Fic: An Immovable Object
An Immovable Object
Words: 7000
Thanks to: sorrynotsorry for the developing the story with me, and for chibi_lurrel for the additional looksee.
“What happens when an immovable object meets
An Immovable Object
Day 75
“What happens when an immovable object meets an irresistible force?”
* * * * * *
Day 1
“The way you handled the mark as Chloe was masterful, Eames.”
Eames glances up from packing his things and waits for the backhanded portion of Arthur’s compliment to land. When nothing more seems to be forthcoming, Eames allows himself a careful, “Thank you.”
“I was wondering if you might be willing to tell me a little about how you go about making your forgeries so nuanced and believable,” Arthur says, voice light and casual. “Possibly at the bar downstairs?”
Eames finishes pushing the loose papers into his briefcase and straightens. Normally, they’d be splitting up and making themselves scarce after a job, but this was a security and militarization gig, with a grateful and willing mark obsessed with knowing all the cutting edge ways to sneak around a mind-including techniques like using forgeries of favorite sisters. “Thinking about turning out some forgeries of your own, Arthur?”
“Unfortunately, I’ve already tried and can safely say you’ll get no competition from me in that field.” Arthur smiles wryly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not still curious about how it’s done, though. And who better to learn from than you?”
“Are you offering drinks in return for all my trade secrets?” Eames raises an eyebrow, not sure if this is going where he thinks this is going.
Instead of rolling his eyes or handing back a sarcastic reply, Arthur runs a fingertip along the edge of the hotel conference table and looks up at Eames from under his eyelashes. “Well, maybe not all your secrets.”
They make it down to the bar and through all of one drink before Arthur puts his hand on Eames’ thigh and says, “I have the PASIV back in my room. Perhaps you could give me a live demonstration?”
Eames wonders idly as they stand side by side in the gleaming hotel elevator up, whether Arthur is the sort of fellow who only engages in sexual encounters in dreams anymore; Eames has slept with a surprisingly high number of people in the dream-sharing business who prefer sex that they can make up their own rules for, whether it’s because of the ability to use forged identities or fantastical settings, or skip clean up after. Eames doesn’t mind much either way-the only line he’s ever drawn is when someone wanted to enact (or reenact) a disturbingly realistic priest and choir boy fantasy-but Eames is a bit of a traditionalist: give him rough, hairy, and messy sex in reality over controlled fantasies, any day.
It helps, of course, that Arthur is downright edible to begin with.
As they exit the elevator and walk down the hallway, Eames discreetly checks his totem and hopes that Arthur isn’t going to have some weirdly complicated script that he’s going to want Eames to play out. Eames has had more than a few sexual encounters come to a screeching halt because he forgot to stay in character for his given role halfway on the road to orgasm; he’s a conscientious professional when it comes to forging for jobs, but trying to remember to keep his voice, image, and genitalia all straight while attempting to get off really does take most of the fun out of the experience.
Once they step inside Arthur’s penthouse suite, he offers Eames a drink. Arthur then proceeds to grab him by the waist and kiss him without waiting for an answer.
Arthur kisses like he does most things: precisely, and with a great deal of skill. Eames appreciates this, especially since most of his recent sexual encounters in the past year have been affairs that could be characterized as little more than drunken gropes to the finish line. But Arthur seems not to be in any particular hurry, allowing Eames to relax into the kiss even as Arthur’s hands explore the planes of Eames’ body thoroughly over his clothing.
When they finally break apart to breathe, Eames finds himself a little lightheaded and already very hard. Arthur still seems more in control of his faculties, despite the sizable tent in his trousers. “Come on,” he says as he takes Eames’ elbow. “Let’s get to the bedroom.”
“What, no drink?” Eames asks as he allows himself to be led. The bedroom is tastefully decorated, with paintings depicting orchids on the wall and a massive bed dominating the corner of the room.
“If you’d like to suck of tiny bottle of vodka, whiskey, or tequila from my bellybutton, I’d be open to that.” Arthur grins as he begins undoing the buttons of his jacket.
“Oh, is that what you want me to be sucking?” Eames lifts his shirt up over his head and smirks when he catches sight of Arthur’s reaction.
It takes less time for Eames to shuck off his clothing and shoes than it does Arthur. But as Eames sits back on the outrageously comfortable bed, he has to admit he’s enjoying the Victorian burlesque aspect of Arthur’s undress, smooth naked flesh revealed one inch at a time.
“How open are you to suggestions?” Arthur asks when the last shred of fabric is gone and he’s crawling over Eames on all fours.
“Oh, very,” Eames purrs as he runs his hands over Arthur’s chest, dipping down to stroke his abdomen and around to touch his back. “As long as you ask nicely.”
“Do you want me to say please?” Arthur asks, practically preening under Eames’ greedy eyes and hands.
“You know what they say about a spoonful of sugar,” Eames replies, allowing himself to take in the sight of Arthur’s cock, which is swollen, red, and gorgeous enough to make him salivate. “It does help the medicine go down.”
“Well, in that case, Mr. Eames.” Arthur bends his head down to brush his lips against Eames’ ear so very, very gently. “Please.”
Eames’ only response is to shimmy down the bed, grab Arthur’s prick, and put his lips around it as quickly as humanly possible. Arthur seems satisfied with this reply, and lets out a low moan when Eames manages to deep-throat him with ease.
“Oh fuck,” Arthur murmurs, and Eames can feel him trembling with the effort of holding himself up on his hands and knees firmly, forcing himself not to allow his elbows to buckle or his hips to start pistoning into Eames’ face. “That’s good, that’s-that’s great.”
Eames loses himself in the fluid motion, the hum of Arthur’s moans and close to nonsensical encouragement above him, the clean and heady scent of Arthur filling his nostrils with every breath. He hears Arthur make an indistinct warning sound, and Eames pats him on the arse to let him know Eames has no objection to swallowing.
Arthur grunts above him and then his body goes absolutely still, hips the only part of him moving in shallow pumps. Eames dutifully swallows it all down, and waits until Arthur pulls away a little to stop sucking. Arthur drops to the bed next to Eames, panting, and puts a warm hand on Eames’ stomach, fingers splaying. “Thank you.”
“So polite.” Eames chuckles as he rolls onto his side to look at Arthur, who looks delightfully debauched.
“Give me a minute and I’ll thank you properly,” Arthur says, fingers drifting down to stroke lazily up and down Eames’ dick.
Arthur’s blowjob is everything Eames had hoped and imagined it would be: excellent technique, all the enthusiasm a man could ever ask for, and amazing tongue. Eames cards his fingers through Arthur’s hair until the last of the gel gives away, and pushes it back every time it falls into Arthur’s dark, hooded eyes.
It’s all over much too quickly, but Eames is hardly in a position to complain. Somewhere in the haze of the afterglow, Eames notes Arthur leaning over the side of the bed to spit into the conveniently placed trash can, and chuckles a little to himself because of course Arthur was prepared for this.
“Did it all go according to plan?” Eames asks, stretching lazily and reaching out to grab a pillow. “Did you get everything you came for?”
“I don’t know,” Arthur replies, crawling up to rest his head on a pillow too. “You tell me.”
“I’d say it was a job well done.” Eames’ fingers itch for a cigarette even though he quit three years ago, so he traces the long, jagged scar down Arthur’s side instead. “The mark didn’t know what hit him.”
“Good,” Arthur murmurs. “Although I might have to schedule a follow-up to make sure I didn’t miss anything.”
“I’ve always appreciated your thoroughness, Arthur,” Eames says, feeling his eyelids grow heavy. “I look forward to our follow-up.”
“As do I,” Arthur says, and the image of him smiling, sated and content, is the last thing Eames sees before he drifts off to sleep.
* * * * * *
Day 2
Eames wakes up to the sound of the covers rustling as Arthur slips out of bed. Eames briefly considers going back to sleep, but then decides that it wouldn’t do for his and Arthur’s professional relationship to be harmed by this experience. Arthur is, after all, the best at what he does in the business.
“Leaving so soon?” Eames says as he yawns and opens both eyes.
Arthur is pulling an already prepared outfit-a white button-down shirt with black trousers-from a hanger in the closet and putting it on. “I have an early flight.”
“Ah, an early flight,” Eames says, not sure whether to be disappointed or not. He had been hoping for an encore performance this morning, but he supposes this is probably a tidier resolution to things. “Message received.”
Arthur stops in the middle of buttoning up his shirt and surprises Eames by going over to the bed and leaning over to press a dry kiss to Eames’ mouth. “I meant what I said, you know,” Arthur says against Eames’ lips, the fabric of his half-open shirt grazing Eames’ chest. “About follow-ups.”
“So now there are multiple follow-ups?” Eames says as Arthur pulls back a little. “Just how much did you miss the first go round?”
