil's hair, scratched at his scalp. "That's the first time I've been offered sex from a mark."
"It might be our last chance."
Eames's expression just barely shifted towards one of pain, and Neil knew that he was holding back on it for his sake. "I'm not entirely sure about that." He kissed Neil's forehead, his cheek, his lips. "If you fall into Limbo, I'm going after you, you hear me?"
Neil let his tongue slide along Eames's bottom lip and then pressed his lips to the corner of Eames's mouth. "If you do that, I'll kill you," he told Eames. "Don't give up your life and your future just because of me."
"See, there's the problem," Eames told him, unbuttoning Neil's shirt while trailing kisses down his neck. "I don't think I'd very much like to see my life and future without you being a part of it in some sense. Even if I can't have you like this, I want you there."
Eames's fingers were cold and shaking a little as they slipped across Neil's skin, touching as much of him as they could.
"The thing is," Eames continued, voice never faltering despite the fact that Neil could feel the fear and uncertainty in his hands, "you keep thinking that you're just somebody, but to me you're much more than that."
"Your prize?" Neil guessed, voice erring on the side of sarcasm despite himself.
"No," Eames said, stepping back to look into Neil's eyes, "if you were a prize, that would imply you were an object and not the incredible human being I see before me."
"I'm not incredible, Eames," Neil said honestly. "I mean, if you'd told me that a few months ago, I would have agreed with you, but we both know it's not true. I might not be ordinary, but I'm not incredible."
"What would you use to describe yourself then?" Eames asked, slowly dropping to his knees to work at Neil's belt. Neil didn't feel powerful with Eames kneeling before him, not like with the johns of the past. He didn't feel like the king he used to feel like.
"What word I would use?" Neil clarified, eyelids drooping a bit as Eames pulled down his trousers and kissed his bare hip. "I don't know… probably… damaged."
Eames stood and Neil stepped out of the clothes that had bunched around his ankles. "Damaged works," Neil continued, "and undeserving is another good one, but… you know? I think I know the perfect word to describe me."
"And that would be?" Eames purred, pressing a kiss just behind Neil's ear.
"Arthur," he replied and felt Eames smile against his skin.
"Well, I like that much more than 'damaged' or 'undeserving'."
Neil toppled onto the bed, taking Eames with him, and then he proceeded to undress Eames as quickly as he could manage. He wanted to feel his skin against Eames's, to memorize it now in case he forgot. "I'm wrong," he told Eames as he skidded his hands over his chest and stomach. "Damaged and undeserving doesn't describe Arthur at all. In the end, Arthur's just another me that I made up. He's a forgery just like all of the faces you put on."
"For a forgery to be convincing, there has to be truth in it," Eames said and hefted Neil off so that he could roll on top of him. "You have to believe in it. Arthur is as real as you make him, Neil. You can be him if you want to be."
Neil wanted to believe that more than anything in the world, but he just couldn't be sure. There was no point in dwelling on it though since the future was pretty up in the air anyway, so instead he just dragged Eames down for a kiss and rocked his hips against his thigh.
In the end, it wasn't the most exciting fuck, nor was it the most mindblowing orgasm. They didn't have any supplies with them so they ended up rutting against each other more than anything, and both of them were still exhausted and stressed out. It reminded Neil of what he'd heard about teenage virgins fumbling around clumsily. The thought nearly made him laugh.
He stayed settled in Eames's arms after it was over, feeling him breathe softly into his hair, and he drew his name over Eames's chest with his fingertip. "No matter what happens," Neil said to him. "When this is over, you have to wake up, understand? I need someone to make sure Wendy's grave has flowers on it."
There was a moment of hesitation, but then Eames sighed and said, "I understand."
Neil didn't feel himself fall asleep, but he momentarily felt the prick of a needle in his arm. Darkness bled into light, and he opened his eyes to find himself standing on the playground of Carey Park where he'd turned tricks when he was younger. The equipment was rusted and falling apart, the grass dead, litter tumbling across the gravel… and there were holes in the sky like cigarette burns, the sickly smell of city pollution in the air, and patches of the ground stained brown with old blood.
He was dreaming.
Author: osaki_nana_707
Fandom: Inception/Mysterious Skin fusion
Word count: 3,224
Pairing: Neil/Eames
Rating: R
Warnings: language, allusions to rape,child molestation, and prostitution
Summary: Neil McCormick is fraying at the seams. Then he meets Eames, professional dreamer.
Neil picked up a bouquet of flowers on the way to the grave site. It was different types of bright and beautiful flowers, a conglomerate of different ones Neil was sure Wendy would pretend not to like but actually would love. They smelled sweetly, but mostly they just made Neil's eyes burn.
Wendy's grave was near the back of the cemetery, her headstone sitting in the dirt with her name printed across it in all capital letters. WENDY PETERSON. BELOVED DAUGHTER AND FRIEND.
