Walking Into Dreams (Arthur / Eames)
Title: Walking Into Dreams
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur / Eames
Rating: PG
Words: 3400
Originally posted on Inception Kink community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/4946.html
Eames is a con man, so. He meets Arthur for the first time by trying to swindle him in a public place or something (in whatever way anon pleases). Points if Arthur totally knows it's a con and leads Eames on until the very end.
Eames’ fingers twitched on the red poker chip he was rolling against the casino table.
Cards slid his way soundlessly over the green matte table surface, the green of cash. Eames peered at his cards, and decided that his luck was on strike. It seemed that every time he gambled at Monte Carlo luck fled from him as if he was the bubonic plague, and faking was far from enough to drain the opponents’ millions.
At least he could fold with grace. Standing up from his seat, the peripheral of his eyes caught a glimpse of a familiar suit blurring behind the twinkling slot machines, and he reached for his totem in his pocket.
But memories flooded his vision before he could grapple onto reality.
He was broke.
Unless you count the three pennies in his pocket. Eames had officially decided that he hate Monte Carlo.
He was hoping to put his bluffing skills to the test and rank up some dough in the meantime, because being a small stage actor with meager wages was starving the shit out of him. He credited himself as a damn good actor, but after the first couple of years the boredom was driving him up the wall. He wanted real thrills that followed him into his blood long after the camera was out.
But it looked like his hunt for thrills was already flowing down the drain, along with his three months worth of living expenses. Fucking marvelous.
Simmering in his failure for the moment, Eames scanned the crowds and was faintly amused by how easily people could be classified. There were those who dream to be rich by stuffing the slots with quarters, middle class hanging tentatively by the black jacks and those wearing diamonds sitting at secluded poker tables, the chips no doubt a grand at the minimum.
And then there was this boyish man with sleeked back hair, wearing tailored Armani suits fresh from the latest summer collection. A fresh graduate of Yale or Harvard, with billions backing him from his father’s empire looking lost as Mary’s little lamb between the bustling chaos, but held his front with his spine straight as a pole.
Later, Eames would realize that had been his first lesson at biased predisposition.
But as it was, Eames found himself hard to look away. He could almost taste the innocence, the tantalizing cologne and scent of well-read books. And of course, the green of cash.
Eames was on his feet before he realized and halfway across in bridging the distance, when his mind finally supplied the perfectly sensible reason.
The boy had money, while he had none. The world won’t do with such inequality, would it? And if along the way he happened to pretend to be someone he was not, or get a few stolen kisses here and there, they would completely be under the justice of restoring nature’s balance. Right.
“I’ve never seen you around here before. Would you like a guide?” His brain screamed ‘cheesy!’ but Eames swatted that voice away.
Without sparing a glance, the young man flat out refused. “No thanks.”
“You know, you don’t seem like the type to hang around in casinos, a little green for that. So what are you doing here?” Eames burst the bubble of personal space and bumped his shoulder lightly. “Looking for daddy?” He purred.
The flush in his ears was delicious to behold. He jerked away and glared at Eames, caught off guard with embarrassment and disbelief, and all Eames could think of was ‘he has eyes of dark chocolate.’
“Ah, now that you are looking at me, I’m Eames, gambler extraordinaire.” The young man spun on his heels to leave but Eames caught his wrist just in time after swiping his wallet from his suit pocket. “Now there… Arthur dear,” Eames flipped open the Ferragamo wallet with one hand and noting the name, “Let me guess the purpose of your visit today.”
“You hate casinos but you have to make yourself know everything about them. It’s for business so you convince yourself to bear with it. You need to live up to expectations, you desperately want to prove yourself and stand on your own feet.” Eames could feel Arthur’s muscles tensing. “You long to create but find comfort in defined boundaries; you secretly desire the rush of free fall but prioritize security. Which is why you like paradoxes because you cannot clearly define yourself.” Eames felt the words flowing naturally as if those dark eyes were tempting them out of him. Bloody hell, he did not even know what he was going to say when he opened his mouth.
“Who are you?” Arthur asked, brows creasing, defenses falling.
“Eames. Just Eames at your service. Shall we get going? There’s a whole casino you need to understand, and what better way is there than to take to the tables?” Eames released his hold on Arthur’s wrist, and gave a lopsided grin when the younger man made no move to escape.
He had never thought his first target would be this easy.