“Maybe I just want to know everything,” Arthur says as his hand slides under the sheets to grip firmly at Eames’ morning wood. “Maybe I just find you fascinating.”
“Flattery will, of course, ah-" Eames bucks up into Arthur’s hand, “get you everywhere.”
Arthur leans down to take one of Eames’ nipples into his mouth as he continues to jerk Eames’ dick, licking and sucking and eventually moving onto teeth when Eames brings a shaky hand down to clutch at the back of Arthur’s neck. Arthur’s every bit as good with his hand as he is with his mouth, and the combination of the two at once is enough to push Eames over the edge in fairly short order.
“Don’t you want-" Eames gestures in the direction of Arthur’s crotch while Arthur wipes his hand on the sheet.
“It’s okay,” Arthur says as he pulls the sheet up across Eames’ chest again. “You can make it up to me later. For now: get some sleep.”
* * * * * *
Day 75
“So you and Arthur, huh?” Cobb says one day while they’re in the middle of reviewing the model he’s built of the second dream level.
“Come again?” Eames says, feigning ignorance even though he knows precisely what Cobb is talking about. He knew there’d been a reason-multiple reasons--he’d refused to work with Cobb for well over a year after the inception job, and only some of those reasons were related to the possibility of ending up in Limbo for eternity. But Arthur had sprung Cobb’s involvement at the last minute-after Eames had already stupidly agreed in a moment of post-coital bliss-and here they were.
“Arthur already told me,” Cobb says. “And look, I really don’t want to get involved but I felt like I should at least warn you, after everything you did to help me and my family.”
* * * * * *
Day 16
“I’ll go with you,” Arthur says, grabbing his jacket from where it’s hanging on the chair.
Eames raises his eyebrows in surprise, but shrugs as Arthur joins him to leave the room. “Afraid I’m going to forget your order, Arthur?”
“You never forget my order,” Arthur says calmly as they get into the elevator. Eames has a sudden flash of déjà vu. “You only intentionally mess it up to annoy me.”
“You mean you don’t care for three pounds of sugar and half a gallon of milk in your coffee?” Eames asks with mock innocence, and is rewarded with a dimpled smile.
“Honestly, I just need a break from Dom,” Arthur says when they reach the ground floor and head through the lobby. “I love him and his kids, but man, if I have to listen to another story about this hilarious thing that Phillippa did, or the adorable thing that James said, I don’t know what I might do.”
Eames chuckles as they walk out of the hotel and make a right towards the nearby Starbucks. “I thought I was the only one suffering in there.”
“You’ve never had Dom put a baby on the phone to gurgle at you for fifteen minutes,” Arthur says darkly when they get in line.
“Have you tried hanging up?” Eames asks. “I find that’s rather effective when my time is being wasted on the phone.”
“I can’t,” Arthur says, sighing. “I’m James’ godfather. I even drove Dom to the hospital when James was born because Dom was hyperventilating too badly to drive.”
“You? A godfather?” Eames doesn’t know why he’s so surprised, given how close Arthur and Dom are. But still, it’s strange to think about Arthur in a caretaker role. “Just when I think I’ve got you all figured out.”
“I’m not actually a soulless automaton, Eames.” Arthur smiles, and then winks. “I only play one on TV.”
* * * * * *
Day 75
“Warn me,” Eames repeats blankly.
“Arthur sometimes has a problem with his… impulse control in his personal life,” Cobb says, sounding as profoundly awkward as Eames feels. “It’s not that he means to be callous, it’s just that he sometimes doesn’t think things through.”
* * * * * *
Day 57
“Do you remember the first time we met?” Arthur asks as he takes a sip from his brandy.
“How could I not?” Eames replies as he leans forward on the bar, waving at the bartender for a drink. “You unloaded half a magazine in my face even after I waved the white flag of surrender.”
“The simulation was take no prisoners,” Arthur replies, not seeming sorry at all. “Besides, that wasn’t the first time you were killed in a dream, was it?”
“It was my first time being shot in the face with a submachine gun,” Eames says before asking the bartender for a margarita. “There is such a thing as overkill.”
“I may have overreacted,” Arthur concedes. “Though, in my defense, it was because you startled me. I didn’t expect to see you again in one of my training simulations.”
“Again?” Eames accepts the big, red margarita the bartender passes to him and licks delicately at the salt on the rim, enjoying the way Arthur’s eyes track the movement.
“I saw you walking around the base before, when you were still in your civvies,” Arthur says, taking a deeper sip of his drink. “You were wearing these pants that just clung to your ass with every step you took. I figured you were probably straight, but god-the things I wanted to do to you.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Eames feels a little put out about all the sex they could have been having all these years. “I’ve been ordering bloody margaritas and staring at your arse since day one. Were you looking for an engraved invitation to suck my cock?”
Arthur snorts out a laugh as he finishes off the rest of his drink. “I don’t know-first it was don’t ask, don’t tell, then it was because I could barely be around you without tripping over my own feet-"
“Are you telling me I made you nervous?” Eames takes a swallow of his margarita, which is fruity and delicious. “Little old me?”
“Of course you made me nervous.” Arthur touches Eames’ knee lightly. “I was twenty-three and barely out of the closet in my own head. You were like walking sex-confident and charming with a James Bond accent on top of it. I could barely look at you without worrying about getting hard.”
“You weren’t so bad yourself,” Eames says, touching a thumb to the dimple in Arthur’s right cheek. “Fresh-faced know-it-all with a body I could not wait to get a hold of.”
“I suppose you’re going to tell me not much has changed,” Arthur says, but he’s smiling and his hand is still stroking up and down Eames’ leg.
Eames holds out the last of his margarita to Arthur, who drinks it and then brings the slice of lime up to his mouth to suck on, with great deliberateness. “Well. Maybe a few things.”
* * * * * *
Day 75
“You sound as if you’ve given this speech before,” Eames says skeptically.
“Yeah.” Cobb lets out an embarrassed laugh and rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry. This isn’t the first time this has happened and I’m used to-well, anyway. You’re a grown man and maybe I don’t need to have this conversation with you, but I’m going to, anyway.”
* * * * * *
Day 98
“My, don’t you look dashing,” Eames says as he surveys Arthur in his impeccable black dinner jacket. “Modern theater-going elegance personified.”
“And you in a white tux?” Arthur closes the distance between them and doesn’t hesitate before touching Eames’ collar, smoothing his lapels down. “I guess I should have expected it.”
“You know it’s not necessary for you to come with me, don’t you?” Eames says as he gets into the back of the car he’d arranged for. “Cobb already scrapped the theater level plan, and even if it is the mark’s favorite opera, I highly doubt she’s going to even reference it in conversation with me. Too many painful memories.”
“And yet you’re still going to see it,” Arthur points out as he slides into the car also.
“Well, it has been ten years since the last time I saw Carmen, and I thought I might as well get the refresher while it’s on Saito’s sterling,” Eames says. He’s a little startled, but not displeased, when Arthur sits beside him close enough for their legs to touch.
“I’ve never gotten the chance to see it,” Arthur says, bumping his shoulder against Eames playfully. “What’s it about?”
“Oh, the typical opera fare: seduction, jealousy, and a man who loves a woman that loves freedom more than him,” Eames says. “Libre elle est née et libre elle mourra.”
“Free she was born and free she will die,” Arthur translates. “Very dramatic. I assume she does, in fact, die at the end?”
Eames tilts his head to one side as he looks over Arthur and his handsome profile, his slicked back hair. “Alas, her young man is rather overcome with the need to possess her and does the dirty deed.”
“That seems like a foolish course of action,” Arthur says as he brushes his knuckles against Eames’ jaw-which is clean-shaven, for once. “What’s the point in wanting someone who doesn’t want you?”
“Not everyone plays to win, Arthur,” Eames replies, staring into Arthur’s eyes and beginning to feel adrift. “They say gamblers play to lose.”
* * * * * *
Day 75
“I’m still not even sure what this conversation is even about,” Eames says, lifting an eyebrow. “What exactly are you trying to say?”
Cobb takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to get involved in Arthur’s personal shit-"
“But clearly you’re willing to.”
“Eames, I’m on your side.”
* * * * * *
Day 143
“Are you asking me out on a date?” Eames says.
Arthur huffs out a laugh at the other end of the phone. “There’s no need to make it sound like a death sentence.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about this,” Eames says as he walks around his hotel room, picking up the various articles of discarded clothing from the previous night. “Our first date after the four months we’ve been having sex? I’m starting to wonder if you’ve merely been using me for your carnal pleasure.”
“This is in no way a first date, Eames,” Arthur says, laughing. “First dates are characterized by awkward small talk, getting to know you questions that rival interviews for stimulating conversation, and worries about whether the other person thinks I’m hot or not.”