Neil wanted to spit on it, knowing her parents had probably had it carved that way. They had always had problems with Wendy, who she hung out with, how she dressed. They couldn't even care enough to bring her home for Christmas. They had probably been glad to be rid of her when she ran off to New York and only now felt guilty about that.
The wind ruffled Neil's hair and broke a few petals off of the flowers he'd brought, carrying them across the grass. He watched them go, swallowing the bile that rose up in his throat.
This cold marble stone wasn't Wendy. She would have hated it, would have wanted something more glamorous and cool. She had never made any plans though. She had been too young to even think about that sort of thing… and Neil had been the reason she was gone now, six feet under to one day be completely forgotten about except for the occasional passerby who would whisper, "Oh, look how young she was."
Neil sat down at the foot of her grave, pulling his knees up to his chest. He thought about those zombie movies he and Wendy and Eric had always liked to watch, how they would come clawing their way out of their graves, moaning and in search of dinner. Wendy had always proclaimed that she had better sense than to become a zombie, that she would be the one at the end of the movie who was alive. Neil had believed that, knowing how resourceful she was. He just wished that she would come back, even if she was a zombie. He would let her devour his flesh for causing her death to start with, and then they could be together again. The world just didn't feel right without her in his peripheral. He knew it was selfish, but he still needed her, and it just wasn't fair.
He'd never been the most selfless person anyway.
"Hey, Eric," Neil heard from behind him. "Can you give us a few minutes?"
There was a mumbled reply and then Neil heard Eric sauntering away, sniffling. A moment later Brian was sitting down next to Neil, mirroring the way he was sitting.
"So," Brian said.
"Yeah," Neil replied glumly.
Silence passed between them.
"I'm sorry I punched you," Neil offered.
"I know why you did," Brian responded, surprisingly. "I was out of line to… to say what I did. I misunderstood, and I was really angry, and I just wanted to… blame someone I could see face to face."
Neil glanced at him, noticed that Brian's gaze was very far away. Without asking, Neil just knew he was replaying those memories, probably did all the time. He had caused those as well. He had all but murdered Brian too, hadn't he? The boy looked like he might have been on the mend, but there was definitely permanent damage.
"I should have tried to stop him," Neil said. "I should have just left you at the baseball field. I shouldn't have pointed you out-"
"What's done is done," Brian replied, picking up a pebble and rolling it around in his hand, staring at the ground. "You just wanted to please him. I think he might have had you brainwashed."
Neil couldn't help but tense at that, a knee-jerk reaction to defend the man.
Brian turned his gaze on Neil and said, "You wanted to believe he loved you… but you don't pay people that you love to touch you. You don't manipulate people you love to do things for them… That's not love."
Neil felt tears well in his eyes, but he didn't let them fall. "So, what is love then? If you're so wise?"
Brian just shook his head, looking back into that unfathomable distance. "I don't know," he admitted. "It's probably different for everyone. For me, it's… someone who makes those memories not hurt so much just by being close by."
Neil couldn't help but immediately think of Eames.
"Yeah, I guess that works," Neil said, looking into that distance with Brian to see what he could see. "It doesn't matter though. It doesn't matter that I was brainwashed or whatever. I'm still sorry."
"I'm sorry too," Brian mumbled, "about your friend."
Neil sniffed and realized there were tears on his face. He didn't bother to wipe them away. "So, you went to the funeral."
"Yeah," Brian said. "For Eric. He was a mess, and I figured that since I'd been torturing him for months before that I owed him some support. She was really beautiful. They had her lips all painted red like an old movie star, and her hair was brushed and laying against her shoulders. She even had rouge on her cheeks. She looked alive, looked like she was just sleeping."
Neil made a small sound, and suddenly his head was on Brian's shoulder… and Brian, this person that Neil barely knew, this boy that had only associated with Neil under the most unfortunate of circumstances, put his arm around Neil and held him while he cried. Brian petted Neil's hair and stayed silent just like Neil had that night, and Neil could feel how apologetic Brian was even though he hadn't been involved.
For the second time in his life, Neil wished that he could disappear, leave behind this pain and grief and fucked up suffering. He wanted to escape from the terrible mistakes he'd made, to go back in time and save himself, save Brian, save Wendy.
There was nothing he could do though.
All he could hope for now was that fresh start that Wendy had so desperately wanted for him.
He really didn't want to be Neil McCormick anymore.
The drive back to Neil's house was quiet but a bit more relaxed than the drive there. Eric seemed to notice that whatever bad blood had been between Neil and Brian was now gone. Neil knew they weren't quite friends, he and Brian, but he knew they would always share a connection. If this dive into his subconscious erased absolutely everything that he once had been, he knew he would still be linked with Brian.