***
“Your turn, darling.” Eames chided from the sidelines, and Arthur looked up at him, totally clueless. Eames shrugged, refusing to help.
“I call.” Arthur announced, trying to cover up that waver in his voice and tossed a pile of chips into the pot. Three fives, hardly good enough judging from that true smugness the opponent was radiating. But of course Eames kept his lips shut. The more Arthur lost, the sooner comes his chance.
The opponent opened with four jacks, placing Arthur’s losses at fifty grand.
“I’m not doing this anymore.” Arthur muttered in frustration, kicking back the chair.
“But darling, think about your father’s enterprise, if you want to run a casino, you’d have to know everything.” Eames persuaded, pressing him back into the seat.
“My father’s enterprise…” Arthur echoed, a flicker of something passed his eyes and he smiled. Eames never knew he had a fetish for dimples until now. “How about you play for me? I’ll observe. I’m much better at that.” Arthur propositioned, and Eames had to control his grin from getting Cheshire.
“I’d never risk your money, sweetheart.”
Arthur sniffed, “As if I haven’t lost enough to care. Treat this as a job, I’ll pay you all the winnings.”
“If you insist.” Eames switched positions but kept an arm around Arthur’s waist. It was strangely firm and comforting to hold on to despite the slim appearance. “Stay here and keep me lucky, won’t you dear?”
A light dusting of a pink crept up Arthur’s neck onto his cheeks, and Eames’ heart clenched. He felt like a big bad wolf about to deflower a blushing virgin, and fuck his conscience for popping up so far into the game. Fuck the money. Fuck the scam.
Suddenly, Arthur gripped his arm, eyes staring at a moving target far away, his muscles taunt like he was ready to bolt any second. Eames followed his gaze and landed on a stunning brunette, wearing the largest fucking ruby he had ever seen, walking towards the VIP poker tables.
“What’s wrong?” Eames whispered, guiding Arthur’s attention back to himself.
Arthur hesitated but spoke at last, “She’s my fiancée. This is the other reason I’m here today. I’ve never met her before, you know, the whole matrimonial-ties-make-better-business-relations thing.” His hands danced vaguely, clearly distraught. “I’m not against it, I know what I ought to do, just that I feel I should know her better before the wedding. God, I should have the right to at least see the woman I’m going to spend the rest of my life with!”
The normal Eames would have turned right there and shot the fiancée. But the Eames Arthur would like, as Eames imagined, would have said, “Is there anything I could do?”
Arthur looked at him, eyes expectant. Eames added, “I’d do anything for you, darling,” and found the statement to be not far from the truth at all.
“Could you observe and get to know her for me? I don’t want to go up to her myself, it would be immensely awkward. Besides, I don’t want my father to get the wrong idea.” Arthur said softly, retreating to a more secluded angle behind Eames’ back.
Eames nodded and gave Arthur a wink. “I’ll be back before you miss me, honey.”
He sauntered away, steps sure with a casual, drunken swagger, and completely unaware of a pair of well-trained eyes stalking after his wake.
***
It wasn’t so hard getting into the VIP poker table; he had Arthur’s wallet after all. If the identity didn’t talk, the bills sure did.
The fiancée, Sandy as he had learned, was sitting right beside him, tossing her hair every few minutes. It was bloody annoying and Eames thought there must be a law in a country somewhere where women would be sentenced for flipping hair. Not that he had anything personal against her.
She was the daughter of the largest mining company in America, putting her value in the billions. She had been recently engaged, though she did not sound happy about that. She whined a little, something about using her as a diversion for acquisition.
Sandy just raised the call another four thousand.
“Quite a dare devil, aren’t you?” Eames joked and she batted her long eyelashes. The attempt at flirtation might have worked an hour ago, and Eames subconsciously scanned the casino for his ‘employer’.
Arthur stood out glaringly obvious in the crowds, and he was talking to another good looking fellow about Eames’ age. Judging from body language, and Arthur’s dimples, they were far from strangers.
Eames chuckled. “All in.”
He had stayed there long enough.
Arthur spotted him when he was twenty steps away or so, and smiled. Eames resisted the urge to melt into a puddle. That would have been highly unprofessional (but since when had he made conning his profession?), not to say that he would not have hands to grope if he turned into goo.
“How did it go?” Arthur asked.
“Perfect. Aren’t you going to introduce us, darling?” Eames smirked, glancing at the good looking fellow who had been gaping at Arthur since his arrival. Couldn’t blame him though.
