Fic: There's got to be a morning after - Chapter 9c: Hound Dog
There's got to be a morning after
Chapter 9c: Hound Dog
Master post of all chapters here.
Wordcount: 30000
Chapter 9c: Hound Dog
The hospital room is long and narrow, with three beds and curtains in between. Two of the beds are empty and the third is occupied by Arthur's twin.
Aiden is indeed Arthur's double, a mirror image with grey hair in a shorter haircut. He hasn't Arthur's elegant posture, shoulders slightly hunched from an office job spent mostly in front of a computer screen. He's a bit more filled out than Arthur as well, cheeks rounder, a noticeable paunch. All that aside, Aiden is quite striking.
He's hooked up to an array of machinery, his leg propped up in a cast and sling. The nightstand beside him is covered in children's artwork, cards, and a mug with #1 DAD on it.
Then there's the framed photo. Aiden's smiling warmly into the camera, arm around his gorgeous wife. Between them is a girl with her mother's dark skin and Aiden's silver hair, and a little boy beaming with gap-toothed enthusiasm. They look like the poster family for an interracial Hallmark commercial.
"Hi," Arthur says with a hesitant smile.
"What are you doing here?" Aiden asks. He doesn't return Arthur's smile.
"I heard you were hurt," Arthur says. "I came to see how you're doing."
"How did you-Keisha." Aiden shakes his head. "Well, don't hang around in the doorway-come on in. Pull up a chair and feel free to prop your feet up on a heart monitor."
"Aiden," Arthur says.
"Aiden. Now there's a name I haven't heard in a long time," Aiden replies. "Are you going by Arthur now?"
"Yeah." Arthur straightens almost imperceptibly. "This is Eames."
"Cheers," Eames says with a wave. He wishes that he could be in the hall, the depressing lobby-even an operating room table might be preferable at this point.
"Cheers," Aiden echoes, disbelieving. "You're banging some British secret agent?"
"Aiden-" Arthur starts, alarmed.
"No, you're definitely more than a casual fuck if you offered to come along for this shitshow." Aiden turns to regard Eames, his scrutiny is nearly a physical force. "I suppose you are our type. Were you thinking you could score some twin threesome action out of this?"
"Aiden!" Arthur says again, sharply. "Eames is a friend and he came as a favor to me. He's not up for discussion."
"I can step outside," Eames says, ready to bolt.
"No, I think you should stay," Aiden says, pinning Eames with his gaze-unsettling in its resemblance to Arthur's. "I think it's important for you to know that no matter how sweet my twin brother may talk or act towards you, he's not someone you should count on. Just like our mother."
"Don't talk about Mom that way."
"I'll talk about her any damn way I please," Aiden snaps. "I have the right. You don't, after the shit you pulled."
"Shit I pulled? Someone had to hustle and pay the bills while she-"
"The hustle, of course, always the fucking hustle with you two," Aiden says. "Maybe if she hadn't been so obsessed with another one of her get-rich-quick schemes, she might have caught the tumor before it metastasized."
"You mean if she lived a boring, normal life like you always wanted," Arthur retorts. "If she'd given up everything she was and wanted in order to appease your-"
"Fuck you," Aiden says. "You don't know what it was like. Not after you abandoned-after you left."
"I never abandoned you," Arthur says, taking a step back.
"Yeah, because joining a covert special ops team really says home for the holidays." Aiden laughs harshly, a flash of something lonely and sad in it. "Just admit that as soon as you could get the hell away from us, you did."
"I wasn't-" Arthur's voice grows quieter. "I wasn't trying to leave you behind. I never wanted that."
"Whatever. So you joined the military and found some guy to throw yourself into." Aiden casts a narrow glance at Eames. "Not much has changed since then, I see."
"I didn't-"
"How did you get into the country, anyway? I thought you were going to be court-martialed."
Arthur hesitates. "Sudheer." Eames blinks, not entirely pleased by this surprise.
Aiden snorts. "I rest my case."
"It's not like that."
"Yeah, I'll bet Sudheer regularly secures pardons for traitors to the US government that he's not sleeping with."
"I'm not a traitor."
"Selling off secret military technology to the highest bidders-including terrorist groups and rogue governments-that's all part of your patriotic duty, isn't it?"
"The technology was bound to get out anyway," Arthur replies. "Black market Somnacin was already on the streets and people were dying trying to figure out how to use it."
"You were doing a public service that just happened to earn you a bundle of cash," Aiden says, dripping with sarcasm. "How convenient. But you and Mom always did have convenient morals when it comes to making a buck."
"I told you not to talk about Mom that way."
"Why do you keep defending her? Oh that's right, because you were her favorite." Aiden turns to address Eames. "It's funny, right? We're fucking identical twins, but he was still the favorite."
"I wasn't. She loved us-"
"Don't lie to me, it's embarrassing for us both. I was fine with it-really, I was. At least, until I was the one taking care of her. Checking her meds, driving her to doctor's appointments, cleaning up her vomit because she always got sick after chemo. All she wanted to talk about was you. Where you were, what you were doing, why you hadn't called in so long."
Arthur stares down at the floor. "I wanted to be there. But the military-"
"The military was already through with you by the time she got sick and you know it," Aiden interrupts. "You were off in Paris, vacationing."
"I wasn't vacationing," Arthur says, jaw tightening. "There were some side-effects from the experimental version of Somnacin we used in the military. There was someone in Paris who-"
"You were healthy enough to hop on a flight to Europe, but not healthy enough to fly back to the US?"Aiden says. "Or were you on the run from the US government with your bootleg PASIV at this point? I lost track of all your excuses."
"They weren't excuses-"
"She asked about you every day for two years. Asked why you weren't coming to see her, why weren't you calling. She wouldn't let up, you know how she was. I had to make up some story about what a hero you were and how the Marines needed you too damn badly for you to take any leave."
Arthur's face is ashen. "I didn't come here to talk about-"
"Does he know?" Aiden jerks his head at Eames. "No, he doesn't, does he?"
"I should leave," Eames says, halfway to the door.
"I said stay," Aiden says, voice colder than Eames has ever heard Arthur's. "You should know the kind of man my twin is."
