oh my darling, oh my darling
Oh my daaaaarling, ClementineArthur. Nope, doesn't work. Oh well.
Title: Same Story, Different Year
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames, Arthur/Others, Eames/Others
Wordcount: 4,308
Rating: NC17
Summary: What they have is complicated. Or, rather, what they don't have.
Notes: I've been a little depressed by my current state of affairs as of late. That means I make the people who live inside of my head either angry, sad, or emotional so I don't have to be. I also subtitled this story "How Ariadne Learned to Love Dreamsharing and Arthur and Eames' Dysfunctional, Jealous, Star-Crossed Love" in my mind, because she's sprinkled all over the place here. Just take her appearance as the author loving the character and think no more on it.
Notes II: I thought I should fake warn that this is dialogue heavy.
Disclaimer: *checks* Nope, Nolan still owns em. I'm still just playing.
Notes III: Now this story comes with shiny pictures of all of their past/recent girl/boyfriends. At first I wanted to limit it to just Mitchell, but then I just couldn't stop myself once I started ;). Enjoy the pretty.
"Hey, you. I was just about to call and ask what you wanted for dinner. Pizza or chinese. Take your pick."
"Don't get angry."
"See, there you go already inducing anger by telling me not to be. Reverse psychology is one of the things you're best at. Along with researching, cock sucking, driving at one hundred and fifty with one hand one the wheel and the other on a Glock--"
"I've got an unusual situation going on at my apartment right now."
"Is it a nude situation? Because you know I'm always up for a little nudity."
"No it's not a-- actually, right now it is a nude situation. Technically."
"Okay, forget dinner. I'm just coming straight over."
"Don't."
"What? You're telling me that you've got a situation involving nudity and I'm not invited?"
"It's not my nudity."
"Okay, not angry. I'm honestly not. I'm intrigued. Alright, so nudity. Not your own. Handling it. Whose nudity does it involve?"
"This is the part I don't want you to get angry about."
"Don't even. Arthur... Tell me it's not who I think it is. Because if it is I might have to come over anyway just so I can shoot him. Or you."
"It's only for one night. He's out in the morning."
"The hell he is! He better be out right now, Arthur."
"You trust me enough not to get us all killed when everything goes pear shaped which, let's face it, happens way more often than I'm comfortable with lately."
"If you sleep with him--"
"Jonathon."
"If you sleep with him I am never working with you again. Forget working with you, I won't even speak to you."
"Do you honestly think I could do something like that to you?"
"Your ex-boyfriend, the one who you won't admit is actually an ex because, and I quote, 'your entire three year fling with him was strictly a sexual thing, no feelings involved whatsoever, stop looking at me like that,' is naked in your apartment and you're telling your current boyfriend that he can't come over."
"When you put it like that it sounds bad, I know."
"I'm hanging up now."
"Jonathon, trust me."
"Do you think I'm stupid? Everybody knows about the two of you. You can't keep your hands off of each other. Fuck, I knew getting involved with you was a bad idea. You've been taken for the past seven years."
"We were only sleeping together for three, and that was a long time ago."
"You've always been his."
"I've been yours for nine months, John."
"Not really. You've just been on loan from Eames, and now he's come to collect. Typical. The two of you can't let each other be happy without the other."
"You know, you're being pretty fucking difficult. We're not some star-crossed lovers out of some tragic sob story. He's my friend and he needs help. And if that's what you honestly fucking think then I'm glad you're telling me this now. Go fuck yourself."
"I hope he fucks you over again."
"Over my fucking desk."
That night Eames lays carefully on his side, mindful of the bruising on his ribs, while Arthur spoons up behind him. Eames cries silently into his elbow and Arthur's fingers trail softly down his face, brushing away as many tears as he can. They fuck slowly, tiredly, and when it's over Arthur falls asleep with his face pressed against the nape of Eames' neck, Eames' fingers curled loosely around his own where they rest on the bed next to his face.
In the morning Arthur makes coffee and they discuss the pros and cons of working in Manhattan while Eames looks in the paper for a new place to stay.
*
"That's quite a lovely design. Your own?"
"Oh, no. A friend did it for me. Thank you, though."
"Quite welcome. Mind if I join you?"
"It's a public bar, I can't really stop you from sitting wherever you feel like."
"What a welcoming invitation."
"Sorry, one tends to get dour when they've been recently fired."
"So sorry to hear that, love. Bar steward, could you serve up another of whatever the lady is having? And a scotch for myself, please."
"That's alright, you don't have to."
"No, please. It's the least I can do."
"Well, I'm not sleeping with you for it."
"I'm bereft. How about you trade it for the story behind that lovely tattoo?"
"I love lilies. That's pretty much the extent of it."
"That's all? In my experience, most tattoos have some kind of a story that goes with it."
"Not mine. Do you have any yourself, Bereft?"
"Several. Every one of them has some kind of a story."
"Tell me your favorite one. Oh, wow, okay. I already said I wasn't sleeping with you. You can keep your shirt on."
"Charming, love. Really."
"Ahh, I see. I take it your favorite is the one right over your heart?"
"Got it in one."
"What's the story behind that one?"
"The light of my life, fire of my loins."
"Tell me she's of age, at least."
"His name is Arthur and he's thirty-three."
"Oh, you're gay. That's explains the outfit, then."
"Real men wear paisley."
"Noted. So, this Arthur is a compulsive gambler?"
"Oh, if only he were to hear you say that. I'm fantasizing about the look he would have on his face right now."