“This is Dominic Cobb, my colleague. This is Eames, my guide in Monte Carlo.”
“Call me Dom. I’ve already heard all about you from Arthur.” Cobb extended his hand, quelling a little of Eames’ animosity with his comment.
“Can we go somewhere private to discuss your findings, Mr. Eames?” Arthur asked, completely business-like but the words hit Eames somewhere in his lower abdomen. Which was why he was more than annoyed when Cobb decided to tag along.
And he remembered still being annoyed when his face kissed the bar tabletop after only four shots.
***
“You should buy me another drink for all this information, darling.” Eames had just finished retelling his whole encounter with the fiancée and Arthur seemed quite pleased. Eames took the chance and pretended to be a little sloshed, leaning into Arthur’s side for support.
Cobb’s smile appeared a little awkward. “Eames, could you try to recall Sandy’s image, as accurately as possible?” He was scanning the bar restlessly while trying to be discreet, as if expecting something or someone to appear.
“Sure. She has brown hair that-”
Arthur pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t speak it out, just picture it in your mind.”
Eames couldn’t resist darting a quick lick at Arthur’s finger before closing his eyes. Brown hair green eyes with a long neck, well-proportioned body… He felt a light tingling in his arms, and heard Cobb gasp.
“What’s wrong?” Eames opened his eyes, and his vantage point seemed to have lowered itself. Both Arthur and Cobb were staring, and he was sure he was taller than Arthur. He reached out a hand for his whiskey, and looked at slender fingers with manicured red nails, soft and elegant.
He whipped his head in Arthur’s direction but instead saw Sandy in a whole wall of mirror around them that he was sure had been a normal bar not a second ago.
“Bloody hell I must be dreaming!” Eames exclaimed. “Bloody hell, I even sound like her!”
“Yes you are dreaming.” Cobb answered, deadpanned, then turned to Arthur, hardly able to conceal his rapture, “I’ve know that there are people - forgers, that’s the new name everyone goes by - who can create projections of a mark in their subconscious, but this!”
Arthur gave a slight shake of his head that efficiently put Cobb on pause and looked at Eames, narrowing his eyes, examining. “He looks perfect.”
“Of course I do, darling. Took you long enough.” Eames smirked, leaning down to steal a kiss on Arthur’s cheek and Arthur felt stubble grazing his face. Eames was back to his old self again.
Cobb had an incredulous look that suited him badly, and Arthur assured himself that it was all due to Eames’ special abilities, whatever it was. Nothing more.
“Eames, can I ask a favour of you?” Arthur asked, toning his voice ten times softer than usual and hoping against hope it sounded like a passable imitation of a damsel in distress pleading to the prince charming. In horrid mauve shirts.
“Anything for you, pet.” Eames replied charmingly, looking into the mirrors in fascination and somehow changing his shirt to an even more offending shade of turquoise with large floral patterns. Arthur closed his eyes for a brief moment, learning that colours could kill.
“You know that Sandy and I are engaged for business reasons, but my father is being very secretive about the true benefits of this arrangement. You heard Sandy mentioning something about acquisitions, right? Could you base on that, and try to draw out the truth behind the wedding from Sandy’s father? He’s… here too. Dreaming.” The mirrors parted and Arthur pointed to a man in his fifties sitting alone at a table.
“You mean, me going up to Sandy’s father as Sandy? Cool dream.” Eames concluded, still trying on outrageous dream-clothing. “Are you that against the engagement?”
Arthur reached up and put his hands on either side of Eames’ face, willing him to look straight into his eyes. “Not until I met you an hour ago.”
Eames’ greenish blue eyes dilated, and both of them were still. So still.
Then Eames stood abruptly, tossing back a luscious wave of brown hair and strode over to the mark, her hands tight on her purse as the daughter approached the father, a name, a figure of authority rather than a corporal being.
Cobb frowned at Arthur, and Arthur pretended not to notice.
***
“It’s time to go, Cobb.” Arthur said urgently as Cobb flipped through the confidential files in the envelop. “This job had been hasty and with the way we kept the mark without sedative, he’ll wake any moment now.”
Cobb nodded, withdrawing a gun from the inner pocket of his suit and aimed at his own temple.
“Dom! What the fuck -“ Eames yelled, and Cobb pulled the trigger.