Eames glances at Arthur. He's gripping the footboard of an empty bed, staring at the wall.
"You know Mom never gave up when she wanted something," Aiden resumes. He adjusts his cast, wincing, some Sharpie-drawn flowers and 'I <3 you, daddy!' messages coming into view. "So she started making calls. Whoever she could reach in the military-receptionists and recruiters and anyone else who would listen, explaining the situation, explaining the cancer and how she needed to see you one last time. I finally got her off the phone by convincing her to write a letter to some general, someone very official sounding. She spent days on that fucking letter."
"I didn't know," Arthur says, voice so small Eames almost doesn't hear it.
"You didn't know after all the messages I left you? You didn't know that our dying mother might want to see you?" Aiden's voice grows louder with every word and then he stops, taking a breath. "I told her the military wrote back saying you were on a top secret mission, and that you were too important to national security to interrupt."
Arthur swallows, Adam's apple bobbing in his long, elegant neck. "I wanted to visit. I did."
"You asked me what the last thing she said before she died was," Aiden says. "Maybe you don't even care anymore. But I'll tell you anyway. She said that we were the best deal she ever negotiated. Two for the price of one. What a fucking joke."
Arthur says nothing, continuing to stare blankly at the wall. Eames shifts, wondering if he could sneak out. Aiden appears to have forgotten about him completely.
"Why did you come here?" Aiden asks after a long silence. He's not asking Eames.
That seems to jolt Arthur back into motion. He releases his death grip on the railing. "Your business has been struggling. You're barely keeping the lights on and you're up to your ears in credit card debt that Keisha doesn't know about. I can help you with this, get you some cash flow in exchange for an equity stake in-"
"You think I want your money?" Aiden interrupts. "You think that after all this time, I'd ever take money from god knows what kind of criminal enterprise-"
"It's clean. I'd never get you mixed up in-"
"You know what I really want? I want a goddamn time machine so I could go back into the past and tell my dumbass, naïve self not to wait around hoping anymore," Aiden snarls. "That way maybe I could have prepared for my best friend fucking off when I needed him most. Can you give me that? Because that's what I want."
Arthur's expression goes tight and pinched. "I can help you now."
All the energy seems to drain from Aiden's body. "I don't want your money. I don't want your help either, not anymore. The time when I could have used it-when I would have done anything to get it-that's all passed now."
"Aiden." Arthur's mouth trembles, breathing unsteady. "Please. There must be something I can do."
"Sure," Aiden replies. "You can take the poor sap you dragged here and leave."
Arthur stares, uncomprehending.
"You should leave now," Aiden says, looking at Eames.
"Darling," Eames whispers as he takes Arthur by the arm. Arthur follows Eames through the door, as docile as a lamb.
* * * * *
"Arthur-" Eames begins when they exit the hospital.
"I don't want to talk about it." Arthur presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. "I need to go. I need to be alone."
Arthur walks down the sidewalk, shoulders hunched. Eames watches for a minute, then walks in the opposite direction, back to Arthur's flat.
* * * * *
Arthur returns a day and a half later, eyes bloodshot, hair askew, shirt half-undone. He looks haggard, run-down.
Eames sets aside his book and stands, back protesting faintly from being subjected for an hour to a beanbag chair. "Hello."
"Let's go out tonight," Arthur says with no greeting. "To the Cock 'n Load. We had fun there the other night, didn't we?"
"Did we?" Eames murmurs, but there's something about the frantic light behind Arthur's gaze that makes him say, "Yes, alright."
The club is every bit as dark and loud and crowded as before. Arthur keeps a possessive grip on Eames' wrist as he frogmarches them to the bar.
"I'd like to open a tab," Arthur says to the first bartender who approaches. He holds up a credit card and flips it over to reveal a hundred dollar bill. "That's for you if you keep the drinks flowing."
The bartender accepts both and says, "What can I start you gentlemen out with tonight?"
"Six tequila shots," Arthur declares and half-turns to Eames. "First drink I ever had. We--I was fourteen."
The shots arrive and Arthur throws his back one after another. Eames drinks one, pausing to suck on a lime with a grimace, then takes the other two.
"That's the shit," Arthur says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Now two whiskeys, neat."
"Far be it for me to discourage drinking," Eames says. "But, Arthur, have you had anything to eat at all today?"
"I had a hot dog for lunch," Arthur says, in between swallowing whiskey at an impressive speed. "Speaking of hot dogs, any here you like?"
"Perhaps," Eames says, alarmed by the way Arthur finishes his drink and immediately starts on another. "Would you care for a sip of water? I think I could do with some myself."
"Water and ice are for the birds," Arthur says, slapping a palm against the counter for emphasis. "Whiskey! Tequila! What the fuck else do we need? Nothing!"
"I see an opening on the dance floor," Eames says. "Would you like to dance with me?"
"Fuck yeah," Arthur says, grabbing Eames' arse with both hands and squeezing. "You have the best ideas."
Arthur's already intoxicated, bumping against Eames as they walk away from the counter. When they reach the center of the dance floor, he sways more than dances. Eames keeps an arm round Arthur's waist to steady him and receives a splatter of whiskey down his shirt for the trouble.
"Oops," Arthur says. "You should take that off."
"I'll manage," Eames replies, wondering how much longer they have to stay before he can suggest leaving.
"There's a guy behind you who'd like you to take it off," Arthur says, leaning in close. "He keeps staring at your ass."
"I'm deeply flattered."
Arthur gives Eames a sloppy kiss. "He's pretty hot. You want to get a room with him?"
Eames kisses Arthur again, more carefully. "Or we could go home?"
"Then the party's over! And we just got here." Arthur spins them round to face the bloke apparently intrigued by Eames' arse. "Hey there."
"Hey," the man replies. He's handsome in a generic way, Eames supposes. Blond. "Are you guys together?"
"Yeah, and we're looking for some company," Arthur replies.
"You've come to the right place," Generic Blond says, smiling. "All kinds of company here."
"Are you a regular?" Arthur asks.
"I guess you could say that."