"It's a public bar, and you can sit wherever you want, that much is true. But if you start having sexy day dreams about your husband while sitting next to me I might have to go sit somewhere you can't follow, like in the bathroom."
"Sorry, he's spectacular when he's in his 'righteous fury' mode. I'm actually the gambler. The die is his... his lucky charm, you could say."
"That's very sweet of the both of you. I might have to go to the bathroom to vomit, now."
"Hey, now. That's not very nice, darling."
"You should answer your phone. It's probably your Arthur now."
"Oh, no. It's my boyfriend Marcus."
"I thought your boyfriend was Arthur?"
"No, he's just the love of my life. We split up ages ago. He'll take me back. Again."
"Good luck with that."
"You have no idea how much I don't need that, but I appreciate it all the same, Lily."
Two weeks later, after Marcus had thrown a plate at Eames' head and instead hit his plasma television, Arthur rides him lazily on Eames' couch. The brand new LCD that Arthur bought him hangs on the wall across from them and Eames keeps looking at it longingly over Arthur's shoulder.
Arthur makes a crack about leaving Eames and the television alone. Eames grips his hips and sinks further into the cushions when Arthur rises a little bit too high and yanks him back down hard. Arthur let's out a little huff of laughter, or a stuttered groan, and fists one hand in the hair at the nape of Eames' neck.
*
"I'm not sure what to make of that."
"What, his dancing? It's a farce, Ariadne. He's just being a clown for Phillipa's sake."
"No, I meant. Aren't he and Arthur...?"
"Oh my God, lower your voice before they hear you."
"They're both here--"
"Shh!"
"They're both here with dates."
"We shouldn't be talking about this here. Or ever. That works too."
"Two months ago I worked a heist out of Singapore with a guy named Jonathon--"
"Rapley? That's Arthur's ex."
"How come I'm always the last one to know anything?"
"I told you first about Mal."
"That's different. I meant the gossipy stuff."
"You're still new to this."
"He got all flustered when I mentioned how Arthur and I kissed once and--"
"You what?!"
"Oh, so now it's okay for everyone to be looking at us?"
"You and Arthur--"
"No, not like that, get the bottle out of your ass. We were trying to distract the projections."
"Arthur's such a little flirt."
"Jonathon said something about 'good luck with that, don't let Eames find out,' which got me thinking."
"You shouldn't do too much of that."
"I thought they were a little too familiar with each other during that whole inception heist."
"You've got to stop calling them heists."
"I just figured they were on a break back then. And then in Caravelas they were so aggressively flirtacious towards each other, I thought they'd gotten back together."
"I know for a fact that Eames was dating a french model when they were in Brazil."
"And now they're practically on top of each other in front of their dates at your daughter's birthday party."
"What was the point of this conversation?"
"How long has this been going on?"
"They've been playing with each other for about ten years, on and off."
"Ten years? Jesus."
"What they have is complicated. Or, rather, what they don't have."
"I just thought Eames was a flirt and Arthur was distant."
"Never said that part wasn't true."
That night, after Arthur says goodnight to Ashley and after Eames drops Lydia off at her sister's house, Arthur screws Eames against the door to his hotel room. Eames raises a foot and places it on the seat of the chair, knocked over next to the door in their haste, and they both groan at the new angle. Arthur pants into Eames' neck and Eames muffles his moans into his forearm and comes all over the door.
The next day they go right back over to Cobb's and play with Phillipa and all of her new presents. Eames is sitting in a truly tiny chair (sipping green tea from a cup the size of a golf ball with a purple feather boa around his neck, she's happy to see) when Ariadne walks in.
Across from him is Arthur, sporting a large white hat, and Cobb is next to him with a tiara on his head and a set of pearls around his neck. Phillipa sits in the center, preening in her Batgirl cape, next to a huge pink bear. It's fluffy and wearing a tutu.
All four of them have bright pink lipstick on their lips.
Eames gets up to serve them all cookies and when Ariadne takes a seat at the table, trading her orange and white scarf for two of Phillipa's clunky bracelets, she notices that he gives Arthur two.
*
"I'm telling you, it won't sodding work."
"Clearly you've never met Mitchell."
"Clearly you want me to stab you in the face."
"Ladies, could we get back to the matter at hand?"
"Oh can it, Dexter. Mitchell is one of the most competent extractors I've worked with."
"And you've worked with so many sane ones. Diego, Cobb, Sylvia, Jonathon--"
"Quit listing all of my exes!"
"I swear, if you tell me that you've slept with Cobb I will punch you."
"Now you're just being ridiculous."
"Do they do this often?"
"Oh yeah."
"Shut it Dexter!"
"If this one goes south I reserve the right to say 'I told you so,' for the next five years."
"And when it works I reserve the right to that bottle of Macallan you haven't even opened."
"Wait, who is Mitchell?"
"He's Australian."
"Half."
"Deal."
"You're still new to the business, so you wouldn't have met him. He's mostly retired, but he always seems to come through when Arthur needs him."
"Yes, and I wonder why that is?"
"You're being a total asshole about this."
"He's a wanker."
"You're a fucking wanker."
"So, we're calling him in?"
"Shut up, Dexter!"
One week later Eames slams the door shut after five seconds of silent staring.
Arthur unwraps his leg from Mitchell's waist and sighs, annoyed. Mitchell shrugs and works on the buttons of his shirt and doesn't say anything to Eames when he walks past him and out the door.
Eames crosses his arms and fumes silently, waiting while Arthur takes his time buttoning his pants back up.