Arthur felt a tiny pang of pity as he raised his gun at Eames, who was staring at Cobb’s body as shock had yet to register in his mind. “Good night, Mr. Eames.”
And Arthur shot him in the head just as he was turning around.
Eames woke up with a gasp, eyes wild, scanning the unfamiliar hotel room until his eyes landed on Cobb. “You’re alive.”
Cobb smiled empathetically, “Yes. It was a dream.”
Eames fingered his forehead gently, the searing heat of the bullet all too real that Eames was half surprised he didn’t really find a gaping hole in his head.
He felt a tugging at his wrist and found Arthur pulling a needle out of his vein. “Arthur, I think I need to know what happened.” Eames reached out to still Arthur’s hand, to find something solid to hold on to but Arthur shunned away, standing up and fleeting to the other side of the room.
“Thank you for your cooperation today, Mr. Eames.” Arthur’s voice was hard, cold, and Eames remembered a glimpse of a pair of dark eyes before the impact of the bullet hit. Was this who the slender rich boy really was? The realization was like smashing into a steel slab that had been right in front of his eyes. And he had prided himself in reading people.
Eames huffed a humorless laugh, “Tell me, darling, is Arthur even your real name?”
Only the sound of packing ensured, until Cobb answered, apologetic though at no fault of his own, “It is.”
“You know, darling, you never needed my help in poker.” Eames stood, tracing calculated steps towards Arthur. His voice was low, feral growl, “You would have been a prodigy on the table. Your deception was flawless, and I’ve just emptied my hands like a bloody beginner.”
Arthur tensed as Eames’ shadow loomed over his shoulders, and his hands flew into action on their own accord. There was a gun pressed in between Eames’ eyes before he even realized what his hands were up to. Arthur’s chest heaved, his breathing short and hitched.
Eames smiled, all dark and rouge, as he pressed his forehead further into the gunpoint. “Were you triumphant as you watched me trample into your delicately laid trap? Was it satisfaction you felt when that bullet blew my head apart? You’re really a quite believable actor, Arthur, but it’s only going to get you so far. It may be ignorance to be tricked once, but an idiot to be fooled twice. I’m no idiot, darling.”
Eames wrapped his hand around Arthur’s, taut and frozen around the gun, and gently extracted the weapon as if taking over a cup of coffee. Arthur’s hands were cold and dry, almost meaning to suck all of the warmth from Eames’ lips as he pressed a tiny kiss into the palm.
And all this time, their eyes never broke contact.
“I’ll be back for my lost share, darling.” Eames whispered, his breath trickling through Arthur’s fingers. Then he was out the door, the Glock crashing against the opposite wall and echoes of the impact pounded within the room.
Arthur walked over to pick up his gun, his pace measured to imitate normalcy, though he couldn’t quite mask the tremor in his hand.
“You’re really fucked this time.” Cobb commented from the sidelines.
Arthur smashed the gun into the wall once more.
***
It was six months before the news of a revolutionary discovery in shapeshifting within the dreamscape got around. And it hadn’t been from Cobb and Arthur.
It took another four months for the profession of forgery to become a new addition to their field of work.
It was six months later that the name of “Eames” became the equivalent of forgery, and people were singing praises that left Cobb looking shifty every time he heard them.
And finally, a week after that, Arthur was clued in on Cobb’s conspiracy when Eames sauntered into their warehouse.
“Did you miss me, darling?”
“Did you miss me, darling?” Eames crooned into Arthur’s ear, stalking up against the man. If Arthur was surprised, he certainly didn’t show it.
“Eames, go back to your spot, the target’s arriving soon.” Arthur warned, not bothering to face Eames.
“But honey! This could almost be our anniversary! Doesn’t Monte Carlo just bring back a fond sense of déjà vu?” Eames’ hand traced along Arthur’s hip, efficiently picking a red die out of Arthur’s waistcoat pocket.
Arthur gripped his wrist before he could make a safe retreat with the prize, “Do you not understand the basic courtesy of not beholding another person’s totem?”
“Why does that matter when I already know the workings of your die? Bloody hell, I gave it to you!” Eames protested, sulking. “I taught you all my tricks and then you used them to beat me and left my heart to shatter. That’s hardly fair.”
Arthur coughed, surreptitiously loosening his grip and finding his martini extremely interesting.
Eames snatched away the die with glee, and pressed a light kiss to Arthur’s ear. “Knew you’d let me win, darling.”