"Then I bet you know where to get some E. Or poppers. Or whatever the fuck the newest club drug is, I'm totally out of date," Arthur says. "I have cash."
"Arthur." Eames tenses, and speaks into Arthur's ear, "I wouldn't recommend buying narcotics here. God knows what they've been cut with."
"I know someone who might know someone." Generic Blond smiles. I'll be right back."
"It's fine," Arthur says, patting Eames on the elbow clumsily. "Aren't you all about doing shit before you die? Live a little!"
"Yes, I'm rather fond of living. Which is why I'd rather not go into drug-induced seizures or hurl myself into a river with the aid of hallucinogens," Eames replies. "What's gotten into you? You know you can't operate the PASIV with narcotics lingering in your system."
"Fuck the PASIV. What do I need it for anyway?" Arthur asks. "I'm not on a job. I won't take a job. And you don't want to do your sex bucket list shit in dreams, either."
"What about your gardens?"
A strange expression crosses Arthur's face, pained and raw. "Fuck those gardens. How long has it been, now? Nine years? It's stupid. I should-I should burn them down. Move the fuck on."
"Darling," Eames whispers, touching Arthur's cheek.
"Good news." Generic Blond returns with a mousy brunet. "Tom is a friend of a friend. He can help you with whatever you need."
"I think we're going to stick with alcohol for now," Eames says, steering Arthur away. "Lovely to meet you both, have an excellent evening."
"You want another drink?" Arthur asks, downing the remainder of his whiskey. "Let's get another drink."
Eames sighs. At least Arthur isn't fighting him on the drugs.
Arthur trots off to the bar. He returns with two drinks and a very attractive man in tow. "Want to get out of here?"
"Hey there," the man says, sticking out his hand for Eames to shake. "I'm Kenji."
"Hello," Eames replies, not sure he's liking where this is going. "Milo."
"Let's get a room," Arthur says, words slurring together. "He's hot, right?"
Kenji is indeed hot. On any other evening, Eames would be ready and eager, but Arthur's not thinking clearly and adding another person to the unstable cocktail seems hardly the most prudent course of action. On the other hand, it will get them out of the club.
"Are you up for this?" Eames asks Kenji.
Kenji shrugs, affable and, thankfully, sober. "I'm game if you guys are."
"Hell yeah we are," Arthur says, dragging Eames in for a kiss that ends up mostly on Eames' chin.
* * * * *
"What do you like?" Arthur asks Kenji once they're in another bare bones room at the Cock 'n Roll. "I can do some pretty freaky shit."
"Well." Kenji glances at Eames, then back at Arthur. "I'm good with the basics for now. Sucking, fucking-that kind of thing."
"I think you guys should make out," Arthur says as he struggles to pull his shirt up over his head.
"What a splendid idea," Eames replies. He goes to the bathroom and selects the least dirty of the glasses to fill with tap. "In the meanwhile, you can have some water."
"That doesn't sound like fun," Arthur says, finally freeing himself from his clothing confines. "I want to watch."
"You can watch and drink simultaneously," Eames says soothingly, holding the glass out. Arthur reluctantly accepts and begins to drink.
Kenji, in the meanwhile, has taken off his shirt as well, exposing a muscular physique that sparks arousal despite the less than ideal situation. Kenji also proves to be a solid kisser: light on the tongue, and receptive to biting.
Eames startles when a second pair of hands-Arthur's-begins to undress him. Arthur guides Eames, once he's naked, backwards to sit on the bed.
"Isn't he gorgeous?" Arthur asks Kenji. "A part of me still can't believe I come home to this every night."
Eames looks up at Arthur, uncertain if there's something genuine there or if this is part of a new game they're playing. Arthur doesn't seem sober enough for much role-playing at this point, though.
"Yeah, it's a pretty great view." Kenji sinks to his knees in between Eames' legs. "How long's it been?"
"Over eight years," Arthur says. "I guess I've managed not to completely fuck it up."
"Eight years is pretty impressive," Kenji agrees as he licks delicately at Eames' cock, tonguing the foreskin. "You have a great dick, Milo. You mind if I play with this a while? I usually don't see much uncut dick around."
"I'm thrilled to be your model specimen," Eames says, spreading his legs wider.
"Cool." Kenji commences licking and slurping with enthusiasm.
Arthur clambers onto the bed beside Eames and kisses him, fingers stroking gently over a nipple. "You looked great tonight," Arthur says. "Everyone in the club wanted to be the one to leave with you."
Kenji pulls off Eames' cock with an audible pop. "I can testify to the truth of that claim."
Eames chuckles and touches Kenji's thick hair. "Thank you."
"I know you hate coming here. The club, the music, I know." Arthur presses his forehead to Eames' temple. "But I like being out with you. I like people seeing you and knowing-it makes everything feel more real."
Eames glances at Kenji, who is sucking and watching them with wary, intelligent eyes. "Would you like me to suck you, Tristan?" Eames asks.
"I'm okay," Arthur says, bending down to catch one of Eames' nipples in his teeth. "Let's focus on you tonight."
It's pleasant enough, though Arthur's licks and kisses transform into heavy breathing and light snoring after about five minutes. He's mostly asleep on Eames' chest by the time Eames comes, the drinks and exhaustion having extracted their toll.
"Would you like a blowjob?" Eames asks Kenji, easing Arthur onto the mattress.
"I'd greatly appreciate one," Kenji says, stroking the hard cock sticking out of his trousers. "Won't take too long."
Eames kneels, gazing up as he takes Kenji's dick into his mouth. Almost immediately, Kenji's balls tighten and he says, "I'm gonna come." He does, and Eames pats Kenji's quaking thighs, spitting into the trash bin. "Thanks," Kenji says, body sagging.
"Happy to help," Eames replies, heading towards the bathroom for a piss and a shower. The curtain is more or less transparent, and Kenji watches him with interest while using the sink.
"All yours," Eames says when he finishes, stepping out wet. Kenji grins as he squeezes past, groping Eames' arse as he does.
"You know, I'm pretty glad my friends dragged me out tonight," Kenji says once they're both dressed again. "A threesome with two insanely hot guys sure beats the reality TV marathon I was planning on."