One hour later Arthur's cheek is still hurting from the punch, so Eames brushes his lips softly against it in apology while he moves slowly between Arthur's legs. Arthur's hands wrinkle Eames' shirt where he grips at the back of it and it tears at the seams a little, but that's okay because it's not one of Eames' favorites anyway.
That's one truth, at least, that they both know.
Four days later the job is a success and Arthur is on a plane to Paris with Ariadne and Eames is on a plane to Cairo and the bottle of Macallan remains unopened.
*
"Anybody who knows me knows that I'm never going back to Rome."
"What do you have against Rome?"
"Well, when you watch your best friend come close to dying in a grubby back room make-shift hospital it kind of leaves an unpleasant taste in your mouth."
"No shit."
"That was eloquent."
"I just meant... Oh up yours. Any recommendations on who might be up for it?"
"You could try Santiago. Or Eames. He loves Rome."
"Eames loves Rome even though he nearly died there?"
"I was talking about Cobb, Ariadne."
"No shit!"
"Again, with the language. I knew introducing you to Sylvia was a bad idea."
"She's awesome, leave her alone. Is Eames the reason you don't like Rome?"
"I was also out of my mind on hallucinogens."
"I can see how that could hinder your judgement of the place."
Two weeks later Ariadne is working with a man named Santiago and a woman named Ajani, waxing poetic over the Sistine Chapel, when Eames comes waltzing into their hotel suite like he owns the place. One of the things she likes most about working in this business is the travelling, which she had never done before outside of going to school in Paris. Dreamsharing has offered her more than her degree ever has and she wouldn't change it for the world.
When Ariadne asks him how he feels about Rome he smiles and ducks his head and she wonders, wonders.
*
"You told your girlfriend I stole her Manet?"
"You did."
"I should put out a hit on you."
"You tried after that thing with Lucille."
"And now I can never again visit the county of Nez Perce again."
"Oh, what a sad life you lead."
"You're a shit."
"Don't try to have me killed again. Or steal from my girlfriends. This faux jealousy card you keep playing is starting to wear a little thin."
"Yeah? Well, you put my last girlfriend in the looney bin."
"That's not funny, Eames."
"Sorry, I didn't mean that."
"Knock it off. I'm serious. I'm trying to be serious here, Eames. For once."
"Why couldn't you try to be serious for me?"
"I did. You left. And then I tried again and you left again. The last time I tried to be serious with you you talked me into a threesome."
"Which was a night that I will cherish to my dying day."
"I'm sending your cell phone's GPS coordinates to Interpol."
Two days later Arthur changes his phone number.
It takes Eames four days to figure out his new one and by the time that happens Marjorie is already history.
*
"It's four in the morning, Arthur."
"I know, and I'm sorry."
"Somebody had better by dead or dying for this shit."
"It's Eames. When did you last see him?"
"Three weeks ago, in Jakarta."
"Shit."
"Arthur?"
"Did he say anything about the Delaney's?"
"Is Eames on the run from the irish mob?"
"Focus, Ariadne."
"I have no idea. We went to dinner one night and the next he was gone. There was some note he left at reception about his sister's bridal shower, or something."
"Shit."
"Arthur?"
"Thank you, Ariadne. I'll see you in a few weeks."
"Arthur? What's going-- Arthur!"
It takes him three days, four suits, and one sniper rifle but by the end of the week he's got Eames in the safety of his hotel room and is bandaging his upper thigh. One of Eames' hands comes up to run through Arthur's hair, loose from it's pomade and sticking to his forehead.
Any other time Arthur would smack his hand away but Eames' eyes are half shut, and it's only partly due to his exhaustion. Most of it has to do with the wedge he took to the face, and Arthur had never been so happy to be former CIA than he was at that moment. He dealt in killing, in dreams and in reality, and had done so with a grim smile on his face.
But right now Eames is bleeding into the hotel mattress and sighing his name and his fingers are clumsy, so Arthur focuses on the stab wound and lets him. Whether or not he pushes his head into the caress is open for debate.
He bandages his leg and changes the sheets and when he falls asleep that night he rests his hand over the faded tattoo on Eames' chest.
*
"When are you ever going to accept it?"
"What, that I'm just a better poker player than you?"
"That this thing just doesn't work. And that's hogwash. I've got the best poker face in the business."
"Darling, you're down two socks, one tie, your waistcoat and your oxford."
"And somehow I'm still winning."
"It could work. If we wanted it to."
"Ahh, but we would have to want it to for that to happen. Which we don't."
"Don't mind me, I'll just be over here waiting for another ten years."
"How's Anton?"
"Got the flu. Being a miserable little bitch about it, too."
"Right."
That night Eames loses his boxers and Arthur is crowned the king of strip poker, which he will rub in Eames' face til their dying day. Eames pouts and scowls and doesn't let up until Arthur sucks him off, mindful of his bad leg.
Eames tangles his fingers in Arthur's hair and receives a slap to the wrist.
*
"You never told me you lived in India."
"There are many things you've yet to learn, young padawan."
"I hate that shit when you guys say I'm still new to this business. It's been four years, asshole."
"My father and I moved there when I was nine. It was... different."
"I can imagine. How is he?"
"He called last night to tell me off for letting the kids drink so much Pepsi."
"Send him my love next time you talk to him?"
"Will do. How's Arthur?"
"Sulking because Eames is off in Japan or South Korea or something with his latest fling. Other than that he's the same. You know. A total bitch."
"Tell him I have some files on Body Dysmorphic Disorder if he wants them."
"He'll be so thrilled."
"I aim to make all of my children happy."
"It's gross that you think of us that way, you know."