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur / Eames
Rating: PG
Words: 3400
Originally posted on Inception Kink community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/4946.html
Eames is a con man, so. He meets Arthur for the first time by trying to swindle him in a public place or something (in whatever way anon pleases). Points if Arthur totally knows it's a con and leads Eames on until the very end.
Eames’ fingers twitched on the red poker chip he was rolling against the casino table.
Cards slid his way soundlessly over the green matte table surface, the green of cash. Eames peered at his cards, and decided that his luck was on strike. It seemed that every time he gambled at Monte Carlo luck fled from him as if he was the bubonic plague, and faking was far from enough to drain the opponents’ millions.
At least he could fold with grace. Standing up from his seat, the peripheral of his eyes caught a glimpse of a familiar suit blurring behind the twinkling slot machines, and he reached for his totem in his pocket.
But memories flooded his vision before he could grapple onto reality.
He was broke.
Unless you count the three pennies in his pocket. Eames had officially decided that he hate Monte Carlo.
He was hoping to put his bluffing skills to the test and rank up some dough in the meantime, because being a small stage actor with meager wages was starving the shit out of him. He credited himself as a damn good actor, but after the first couple of years the boredom was driving him up the wall. He wanted real thrills that followed him into his blood long after the camera was out.
But it looked like his hunt for thrills was already flowing down the drain, along with his three months worth of living expenses. Fucking marvelous.
Simmering in his failure for the moment, Eames scanned the crowds and was faintly amused by how easily people could be classified. There were those who dream to be rich by stuffing the slots with quarters, middle class hanging tentatively by the black jacks and those wearing diamonds sitting at secluded poker tables, the chips no doubt a grand at the minimum.
And then there was this boyish man with sleeked back hair, wearing tailored Armani suits fresh from the latest summer collection. A fresh graduate of Yale or Harvard, with billions backing him from his father’s empire looking lost as Mary’s little lamb between the bustling chaos, but held his front with his spine straight as a pole.
Later, Eames would realize that had been his first lesson at biased predisposition.
But as it was, Eames found himself hard to look away. He could almost taste the innocence, the tantalizing cologne and scent of well-read books. And of course, the green of cash.
Eames was on his feet before he realized and halfway across in bridging the distance, when his mind finally supplied the perfectly sensible reason.
The boy had money, while he had none. The world won’t do with such inequality, would it? And if along the way he happened to pretend to be someone he was not, or get a few stolen kisses here and there, they would completely be under the justice of restoring nature’s balance. Right.
“I’ve never seen you around here before. Would you like a guide?” His brain screamed ‘cheesy!’ but Eames swatted that voice away.
Without sparing a glance, the young man flat out refused. “No thanks.”
“You know, you don’t seem like the type to hang around in casinos, a little green for that. So what are you doing here?” Eames burst the bubble of personal space and bumped his shoulder lightly. “Looking for daddy?” He purred.
The flush in his ears was delicious to behold. He jerked away and glared at Eames, caught off guard with embarrassment and disbelief, and all Eames could think of was ‘he has eyes of dark chocolate.’
“Ah, now that you are looking at me, I’m Eames, gambler extraordinaire.” The young man spun on his heels to leave but Eames caught his wrist just in time after swiping his wallet from his suit pocket. “Now there… Arthur dear,” Eames flipped open the Ferragamo wallet with one hand and noting the name, “Let me guess the purpose of your visit today.”
“You hate casinos but you have to make yourself know everything about them. It’s for business so you convince yourself to bear with it. You need to live up to expectations, you desperately want to prove yourself and stand on your own feet.” Eames could feel Arthur’s muscles tensing. “You long to create but find comfort in defined boundaries; you secretly desire the rush of free fall but prioritize security. Which is why you like paradoxes because you cannot clearly define yourself.” Eames felt the words flowing naturally as if those dark eyes were tempting them out of him. Bloody hell, he did not even know what he was going to say when he opened his mouth.
“Who are you?” Arthur asked, brows creasing, defenses falling.
“Eames. Just Eames at your service. Shall we get going? There’s a whole casino you need to understand, and what better way is there than to take to the tables?” Eames released his hold on Arthur’s wrist, and gave a lopsided grin when the younger man made no move to escape.
He had never thought his first target would be this easy.