“But we’ve skipped past all that nonsense, I suppose.” Eames picks up a pair of black boxers that mysteriously ended up on the lampshade. They’re definitely not his, which means it must be Arthur’s, which means-
“Well, I can’t promise scintillating conversation, but I can guarantee you that you don’t need to worry about whether I think you’re hot or not.” Arthur’s voice slips into something sly. “Plus, you know I’ll put out at the end of it.”
“I hope you know that while I may take shameless hussies to bed, I would never bring one home to meet my mother,” Eames says. “Although I wouldn’t object if you wanted to skip the meal and get straight to the dessert.”
“Oh come on, Eames, I’m not all that bad, am I?” Arthur wheedles. “Eating is a necessary biological function, one we might as well take care of together before we engage in marathon sex sessions.”
Eames folds the boxers up on the bed, and the warning that Cobb gave him echoes dimly in the back of his mind. But still, this is hardly what Cobb was talking about when he told him not to make plans with Arthur-and besides, Arthur has a point. All the absurdly athletic sex they’ve been having has him working up an obscene appetite. “As long as you promise to promise to go commando this evening.”
Arthur chuckles, low and full of promise. “Well, I didn’t get a chance to stop by my hotel after I left your room today, and I’ve found myself enjoying the breeze.”
All the saliva dries up in Eames’ mouth. “Suddenly, I am positively ravenous, darling.”
* * * * * *
Day 75
“Arthur is someone who is goes through phases of obsessions,” Cobb says. “I don’t need to tell you how single-minded or relentless he can be.”
* * * * * *
Day 180
“Hey,” Arthur says, rolling onto his side on the bed.
“Hey yourself,” Eames replies sleepily. “Something I can help you with?”
“Do you have anything planned after this job?” Arthur asks, propping his head up with his hand. “Somewhere you have to be?”
Eames considers replying with a flippant quip, but Arthur’s expression is soft and open, so Eames goes with the truth instead. “No, I don’t. Why?”
“I’m going to San Francisco,” Arthur says. He cocks his head to one side, thoughtfully. “You should come with me.”
“What, have you heard of a job out there?” Eames traces the corner of Arthur’s smile and wonders if he could ever get tired of it. Probably not.
“No, but I do have an apartment out there.” Arthur turns his face into Eames’ hand, kissing his fingers. “You could come see it.”
It occurs to Eames that he’s known Arthur for over six years now, and they’ve never once seen each others’ homes. It’s not that strange considering the globetrotting lives they lead, but there’s something jarring about it nonetheless. It certainly makes the invitation feel that much more-intimate. “I don’t think I’ve ever been to San Francisco before.”
“It’s beautiful,” Arthur says. “It’s clean, has the bay, and it would be okay for us to walk down the street together, maybe kiss once or twice.”
“I didn’t think you’d care about that sort of thing.” Eames tends to live his daily life in a way that draws as little attention to himself as possible; even when he hasn’t angered anyone in the recent past, being a career criminal does tend to carry with it an omnipresent level of risk. There are few things in the world that draw more attention than public displays of romantic affection between two men.
“Maybe I care when it’s the right person,” Arthur says, brushing stray hair from Eames’ eyes. “Maybe I care when I don’t want it to be some secret.”
* * * * * *
Day 75
“When he finds a target to focus all his attention on, it’s-it’s a little bit of a high, for him and the target. He can’t get enough-it’s practically euphoric.”
* * * * * *
Day 200
“These are decidedly edible, and dare I say-delicious?” Eames takes another tentative bite of his pancake. “I’m still not sold on the coffee, however.”
“I love how shocked you sound that I can actually cook,” Arthur says as he takes a seat at the table across from Eames. “You do know that I had to fend for myself my entire adult life, don’t you?”
“I simply assumed you eat out every night or order takeaway.”
“You know what they say about assumptions,” Arthur says, but he’s smiling.
Later, when the mountain of fluffy pancakes has been sacrificed to the altar of Eames’ stomach, and Arthur is at the sink is doing the dishes, Eames wraps his arms around Arthur’s waist. “Thank you for pancakes,” Eames murmurs against Arthur’s neck. “They were wonderful.”
“Anytime,” Arthur says, relaxing back into Eames’ grip.
“I’m glad I came,” Eames whispers into Arthur’s hair, half hoping he didn’t hear him.
But Arthur turns his head until his cheek is resting against Eames’ mouth. “Me too.”
* * * * * *
Day 75
“Is there a point to this?” Eames asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I’ll be blunt: Arthur loves the process of falling in love."
* * * * * *
Day 232
“Do you know the forecast for the rest of today?” Arthur asks when Eames passes him on the way to the loo.
“Same as it always is in London: rainy with a chance of sun,” Eames replies before he closes the door to take a piss. When he comes out again, Arthur’s still standing in front the full length mirror, tying a perfect Windsor.
“You smell divine,” Eames says as he catches a whiff of Arthur’s cologne. “Is that new?”
“You like it?” Arthur asks, offering up his neck-starched collar and all-for Eames to take a deeper inhale. “I got it a few days ago but haven’t had the reason to wear it till now.”
“What’s the occasion?” Eames asks, sliding his hands under Arthur’s suit jacket.
“A friend’s in town,” Arthur says, putting his hands over Eames’. “I promised I’d show her around. It’s her first time in London.”
“How long is she staying?” Eames rests his chin on Arthur’s shoulder and breathes in deeply. “I have to follow this mark’s ex-wife around for the day, but we could all get drinks sometime tomorrow. I don’t think I’ve met any of your friends besides Cobb.”
“She’s leaving in the morning tomorrow, unfortunately,” Arthur says, and then twists around to look Eames in the eye. “You want to meet my friends?”
“Of course,” Eames says. “I want to see if they all wear poncy suits and drink brandy on the rocks.”
Arthur chuckles. “I don’t think you’d really like my friends.”
“No?” Eames raises an eyebrow. “Are they all like Cobb then?”
Arthur snorts and pulls away. “The problem with Dom is that he’s too conventional in an unconventional business. But you and I both know that we can live by our own rules, set our own terms.” Arthur brushes a kiss over Eames’ lips. “Dom wants to get married again, be tied down again.”
“And look what happened to him,” Eames says.
“Exactly.” Arthur smiles. “You and I both know better.”
* * * * * *
Day 75
“Right,” Eames says. “And this has what to do with me, exactly?”
“It’s easy for people to get sucked in, even when they think they aren’t,” Cobb says. “And the high is never the problem. It’s what comes after.”
* * * * * *
Day 233
“It’s in the front pocket of my black jacket,” Arthur says. “It should be hanging in the closet.”
Eames sighs as he wades through the pockets of all ten of the black jackets Arthur owns. He’d ask for a more specific description, but that will inevitably lead to a twenty minute session of Arthur droning on about lapel width, style, cut and shape. Better to just rummage through pockets for the business card.
As he’s working through the fourth jacket, Eames catches a whiff of that cologne Arthur had been wearing yesterday, emanating from the jacket and shirt which hang in the back of the closet and await dry cleaning. It smells better on Arthur, Eames decides, but as he works through the rest of the jackets and gets closer and closer to the smell, he realizes that there’s something else mixed in with the scent of the cologne-notes of something floral, sweet. A woman’s perfume.
Eames stares at the smear of peach colored foundation across the inside of Arthur’s collar. Eames hadn’t gotten home until nine in the morning, and had fallen asleep straightaway, assuming Arthur was already out and about.
Eames eventually locates the business card and wanders out into the kitchen, where Arthur is sipping some tea. “Did you find it?”
Eames wordlessly holds out the business card, and says, “Do you happen to remember when I got home? I can’t find my totem at the moment and you know how paranoid I get on the job.”
“Well, you were already asleep when I got back,” Arthur says, frowning. “Do you want me to help you look for it?”
“No,” Eames says. “I’m sure it’ll turn up sooner or later.”
* * * * * *
“I’m not quite sure I understand what the problem is,” Yusuf says, voice crackling across the line. “It seems like you’re both free to sleep with whoever you choose along with each other. If I weren’t a jealous man ready to poison anyone who so much as takes a second look at Amrita, I would be tempted to do it myself.”
“I wouldn’t care if it was a one-off fling,” Eames replies, hearing the persistent drip drip drip of liquid in the background. “But it was with an old friend and I-I used to be an old friend.”
“You said she was only in town for a day. Why would Arthur give up a good thing to go chasing after someone else?”
“Why does he do anything?” Eames asks rhetorically. “Because he’s bored, because he’s curious, because he’s Arthur.”
“If you want my honest opinion, I think it’s just some run-of-the-mill jealousy,” Yusuf says. “Go out to a bar tonight, get drunk, have sex with someone random, and you’ll feel much better in the morning. Then you and Arthur will be even.”