"It's gross that Arthur and Eames practice the love that dare not speak its name, but there you have it."
"Don't say that."
"What, that it's gross? Come on, they're completely wrong for each other and know it and still they torture each other."
"I meant love. I don't think love really comes into play too much."
"You still have so much to learn, Ariadne."
Almost a month later, right before the big show, Eames shows up with a lovely tan and a huge smile for them all and when Ariadne gets into the backseat of the van that will take her to Ella Pollara she catches sight of a dark smudge that the collar of Arthur's shirt fails to hide and wonders why they even bother at all.
After the job is over they both get on a plane headed to JFK and while one part of her wants to thrust her fists into the air in victory, another part of her just wants her friends to stop hurting each other.
When she calls Arthur about a job a month later Eames picks up his cell phone and ends up inviting himself along when he hears Mitchell is once again coming out of retirement.
*
"You need to stop freaking out when one of my exes shows up."
"You need to stop sleeping with people who aren't me."
"Oh, now if that isn't the pot calling the kettle black."
"You started it!"
"As I recall you were the one who first molested me. In my fucking sleep no less, ten feet away from where my other best friend was bleeding out from a major head wound. I was dating Kelly at the time and you knew that. Not to mention the fact that I was stoned out of my mind."
"Your other best friend?"
"Oh, don't give me that."
"You consider me to be one of your best friends."
"You know you and Dom share that title."
"Arthur, Dom is your best friend. I am your lover."
"Are we finally buying that house in Tuscany and going to adopt some cute little Haitian babies?"
"Oh fuck you."
"No, fuck you Eames. You act like a spurned ex-wife when I'm sleeping with someone else, then you turn around and flaunt your own relationships in my face. Remember that time in Glasgow when you brought your boyfriend to my sister's wedding?"
"You told me to!"
"I did no such thing."
"The invite said 'plus one' on it."
"You can either get over working with Mitchell or you can find your own job."
"If you think I'm leaving the two of you alone together again you've got another thing coming."
"So, what? You want to be my boyfriend again, Eames? You want to what, live with me? Cook me dinner and rub my feet when I'm tired and play house?"
"Must you make it sound so fucking trite?"
"It worked out so well for us last time."
"Stefani needs a forger in Moscow."
"So go to fucking Moscow if you want, you sanctimonious prick."
"I bet you'd love that."
"This, right here. This is why this just doesn't fucking work. We've got too much bad blood between us."
"We've got a lot of good history too, Arthur."
"I can't take this. Are you coming with me or not?"
"Most decidedly not."
"Fine."
"Fine."
That night they end up having sex on the floor, right next to the door and Arthur's suitcase. Eames holds Arthur's shoulders down with his hands and Arthur's hands with his knees and uses all of his weight to hold Arthur down while he fucks himself on his dick. He throws his head back and his eyes flutter when he comes and he rides out Arthur's furious bucking underneath him. He pulls back and rips the condom off, sucking down Arthur's cock and not complaining of the taste of latex that lingers in his mouth for ten minutes afterward.
Arthur pushes Eames off of him and Eames looks ready to throttle him for two full seconds before Arthur presses his face into Eames' neck and sighs loudly. He ends up wrapping his arm around Eames' waist and missing his flight.
Eames makes a grand show of pulling his cellular out of his jacket pocket, lying in a wrinkled heap next to them, and booking two flights to Vancouver.
Arthur pretends he doesn't see and smiles into his neck.
*
"Where are you running off to?"
"I need to make a little pit stop. Meet you in New York in a few days?"
"Eames, I swear. If I find out that you've been captured by the mob again--"
"Don't be silly, darling. After what you did they think I'm some kind of top secret assassin or something."
"If you're running off to some old girlfriend, or if you need one last romp in the hay--"
"After all this work I had to do to get you back again the past few years?"
"You call pestering me over and over and your unending line of floozies 'work'?"
"Jealousy looks so good on you, darling."
"I'm going home. To New York. If you're not there in less than five days I'm giving everything you left behind to Good Will. They probably won't even accept it."
"Ye of little faith."
"Goodbye, Mr. Eames."
"No goodbye kiss?"
Six days later Arthur gets off of the phone with Diego. He's in the middle of packing his suitcase when Eames comes bursting through the door.
In no time at all Arthur's got his Glock in his hands and is creeping slowly down the hall. He winds up putting a bullet in the plaster next to Eames' head before he realizes that, oh shit, it's Eames. He has a moment where he's grateful he didn't actually kill him before he remembers that he's supposed to be angry.
Then he sees what is in Eames' hand and he sets the gun down and smiles.
Eames, his eyes wide with fright and caution, holds up his keys and jangles them loudly. Then he sets them and the bottle of almost one hundred year old scotch whiskey on the table and crosses the room.
It remains unopened still when Arthur calls Diego and lets him know he'll be a day late, but that's probably for the best.
*
"Hey, you."
"Ariadne, what are you doing in Rome?"
"I'm an architect, Arthur. Jesus. I thought you knew this."
"Oh shut up and get in here."
"How've you been?"
"Good, actually. I just got in yesterday."
"I heard."
"Oh, did you."
"Yup. Hey, is that whiskey?"
"Ariadne!"
"Eames! So good to see you. Rome looks like it's been treating you well. The both of you."
"You could say that."
"And here Arthur told me he swore he'd never come here again."
"Did he?"
"Shut up and drink your whiskey*, Mr. Eames."
-
*In my mind Eames got drunk the last time Arthur and he split up, then went a little crazy and spent over 50K on a bottle he dubbed 'For When Arthur Takes Me Back'. Don't ask.