***
“Your turn, darling.” Eames chided from the sidelines, and Arthur looked up at him, totally clueless. Eames shrugged, refusing to help.
“I call.” Arthur announced, trying to cover up that waver in his voice and tossed a pile of chips into the pot. Three fives, hardly good enough judging from that true smugness the opponent was radiating. But of course Eames kept his lips shut. The more Arthur lost, the sooner comes his chance.
The opponent opened with four jacks, placing Arthur’s losses at fifty grand.
“I’m not doing this anymore.” Arthur muttered in frustration, kicking back the chair.
“But darling, think about your father’s enterprise, if you want to run a casino, you’d have to know everything.” Eames persuaded, pressing him back into the seat.
“My father’s enterprise…” Arthur echoed, a flicker of something passed his eyes and he smiled. Eames never knew he had a fetish for dimples until now. “How about you play for me? I’ll observe. I’m much better at that.” Arthur propositioned, and Eames had to control his grin from getting Cheshire.
“I’d never risk your money, sweetheart.”
Arthur sniffed, “As if I haven’t lost enough to care. Treat this as a job, I’ll pay you all the winnings.”
“If you insist.” Eames switched positions but kept an arm around Arthur’s waist. It was strangely firm and comforting to hold on to despite the slim appearance. “Stay here and keep me lucky, won’t you dear?”
A light dusting of a pink crept up Arthur’s neck onto his cheeks, and Eames’ heart clenched. He felt like a big bad wolf about to deflower a blushing virgin, and fuck his conscience for popping up so far into the game. Fuck the money. Fuck the scam.
Suddenly, Arthur gripped his arm, eyes staring at a moving target far away, his muscles taunt like he was ready to bolt any second. Eames followed his gaze and landed on a stunning brunette, wearing the largest fucking ruby he had ever seen, walking towards the VIP poker tables.
“What’s wrong?” Eames whispered, guiding Arthur’s attention back to himself.
Arthur hesitated but spoke at last, “She’s my fiancée. This is the other reason I’m here today. I’ve never met her before, you know, the whole matrimonial-ties-make-better-business-relations thing.” His hands danced vaguely, clearly distraught. “I’m not against it, I know what I ought to do, just that I feel I should know her better before the wedding. God, I should have the right to at least see the woman I’m going to spend the rest of my life with!”
The normal Eames would have turned right there and shot the fiancée. But the Eames Arthur would like, as Eames imagined, would have said, “Is there anything I could do?”
Arthur looked at him, eyes expectant. Eames added, “I’d do anything for you, darling,” and found the statement to be not far from the truth at all.
“Could you observe and get to know her for me? I don’t want to go up to her myself, it would be immensely awkward. Besides, I don’t want my father to get the wrong idea.” Arthur said softly, retreating to a more secluded angle behind Eames’ back.
Eames nodded and gave Arthur a wink. “I’ll be back before you miss me, honey.”
He sauntered away, steps sure with a casual, drunken swagger, and completely unaware of a pair of well-trained eyes stalking after his wake.
***
It wasn’t so hard getting into the VIP poker table; he had Arthur’s wallet after all. If the identity didn’t talk, the bills sure did.
The fiancée, Sandy as he had learned, was sitting right beside him, tossing her hair every few minutes. It was bloody annoying and Eames thought there must be a law in a country somewhere where women would be sentenced for flipping hair. Not that he had anything personal against her.
She was the daughter of the largest mining company in America, putting her value in the billions. She had been recently engaged, though she did not sound happy about that. She whined a little, something about using her as a diversion for acquisition.
Sandy just raised the call another four thousand.
“Quite a dare devil, aren’t you?” Eames joked and she batted her long eyelashes. The attempt at flirtation might have worked an hour ago, and Eames subconsciously scanned the casino for his ‘employer’.
Arthur stood out glaringly obvious in the crowds, and he was talking to another good looking fellow about Eames’ age. Judging from body language, and Arthur’s dimples, they were far from strangers.
Eames chuckled. “All in.”
He had stayed there long enough.
Arthur spotted him when he was twenty steps away or so, and smiled. Eames resisted the urge to melt into a puddle. That would have been highly unprofessional (but since when had he made conning his profession?), not to say that he would not have hands to grope if he turned into goo.
“How did it go?” Arthur asked.
“Perfect. Aren’t you going to introduce us, darling?” Eames smirked, glancing at the good looking fellow who had been gaping at Arthur since his arrival. Couldn’t blame him though.
