12. One Last Thing...
Author's Note: This story is a direct sequal to Limbo Burning, which wants to be an epic saga about long distance relationships and love conquering all. So we're going to let it be, even though we're uncomfortable publishing WIPs. Our compromise with ourselves? Each chapter will be more or less a Stand Alone one-shot, so each segment can be enjoyed by itself. We'll see how that goes. lol
Title: One Last Thing...
Length: 3049 words
Genre: romance
Pairings: Cobb/Saito
Warnings: adult content
other location: fanfiction.net
Disclaimer: these characters and concepts belong to the creators of Inception, not me
Summary: After a vacation to Tokyo, Cobb must return to the the U.S. but Saito will try his best to keep the man in his bed for one more night. Est. relationship--but only just. teehee.
The air was glowing with the soft orange of firelight through walls of thin white paper. He could feel Cobb's heartbeat under the tender center of his palm, steady and comfortable. Saito was propped on one elbow, stretched out beside the fairer man lying flat on his back. He enjoyed the way Cobb languidly lifted his head, chasing Saito's lips if ever they got too far away, and the way he smiled whenever Saito felt like teasing him and pulling out of his lazy reach.
He slid his hand up the pale chest, up a closely shaved neck and then went to his fingertips to trace the jaw from ear to ear. Cobb's eyes dropped closed at this. Like a cat getting his belly scratched, Cobb loved to be traced, this Saito had learned quickly. It could be anything: the ridges of his knuckles, the circumference of his areolas, or the arches of his feet, the young father's chest swelled with satisfied breath and the full grown man practically purred whenever fingertips went dragging wherever they wanted to go.
Saito dropped down to breathe against Cobb's mouth, "Say it again," and he flattened his palm lightly over Cobb's throat, to feel the words coming out.
His lover's eyes fluttered open, soft blue devotion under a heavy brow that was currently smoothed of troubles, "I'll stay with you," he promised. Saito's eyes closed tightly against the wellspring inside of him and Cobb said again, more resolutely, voice cracking with its certainty on the emphasis, "I'll stay, of course I'll stay. I love you too much to go."
The natural dream broke and Saito woke. He instantly understood what had awakened him before the sun was even up; Cobb had gotten out of bed, was dressing. They'd forgotten to turn off the lamps before falling into sex-comas. Saito watched Cobb dress in silence, pleading helplessly with whatever higher power was in command of these things, to please change Cobb's mind, to bring him back for every last moment they could have, because this was their last night. Cobb would be going back to America in the morning, despite Saito's best efforts to convince him otherwise.
Dark jeans fitted enticingly around Cobb's ass and his perfectly sloping lower back disappeared behind the tails of a white button down. Saito could ask him not to go, to stay here in bed with him for the last few hours they had before his flight, but he knew it would not make a difference: Cobb had done this every night of thier week together, slipped away fully dressed back down to the living room to curl up on the love seat so that he would be in sight when his children woke up in the morning.
Cobb did nothing if he wasn't doing absolutely everything he possibly could to give those children back the father they'd lost in limbo and be something more, a mother, too. He sacrificed everything for them, and Saito didn't like being one of those things, but how could he ask a father to put his children second?
Saito had made no noise that he was awake as he watched Cobb dress, and Cobb made no indication that he'd known himself to have an audience, he just started speaking, "It could be easier this way, don't you think?"
He was talking about leaving in five hours, it'd be easier to get up and go back to the other side of the planet if he wasn't pulling out of Saito's arms to do it. It'd be easier for Saito to let go if he wasn't holding onto anything. But he was; in so many more ways than he was prepared to admit, he was holding onto everything.
Saito held onto the hot saltwater leaking from the edges of squeezed-shut blue eyes, the hot breaths with his given name on them(Kaemon, god, oh, Kaemon, yes, yes, yes, please, oh…), the playful smiles, the whole-body twitches and snorted laughs when Saito's exploring fingertips found that ticklish spot on the pale inside of his thighs, the secret looks he gave behind the children's backs throughout the day, the smell of his blond mane-like hair, the taste of his sweat-slicked skin, the comforting weight of his hand on the back of Saito's neck, the way nothing changed in the way that Cobb spoke to him (still as the best friend and confidant Saito had been before the sex) only with the minor exception that when they were alone now, and Cobb was on the begging brink, Saito was no longer Saito, or Kaemon, but baby.
Saito had never ever thought he'd enjoy anyone calling him that, but, oh, he'd never come harder in his life than he had with that pet name made of hot breath curling up against his throat. Cobb had been with no one in the two years (TWO YEARS) since his beloved wife had died, and yet he'd given himself completely to Saito on his first night in Tokyo and every night since then and that, perhaps, was what Saito held onto more than anything else.