Title: Same Story, Different Year
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames, Arthur/Others, Eames/Others
Wordcount: 4,308
Rating: NC17
Summary: What they have is complicated. Or, rather, what they don't have.
Notes: I've been a little depressed by my current state of affairs as of late. That means I make the people who live inside of my head either angry, sad, or emotional so I don't have to be. I also subtitled this story "How Ariadne Learned to Love Dreamsharing and Arthur and Eames' Dysfunctional, Jealous, Star-Crossed Love" in my mind, because she's sprinkled all over the place here. Just take her appearance as the author loving the character and think no more on it.
Notes II: I thought I should fake warn that this is dialogue heavy.
Disclaimer: *checks* Nope, Nolan still owns em. I'm still just playing.
Notes III: Now this story comes with shiny pictures of all of their past/recent girl/boyfriends. At first I wanted to limit it to just Mitchell, but then I just couldn't stop myself once I started ;). Enjoy the pretty.
"Hey, you. I was just about to call and ask what you wanted for dinner. Pizza or chinese. Take your pick."
"Don't get angry."
"See, there you go already inducing anger by telling me not to be. Reverse psychology is one of the things you're best at. Along with researching, cock sucking, driving at one hundred and fifty with one hand one the wheel and the other on a Glock--"
"I've got an unusual situation going on at my apartment right now."
"Is it a nude situation? Because you know I'm always up for a little nudity."
"No it's not a-- actually, right now it is a nude situation. Technically."
"Okay, forget dinner. I'm just coming straight over."
"Don't."
"What? You're telling me that you've got a situation involving nudity and I'm not invited?"
"It's not my nudity."
"Okay, not angry. I'm honestly not. I'm intrigued. Alright, so nudity. Not your own. Handling it. Whose nudity does it involve?"
"This is the part I don't want you to get angry about."
"Don't even. Arthur... Tell me it's not who I think it is. Because if it is I might have to come over anyway just so I can shoot him. Or you."
"It's only for one night. He's out in the morning."
"The hell he is! He better be out right now, Arthur."
"You trust me enough not to get us all killed when everything goes pear shaped which, let's face it, happens way more often than I'm comfortable with lately."
"If you sleep with him--"
"Jonathon."
"If you sleep with him I am never working with you again. Forget working with you, I won't even speak to you."
"Do you honestly think I could do something like that to you?"
"Your ex-boyfriend, the one who you won't admit is actually an ex because, and I quote, 'your entire three year fling with him was strictly a sexual thing, no feelings involved whatsoever, stop looking at me like that,' is naked in your apartment and you're telling your current boyfriend that he can't come over."
"When you put it like that it sounds bad, I know."
"I'm hanging up now."
"Jonathon, trust me."
"Do you think I'm stupid? Everybody knows about the two of you. You can't keep your hands off of each other. Fuck, I knew getting involved with you was a bad idea. You've been taken for the past seven years."
"We were only sleeping together for three, and that was a long time ago."
"You've always been his."
"I've been yours for nine months, John."
"Not really. You've just been on loan from Eames, and now he's come to collect. Typical. The two of you can't let each other be happy without the other."
"You know, you're being pretty fucking difficult. We're not some star-crossed lovers out of some tragic sob story. He's my friend and he needs help. And if that's what you honestly fucking think then I'm glad you're telling me this now. Go fuck yourself."
"I hope he fucks you over again."
"Over my fucking desk."
That night Eames lays carefully on his side, mindful of the bruising on his ribs, while Arthur spoons up behind him. Eames cries silently into his elbow and Arthur's fingers trail softly down his face, brushing away as many tears as he can. They fuck slowly, tiredly, and when it's over Arthur falls asleep with his face pressed against the nape of Eames' neck, Eames' fingers curled loosely around his own where they rest on the bed next to his face.
In the morning Arthur makes coffee and they discuss the pros and cons of working in Manhattan while Eames looks in the paper for a new place to stay.
*
"That's quite a lovely design. Your own?"
"Oh, no. A friend did it for me. Thank you, though."
"Quite welcome. Mind if I join you?"
"It's a public bar, I can't really stop you from sitting wherever you feel like."
"What a welcoming invitation."
"Sorry, one tends to get dour when they've been recently fired."
"So sorry to hear that, love. Bar steward, could you serve up another of whatever the lady is having? And a scotch for myself, please."
"That's alright, you don't have to."
"No, please. It's the least I can do."
"Well, I'm not sleeping with you for it."
"I'm bereft. How about you trade it for the story behind that lovely tattoo?"
"I love lilies. That's pretty much the extent of it."
"That's all? In my experience, most tattoos have some kind of a story that goes with it."
"Not mine. Do you have any yourself, Bereft?"
"Several. Every one of them has some kind of a story."
"Tell me your favorite one. Oh, wow, okay. I already said I wasn't sleeping with you. You can keep your shirt on."
"Charming, love. Really."
"Ahh, I see. I take it your favorite is the one right over your heart?"
"Got it in one."
"What's the story behind that one?"
"The light of my life, fire of my loins."
"Tell me she's of age, at least."
"His name is Arthur and he's thirty-three."
"Oh, you're gay. That's explains the outfit, then."
"Real men wear paisley."
"Noted. So, this Arthur is a compulsive gambler?"
"Oh, if only he were to hear you say that. I'm fantasizing about the look he would have on his face right now."
"It's a public bar, and you can sit wherever you want, that much is true. But if you start having sexy day dreams about your husband while sitting next to me I might have to go sit somewhere you can't follow, like in the bathroom."