“This is Dominic Cobb, my colleague. This is Eames, my guide in Monte Carlo.”
“Call me Dom. I’ve already heard all about you from Arthur.” Cobb extended his hand, quelling a little of Eames’ animosity with his comment.
“Can we go somewhere private to discuss your findings, Mr. Eames?” Arthur asked, completely business-like but the words hit Eames somewhere in his lower abdomen. Which was why he was more than annoyed when Cobb decided to tag along.
And he remembered still being annoyed when his face kissed the bar tabletop after only four shots.
***
“You should buy me another drink for all this information, darling.” Eames had just finished retelling his whole encounter with the fiancée and Arthur seemed quite pleased. Eames took the chance and pretended to be a little sloshed, leaning into Arthur’s side for support.
Cobb’s smile appeared a little awkward. “Eames, could you try to recall Sandy’s image, as accurately as possible?” He was scanning the bar restlessly while trying to be discreet, as if expecting something or someone to appear.
“Sure. She has brown hair that-”
Arthur pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t speak it out, just picture it in your mind.”
Eames couldn’t resist darting a quick lick at Arthur’s finger before closing his eyes. Brown hair green eyes with a long neck, well-proportioned body… He felt a light tingling in his arms, and heard Cobb gasp.
“What’s wrong?” Eames opened his eyes, and his vantage point seemed to have lowered itself. Both Arthur and Cobb were staring, and he was sure he was taller than Arthur. He reached out a hand for his whiskey, and looked at slender fingers with manicured red nails, soft and elegant.
He whipped his head in Arthur’s direction but instead saw Sandy in a whole wall of mirror around them that he was sure had been a normal bar not a second ago.
“Bloody hell I must be dreaming!” Eames exclaimed. “Bloody hell, I even sound like her!”
“Yes you are dreaming.” Cobb answered, deadpanned, then turned to Arthur, hardly able to conceal his rapture, “I’ve know that there are people - forgers, that’s the new name everyone goes by - who can create projections of a mark in their subconscious, but this!”
Arthur gave a slight shake of his head that efficiently put Cobb on pause and looked at Eames, narrowing his eyes, examining. “He looks perfect.”
“Of course I do, darling. Took you long enough.” Eames smirked, leaning down to steal a kiss on Arthur’s cheek and Arthur felt stubble grazing his face. Eames was back to his old self again.
Cobb had an incredulous look that suited him badly, and Arthur assured himself that it was all due to Eames’ special abilities, whatever it was. Nothing more.
“Eames, can I ask a favour of you?” Arthur asked, toning his voice ten times softer than usual and hoping against hope it sounded like a passable imitation of a damsel in distress pleading to the prince charming. In horrid mauve shirts.
“Anything for you, pet.” Eames replied charmingly, looking into the mirrors in fascination and somehow changing his shirt to an even more offending shade of turquoise with large floral patterns. Arthur closed his eyes for a brief moment, learning that colours could kill.
“You know that Sandy and I are engaged for business reasons, but my father is being very secretive about the true benefits of this arrangement. You heard Sandy mentioning something about acquisitions, right? Could you base on that, and try to draw out the truth behind the wedding from Sandy’s father? He’s… here too. Dreaming.” The mirrors parted and Arthur pointed to a man in his fifties sitting alone at a table.
“You mean, me going up to Sandy’s father as Sandy? Cool dream.” Eames concluded, still trying on outrageous dream-clothing. “Are you that against the engagement?”
Arthur reached up and put his hands on either side of Eames’ face, willing him to look straight into his eyes. “Not until I met you an hour ago.”
Eames’ greenish blue eyes dilated, and both of them were still. So still.
Then Eames stood abruptly, tossing back a luscious wave of brown hair and strode over to the mark, her hands tight on her purse as the daughter approached the father, a name, a figure of authority rather than a corporal being.
Cobb frowned at Arthur, and Arthur pretended not to notice.
***
“It’s time to go, Cobb.” Arthur said urgently as Cobb flipped through the confidential files in the envelop. “This job had been hasty and with the way we kept the mark without sedative, he’ll wake any moment now.”
Cobb nodded, withdrawing a gun from the inner pocket of his suit and aimed at his own temple.
“Dom! What the fuck -“ Eames yelled, and Cobb pulled the trigger.