* * * * * *
He’s attractive, in a young, blond, twinkish way, and not a particularly good kisser. On the bright side, he doesn’t seem overly interested in talking, and is perfectly amenable to being dragged into a disgusting men’s bathroom stall. Eames thinks his name is Justin. Or maybe Jeff. Jared?
“You’re so hot,” Justin pants against Eames’ lips, and away from the earsplitting din of the thumping club music, Eames catches the American accent for the first time. “God, you’re like, so hot I just wanted to climb you on the dance-floor.”
“Yes, you’re quite lovely yourself,” Eames says distractedly, taking another swig of his gin and tonic when Justin swoops in to attack his neck. “Be a dear and avoid leaving any marks, will you?”
“You got a wife or girlfriend or something waiting back home?” Justin asks, lifting his head and grinning wolfishly.
“Something like that,” Eames says, bored already. In the dim light of the bare bulb above them, Eames can see that Justin is wearing glitter. God.
“Don’t worry,” Justin says as he gets down to his knees and unzips Eames’ pants. “I’ll make you forget all about her.”
“That’s the idea,” Eames says as he rests his palm lightly on the back of Justin’s neck.
It’s slow going for a while, Eames being barely half-hard and Justin somehow annoying the fuck out of him even with his mouth too stuffed with dick to talk. Eames tries to focus on how hot this should be-someone new and exciting, eager to please, with no strings attached. But somehow, all he can think about is how Justin’s hair is the wrong texture and color, and how he wishes he were looking into Arthur’s smiling, sharp eyes instead of Justin’s vapid cow eyes.
“This isn’t going to work,” Eames says after Justin’s moved from licking to sucking to jerking-all to no effect on Eames’ disinterested cock. “I think I’ve had too much to drink.”
“Oh,” Justin says, sounding both disappointed and relieved. He stands, “Then do you think maybe-"
Eames rolls his eyes and flicks open Justin’s jeans with one hand. He jerks Justin off expertly, finishing off the rest of his drink while Justin leans against his chest, clutching at his clothes and moaning. When Justin gets close, Eames takes care to aim him against the stall door and not his trousers, pumping him until he’s done.
After they make themselves presentable, Justin and Eames step out of the bathroom stall to a few annoyed glares that melt into appraising stares. Within a minute, Justin is making out against the wall with someone new, while Eames leaves his empty glass on the sink and gets himself a taxi.
Eames staggers a little as he opens the door to his flat, the effects of the fifth gin and tonic of the night apparently just hitting him. He expects to have to fumble his way through the dark, but instead he discovers that all the lights are on, and Arthur is sitting in the living room wearing a pair of reading glasses.
“Eames?” Arthur says, looking up from his book. “You’re back early. I thought the recon was going to take all night.”
“The target decided to call it an early night,” Eames says with as much dignity as he can muster after nearly tripping over his own feet. “So I decided to celebrate.”
“I can see that,” Arthur closes his book, puts it on the end table, and takes off his glasses. “Is that-glitter?”
“Possibly.” Eames paws at his cheek and comes away sparkling. “Jesus, how much of this crap is there?”
“It’s all up and down the your shirt too.” Arthur stands up and pauses. “It’s made its way to the front of your jeans.”
Eames thinks, maybe, it might be on his dick as well. He waits for Arthur to start shouting, to get upset, to punch him in the jaw and storm out. But all Arthur does is sigh and cross the distance between them, hands coming up to cradle Eames’ face. “What are you doing, Jack?” Arthur asks, the first time he’s used Eames’ given name outside of bed.
Eames forces himself to meet Arthur’s gaze, which is a terrible mistake. Arthur’s expression is calm, understanding, and so knowing that Eames feels like a petulant child who ran away to spite his parents, and was forced to eventually come back, tired and hungry. “I just want to know what this is,” he says, and it’s too earnest. Too bare.
“Isn’t it obvious by now?” Arthur whispers as he presses a kiss to Eames’ lips, his cheeks, his forehead. “I’m head over heels in love with you.”
“Me too,” Eames says, and it should feel good, it should feel warm and reassuring to say and hear. But as Arthur takes him by the hand and leads him to the bedroom, all Eames can think is that Arthur’s a magnificent liar who doesn’t mean it, or worse, that he does mean it and it simply doesn’t matter.
* * * * * *
Day 75
“So you’re basically telling me that Arthur is going to wrap my heart around his fingertip-against my will--before proceeding to crush it beneath his sleek, Italian boot-heel.” Eames lets out a short bark of a laugh. “Cobb, you do realize I’m hardly a blushing teen girl about to lose her virginity to a lecherous older man, don’t you?”
“Arthur’s good at what he does,” Cobb says. “He’s had a lot of practice, and you don’t know the number of people we can’t work with anymore because of him.”
“It’s as though we aren’t even talking about the same person,” Eames says, exasperated. “I’ll admit, he’s not quite the stick in the mud I used to think he was, but he’s still-"
“What happens when an immovable object meets an irresistible force?” Cobb asks, and then smiles sadly as he answers his own question. “They both cease to exist.”
* * * * * *
Day 233
Eames wakes up in the morning to a mild hangover. He slips out from underneath Arthur’s arm and gets dressed, careful not to wake Arthur.
Eames leaves his flat and goes to the corner store to pick up a newspaper, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and a newspaper. On the walk back to his apartment, he smokes his first cigarette in over four years and it feels so good he stops in the middle of the street to bask in it.
When he gets back to the flat, Arthur’s up and about already, the sound of the shower running. Eames cooks some eggs and bacon while the cigarette dangles from his left hand, and scoops some onto a plate before covering the pan to keep Arthur’s portion warm.
He reads the newspaper as he eats, tells Arthur there’s coffee and food on the stove when he wanders in.
“You’ve started smoking again?” Arthur asks when he sits down next to Eames at the table.
“Yes,” Eames replies, blowing the smoke carefully away from Arthur’s direction.
“Thank you for the food. And the coffee,” Arthur says while he eats.
“Of course.” Eames folds up his newspaper neatly, and waits until Arthur is finished eating to speak again. “So it seems I’m a bit more of a traditionalist than I thought.”
“Eames,” Arthur says, reaching out to touch him, but Eames pulls away.
“Please, darling, this is rather difficult for me so if you’d just-" Eames cuts off and Arthur stills. “We’ve never talked about the future or exclusivity or any of that, which was fine, and we’ve had a good run of it. But-"
“But why change something that’s been working so well for us?” Arthur says, a pleading smile on his face. “I love you. Isn’t that what matters?”
“I know it’s rather bad form to change rules in the middle of the game but I-" Eames swallows past the thickness that seems to have developed in his throat. “But I need to have all of you, or at least the hope that one day I will, or I’ll never be satisfied.”
“Don’t I make you happy?” Arthur asks, finally succeeding in capturing Eames' hand and pressing it over his heart. “Haven’t I always given you what you wanted?”
“Are you going to give me what I want now?” Eames asks, feeling the steady thump of Arthur’s heartbeat under his palm. There's a long silence, and Eames can almost hear it, the sounds of their hearts beating in counterpoint.
“Libre elle est née et libre elle mourra, mon cheri,” Arthur says, at last. He stands, letting Eames’ hand drop to the table. “I’ll go pack my things.”
That is not what happens.
* * * * * *
Day 354
“Caroline,” Arthur says. “You are a genius.”
Eames watches Caroline toss her hair and smile prettily at Arthur, notes the solicitous way Arthur touches the small of her back as he leans over to stare at her blueprints.
“I’m sorry,” Cobb says quietly, pitched so only Eames can hear.
“Nothing to be sorry over,” Eames replies briskly. “You warned me, which was a very decent thing for you to do. There’s nothing more one could ask for than that.”
Cobb stares at Eames for a long minute. “I was really hoping that maybe this time I’d be wrong.”
Eames turns away from the sight of Caroline giggling and toying with the cufflinks at Arthur’s right wrist. Some detached part of him is impressed by Arthur’s skill in this, like all other things--at his ability to become everything a mark might want without even having to forge a new identity for it.
Later, when Arthur drops by with a bottle of champagne and two glasses, Eames will marvel at how he manages to make the rest of the day-the rest of the things Eames knows to be facts, to be true-all fall away with a simple, “God, it’s good to see you. I was scared that I might have to drink this Veuve Cliquot all by myself.”
“I can’t imagine you ever drinking alone,” Eames will say as he lets Arthur in-because he always does, and always will.
“I’ll never have to, as long as I have you,” Arthur will say, meaning every word of it. And Eames will smile and agree, for that night at least, and pretend not to notice that their nights together are growing further and further apart.
“Darling,” Eames will say, later, as he presses possessive kisses across the expanse of Arthur’s bare skin. “My darling.”
fin
*Libre elle est née et libre elle mourra, mon cheri - Free she was born, and free she will die, darling.