Eric stopped at the grocery store and picked up tubs of ice cream and snagged a few different movies from the video rental store. He apparently had every intention of making sure Neil did what he said he was going to do.
From there it was back to Monroe Street where they found Eames and Neil's mother outside, sharing a cigarette while they waited for their group to return. When Neil got out of the car he didn't go directly towards the house, instead going back into his mother's arms. He figured he should get as much of it in as he could before tomorrow. They all went inside together, it seeming to be an unspoken agreement that Brian and Eric were staying.
Nobody talked about what was going to happen even though it hung over all of them like a heavy black cloud. Neil was pretty sure that all of them, himself included, had mastered the task of pretending nothing was wrong, so everyone still seemed to be able to enjoy the festivities. Sometime around midnight they ordered a pizza and devoured it within ten minutes, and then there was beer drinking (everyone but Ellen who was apparently twelve-stepping again) and more ice cream. Honestly Neil felt like vomiting, but he was content to be sitting on the floor with his head between Eames's knees, letting the man brush his hair back off of his forehead. Even though he knew that this only continued because ending it would mean facing the future, Neil couldn't find it in him to mind too much.
He still wished Wendy could have been there.
Around three a.m., Eric rolled a joint and passed it around, all of them lazing in front of the television as infomercials chattered on about their amazing new products. Neil's mom had never cared about weed smoking and even took a puff or two herself, but for once Neil didn't want it. He'd lost his taste for the drugs and alcohol after using them in such excess after Wendy's untimely end. He was physically drooping by then, his words slurring together even though he'd only had one or two beers. He was absolutely exhausted.
The joint burned away and the laughter died. Brian was dozing with his head in Eric's lap. The sun would probably be up in an hour or so, Neil thought.
…and he also thought about what Brian had said earlier, the thing about love. The people Brian loved didn't take the memories away, but they dulled the sting of the blow. Neil couldn't help but remember how much better he felt when Eames took care of him, how Eames soothed the ache in a way that no amount of drugs or alcohol or sex could do. He remembered how Wendy's presence had made Neil's life easier since she never judged him for his past. Eric had been around as much as possible after Wendy had left for New York, keeping Neil from being alone with his thoughts. His mother had instantly attempted to take all of Neil's guilt and put it on herself because she didn't want him to suffer. Brian had held him at the grave even though out of all the people Neil didn't deserve it from it was Brian.
There, sitting in that room just before dawn, Neil could still feel the pain and the sadness, but in that moment it wasn't overwhelming him. Eames's hand in his hair was enough to keep the dark thoughts at bay.
He looked around the room to find that everyone had drifted off to sleep, his mother's head against Eames's shoulder, Eric's lolled back against the coffee table in a rather undignified way, Eames's chin tilted down onto his chest.
Neil let a small, sad smile tug at his lips, and he whispered, "I love you," to none of them in particular.
Neil chain smoked an entire pack of cigarettes throughout the early morning since he didn't want to fall asleep. He left everyone in the living room to return to his bedroom and found himself looking through all of the things he'd ever owned, everything that had helped to mold him into Neil McCormick.
Baseball trophies and old photographs and tapes with Coach's voice. Porno magazines and small stacks of bills and a fake I.D.. Thrift store t-shirts. A photograph of Wendy that she'd penned her name onto like a movie star. Ticket stubs. Receipts.
Neil might have moved to New York months ago, and he might vanish after Eames went digging around in his brain, but he realized that no matter what happened to him, he would always still be here in this room. This was where his tome was written; this was the everlasting museum to Neil McCormick and his life. Everything that he had kept had some sort of significance, even if it was lost on him now.
For a moment he fantasized that millions of years after he was gone, archaeologists would come across the remains of this house and find Neil's things, that they would write their own stories about who he had been and what he had done. Perhaps they would think he was something great. Maybe they would think he was a baseball player.
It was a stupid thought. He knew that eventually someone else would probably move into this house, lots of different people would, and the house might even eventually be torn down. He knew these things would all be worn away or tossed out at some point. People who hung onto everything eventually ran out of room, after all.
It was ridiculous, but he liked the idea, so he kept it.
To make his mark, he dug out a pen from one of his drawers, and he slipped into the closet where he scrawled on the wall, Here lies Neil McCormick. His body is still alive, but who the hell knows what became of the rest of him?
He snorted and tossed the pen aside, patting the wall almost affectionately as he exited the closet. Eames was waiting for him in the doorway, still looking a bit drowsy.
"Morning," Eames said.
"Yes, it is," Neil replied blandly.
Eames looked around the room, taking a few steps further inside. "How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Well, I haven't slept since before we left for Hutchinson and my best friend is dead, but overall a little bit better than I have," Neil said and shut his bedroom door so that the two of them were sealed off from the rest of the house. "You?"