Arthur felt a tiny pang of pity as he raised his gun at Eames, who was staring at Cobb’s body as shock had yet to register in his mind. “Good night, Mr. Eames.”
And Arthur shot him in the head just as he was turning around.
Eames woke up with a gasp, eyes wild, scanning the unfamiliar hotel room until his eyes landed on Cobb. “You’re alive.”
Cobb smiled empathetically, “Yes. It was a dream.”
Eames fingered his forehead gently, the searing heat of the bullet all too real that Eames was half surprised he didn’t really find a gaping hole in his head.
He felt a tugging at his wrist and found Arthur pulling a needle out of his vein. “Arthur, I think I need to know what happened.” Eames reached out to still Arthur’s hand, to find something solid to hold on to but Arthur shunned away, standing up and fleeting to the other side of the room.
“Thank you for your cooperation today, Mr. Eames.” Arthur’s voice was hard, cold, and Eames remembered a glimpse of a pair of dark eyes before the impact of the bullet hit. Was this who the slender rich boy really was? The realization was like smashing into a steel slab that had been right in front of his eyes. And he had prided himself in reading people.
Eames huffed a humorless laugh, “Tell me, darling, is Arthur even your real name?”
Only the sound of packing ensured, until Cobb answered, apologetic though at no fault of his own, “It is.”
“You know, darling, you never needed my help in poker.” Eames stood, tracing calculated steps towards Arthur. His voice was low, feral growl, “You would have been a prodigy on the table. Your deception was flawless, and I’ve just emptied my hands like a bloody beginner.”
Arthur tensed as Eames’ shadow loomed over his shoulders, and his hands flew into action on their own accord. There was a gun pressed in between Eames’ eyes before he even realized what his hands were up to. Arthur’s chest heaved, his breathing short and hitched.
Eames smiled, all dark and rouge, as he pressed his forehead further into the gunpoint. “Were you triumphant as you watched me trample into your delicately laid trap? Was it satisfaction you felt when that bullet blew my head apart? You’re really a quite believable actor, Arthur, but it’s only going to get you so far. It may be ignorance to be tricked once, but an idiot to be fooled twice. I’m no idiot, darling.”
Eames wrapped his hand around Arthur’s, taut and frozen around the gun, and gently extracted the weapon as if taking over a cup of coffee. Arthur’s hands were cold and dry, almost meaning to suck all of the warmth from Eames’ lips as he pressed a tiny kiss into the palm.
And all this time, their eyes never broke contact.
“I’ll be back for my lost share, darling.” Eames whispered, his breath trickling through Arthur’s fingers. Then he was out the door, the Glock crashing against the opposite wall and echoes of the impact pounded within the room.
Arthur walked over to pick up his gun, his pace measured to imitate normalcy, though he couldn’t quite mask the tremor in his hand.
“You’re really fucked this time.” Cobb commented from the sidelines.
Arthur smashed the gun into the wall once more.
***
It was six months before the news of a revolutionary discovery in shapeshifting within the dreamscape got around. And it hadn’t been from Cobb and Arthur.
It took another four months for the profession of forgery to become a new addition to their field of work.
It was six months later that the name of “Eames” became the equivalent of forgery, and people were singing praises that left Cobb looking shifty every time he heard them.
And finally, a week after that, Arthur was clued in on Cobb’s conspiracy when Eames sauntered into their warehouse.
“Did you miss me, darling?”
“Did you miss me, darling?” Eames crooned into Arthur’s ear, stalking up against the man. If Arthur was surprised, he certainly didn’t show it.
“Eames, go back to your spot, the target’s arriving soon.” Arthur warned, not bothering to face Eames.
“But honey! This could almost be our anniversary! Doesn’t Monte Carlo just bring back a fond sense of déjà vu?” Eames’ hand traced along Arthur’s hip, efficiently picking a red die out of Arthur’s waistcoat pocket.
Arthur gripped his wrist before he could make a safe retreat with the prize, “Do you not understand the basic courtesy of not beholding another person’s totem?”
“Why does that matter when I already know the workings of your die? Bloody hell, I gave it to you!” Eames protested, sulking. “I taught you all my tricks and then you used them to beat me and left my heart to shatter. That’s hardly fair.”
Arthur coughed, surreptitiously loosening his grip and finding his martini extremely interesting.
Eames snatched away the die with glee, and pressed a light kiss to Arthur’s ear. “Knew you’d let me win, darling.”