The last five bright days of family laughter and the last five glorious nights of lover's passion had gone by in a blur of pretending: pretending that this could work, that the miles would not break them. But as Cobb dressed to make his way downstairs for sleep on an uncomfortable sofa in order to wake up next to his children instead of staying in a luxurious bed to wake up next to his lover, those impossible miles were unfolding fast and choking fantasies of paper rooms of firelight and promises right out of Saito's heart.
"Nothing can make it easier," Saito answered. It was the truth; he was not going to pretend otherwise. The way Cobb's shoulders sagged, Saito knew the beautiful man would have preferred an enthusiastic agreement to his lie. (Cobb was damn good at lying to himself; that was as much of a curse as it was a blessing.)
"Their home is in LA," he said resolutely to Saito, speaking of his children, repeating something that'd been said this past week enough times over.
"But not your home," Saito said, going to his elbow upon catching the glimpse of an opening, a foothold, a leash to catch and draw Cobb back in with. He could not help a smile, or a reach for Cobb's hand. He was allowed to take the hand and hold it and for a moment, there was only silence in the room. Your home is with me. There was no point saying it aloud, they both heard it loudly enough in the touch.
That heavy brow was wrinkled with trouble, disheveled hair flopping over it, blue eyes darkened with guilt---a familiar sight for the business man who was lying in bed looking up at it. When Cobb spoke, his voice was low and full in the way that only sobriety could accomplish, "My home is where ever my children are, Saito."
This was so true it hurt. Saito's hand slipped from Cobb's, and he pretended to be interested in the thread count of the sheets that still had Cobb's body indentation in them. Cobb pushed two hands through his hair, "I can't…." he started and he cleared his throat, arms crossing defiantly at his chest, and he closed his eyes as he shook his head, "I knew this was a bad idea."
Saito sat up, further offended, "You would take it all back?"
Cobb bowed his head, pressing fingers hard into his eyes. "Yes and no. Jesus, goddammit."
Seeing how much his best-friend-turned-lover was torn in half, Saito instantly felt guilty pushing his own selfish wants so hard; he'd been certain that if he doted and urged and commanded hard enough, Cobb would never be able to leave him. But it seemed the man would take his children back to the house they had known their mother in even if he had to crawl there on a broken heart.
Saito went to his knees, catching Cobb's wrists in the circles of his fingers and pulling so that Cobb would stop trying to pop his eyeballs. When blue eyes opened, they blinked rapidly before focusing on Saito's brown. "They aren't ready to leave that house for a country that's so different from everything they've ever known, Saito."
Nodding, the still-naked man pushed his fingers through Cobb's and said thickly, "Then I will not ask it of them."
"Kaemon," Cobb breathed.
"Your home is with them," Saito continued in the same thick voice. He looked up, forcing a smile, "and I do not want that to change for anything."
"This isn't fair." Cobb said. He did not specify for whom; it was not fair for anybody. Saito let that truth stand since it spoke so well for what he was feeling twisting in his gut. He attempted to pull his hands out of Cobb's and sink back down into his bed, "Go, get some rest before your flight."
But Cobb tightened his grip and wouldn't let go. When Saito laid back, Cobb went onto his knees on the bed, going with him. Leaning over him, he brought up more words that'd been said too many times throughout the vacation, "Come to LA with us!"
"Dom," Saito said and it was a plea to stop. They'd talked about this. Saito's business was not in the United States and without partners or heirs, he shouldered too much responsibility to do work strictly over blackberries and the like.
He could not take long vacations unless they were part of the deal-making process with prospective clients. His business was in trouble (which was why he'd incepted Fischer in the first place) and it would continue to be until Fischer Morrow was completely gone, but the spoiled heir was taking his time chopping up his inheritance and Saito had already put more strain on his company by taking a whole week off to show the Cobb family around Tokyo.
Saito visiting a family house in northern California to be with his lover and two mischievous children that he'd steal the moon for if asked was achingly out of the question. He could visit for perhaps a week, of course, but no more, and taking that week now was impossible; his company needed him back for more than an hour long call every night before dinner.
"Fuck," Cobb hissed.
"You'll take your family back home," Saito said in his business voice, which did well at making the impossible sound possible, "and I'll stay here and make sure millions of people don't lose their power or their stock, or their jobs." He combed his fingers through Cobb's hair, loving the way it flopped back down across his forehead, "And somehow, we will make this work."
"Fuck," Cobb cracked again.