Poll FB: An Immovable Object
Words: 7000
Thanks to: sorrynotsorry for the developing the story with me, and for chibi_lurrel for the additional looksee.
“What happens when an immovable object meets
An Immovable Object
Day 75
“What happens when an immovable object meets an irresistible force?”
* * * * * *
Day 1
“The way you handled the mark as Chloe was masterful, Eames.”
Eames glances up from packing his things and waits for the backhanded portion of Arthur’s compliment to land. When nothing more seems to be forthcoming, Eames allows himself a careful, “Thank you.”
“I was wondering if you might be willing to tell me a little about how you go about making your forgeries so nuanced and believable,” Arthur says, voice light and casual. “Possibly at the bar downstairs?”
Eames finishes pushing the loose papers into his briefcase and straightens. Normally, they’d be splitting up and making themselves scarce after a job, but this was a security and militarization gig, with a grateful and willing mark obsessed with knowing all the cutting edge ways to sneak around a mind-including techniques like using forgeries of favorite sisters. “Thinking about turning out some forgeries of your own, Arthur?”
“Unfortunately, I’ve already tried and can safely say you’ll get no competition from me in that field.” Arthur smiles wryly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not still curious about how it’s done, though. And who better to learn from than you?”
“Are you offering drinks in return for all my trade secrets?” Eames raises an eyebrow, not sure if this is going where he thinks this is going.
Instead of rolling his eyes or handing back a sarcastic reply, Arthur runs a fingertip along the edge of the hotel conference table and looks up at Eames from under his eyelashes. “Well, maybe not all your secrets.”
They make it down to the bar and through all of one drink before Arthur puts his hand on Eames’ thigh and says, “I have the PASIV back in my room. Perhaps you could give me a live demonstration?”
Eames wonders idly as they stand side by side in the gleaming hotel elevator up, whether Arthur is the sort of fellow who only engages in sexual encounters in dreams anymore; Eames has slept with a surprisingly high number of people in the dream-sharing business who prefer sex that they can make up their own rules for, whether it’s because of the ability to use forged identities or fantastical settings, or skip clean up after. Eames doesn’t mind much either way-the only line he’s ever drawn is when someone wanted to enact (or reenact) a disturbingly realistic priest and choir boy fantasy-but Eames is a bit of a traditionalist: give him rough, hairy, and messy sex in reality over controlled fantasies, any day.
It helps, of course, that Arthur is downright edible to begin with.
As they exit the elevator and walk down the hallway, Eames discreetly checks his totem and hopes that Arthur isn’t going to have some weirdly complicated script that he’s going to want Eames to play out. Eames has had more than a few sexual encounters come to a screeching halt because he forgot to stay in character for his given role halfway on the road to orgasm; he’s a conscientious professional when it comes to forging for jobs, but trying to remember to keep his voice, image, and genitalia all straight while attempting to get off really does take most of the fun out of the experience.
Once they step inside Arthur’s penthouse suite, he offers Eames a drink. Arthur then proceeds to grab him by the waist and kiss him without waiting for an answer.
Arthur kisses like he does most things: precisely, and with a great deal of skill. Eames appreciates this, especially since most of his recent sexual encounters in the past year have been affairs that could be characterized as little more than drunken gropes to the finish line. But Arthur seems not to be in any particular hurry, allowing Eames to relax into the kiss even as Arthur’s hands explore the planes of Eames’ body thoroughly over his clothing.
When they finally break apart to breathe, Eames finds himself a little lightheaded and already very hard. Arthur still seems more in control of his faculties, despite the sizable tent in his trousers. “Come on,” he says as he takes Eames’ elbow. “Let’s get to the bedroom.”
“What, no drink?” Eames asks as he allows himself to be led. The bedroom is tastefully decorated, with paintings depicting orchids on the wall and a massive bed dominating the corner of the room.
“If you’d like to suck of tiny bottle of vodka, whiskey, or tequila from my bellybutton, I’d be open to that.” Arthur grins as he begins undoing the buttons of his jacket.
“Oh, is that what you want me to be sucking?” Eames lifts his shirt up over his head and smirks when he catches sight of Arthur’s reaction.
It takes less time for Eames to shuck off his clothing and shoes than it does Arthur. But as Eames sits back on the outrageously comfortable bed, he has to admit he’s enjoying the Victorian burlesque aspect of Arthur’s undress, smooth naked flesh revealed one inch at a time.
“How open are you to suggestions?” Arthur asks when the last shred of fabric is gone and he’s crawling over Eames on all fours.
“Oh, very,” Eames purrs as he runs his hands over Arthur’s chest, dipping down to stroke his abdomen and around to touch his back. “As long as you ask nicely.”
“Do you want me to say please?” Arthur asks, practically preening under Eames’ greedy eyes and hands.
“You know what they say about a spoonful of sugar,” Eames replies, allowing himself to take in the sight of Arthur’s cock, which is swollen, red, and gorgeous enough to make him salivate. “It does help the medicine go down.”
“Well, in that case, Mr. Eames.” Arthur bends his head down to brush his lips against Eames’ ear so very, very gently. “Please.”
Eames’ only response is to shimmy down the bed, grab Arthur’s prick, and put his lips around it as quickly as humanly possible. Arthur seems satisfied with this reply, and lets out a low moan when Eames manages to deep-throat him with ease.
“Oh fuck,” Arthur murmurs, and Eames can feel him trembling with the effort of holding himself up on his hands and knees firmly, forcing himself not to allow his elbows to buckle or his hips to start pistoning into Eames’ face. “That’s good, that’s-that’s great.”
Eames loses himself in the fluid motion, the hum of Arthur’s moans and close to nonsensical encouragement above him, the clean and heady scent of Arthur filling his nostrils with every breath. He hears Arthur make an indistinct warning sound, and Eames pats him on the arse to let him know Eames has no objection to swallowing.
Arthur grunts above him and then his body goes absolutely still, hips the only part of him moving in shallow pumps. Eames dutifully swallows it all down, and waits until Arthur pulls away a little to stop sucking. Arthur drops to the bed next to Eames, panting, and puts a warm hand on Eames’ stomach, fingers splaying. “Thank you.”
“So polite.” Eames chuckles as he rolls onto his side to look at Arthur, who looks delightfully debauched.
“Give me a minute and I’ll thank you properly,” Arthur says, fingers drifting down to stroke lazily up and down Eames’ dick.
Arthur’s blowjob is everything Eames had hoped and imagined it would be: excellent technique, all the enthusiasm a man could ever ask for, and amazing tongue. Eames cards his fingers through Arthur’s hair until the last of the gel gives away, and pushes it back every time it falls into Arthur’s dark, hooded eyes.
It’s all over much too quickly, but Eames is hardly in a position to complain. Somewhere in the haze of the afterglow, Eames notes Arthur leaning over the side of the bed to spit into the conveniently placed trash can, and chuckles a little to himself because of course Arthur was prepared for this.
“Did it all go according to plan?” Eames asks, stretching lazily and reaching out to grab a pillow. “Did you get everything you came for?”
“I don’t know,” Arthur replies, crawling up to rest his head on a pillow too. “You tell me.”
“I’d say it was a job well done.” Eames’ fingers itch for a cigarette even though he quit three years ago, so he traces the long, jagged scar down Arthur’s side instead. “The mark didn’t know what hit him.”
“Good,” Arthur murmurs. “Although I might have to schedule a follow-up to make sure I didn’t miss anything.”
“I’ve always appreciated your thoroughness, Arthur,” Eames says, feeling his eyelids grow heavy. “I look forward to our follow-up.”
“As do I,” Arthur says, and the image of him smiling, sated and content, is the last thing Eames sees before he drifts off to sleep.
* * * * * *
Day 2
Eames wakes up to the sound of the covers rustling as Arthur slips out of bed. Eames briefly considers going back to sleep, but then decides that it wouldn’t do for his and Arthur’s professional relationship to be harmed by this experience. Arthur is, after all, the best at what he does in the business.
“Leaving so soon?” Eames says as he yawns and opens both eyes.
Arthur is pulling an already prepared outfit-a white button-down shirt with black trousers-from a hanger in the closet and putting it on. “I have an early flight.”
“Ah, an early flight,” Eames says, not sure whether to be disappointed or not. He had been hoping for an encore performance this morning, but he supposes this is probably a tidier resolution to things. “Message received.”
Arthur stops in the middle of buttoning up his shirt and surprises Eames by going over to the bed and leaning over to press a dry kiss to Eames’ mouth. “I meant what I said, you know,” Arthur says against Eames’ lips, the fabric of his half-open shirt grazing Eames’ chest. “About follow-ups.”
“So now there are multiple follow-ups?” Eames says as Arthur pulls back a little. “Just how much did you miss the first go round?”