"I'm pleased to hear that," Eames says. "I wasn't quite certain how this experiment was going to play out."
Kenji glances at Arthur's slumbering form. "You guys didn't talk about this in advance?"
"Fantasies are one thing. Reality is often another."
Kenji chuckles, ducking his head slightly. He peers up at Eames through his tousled hair-something that's wholly calculated and very effective. "Well, feel free to give me a call if you ever want a third again. I don't know what kind of arrangement you two have going, but I'd also be up for a one-on-one session."
Eames trails a hand down Kenji's firm abdomen. "I'll bear that in mind."
They murmur goodbyes with a parting kiss, and then Eames is left in a shabby hotel room with a comatose Arthur and sheets that feel like sandpaper.
Eames climbs in next to Arthur, who rolls over with a snuffling snort and wraps himself round Eames' middle.
"I hope you've flushed all this out of your system," Eames says as he closes his eyes. "I may, in fact, be getting too old for this."
* * * * *
Eames wakes up before Arthur. Something he can't recall happening since-well, ever.
He freshens up, settles the bill at the front desk, and purchases some outlandishly overpriced aspirin from the convenience store across the street.
When he returns to the room, Arthur is stirring, skin featuring a greenish cast.
"Aspirin and coffee," Eames says, setting them on the nightstand within easy reach of Arthur. "Here's the bin if you're going to hurl."
"I thought you'd left," Arthur says, voice a hoarse croak.
"What?"
"Kenji seemed cool. Funny and hot. Your type." Arthur eases himself up onto his elbows. "More fun than babysitting me."
"Is that what you think I'm doing?" Eames climbs into bed next to Arthur, legs on top of the covers. "And here I thought I was taking a morning to recover from the wild threesome with a gorgeous man that you arranged."
"Wild, huh?" Arthur swallows the aspirin and coffee gingerly. "I'm pretty sure I'm the one in need of recovery."
"You did seem determined to enjoy yourself," Eames says mildly.
After a moment, Arthur's head tips slightly to lean against Eames' hip. "I know I was acting-crazy last night. I'm sorry about that."
"No worse than anything I've put you through, I wager."
"Yeah, but you don't-" Arthur halts. "This isn't how I thought my homecoming would go. I mean, I wasn't expecting a parade, but. He's my twin."
"I know," Eames says gently. "I'm sorry it didn't go the way you'd have liked it to, darling."
"I told Aiden about Project Somnacin, years ago, when I was first in the military. He hated what we were doing-killing each other over and over, running drills, testing the boundaries of what a human mind could take. He didn't see the potential."
"He thought the experiments were barbaric," Eames says, recalling Gretel's words.
"Yeah," Arthur replies. "He came to visit the base and I wanted him to go under with me so he could understand it. Experience the infinite possibility for himself. I couldn't get clearance, of course."
"Is that why you began making your own PASIV?"
"Yeah." Arthur closes his eyes. "There's this thing in Star Trek called the mind-meld--corny, right? But I wanted to be able to see into his mind the way I've read some twins can. I wanted him to go into mine."
"It must have been difficult. Being away from him for so long."
"It was the first time we'd been separated for over a few weeks. My whole life it'd been him and my mom on the road together. Suddenly, I was alone. Stuck in one place and all alone." Arthur shakes his head. "He didn't understand what I was doing. I wanted to show him, but I'd never made anything as complicated as a PASIV before. I couldn't let him be the first guinea pig."
"So you sold it."
"For a lot of money." Arthur huffs a laugh. "That's when I realized I didn't have to put up with any more bullshit. The drills, the homophobia, the politics-I could make a living and be my own man. Of course, since I wasn't actually a man yet and only a dumb kid, I got caught."
Eames chuckles. "The only way we learn."
"I didn't think she'd actually die," Arthur says, all humor vanishing once more. "I never thought she could. Stupid, I know. People die. My dad did. But not her. She'd talk her way out of it, make a deal."
"It is strange to confront the mortality of our parents," Eames says, the image of his own mother flashing across his mind. "If we are forced to face theirs, we might have to eventually face our own."
Arthur buries his face into Eames' side, dampness spreading in the cotton fabric of Eames' shirt. "I wanted to visit, but I didn't want to see her like that. One of my commanding officers-her husband went through chemo. I saw how it made him, hair falling out, sickly. I didn't want to think about Mom going through that."
Eames strokes the back of Arthur's neck. "You were very young."
"I wasn't there the day she died," Arthur says, barely audible, and those words echo in Eames' mind. "I could have been, and I wasn't."
"One of the many follies of youth. We don't think the things that happen to everyone else will happen to us," Eames says. "Until they do."
"Were you there when your father died?"
"God, no. He died in Havana beside one of his numerous mistresses," Eames says. "Looked dreadful at the funeral. Like a puffy old crocodile. I only went to oversee the paperwork that would ensure I'd receive my portion of his estate-which he did everything in his power to avoid passing on to me."
"Do you ever want to go back? Live on the property you'll inherit?"
"Not if I can help it." Eames kisses the top of Arthur's head. "Speaking of which, I suppose we ought to return to Paris soon. You have a date with a bureaucrat."
Arthur groans and scrubs his hands over his face. "I almost forgot about that."
"Mm." Eames drops another kiss to Arthur's messy hair. "Want to check out of this hotel now?"
Arthur burrows further into Eames' side. "In a minute."
* * * * *
They fly back to Paris.
Being back in Mal's old flat is rather strange, but at least it doesn't reek of stale marijuana and there are no beanbag chairs. It's grown familiar somehow, with its overbearing chaise lounge, the curiously ugly furniture, the enormous painting of people fucking.
Eames thought that removing themselves from Chicago would help Arthur cope with his grief. Perhaps it has, but not as much as Eames had hoped.
Arthur sleeps in later and later, no longer waking for their morning jog or any other exercise. The days he doesn't spend mostly in bed, he mopes on the chaise lounge, staring out the window at nothing in particular.
He abandons work and his usual pursuits, not bothering to answer any calls or check his email. He rarely leaves the flat without a great deal of coaxing from Eames, and even then only for a few hours for a meal.