"Sorry, he's spectacular when he's in his 'righteous fury' mode. I'm actually the gambler. The die is his... his lucky charm, you could say."
"That's very sweet of the both of you. I might have to go to the bathroom to vomit, now."
"Hey, now. That's not very nice, darling."
"You should answer your phone. It's probably your Arthur now."
"Oh, no. It's my boyfriend Marcus."
"I thought your boyfriend was Arthur?"
"No, he's just the love of my life. We split up ages ago. He'll take me back. Again."
"Good luck with that."
"You have no idea how much I don't need that, but I appreciate it all the same, Lily."
Two weeks later, after Marcus had thrown a plate at Eames' head and instead hit his plasma television, Arthur rides him lazily on Eames' couch. The brand new LCD that Arthur bought him hangs on the wall across from them and Eames keeps looking at it longingly over Arthur's shoulder.
Arthur makes a crack about leaving Eames and the television alone. Eames grips his hips and sinks further into the cushions when Arthur rises a little bit too high and yanks him back down hard. Arthur let's out a little huff of laughter, or a stuttered groan, and fists one hand in the hair at the nape of Eames' neck.
*
"I'm not sure what to make of that."
"What, his dancing? It's a farce, Ariadne. He's just being a clown for Phillipa's sake."
"No, I meant. Aren't he and Arthur...?"
"Oh my God, lower your voice before they hear you."
"They're both here--"
"Shh!"
"They're both here with dates."
"We shouldn't be talking about this here. Or ever. That works too."
"Two months ago I worked a heist out of Singapore with a guy named Jonathon--"
"Rapley? That's Arthur's ex."
"How come I'm always the last one to know anything?"
"I told you first about Mal."
"That's different. I meant the gossipy stuff."
"You're still new to this."
"He got all flustered when I mentioned how Arthur and I kissed once and--"
"You what?!"
"Oh, so now it's okay for everyone to be looking at us?"
"You and Arthur--"
"No, not like that, get the bottle out of your ass. We were trying to distract the projections."
"Arthur's such a little flirt."
"Jonathon said something about 'good luck with that, don't let Eames find out,' which got me thinking."
"You shouldn't do too much of that."
"I thought they were a little too familiar with each other during that whole inception heist."
"You've got to stop calling them heists."
"I just figured they were on a break back then. And then in Caravelas they were so aggressively flirtacious towards each other, I thought they'd gotten back together."
"I know for a fact that Eames was dating a french model when they were in Brazil."
"And now they're practically on top of each other in front of their dates at your daughter's birthday party."
"What was the point of this conversation?"
"How long has this been going on?"
"They've been playing with each other for about ten years, on and off."
"Ten years? Jesus."
"What they have is complicated. Or, rather, what they don't have."
"I just thought Eames was a flirt and Arthur was distant."
"Never said that part wasn't true."
That night, after Arthur says goodnight to Ashley and after Eames drops Lydia off at her sister's house, Arthur screws Eames against the door to his hotel room. Eames raises a foot and places it on the seat of the chair, knocked over next to the door in their haste, and they both groan at the new angle. Arthur pants into Eames' neck and Eames muffles his moans into his forearm and comes all over the door.
The next day they go right back over to Cobb's and play with Phillipa and all of her new presents. Eames is sitting in a truly tiny chair (sipping green tea from a cup the size of a golf ball with a purple feather boa around his neck, she's happy to see) when Ariadne walks in.
Across from him is Arthur, sporting a large white hat, and Cobb is next to him with a tiara on his head and a set of pearls around his neck. Phillipa sits in the center, preening in her Batgirl cape, next to a huge pink bear. It's fluffy and wearing a tutu.
All four of them have bright pink lipstick on their lips.
Eames gets up to serve them all cookies and when Ariadne takes a seat at the table, trading her orange and white scarf for two of Phillipa's clunky bracelets, she notices that he gives Arthur two.
*
"I'm telling you, it won't sodding work."
"Clearly you've never met Mitchell."
"Clearly you want me to stab you in the face."
"Ladies, could we get back to the matter at hand?"
"Oh can it, Dexter. Mitchell is one of the most competent extractors I've worked with."
"And you've worked with so many sane ones. Diego, Cobb, Sylvia, Jonathon--"
"Quit listing all of my exes!"
"I swear, if you tell me that you've slept with Cobb I will punch you."
"Now you're just being ridiculous."
"Do they do this often?"
"Oh yeah."
"Shut it Dexter!"
"If this one goes south I reserve the right to say 'I told you so,' for the next five years."
"And when it works I reserve the right to that bottle of Macallan you haven't even opened."
"Wait, who is Mitchell?"
"He's Australian."
"Half."
"Deal."
"You're still new to the business, so you wouldn't have met him. He's mostly retired, but he always seems to come through when Arthur needs him."
"Yes, and I wonder why that is?"
"You're being a total asshole about this."
"He's a wanker."
"You're a fucking wanker."
"So, we're calling him in?"
"Shut up, Dexter!"
One week later Eames slams the door shut after five seconds of silent staring.
Arthur unwraps his leg from Mitchell's waist and sighs, annoyed. Mitchell shrugs and works on the buttons of his shirt and doesn't say anything to Eames when he walks past him and out the door.
Eames crosses his arms and fumes silently, waiting while Arthur takes his time buttoning his pants back up.
One hour later Arthur's cheek is still hurting from the punch, so Eames brushes his lips softly against it in apology while he moves slowly between Arthur's legs. Arthur's hands wrinkle Eames' shirt where he grips at the back of it and it tears at the seams a little, but that's okay because it's not one of Eames' favorites anyway.