“Maybe I just want to know everything,” Arthur says as his hand slides under the sheets to grip firmly at Eames’ morning wood. “Maybe I just find you fascinating.”
“Flattery will, of course, ah-" Eames bucks up into Arthur’s hand, “get you everywhere.”
Arthur leans down to take one of Eames’ nipples into his mouth as he continues to jerk Eames’ dick, licking and sucking and eventually moving onto teeth when Eames brings a shaky hand down to clutch at the back of Arthur’s neck. Arthur’s every bit as good with his hand as he is with his mouth, and the combination of the two at once is enough to push Eames over the edge in fairly short order.
“Don’t you want-" Eames gestures in the direction of Arthur’s crotch while Arthur wipes his hand on the sheet.
“It’s okay,” Arthur says as he pulls the sheet up across Eames’ chest again. “You can make it up to me later. For now: get some sleep.”
* * * * * *
Day 75
“So you and Arthur, huh?” Cobb says one day while they’re in the middle of reviewing the model he’s built of the second dream level.
“Come again?” Eames says, feigning ignorance even though he knows precisely what Cobb is talking about. He knew there’d been a reason-multiple reasons--he’d refused to work with Cobb for well over a year after the inception job, and only some of those reasons were related to the possibility of ending up in Limbo for eternity. But Arthur had sprung Cobb’s involvement at the last minute-after Eames had already stupidly agreed in a moment of post-coital bliss-and here they were.
“Arthur already told me,” Cobb says. “And look, I really don’t want to get involved but I felt like I should at least warn you, after everything you did to help me and my family.”
* * * * * *
Day 16
“I’ll go with you,” Arthur says, grabbing his jacket from where it’s hanging on the chair.
Eames raises his eyebrows in surprise, but shrugs as Arthur joins him to leave the room. “Afraid I’m going to forget your order, Arthur?”
“You never forget my order,” Arthur says calmly as they get into the elevator. Eames has a sudden flash of déjà vu. “You only intentionally mess it up to annoy me.”
“You mean you don’t care for three pounds of sugar and half a gallon of milk in your coffee?” Eames asks with mock innocence, and is rewarded with a dimpled smile.
“Honestly, I just need a break from Dom,” Arthur says when they reach the ground floor and head through the lobby. “I love him and his kids, but man, if I have to listen to another story about this hilarious thing that Phillippa did, or the adorable thing that James said, I don’t know what I might do.”
Eames chuckles as they walk out of the hotel and make a right towards the nearby Starbucks. “I thought I was the only one suffering in there.”
“You’ve never had Dom put a baby on the phone to gurgle at you for fifteen minutes,” Arthur says darkly when they get in line.
“Have you tried hanging up?” Eames asks. “I find that’s rather effective when my time is being wasted on the phone.”
“I can’t,” Arthur says, sighing. “I’m James’ godfather. I even drove Dom to the hospital when James was born because Dom was hyperventilating too badly to drive.”
“You? A godfather?” Eames doesn’t know why he’s so surprised, given how close Arthur and Dom are. But still, it’s strange to think about Arthur in a caretaker role. “Just when I think I’ve got you all figured out.”
“I’m not actually a soulless automaton, Eames.” Arthur smiles, and then winks. “I only play one on TV.”
* * * * * *
Day 75
“Warn me,” Eames repeats blankly.
“Arthur sometimes has a problem with his… impulse control in his personal life,” Cobb says, sounding as profoundly awkward as Eames feels. “It’s not that he means to be callous, it’s just that he sometimes doesn’t think things through.”
* * * * * *
Day 57
“Do you remember the first time we met?” Arthur asks as he takes a sip from his brandy.
“How could I not?” Eames replies as he leans forward on the bar, waving at the bartender for a drink. “You unloaded half a magazine in my face even after I waved the white flag of surrender.”
“The simulation was take no prisoners,” Arthur replies, not seeming sorry at all. “Besides, that wasn’t the first time you were killed in a dream, was it?”
“It was my first time being shot in the face with a submachine gun,” Eames says before asking the bartender for a margarita. “There is such a thing as overkill.”
“I may have overreacted,” Arthur concedes. “Though, in my defense, it was because you startled me. I didn’t expect to see you again in one of my training simulations.”
“Again?” Eames accepts the big, red margarita the bartender passes to him and licks delicately at the salt on the rim, enjoying the way Arthur’s eyes track the movement.
“I saw you walking around the base before, when you were still in your civvies,” Arthur says, taking a deeper sip of his drink. “You were wearing these pants that just clung to your ass with every step you took. I figured you were probably straight, but god-the things I wanted to do to you.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Eames feels a little put out about all the sex they could have been having all these years. “I’ve been ordering bloody margaritas and staring at your arse since day one. Were you looking for an engraved invitation to suck my cock?”
Arthur snorts out a laugh as he finishes off the rest of his drink. “I don’t know-first it was don’t ask, don’t tell, then it was because I could barely be around you without tripping over my own feet-"
“Are you telling me I made you nervous?” Eames takes a swallow of his margarita, which is fruity and delicious. “Little old me?”
“Of course you made me nervous.” Arthur touches Eames’ knee lightly. “I was twenty-three and barely out of the closet in my own head. You were like walking sex-confident and charming with a James Bond accent on top of it. I could barely look at you without worrying about getting hard.”
“You weren’t so bad yourself,” Eames says, touching a thumb to the dimple in Arthur’s right cheek. “Fresh-faced know-it-all with a body I could not wait to get a hold of.”
“I suppose you’re going to tell me not much has changed,” Arthur says, but he’s smiling and his hand is still stroking up and down Eames’ leg.
Eames holds out the last of his margarita to Arthur, who drinks it and then brings the slice of lime up to his mouth to suck on, with great deliberateness. “Well. Maybe a few things.”
* * * * * *
Day 75
“You sound as if you’ve given this speech before,” Eames says skeptically.
“Yeah.” Cobb lets out an embarrassed laugh and rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry. This isn’t the first time this has happened and I’m used to-well, anyway. You’re a grown man and maybe I don’t need to have this conversation with you, but I’m going to, anyway.”
* * * * * *
Day 98
“My, don’t you look dashing,” Eames says as he surveys Arthur in his impeccable black dinner jacket. “Modern theater-going elegance personified.”
“And you in a white tux?” Arthur closes the distance between them and doesn’t hesitate before touching Eames’ collar, smoothing his lapels down. “I guess I should have expected it.”
“You know it’s not necessary for you to come with me, don’t you?” Eames says as he gets into the back of the car he’d arranged for. “Cobb already scrapped the theater level plan, and even if it is the mark’s favorite opera, I highly doubt she’s going to even reference it in conversation with me. Too many painful memories.”
“And yet you’re still going to see it,” Arthur points out as he slides into the car also.
“Well, it has been ten years since the last time I saw Carmen, and I thought I might as well get the refresher while it’s on Saito’s sterling,” Eames says. He’s a little startled, but not displeased, when Arthur sits beside him close enough for their legs to touch.
“I’ve never gotten the chance to see it,” Arthur says, bumping his shoulder against Eames playfully. “What’s it about?”
“Oh, the typical opera fare: seduction, jealousy, and a man who loves a woman that loves freedom more than him,” Eames says. “Libre elle est née et libre elle mourra.”
“Free she was born and free she will die,” Arthur translates. “Very dramatic. I assume she does, in fact, die at the end?”
Eames tilts his head to one side as he looks over Arthur and his handsome profile, his slicked back hair. “Alas, her young man is rather overcome with the need to possess her and does the dirty deed.”
“That seems like a foolish course of action,” Arthur says as he brushes his knuckles against Eames’ jaw-which is clean-shaven, for once. “What’s the point in wanting someone who doesn’t want you?”
“Not everyone plays to win, Arthur,” Eames replies, staring into Arthur’s eyes and beginning to feel adrift. “They say gamblers play to lose.”
* * * * * *
Day 75
“I’m still not even sure what this conversation is even about,” Eames says, lifting an eyebrow. “What exactly are you trying to say?”
Cobb takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to get involved in Arthur’s personal shit-"
“But clearly you’re willing to.”
“Eames, I’m on your side.”
* * * * * *
Day 143
“Are you asking me out on a date?” Eames says.
Arthur huffs out a laugh at the other end of the phone. “There’s no need to make it sound like a death sentence.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about this,” Eames says as he walks around his hotel room, picking up the various articles of discarded clothing from the previous night. “Our first date after the four months we’ve been having sex? I’m starting to wonder if you’ve merely been using me for your carnal pleasure.”
“This is in no way a first date, Eames,” Arthur says, laughing. “First dates are characterized by awkward small talk, getting to know you questions that rival interviews for stimulating conversation, and worries about whether the other person thinks I’m hot or not.”