Weeks pass. Eames has sex with several attractive strangers, but mostly masturbates in the shower. Sometimes he fantasizes about Arthur, and feels very sorry for himself indeed.
Arthur scrapes himself together for the meeting with the bureaucrat, but says little. Eames does most of the talking, wrangling with arcane points of French property law. After the meeting, which appears to be a success since Arthur isn't going to be thrown out, they go to lunch. Eames eats his chicken and gets to watch Arthur pick listlessly at his quiche. As soon as they return to the flat, Arthur sheds his suit.
"Arthur-" Eames starts.
"It's okay, Eames," Arthur replies dully. "We don’t need to talk about it again."
* * * * *
"Still sleeping?" Eames asks, nudging Arthur's shoulder.
"Mmrgh," is the reply that comes, muffled by the pillow Arthur has his face buried in.
"Nearly noon," Eames says, nudging again. "Do you think it's time to get up?"
Another grunt.
"The weather's lovely. Perfect for a run or jog." Eames pauses. "Do you want to see me in the shorts you bought?"
Arthur turns his head, exposing his mouth at last. "I thought you said they were too short for you to ever wear."
"I'm feeling free-spirited and continental today."
Arthur turns his head further, one eye squinting at Eames suspiciously. "I know what you're doing."
"What, continuing my exercise regimen in pursuit of good health?" Eames replies blithely. "You know, I've lost two inches off my waistline."
"Really?" Arthur sounds impressed.
"Really."
"Okay, you can show me how you look in your shorts." Arthur frees his face from the pillow at last, a network of creases across his cheeks. "But don't bother trying to cheer me up. Or trying to convince me to jog. It won't work."
"Why on earth would I try to convince you to jog?" Eames climbs out of bed, naked, and goes to the closet. He takes a few minutes to survey the contents of the closet, feigning a search. "Perhaps I'll go jogging by myself. See how the breeze feels against my genitalia as I do laps around the park."
Arthur snorts a surprised laugh and smothers it immediately. "Good. You do that."
"I bought a jockstrap to wear with these shorts, but I'm still not entirely certain how to put it on." Eames turns his body a half-quarter, making a show of examining the undergarment. Arthur is watching with poorly disguised interest. "I wouldn't want to chafe, after all."
"You put your leg in right-"
Eames pretends not to hear Arthur's mumbled suggestions and starts towards the bathroom. "I suppose I'll try putting it on in front of the mirror until I get it right and leave for my jog."
"Eames." Arthur reaches out with one arm, vainly trying to catch Eames before he leaves.
"Yes, Arthur?" Eames pauses in the doorway, all puzzlement.
"Come on. Don't go." Arthur shuffles to the edge of the bed. "I want to see."
"See what?"
"The jockstrap. And the shorts. And your ass." Arthur widens his eyes almost comically. "Please?"
"How about I meet you in the foyer in ten minutes?" Eames says, staying just out of Arthur's reach. "I'm sure I can have this jockstrap all sorted by then."
Arthur flops backward with a groan and pronounced pout, but it works. In ten minutes, he's dressed and ready in the foyer.
"You probably think you're pretty clever," Arthur says.
"I don't think it, I know it," Eames says. "Come on now. You'll feel better after a spot of exercise."
Eames is right, of course. After a brisk jog and shower, Arthur's in much better spirits. The blowjob and fucking do help, of course. Eames tries to savor every moment of it, the first opportunity to be the center of Arthur's focus in weeks. Who knows when it might come again.
Afterwards, Eames gives in to the urge to cling to Arthur, a very little bit.
"I've missed this," Eames says, low and mostly into Arthur's chest. He girds himself for Arthur to roll away.
"Yeah," Arthur replies after a long moment. "Me, too."
"People are beginning to talk about your being MIA," Eames says. "I had a very uncomfortable conversation with Ariadne in which she tried to determine if I'd killed you in a lover's quarrel without asking directly."
"You can tell her-everyone-not to worry," Arthur says. "I'm fine."
"That's obviously not true."
"Fuck the truth. Who needs it?" Arthur doesn't sound angry as he says it. Rather, he sounds-resigned. "You know what's funny? I've been thinking about this car we used to have growing up, this rusted-out old piece of shit with ripped seats and weird bumper stickers leftover from the previous owner. In the summer we'd drive for hours and hours, and it felt like I was suffocating because there wasn't any air conditioning. I must have asked Mom a dozen times to trade the car in for something different-anything. She refused and I used to get so angry. We didn't have money for a house, but why not a fucking car? That's where we spent almost all our time anyway."
Eames looks up at Arthur's face, his deep frown. "You moved a great deal, didn't you? No location settled as a home for very long."
"I-" Arthur's eyes refocus, and he glances down at Eames, as if surprised to see him there. "Yeah, I guess. And that was fine. It wasn't like I wanted-I didn't need a big house, or a great car. I don't know shit about cars the way you do. All I wanted was something that wouldn't crap out on the side of the road every day."
"I suppose I moved rather frequently as a child as well," Eames says thoughtfully. "My parents shipped me off to boarding school as soon as they were able, whereupon my storied academic career of expulsions, suspensions and transfers began."
"Was there someplace you lived longest?" Arthur asks. "Your family has several properties, right?"
"A country estate in Scotland with a fusty old manor," Eames replies. "Dreary business, that. Hardly the image of a welcoming home."
"Have you ever had a place you liked going back to?" Arthur asks, thumb stroking Eames' shoulder absently. "Or has your one and only attachment ever been to the Porsche?"
Eames pauses for a long minute. "There was a flat in Spain. Is."
"I didn't know you lived in Spain," Arthur says, sounding genuinely surprised.
"Yes, it's-the property is under Malaya's name. Officially," Eames says. "We lived together when we were-well, when I was married. She moved out after the divorce, left me the place. Transferring property titles is a bureaucratic nightmare-as you well know-so it's not something with a paper trail to me. But it's mine."
"Wow," Arthur says, and hesitates. "You want some scrambled eggs? I could make some."