That's one truth, at least, that they both know.
Four days later the job is a success and Arthur is on a plane to Paris with Ariadne and Eames is on a plane to Cairo and the bottle of Macallan remains unopened.
*
"Anybody who knows me knows that I'm never going back to Rome."
"What do you have against Rome?"
"Well, when you watch your best friend come close to dying in a grubby back room make-shift hospital it kind of leaves an unpleasant taste in your mouth."
"No shit."
"That was eloquent."
"I just meant... Oh up yours. Any recommendations on who might be up for it?"
"You could try Santiago. Or Eames. He loves Rome."
"Eames loves Rome even though he nearly died there?"
"I was talking about Cobb, Ariadne."
"No shit!"
"Again, with the language. I knew introducing you to Sylvia was a bad idea."
"She's awesome, leave her alone. Is Eames the reason you don't like Rome?"
"I was also out of my mind on hallucinogens."
"I can see how that could hinder your judgement of the place."
Two weeks later Ariadne is working with a man named Santiago and a woman named Ajani, waxing poetic over the Sistine Chapel, when Eames comes waltzing into their hotel suite like he owns the place. One of the things she likes most about working in this business is the travelling, which she had never done before outside of going to school in Paris. Dreamsharing has offered her more than her degree ever has and she wouldn't change it for the world.
When Ariadne asks him how he feels about Rome he smiles and ducks his head and she wonders, wonders.
*
"You told your girlfriend I stole her Manet?"
"You did."
"I should put out a hit on you."
"You tried after that thing with Lucille."
"And now I can never again visit the county of Nez Perce again."
"Oh, what a sad life you lead."
"You're a shit."
"Don't try to have me killed again. Or steal from my girlfriends. This faux jealousy card you keep playing is starting to wear a little thin."
"Yeah? Well, you put my last girlfriend in the looney bin."
"That's not funny, Eames."
"Sorry, I didn't mean that."
"Knock it off. I'm serious. I'm trying to be serious here, Eames. For once."
"Why couldn't you try to be serious for me?"
"I did. You left. And then I tried again and you left again. The last time I tried to be serious with you you talked me into a threesome."
"Which was a night that I will cherish to my dying day."
"I'm sending your cell phone's GPS coordinates to Interpol."
Two days later Arthur changes his phone number.
It takes Eames four days to figure out his new one and by the time that happens Marjorie is already history.
*
"It's four in the morning, Arthur."
"I know, and I'm sorry."
"Somebody had better by dead or dying for this shit."
"It's Eames. When did you last see him?"
"Three weeks ago, in Jakarta."
"Shit."
"Arthur?"
"Did he say anything about the Delaney's?"
"Is Eames on the run from the irish mob?"
"Focus, Ariadne."
"I have no idea. We went to dinner one night and the next he was gone. There was some note he left at reception about his sister's bridal shower, or something."
"Shit."
"Arthur?"
"Thank you, Ariadne. I'll see you in a few weeks."
"Arthur? What's going-- Arthur!"
It takes him three days, four suits, and one sniper rifle but by the end of the week he's got Eames in the safety of his hotel room and is bandaging his upper thigh. One of Eames' hands comes up to run through Arthur's hair, loose from it's pomade and sticking to his forehead.
Any other time Arthur would smack his hand away but Eames' eyes are half shut, and it's only partly due to his exhaustion. Most of it has to do with the wedge he took to the face, and Arthur had never been so happy to be former CIA than he was at that moment. He dealt in killing, in dreams and in reality, and had done so with a grim smile on his face.
But right now Eames is bleeding into the hotel mattress and sighing his name and his fingers are clumsy, so Arthur focuses on the stab wound and lets him. Whether or not he pushes his head into the caress is open for debate.
He bandages his leg and changes the sheets and when he falls asleep that night he rests his hand over the faded tattoo on Eames' chest.
*
"When are you ever going to accept it?"
"What, that I'm just a better poker player than you?"
"That this thing just doesn't work. And that's hogwash. I've got the best poker face in the business."
"Darling, you're down two socks, one tie, your waistcoat and your oxford."
"And somehow I'm still winning."
"It could work. If we wanted it to."
"Ahh, but we would have to want it to for that to happen. Which we don't."
"Don't mind me, I'll just be over here waiting for another ten years."
"How's Anton?"
"Got the flu. Being a miserable little bitch about it, too."
"Right."
That night Eames loses his boxers and Arthur is crowned the king of strip poker, which he will rub in Eames' face til their dying day. Eames pouts and scowls and doesn't let up until Arthur sucks him off, mindful of his bad leg.
Eames tangles his fingers in Arthur's hair and receives a slap to the wrist.
*
"You never told me you lived in India."
"There are many things you've yet to learn, young padawan."
"I hate that shit when you guys say I'm still new to this business. It's been four years, asshole."
"My father and I moved there when I was nine. It was... different."
"I can imagine. How is he?"
"He called last night to tell me off for letting the kids drink so much Pepsi."
"Send him my love next time you talk to him?"
"Will do. How's Arthur?"
"Sulking because Eames is off in Japan or South Korea or something with his latest fling. Other than that he's the same. You know. A total bitch."
"Tell him I have some files on Body Dysmorphic Disorder if he wants them."
"He'll be so thrilled."
"I aim to make all of my children happy."
"It's gross that you think of us that way, you know."
"It's gross that Arthur and Eames practice the love that dare not speak its name, but there you have it."