“But we’ve skipped past all that nonsense, I suppose.” Eames picks up a pair of black boxers that mysteriously ended up on the lampshade. They’re definitely not his, which means it must be Arthur’s, which means-
“Well, I can’t promise scintillating conversation, but I can guarantee you that you don’t need to worry about whether I think you’re hot or not.” Arthur’s voice slips into something sly. “Plus, you know I’ll put out at the end of it.”
“I hope you know that while I may take shameless hussies to bed, I would never bring one home to meet my mother,” Eames says. “Although I wouldn’t object if you wanted to skip the meal and get straight to the dessert.”
“Oh come on, Eames, I’m not all that bad, am I?” Arthur wheedles. “Eating is a necessary biological function, one we might as well take care of together before we engage in marathon sex sessions.”
Eames folds the boxers up on the bed, and the warning that Cobb gave him echoes dimly in the back of his mind. But still, this is hardly what Cobb was talking about when he told him not to make plans with Arthur-and besides, Arthur has a point. All the absurdly athletic sex they’ve been having has him working up an obscene appetite. “As long as you promise to promise to go commando this evening.”
Arthur chuckles, low and full of promise. “Well, I didn’t get a chance to stop by my hotel after I left your room today, and I’ve found myself enjoying the breeze.”
All the saliva dries up in Eames’ mouth. “Suddenly, I am positively ravenous, darling.”
* * * * * *
Day 75
“Arthur is someone who is goes through phases of obsessions,” Cobb says. “I don’t need to tell you how single-minded or relentless he can be.”
* * * * * *
Day 180
“Hey,” Arthur says, rolling onto his side on the bed.
“Hey yourself,” Eames replies sleepily. “Something I can help you with?”
“Do you have anything planned after this job?” Arthur asks, propping his head up with his hand. “Somewhere you have to be?”
Eames considers replying with a flippant quip, but Arthur’s expression is soft and open, so Eames goes with the truth instead. “No, I don’t. Why?”
“I’m going to San Francisco,” Arthur says. He cocks his head to one side, thoughtfully. “You should come with me.”
“What, have you heard of a job out there?” Eames traces the corner of Arthur’s smile and wonders if he could ever get tired of it. Probably not.
“No, but I do have an apartment out there.” Arthur turns his face into Eames’ hand, kissing his fingers. “You could come see it.”
It occurs to Eames that he’s known Arthur for over six years now, and they’ve never once seen each others’ homes. It’s not that strange considering the globetrotting lives they lead, but there’s something jarring about it nonetheless. It certainly makes the invitation feel that much more-intimate. “I don’t think I’ve ever been to San Francisco before.”
“It’s beautiful,” Arthur says. “It’s clean, has the bay, and it would be okay for us to walk down the street together, maybe kiss once or twice.”
“I didn’t think you’d care about that sort of thing.” Eames tends to live his daily life in a way that draws as little attention to himself as possible; even when he hasn’t angered anyone in the recent past, being a career criminal does tend to carry with it an omnipresent level of risk. There are few things in the world that draw more attention than public displays of romantic affection between two men.
“Maybe I care when it’s the right person,” Arthur says, brushing stray hair from Eames’ eyes. “Maybe I care when I don’t want it to be some secret.”
* * * * * *
Day 75
“When he finds a target to focus all his attention on, it’s-it’s a little bit of a high, for him and the target. He can’t get enough-it’s practically euphoric.”
* * * * * *
Day 200
“These are decidedly edible, and dare I say-delicious?” Eames takes another tentative bite of his pancake. “I’m still not sold on the coffee, however.”
“I love how shocked you sound that I can actually cook,” Arthur says as he takes a seat at the table across from Eames. “You do know that I had to fend for myself my entire adult life, don’t you?”
“I simply assumed you eat out every night or order takeaway.”
“You know what they say about assumptions,” Arthur says, but he’s smiling.
Later, when the mountain of fluffy pancakes has been sacrificed to the altar of Eames’ stomach, and Arthur is at the sink is doing the dishes, Eames wraps his arms around Arthur’s waist. “Thank you for pancakes,” Eames murmurs against Arthur’s neck. “They were wonderful.”
“Anytime,” Arthur says, relaxing back into Eames’ grip.
“I’m glad I came,” Eames whispers into Arthur’s hair, half hoping he didn’t hear him.
But Arthur turns his head until his cheek is resting against Eames’ mouth. “Me too.”
* * * * * *
Day 75
“Is there a point to this?” Eames asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I’ll be blunt: Arthur loves the process of falling in love."
* * * * * *
Day 232
“Do you know the forecast for the rest of today?” Arthur asks when Eames passes him on the way to the loo.
“Same as it always is in London: rainy with a chance of sun,” Eames replies before he closes the door to take a piss. When he comes out again, Arthur’s still standing in front the full length mirror, tying a perfect Windsor.
“You smell divine,” Eames says as he catches a whiff of Arthur’s cologne. “Is that new?”
“You like it?” Arthur asks, offering up his neck-starched collar and all-for Eames to take a deeper inhale. “I got it a few days ago but haven’t had the reason to wear it till now.”
“What’s the occasion?” Eames asks, sliding his hands under Arthur’s suit jacket.
“A friend’s in town,” Arthur says, putting his hands over Eames’. “I promised I’d show her around. It’s her first time in London.”
“How long is she staying?” Eames rests his chin on Arthur’s shoulder and breathes in deeply. “I have to follow this mark’s ex-wife around for the day, but we could all get drinks sometime tomorrow. I don’t think I’ve met any of your friends besides Cobb.”
“She’s leaving in the morning tomorrow, unfortunately,” Arthur says, and then twists around to look Eames in the eye. “You want to meet my friends?”
“Of course,” Eames says. “I want to see if they all wear poncy suits and drink brandy on the rocks.”
Arthur chuckles. “I don’t think you’d really like my friends.”
“No?” Eames raises an eyebrow. “Are they all like Cobb then?”
Arthur snorts and pulls away. “The problem with Dom is that he’s too conventional in an unconventional business. But you and I both know that we can live by our own rules, set our own terms.” Arthur brushes a kiss over Eames’ lips. “Dom wants to get married again, be tied down again.”
“And look what happened to him,” Eames says.
“Exactly.” Arthur smiles. “You and I both know better.”
* * * * * *
Day 75
“Right,” Eames says. “And this has what to do with me, exactly?”
“It’s easy for people to get sucked in, even when they think they aren’t,” Cobb says. “And the high is never the problem. It’s what comes after.”
* * * * * *
Day 233
“It’s in the front pocket of my black jacket,” Arthur says. “It should be hanging in the closet.”
Eames sighs as he wades through the pockets of all ten of the black jackets Arthur owns. He’d ask for a more specific description, but that will inevitably lead to a twenty minute session of Arthur droning on about lapel width, style, cut and shape. Better to just rummage through pockets for the business card.
As he’s working through the fourth jacket, Eames catches a whiff of that cologne Arthur had been wearing yesterday, emanating from the jacket and shirt which hang in the back of the closet and await dry cleaning. It smells better on Arthur, Eames decides, but as he works through the rest of the jackets and gets closer and closer to the smell, he realizes that there’s something else mixed in with the scent of the cologne-notes of something floral, sweet. A woman’s perfume.
Eames stares at the smear of peach colored foundation across the inside of Arthur’s collar. Eames hadn’t gotten home until nine in the morning, and had fallen asleep straightaway, assuming Arthur was already out and about.
Eames eventually locates the business card and wanders out into the kitchen, where Arthur is sipping some tea. “Did you find it?”
Eames wordlessly holds out the business card, and says, “Do you happen to remember when I got home? I can’t find my totem at the moment and you know how paranoid I get on the job.”
“Well, you were already asleep when I got back,” Arthur says, frowning. “Do you want me to help you look for it?”
“No,” Eames says. “I’m sure it’ll turn up sooner or later.”
* * * * * *
“I’m not quite sure I understand what the problem is,” Yusuf says, voice crackling across the line. “It seems like you’re both free to sleep with whoever you choose along with each other. If I weren’t a jealous man ready to poison anyone who so much as takes a second look at Amrita, I would be tempted to do it myself.”
“I wouldn’t care if it was a one-off fling,” Eames replies, hearing the persistent drip drip drip of liquid in the background. “But it was with an old friend and I-I used to be an old friend.”
“You said she was only in town for a day. Why would Arthur give up a good thing to go chasing after someone else?”
“Why does he do anything?” Eames asks rhetorically. “Because he’s bored, because he’s curious, because he’s Arthur.”
“If you want my honest opinion, I think it’s just some run-of-the-mill jealousy,” Yusuf says. “Go out to a bar tonight, get drunk, have sex with someone random, and you’ll feel much better in the morning. Then you and Arthur will be even.”