"I'd love some, but don't think we have any eggs left." Eames sits up. "I suppose I could go to the shops."
"We can go after breakfast. You're probably hungry." Arthur runs a hand through his hair. "We have cereal and milk, right? I can fix you a bowl."
They do have that, at the very least. Arthur climbs out of bed and goes to the kitchen without any clothes on. Eames shrugs, makes the bed, and joins him.
"I'm going to go to the store," Arthur says after they finish eating. "Do you want me to pick anything up?"
"Bread, meat, cheese, mayonnaise," Eames says, willing his hopes not to rise. "Eggs."
Arthur gets dressed and runs a hand through his hair again. "My roots are all grown in. Time for a haircut, I guess."
"I like it," Eames says, touching some of the silver above Arthur's ears. "Gives the impression of a rather distinguished and upstanding gentleman."
"Yeah?" Arthur leans into Eames' touch. "You know better, though."
"I do," Eames says, startled by Arthur's small smile. What an utterly pedestrian, domestic conversation to have. And yet it make Eames' heart leap with a strange sort of gladness.
* * * * *
Arthur begins dressing again, answering his calls. He plugs in his laptop and starts attacking the backlog of email. He doesn't leave the flat much, other than going on a daily jog with Eames, but he does resume exercising-pushups and sit-ups in the living room while Star Trek plays on the television.
"Do you want to watch Star Trek with me?" Arthur asks when Eames returns from a stroll through the Louvre. "I'll make popcorn."
"I thought we've seen the whole series," Eames replies, puzzled.
"We have. These are the Star Trek movies. Plus, there are a bunch more series-Next Generation, Voyager, Deep Space Nine," Arthur rattles off, as if Eames has any idea what he's talking about.
"I suppose I could sit for one," Eames says, wary. One somehow turns into 'six' spread out over the course of several days. Arthur does supply popcorn to eat throughout, and seeing his easy smile at Captain Kirk's antics makes the experience relatively tolerable.
The movies are awful, though.
* * * * *
"You dyed your hair again," Eames says when Arthur returns to the flat after one of his first, non-errand related trips out in over a month.
"Yeah, it was time." Arthur touches his roots, a little sad. "I know you liked it lighter."
"I've also a certain weakness for devilishly handsome brunets." Eames catches Arthur's wrist and presses a kiss to the inside of it, watching a tiny smile flicker across Arthur's lips.
Then Arthur's mobile rings. It's a ringtone Eames has come to know and hate.
"Sorry," Arthur says, resignedly. "I should take this. Sudheer's been calling every hour on the hour."
"He already knows you're not dead," Eames says, retreating to the chaise lounge grumpily. "I responded to that paranoid series of emails he sent."
"He thought you might have been trying to cover up murdering me," Arthur says. "I already emailed him to tell him I'm okay, but I guess he wants to hear my voice. Let me put it this way: if I don't take this, he might make a trip down to check in person."
Eames huffs, crossing his arms. "Go on then."
"Hey, Sudheer," Arthur says, walking into the bedroom and closing the door. "Yes, I'm alive and no, I'm not being held at gunpoint as I say this."
Eames re-opens the Spanish textbook he was reading and strains to hear the conversation.
"Everything's fine," Arthur says, snippets of conversation drifting through the thin walls. "No I'm not-I'm not under duress, Eames hasn't kidnapped me. You think I wouldn't tell you if he had? Jesus Christ, Sudheer-" Arthur's voice becomes indistinct. "I'm fine. I've been dealing with stuff, okay? Yes, I saw Aiden and yes, it fucking sucked. There, I said it. Yes, I offered the money and he didn't want it. What do you mean is there more to the story-that, no, I didn't fuck up the offer, he just didn't want it. Well, it didn't work, and that's that. I went radio silent because I've been running to the bathroom every five minutes for the past few weeks, okay? Some kind of stomach bug that wouldn't go away. I don't care if you don't believe me, it's the truth. You know what, I can't talk to you when you're like this. You better not come down, I am not in the fucking mood. No, this is not about Eames. I'm hanging up now. Yes, now. Bye."
Eames returns to quietly practicing his Spanish pronunciation when Arthur steps out of the bedroom again.
"You can tell everyone I had the runs for the past month," Arthur says. "If they ask."
"I suppose that's as good an explanation as any," Eames says, not looking up from his book. "Is it true, what Aiden said about Sudheer?"
Arthur glances over warily. "What part?"
Eames keeps his tone light, as if he were only casually curious. "That he's the reason you can still travel into the US under your real identity?"
"Yeah." Arthur takes a breath. "He isn't technically a member of the military anymore. He's an asset. An independent contractor they pay a lot of money for jobs that require his-specialized skill set. He wasn't dishonorably discharged like I was. In fact, he got a whole bunch of commendations and medals for his service."
"I see," Eames replies. "Being beholden to someone isn't the best foundation for an ongoing relationship."
"I'm grateful to him of course, but that's not-" Arthur halts, and peers at Eames. "You want to know if I’m still sleeping with him."
Eames shrugs as nonchalantly as he can. "You are in a curious amount of contact for ex-fiancés."
"I know he can be a pain in the ass, but Sudheer has been-" Arthur pauses and looks down. "The one constant in my whole adult life. It's hard for me to imagine giving that up."
"You have other friends. Other-" Eames clears his throat. "Do you need him, still?"
"I do have other--friends." There's a ghost of a smile hovering round Arthur's mouth. "That's why I've been better about-at dealing with things recently. I used to be really bad at it."
"Well, you are free to do what you like, of course."
Arthur takes a seat next to Eames, barely touching Eames' thigh with his. "You're the one living here, you know."
"Yes, and who knows how many other properties you have with attractive men stashed away," Eames says, somewhat mollified.
Arthur leans against Eames, very slightly. "You're pretty cute when you pout."
"How dare you," Eames says with no real heat. "I am dignified, masculine, handsome-"
"Nah, you're cute." Arthur's grinning now, touching the back of Eames' head. "Like a puppy, right?"
Eames swallows. "I suppose."
"You want to try it out tonight?" Arthur strokes the short hairs at the back of Eames' neck. "Sometime this week?"