"Don't say that."
"What, that it's gross? Come on, they're completely wrong for each other and know it and still they torture each other."
"I meant love. I don't think love really comes into play too much."
"You still have so much to learn, Ariadne."
Almost a month later, right before the big show, Eames shows up with a lovely tan and a huge smile for them all and when Ariadne gets into the backseat of the van that will take her to Ella Pollara she catches sight of a dark smudge that the collar of Arthur's shirt fails to hide and wonders why they even bother at all.
After the job is over they both get on a plane headed to JFK and while one part of her wants to thrust her fists into the air in victory, another part of her just wants her friends to stop hurting each other.
When she calls Arthur about a job a month later Eames picks up his cell phone and ends up inviting himself along when he hears Mitchell is once again coming out of retirement.
*
"You need to stop freaking out when one of my exes shows up."
"You need to stop sleeping with people who aren't me."
"Oh, now if that isn't the pot calling the kettle black."
"You started it!"
"As I recall you were the one who first molested me. In my fucking sleep no less, ten feet away from where my other best friend was bleeding out from a major head wound. I was dating Kelly at the time and you knew that. Not to mention the fact that I was stoned out of my mind."
"Your other best friend?"
"Oh, don't give me that."
"You consider me to be one of your best friends."
"You know you and Dom share that title."
"Arthur, Dom is your best friend. I am your lover."
"Are we finally buying that house in Tuscany and going to adopt some cute little Haitian babies?"
"Oh fuck you."
"No, fuck you Eames. You act like a spurned ex-wife when I'm sleeping with someone else, then you turn around and flaunt your own relationships in my face. Remember that time in Glasgow when you brought your boyfriend to my sister's wedding?"
"You told me to!"
"I did no such thing."
"The invite said 'plus one' on it."
"You can either get over working with Mitchell or you can find your own job."
"If you think I'm leaving the two of you alone together again you've got another thing coming."
"So, what? You want to be my boyfriend again, Eames? You want to what, live with me? Cook me dinner and rub my feet when I'm tired and play house?"
"Must you make it sound so fucking trite?"
"It worked out so well for us last time."
"Stefani needs a forger in Moscow."
"So go to fucking Moscow if you want, you sanctimonious prick."
"I bet you'd love that."
"This, right here. This is why this just doesn't fucking work. We've got too much bad blood between us."
"We've got a lot of good history too, Arthur."
"I can't take this. Are you coming with me or not?"
"Most decidedly not."
"Fine."
"Fine."
That night they end up having sex on the floor, right next to the door and Arthur's suitcase. Eames holds Arthur's shoulders down with his hands and Arthur's hands with his knees and uses all of his weight to hold Arthur down while he fucks himself on his dick. He throws his head back and his eyes flutter when he comes and he rides out Arthur's furious bucking underneath him. He pulls back and rips the condom off, sucking down Arthur's cock and not complaining of the taste of latex that lingers in his mouth for ten minutes afterward.
Arthur pushes Eames off of him and Eames looks ready to throttle him for two full seconds before Arthur presses his face into Eames' neck and sighs loudly. He ends up wrapping his arm around Eames' waist and missing his flight.
Eames makes a grand show of pulling his cellular out of his jacket pocket, lying in a wrinkled heap next to them, and booking two flights to Vancouver.
Arthur pretends he doesn't see and smiles into his neck.
*
"Where are you running off to?"
"I need to make a little pit stop. Meet you in New York in a few days?"
"Eames, I swear. If I find out that you've been captured by the mob again--"
"Don't be silly, darling. After what you did they think I'm some kind of top secret assassin or something."
"If you're running off to some old girlfriend, or if you need one last romp in the hay--"
"After all this work I had to do to get you back again the past few years?"
"You call pestering me over and over and your unending line of floozies 'work'?"
"Jealousy looks so good on you, darling."
"I'm going home. To New York. If you're not there in less than five days I'm giving everything you left behind to Good Will. They probably won't even accept it."
"Ye of little faith."
"Goodbye, Mr. Eames."
"No goodbye kiss?"
Six days later Arthur gets off of the phone with Diego. He's in the middle of packing his suitcase when Eames comes bursting through the door.
In no time at all Arthur's got his Glock in his hands and is creeping slowly down the hall. He winds up putting a bullet in the plaster next to Eames' head before he realizes that, oh shit, it's Eames. He has a moment where he's grateful he didn't actually kill him before he remembers that he's supposed to be angry.
Then he sees what is in Eames' hand and he sets the gun down and smiles.
Eames, his eyes wide with fright and caution, holds up his keys and jangles them loudly. Then he sets them and the bottle of almost one hundred year old scotch whiskey on the table and crosses the room.
It remains unopened still when Arthur calls Diego and lets him know he'll be a day late, but that's probably for the best.
*
"Hey, you."
"Ariadne, what are you doing in Rome?"
"I'm an architect, Arthur. Jesus. I thought you knew this."
"Oh shut up and get in here."
"How've you been?"
"Good, actually. I just got in yesterday."
"I heard."
"Oh, did you."
"Yup. Hey, is that whiskey?"
"Ariadne!"
"Eames! So good to see you. Rome looks like it's been treating you well. The both of you."
"You could say that."
"And here Arthur told me he swore he'd never come here again."
"Did he?"
"Shut up and drink your whiskey*, Mr. Eames."
-
*In my mind Eames got drunk the last time Arthur and he split up, then went a little crazy and spent over 50K on a bottle he dubbed 'For When Arthur Takes Me Back'. Don't ask.