* * * * * *
He’s attractive, in a young, blond, twinkish way, and not a particularly good kisser. On the bright side, he doesn’t seem overly interested in talking, and is perfectly amenable to being dragged into a disgusting men’s bathroom stall. Eames thinks his name is Justin. Or maybe Jeff. Jared?
“You’re so hot,” Justin pants against Eames’ lips, and away from the earsplitting din of the thumping club music, Eames catches the American accent for the first time. “God, you’re like, so hot I just wanted to climb you on the dance-floor.”
“Yes, you’re quite lovely yourself,” Eames says distractedly, taking another swig of his gin and tonic when Justin swoops in to attack his neck. “Be a dear and avoid leaving any marks, will you?”
“You got a wife or girlfriend or something waiting back home?” Justin asks, lifting his head and grinning wolfishly.
“Something like that,” Eames says, bored already. In the dim light of the bare bulb above them, Eames can see that Justin is wearing glitter. God.
“Don’t worry,” Justin says as he gets down to his knees and unzips Eames’ pants. “I’ll make you forget all about her.”
“That’s the idea,” Eames says as he rests his palm lightly on the back of Justin’s neck.
It’s slow going for a while, Eames being barely half-hard and Justin somehow annoying the fuck out of him even with his mouth too stuffed with dick to talk. Eames tries to focus on how hot this should be-someone new and exciting, eager to please, with no strings attached. But somehow, all he can think about is how Justin’s hair is the wrong texture and color, and how he wishes he were looking into Arthur’s smiling, sharp eyes instead of Justin’s vapid cow eyes.
“This isn’t going to work,” Eames says after Justin’s moved from licking to sucking to jerking-all to no effect on Eames’ disinterested cock. “I think I’ve had too much to drink.”
“Oh,” Justin says, sounding both disappointed and relieved. He stands, “Then do you think maybe-"
Eames rolls his eyes and flicks open Justin’s jeans with one hand. He jerks Justin off expertly, finishing off the rest of his drink while Justin leans against his chest, clutching at his clothes and moaning. When Justin gets close, Eames takes care to aim him against the stall door and not his trousers, pumping him until he’s done.
After they make themselves presentable, Justin and Eames step out of the bathroom stall to a few annoyed glares that melt into appraising stares. Within a minute, Justin is making out against the wall with someone new, while Eames leaves his empty glass on the sink and gets himself a taxi.
Eames staggers a little as he opens the door to his flat, the effects of the fifth gin and tonic of the night apparently just hitting him. He expects to have to fumble his way through the dark, but instead he discovers that all the lights are on, and Arthur is sitting in the living room wearing a pair of reading glasses.
“Eames?” Arthur says, looking up from his book. “You’re back early. I thought the recon was going to take all night.”
“The target decided to call it an early night,” Eames says with as much dignity as he can muster after nearly tripping over his own feet. “So I decided to celebrate.”
“I can see that,” Arthur closes his book, puts it on the end table, and takes off his glasses. “Is that-glitter?”
“Possibly.” Eames paws at his cheek and comes away sparkling. “Jesus, how much of this crap is there?”
“It’s all up and down the your shirt too.” Arthur stands up and pauses. “It’s made its way to the front of your jeans.”
Eames thinks, maybe, it might be on his dick as well. He waits for Arthur to start shouting, to get upset, to punch him in the jaw and storm out. But all Arthur does is sigh and cross the distance between them, hands coming up to cradle Eames’ face. “What are you doing, Jack?” Arthur asks, the first time he’s used Eames’ given name outside of bed.
Eames forces himself to meet Arthur’s gaze, which is a terrible mistake. Arthur’s expression is calm, understanding, and so knowing that Eames feels like a petulant child who ran away to spite his parents, and was forced to eventually come back, tired and hungry. “I just want to know what this is,” he says, and it’s too earnest. Too bare.
“Isn’t it obvious by now?” Arthur whispers as he presses a kiss to Eames’ lips, his cheeks, his forehead. “I’m head over heels in love with you.”
“Me too,” Eames says, and it should feel good, it should feel warm and reassuring to say and hear. But as Arthur takes him by the hand and leads him to the bedroom, all Eames can think is that Arthur’s a magnificent liar who doesn’t mean it, or worse, that he does mean it and it simply doesn’t matter.
* * * * * *
Day 75
“So you’re basically telling me that Arthur is going to wrap my heart around his fingertip-against my will--before proceeding to crush it beneath his sleek, Italian boot-heel.” Eames lets out a short bark of a laugh. “Cobb, you do realize I’m hardly a blushing teen girl about to lose her virginity to a lecherous older man, don’t you?”
“Arthur’s good at what he does,” Cobb says. “He’s had a lot of practice, and you don’t know the number of people we can’t work with anymore because of him.”
“It’s as though we aren’t even talking about the same person,” Eames says, exasperated. “I’ll admit, he’s not quite the stick in the mud I used to think he was, but he’s still-"
“What happens when an immovable object meets an irresistible force?” Cobb asks, and then smiles sadly as he answers his own question. “They both cease to exist.”
* * * * * *
Day 233
Eames wakes up in the morning to a mild hangover. He slips out from underneath Arthur’s arm and gets dressed, careful not to wake Arthur.
Eames leaves his flat and goes to the corner store to pick up a newspaper, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and a newspaper. On the walk back to his apartment, he smokes his first cigarette in over four years and it feels so good he stops in the middle of the street to bask in it.
When he gets back to the flat, Arthur’s up and about already, the sound of the shower running. Eames cooks some eggs and bacon while the cigarette dangles from his left hand, and scoops some onto a plate before covering the pan to keep Arthur’s portion warm.
He reads the newspaper as he eats, tells Arthur there’s coffee and food on the stove when he wanders in.
“You’ve started smoking again?” Arthur asks when he sits down next to Eames at the table.
“Yes,” Eames replies, blowing the smoke carefully away from Arthur’s direction.
“Thank you for the food. And the coffee,” Arthur says while he eats.
“Of course.” Eames folds up his newspaper neatly, and waits until Arthur is finished eating to speak again. “So it seems I’m a bit more of a traditionalist than I thought.”
“Eames,” Arthur says, reaching out to touch him, but Eames pulls away.
“Please, darling, this is rather difficult for me so if you’d just-" Eames cuts off and Arthur stills. “We’ve never talked about the future or exclusivity or any of that, which was fine, and we’ve had a good run of it. But-"
“But why change something that’s been working so well for us?” Arthur says, a pleading smile on his face. “I love you. Isn’t that what matters?”
“I know it’s rather bad form to change rules in the middle of the game but I-" Eames swallows past the thickness that seems to have developed in his throat. “But I need to have all of you, or at least the hope that one day I will, or I’ll never be satisfied.”
“Don’t I make you happy?” Arthur asks, finally succeeding in capturing Eames' hand and pressing it over his heart. “Haven’t I always given you what you wanted?”
“Are you going to give me what I want now?” Eames asks, feeling the steady thump of Arthur’s heartbeat under his palm. There's a long silence, and Eames can almost hear it, the sounds of their hearts beating in counterpoint.
“Libre elle est née et libre elle mourra, mon cheri,” Arthur says, at last. He stands, letting Eames’ hand drop to the table. “I’ll go pack my things.”
That is not what happens.
* * * * * *
Day 354
“Caroline,” Arthur says. “You are a genius.”
Eames watches Caroline toss her hair and smile prettily at Arthur, notes the solicitous way Arthur touches the small of her back as he leans over to stare at her blueprints.
“I’m sorry,” Cobb says quietly, pitched so only Eames can hear.
“Nothing to be sorry over,” Eames replies briskly. “You warned me, which was a very decent thing for you to do. There’s nothing more one could ask for than that.”
Cobb stares at Eames for a long minute. “I was really hoping that maybe this time I’d be wrong.”
Eames turns away from the sight of Caroline giggling and toying with the cufflinks at Arthur’s right wrist. Some detached part of him is impressed by Arthur’s skill in this, like all other things--at his ability to become everything a mark might want without even having to forge a new identity for it.
Later, when Arthur drops by with a bottle of champagne and two glasses, Eames will marvel at how he manages to make the rest of the day-the rest of the things Eames knows to be facts, to be true-all fall away with a simple, “God, it’s good to see you. I was scared that I might have to drink this Veuve Cliquot all by myself.”
“I can’t imagine you ever drinking alone,” Eames will say as he lets Arthur in-because he always does, and always will.
“I’ll never have to, as long as I have you,” Arthur will say, meaning every word of it. And Eames will smile and agree, for that night at least, and pretend not to notice that their nights together are growing further and further apart.
“Darling,” Eames will say, later, as he presses possessive kisses across the expanse of Arthur’s bare skin. “My darling.”
fin
*Libre elle est née et libre elle mourra, mon cheri - Free she was born, and free she will die, darling.
Poll FB: An Immovable Object