"We might as well," Eames says, feigning indifference even as his heart-rate spikes. "Seems convenient enough."
* * * * *
"This is going to be weird," Eames says as he and Arthur stand awkwardly in the middle of the bedroom. "If it's too much, the safeword is 'Titania.'"
"Queen of the Fairies, huh?" Arthur takes a seat in the chair, dressed in a sky blue polo shirt and jeans. "And yeah, I expect this will take some getting used to. But we've got all night."
"Yes." Eames wipes sweaty palms on his trousers. "I should-disrobe."
"You don't have to if you don't want to," Arthur offers. "I know rugburn can be a pain."
"I-" Eames considers. There's a part of him that does want keep his clothes on. And yet the idea of crawling about, engaging in this roleplay without even stripping is-alarming. He wants the sexual veneer, even if this is hardly about kinky sex at all. "I have kneepads. I'll be fine."
He feels more than a little ridiculous as he kneels. There's something terribly absurd and vulnerable about being naked on all fours in front of Arthur, who is fully clothed.
It's a roleplay like any other, Eames tells himself. Sink into it without self consciousness. Lord knows he's done more embarrassing and horrifying things in other roles.
No more Eames. Only-a puppy.
A handsome man is seated in a chair. He extends his arm, palm up. "Hello."
Puppy shuffles towards the man. He has dark, sad eyes, and seems-nervous, perhaps. Puppy isn't sure he trusts this man, sad eyes or not.
"My name is Arthur," the man says. Puppy likes the man's voice, though he's still not sure about the man yet. He investigates the outstretched hand and tenses when Arthur moves to touch his hair. "Is this okay?"
Puppy waits, a bit nervously, for the voice or touch to turn harsher, more demanding. When all Arthur does is stroke lightly, Puppy moves closer.
"Your hair is soft," Arthur says. "I always forget. I guess I never thought it would be."
Puppy relaxes as Arthur continues to pet him. It feels nice, soothing.
"You're a good puppy, aren't you?" Arthur says, words careful.
Puppy pushes upwards into Arthur's palm to register agreement. He leans against Arthur's leg for several minutes, into Arthur's warmth and steadiness. Arthur smells good. Puppy supposes he could come to like Arthur.
"Is this okay?" Arthur asks, sounding unsure. "Ea-is this what you want?"
Puppy straightens and climbs halfway up into Arthur's lap. He licks Arthur's cheek, provoking a startled laugh. Puppy does it again, catching Arthur's nose and chin in the process.
"Enthusiastic, aren't you?" Arthur says, submitting to Puppy's licks with a small smile. Puppy licks the dimples that appear, prompting another laugh, and then drops to the floor again, ready to start a new game.
He trots to the other side of room, causing Arthur to lean forward in alarm until he sees Puppy return.
"What do you have there?" Arthur asks when Puppy drops the ball into his lap. "Do you want to play?"
Puppy sits back and waits, eagerly.
Arthur tosses the ball to the other side of the room, too far for Puppy to see where it goes. They hunt together for the ball until Arthur locates it under the nightstand, apologizing. He throws with less force after that, though it takes several more tries to find a distance that doesn't frustrate them both.
After that, it becomes a fun game. Puppy delights in watching the arc of the red ball in the air, chasing it down, returning it to Arthur for rewards like petting. After each round, Arthur becomes surer, more confident in his words.
"Good boy," Arthur says, seeming to test the phrase while Puppy nuzzles his arm. "You're a very good boy."
Puppy licks his wrist and bounds away, losing interest in fetch even when Arthur tries to direct him towards the ball again.
Puppy begins investigating the closet, which is filled with dust that makes him sneeze. He moves on to the nightstand, which is boring, and finally the suitcase on the floor. After a bit of experimentation, he flips it open and discovers a treasure trove of clothing. It all feels good against Puppy's cheek and smells like Arthur.
"Made a discovery, huh?" Arthur says, walking over to observe. "I guess I should have unpacked by now."
Something about the timber of Arthur's voice makes Puppy look up quizzically. Arthur's expression is distant, sadness descending again. Puppy is dismayed.
A pair of sunglasses resting at the bottom of the suitcase catches Puppy's attention and he growls at it. There's something about the sleek black plastic he doesn't like, something that inspires him to seize it by the teeth, ready to chew on it.
"Whoa there," Arthur says, seizing one ear of the sunglasses. "Puppy, no. These were a birthday gift."
That makes Puppy growl more, stubbornly holding on. He wants to break the sunglasses to pieces, maybe hide them where they can't be found again.
A hand coming down on the scruff of Puppy's neck. "Puppy, stop that. Let go."
At the sound of Arthur's stern voice, Puppy reluctantly releases the sunglasses. He looks pleadingly up at Arthur, willing him not to be angry.
"Doesn't seem like you scratched them." Arthur examines the glasses and sets them down on the nightstand, out of Puppy's reach. "You could have broken those. What's gotten into you?"
Puppy hides his face in Arthur's trouser leg, unable to bear the weight of Arthur's disappointment and displeasure. After a moment, Arthur sighs.
"It's okay," he says, closing the suitcase and zipping it up. "It was my fault for leaving this open on the floor. But from now on, no more chewing on things, okay?"
Puppy peeks out to see if Arthur is still frowning. He looks rueful. "I'm sorry for raising my voice at you. I know you didn't mean any harm."
Puppy shuffles out from hiding, chastised. Arthur gets down on one knee to stroke Puppy's hair. "It's okay. I'm not mad at you."
Puppy leans cautiously into Arthur's fingers, nervous energy settling with every calming pat. He doesn't want Arthur to be upset with him. He doesn't want Arthur to yell.
"I'm sorry, Puppy, I didn't mean to scare you." Arthur puts both arms around Puppy's neck and brings him close, kissing the top of Puppy's head. "We're okay, puppy. You're a good boy."
Puppy snuggles closer to Arthur, savoring his affection. Arthur feels wonderful-strong and comfortable. He's not smiling, though. Puppy wants to make Arthur smile again.
Puppy eases away from Arthur's embrace and goes to where he'd hidden something earlier, something he proudly presents to Arthur.