A glance at the clock taunted them. Only five hours. Saito had been astounded by how much he could feel in the space of five days and now he was astounded again by how much he could feel on the promise of five hours. He'd invited his long-trusted friend out to Tokyo with every intention of getting close to him, but he had not intended to get lost in him.
Saito had emerged from limbo a changed man. No longer was he going to settle for sex being little more than a personal business venture, I'll take that and you have this and we'll call it a fair deal. Thanks; No. He'd lived that life in limbo by mistake and a mistake it had certainly been. Saito would not soon forget what it was like to sit in a chair all day, too old to do anything but stare at expensive things that did not love him back, remember all the times he'd chosen money over people, and feel so alone…..
Looking for something more substantial than a body to share his bed whenever the mood struck had started the moment he'd landed in LA and it'd taken him two years to realize that he'd do no better than a friend, someone he enjoyed, someone he trusted, specifically Dominic Cobb who called him every day, sometimes twice a day just to say hi to the man who'd given his life back to him, who he'd befriended in limbo, who he insanely trusted more than anyone.
Saito had had no idea Cobb had been living in celibacy since his wife had died, and while he'd intended to start a real relationship, he'd not meant for things to become so serious so fast. But there was something between them, they found on that first night and every night since, something burning and rolling and growing so deep that both of them were overwhelmed by it to the point that they had pretended throughout the week that it wasn't there.
This last night, though, pretending was impossible. Cobb had felt this way before, even admitted aloud that he didn't deserve a second chance at what he'd had with Mal, but Saito had never, ever had anything like this. He was loath to let it go half-a-world away.
Suddenly, Cobb was kicking out of the clothes he'd just put on, breaths labored with haste. "Make love to me," he ordered, and blue eyes added, one last time before I go. Saito latched onto him hungrily, reverently as his heart melted, chest cavity draining hotly into his stomach, the heat sinking into his groin.
Making love: that was what it was, though they'd never said love before (just in Saito's dreams), had never (beyond a few achingly vulnerable moments of half words in the throes of their most tender passion) let what was happening between them appear to be anything more than the steady start of something substantial between adults who were looking for more than hot sex.
He was done pretending, though. If this was going to work, they didn't have time to hide anything. Saito traced Cobb as their tongues slid together. Perhaps (please let it be so) he could memorize the shape and feel of this body before the sun woke, so he would have it in his dreams at least. Cobb seemed to have the same idea. Hands mirroring one another, lips locked in a still, soft caress, shades were imagined down to the tiniest detail but it would still not be enough. Even in his dreams, Saito could not replicate the spark, only remember it.
As Saito's fingers skated over the ticklish spot Cobb squirmed, lips breaking from Saito's in a smile. Long legs wrapped around Saito tightly, hands clasped at the back of his neck, his chest flush against him. Muscles below relaxed around intruding fingers quickly, and powerful arms squeezed Saito pleadingly. Breath warmed his ear and neck, fingers scratched his scalp coaxingly. "Come on, baby."
With a moan, Saito gave in, he pushed wholly into the beautiful heat beneath him, into a fire that raged in their shared heart. Mouths met and breaths swapped until lips broke apart, staved for air. Teeth and tongue traced down pale neck as a steady hand traced hip to knee, tugging a twitch out of the unraveling American.
Saito paused, pulled back, breathless, to revere the sight beneath him. Blue eyes dragged open, breath caught, heavy blonde locks fell. Saito nosed the hair aside and closed his eyes as his favorite pair of hands raced down, cupped his bottom and started the motion for him.
Slow. It had been slow before, on their first night, but that had been more out of patience for a man long out of this particular game. Now it was slow in a different way. Savored; a desperate plea for time to stand still and wait with them. Blue eyes began to spill, as Saito had seen them do at least once in all their nights together, and the suspended silence was broken by the sporadic throaty affirmatives jumping out of Cobb when Saito pushed or pulled just right.
Saito began to shake first, but he kept the same relishing pace that was surely enough undoing the holds on reality for both of them. Cobb tightened all around him, a whine falling into a moan and further into words, "Keep going,"
"Come for me," Saito rasped. Cobb pressed their foreheads together and held his breath as Saito adopted a brisker pace in his hand, stroking from base to head twice as quickly as he thrust from behind. Cobb's trembles started violently, exploding breaths and bursting tears. The first word cracked like a sob that flattened the rest into a pained, high-pitched sound, "Oh, Christ, I love you."
Everything left Saito in a shudder-breath, self, mind, strength-he was everywhere and nowhere. He was in limbo. Or heaven. He whispered with something more potent, perhaps a piece of soul, "I love you, too, Dom. Oh, I love you, too."