"Not quite sure how to describe it," Eames said, turning around to face Neil. "A little nervous and afraid… hopeful… cautiously optimistic?"
"You don't have to do this," Neil told him softly. "You can use my money to hire other people to go into my head."
"Not a chance," Eames responded assuredly. "I owe this to you. I created this mess that's going on inside your head by stupidly assuming that it would all work itself out. I should have tried to help you from the beginning."
"Don't be an idiot. I never would have let you help me from the beginning." Neil playfully shoved Eames's shoulder, and Eames gave him a halfhearted smile. They both knew it was true. "Before we do this… how about one more time? You and me, um, on the bed."
Eames carded his fingers through Neil's hair, scratched at his scalp. "That's the first time I've been offered sex from a mark."
"It might be our last chance."
Eames's expression just barely shifted towards one of pain, and Neil knew that he was holding back on it for his sake. "I'm not entirely sure about that." He kissed Neil's forehead, his cheek, his lips. "If you fall into Limbo, I'm going after you, you hear me?"
Neil let his tongue slide along Eames's bottom lip and then pressed his lips to the corner of Eames's mouth. "If you do that, I'll kill you," he told Eames. "Don't give up your life and your future just because of me."
"See, there's the problem," Eames told him, unbuttoning Neil's shirt while trailing kisses down his neck. "I don't think I'd very much like to see my life and future without you being a part of it in some sense. Even if I can't have you like this, I want you there."
Eames's fingers were cold and shaking a little as they slipped across Neil's skin, touching as much of him as they could.
"The thing is," Eames continued, voice never faltering despite the fact that Neil could feel the fear and uncertainty in his hands, "you keep thinking that you're just somebody, but to me you're much more than that."
"Your prize?" Neil guessed, voice erring on the side of sarcasm despite himself.
"No," Eames said, stepping back to look into Neil's eyes, "if you were a prize, that would imply you were an object and not the incredible human being I see before me."
"I'm not incredible, Eames," Neil said honestly. "I mean, if you'd told me that a few months ago, I would have agreed with you, but we both know it's not true. I might not be ordinary, but I'm not incredible."
"What would you use to describe yourself then?" Eames asked, slowly dropping to his knees to work at Neil's belt. Neil didn't feel powerful with Eames kneeling before him, not like with the johns of the past. He didn't feel like the king he used to feel like.
"What word I would use?" Neil clarified, eyelids drooping a bit as Eames pulled down his trousers and kissed his bare hip. "I don't know… probably… damaged."
Eames stood and Neil stepped out of the clothes that had bunched around his ankles. "Damaged works," Neil continued, "and undeserving is another good one, but… you know? I think I know the perfect word to describe me."
"And that would be?" Eames purred, pressing a kiss just behind Neil's ear.
"Arthur," he replied and felt Eames smile against his skin.
"Well, I like that much more than 'damaged' or 'undeserving'."
Neil toppled onto the bed, taking Eames with him, and then he proceeded to undress Eames as quickly as he could manage. He wanted to feel his skin against Eames's, to memorize it now in case he forgot. "I'm wrong," he told Eames as he skidded his hands over his chest and stomach. "Damaged and undeserving doesn't describe Arthur at all. In the end, Arthur's just another me that I made up. He's a forgery just like all of the faces you put on."
"For a forgery to be convincing, there has to be truth in it," Eames said and hefted Neil off so that he could roll on top of him. "You have to believe in it. Arthur is as real as you make him, Neil. You can be him if you want to be."
Neil wanted to believe that more than anything in the world, but he just couldn't be sure. There was no point in dwelling on it though since the future was pretty up in the air anyway, so instead he just dragged Eames down for a kiss and rocked his hips against his thigh.
In the end, it wasn't the most exciting fuck, nor was it the most mindblowing orgasm. They didn't have any supplies with them so they ended up rutting against each other more than anything, and both of them were still exhausted and stressed out. It reminded Neil of what he'd heard about teenage virgins fumbling around clumsily. The thought nearly made him laugh.
He stayed settled in Eames's arms after it was over, feeling him breathe softly into his hair, and he drew his name over Eames's chest with his fingertip. "No matter what happens," Neil said to him. "When this is over, you have to wake up, understand? I need someone to make sure Wendy's grave has flowers on it."
There was a moment of hesitation, but then Eames sighed and said, "I understand."
Neil didn't feel himself fall asleep, but he momentarily felt the prick of a needle in his arm. Darkness bled into light, and he opened his eyes to find himself standing on the playground of Carey Park where he'd turned tricks when he was younger. The equipment was rusted and falling apart, the grass dead, litter tumbling across the gravel… and there were holes in the sky like cigarette burns, the sickly smell of city pollution in the air, and patches of the ground stained brown with old blood.
He was dreaming.