"Did you get the ball again?" Arthur asks, initially puzzled. He leans over and picks up the object laid at his feet. It's a cardboard tube. "Is this-is this for me?"
Puppy sits back and watches Arthur open it, pulling out an art print filled with infinite staircases. "This is-" Arthur pauses, the tension in his face giving way to surprise and awe. "This is an original Escher print."
Arthur's no longer morose. Arthur is pleased.
Unfortunately, Arthur is preoccupied with the art, and Puppy nudges at Arthur's knee, eager for attention. Puppy wants Arthur's gaze aimed at him.
Arthur looks over, beaming, and says, "You are the best puppy."
When Arthur reaches out, Puppy is practically beside himself, basking in the radiance of Arthur's approval. Puppy licks Arthur's palm and twines himself around Arthur's legs.
Puppy stares up adoringly, thrilled to have chased the melancholy from Arthur's eyes, to have softened the line of Arthur's jaw. Arthur looks better smiling, Puppy decides. He should always be smiling.
"You've been so good," Arthur whispers, cupping Puppy's face. "My thoughtful puppy. My good boy."
Puppy closes his eyes, wrapped in Arthur's praise. He wants Arthur to keep looking at him like that forever, he wants to tell Aiden what a terrible mistake he's made, he wants to never see Arthur frown again.
Eames surges up and kisses Arthur's beautiful mouth.
Arthur kisses back, fingers sliding across Eames' back and shoulders. "My beautiful, mischievous puppy."
"Arthur," Eames rasps as he kisses Arthur's cheeks, his nose, the delicate skin of his eyelids. "I want to be good for you. Tell me what you-tell me how to be-"
"Come here," Arthur says, and Eames tries to move closer though he's already half on top of Arthur, limbs entwined.
They kiss and kiss, open-mouthed and urgent and breathless. Eames buries his fingers in Arthur's hair, the hair that hides Arthur's secret, the silver he never allows others to see.
"I want to feel you," Arthur says, hoarse. "I want to suck you and make you come, I want-"
"Yes, everything, yes," Eames replies mindlessly, undoing Arthur's trousers to worship Arthur's cock with his hands, his mouth. He wraps his fingers round the shaft and licks all over the head, slides down the underside to suck Arthur's balls greedily into his mouth, tongues them until Arthur is trembling.
"Not yet," Arthur whispers, clamping down on the base of his cock.
Arthur leads Eames to the bed, straddles Eames' thighs.
"I want to watch you paint your chest with come," Arthur says, dipping down to suck Eames' nipples into sensitive peaks. "I want to lick it off your pecs. Can you do that for me? Can you cover yourself in come?"
"I can try," Eames says, eager to say yes, yearning for Arthur to smile and be pleased with him once more. "I'll try."
"You can, I know you can." Arthur kisses Eames as he jerks him, sure strokes that leave Eames dazed, distracted. "You're going to be good for me, aren't you?"
"Yes," Eames whispers, already nearing the edge. He gasps when Arthur's free hand cups his ballsack, finger inching backwards to rub his perineum, trace his hole.
Eames comes, bucking up into Arthur and arching his back with it. It feels so good with Arthur watching, approving.
"Fuck, Eames, I knew you could do it." Eames is wrung out, Arthur's hand catching the last of Eames' ejaculate and dragging it up his abdomen. "I love seeing you like this-exhausted and sweaty and covered in your own come."
Eames bares his neck for Arthur's kisses, reveling in the feel of Arthur's lips against his nipples and all over him. "Did I do good?"
"You did." Arthur kisses Eames' pleasure-slack mouth. "My good boy. My sweet puppy."
Eames brings his legs up around Arthur's waist, rubs against Arthur's cock. "I want you to fuck me."
Arthur takes a steadying breath as he clamps down on the base of his cock again, reaching for a condom and lube. He's barely gloved before Eames rolls him over and climbs on top, sinking down without hesitation.
"Eames-" Arthur chokes as Eames bottoms out.
Eames inhales and exhales, adjusting to the incredible fullness, the way Arthur's hard cock feels pressed up inside him. He undulates his hips, watching Arthur's eyes roll back in his head. Arthur feels huge like this, impossible to ignore inside him.
He guides Arthur's hands to his waist and says, "However you want it. Slow or fast."
Arthur adjusts Eames' movements to more of a steady rocking motion, a smidgen faster, and sighs. "So easy to train. Such a good boy."
Eames squeezes his cock, which twitches at the words. "How does it feel?"
"Amazing." Arthur stares into Eames' eyes, a gaze Eames would have backed away from mere months ago. "How do you feel?"
Eames leans forward to brush his lips against Arthur's. "You're going to make me come again."
Arthur rolls them both until Eames is on his back. He plants a hand on Eames' sternum, levering himself up and begins to fuck Eames-setting a rough, relentless pace. Eames can barely catch his breath between the intensity and the new angle, the weight of Arthur holding him in place.
"Stay with me." Arthur says. "Stay with me now."
"I will," Eames whispers, dazed and trapped in Arthur's gaze. He wants to tug at his own cock but can't reach with the way Arthur has him pinioned. "Don’t stop."
"Does puppy want to come again?"
Eames swallows. "Yes."
"Has puppy been well-behaved enough to deserve a second treat?"
"Puppy will be perfect," Eames vows, cock straining up to brush against Arthur's abdomen, his arms, anything. "Please-"
"My good boy," Arthur murmurs as he folds a generous hand over Eames' cock, words heating his blood and setting him off, pulses of come through Arthur's fingers. "My sweet boy."
Eames kisses Arthur as he comes, running fingers over sweat-slicked skin as Arthur collapses on top of him. Eames could wriggle out and away, but he doesn't. The weight of Arthur's body is heavy, reassuring, not unbearable.
* * * * *
Eames finds himself in a part of Arthur's dreamscape he's never seen before. He's standing on the side of a mountain, which overlooks a deep valley and Arthur's hanging gardens.
Arthur's seated on a mossy boulder a few feet away, knees tucked under his chin and arms wrapped around his legs. Eames takes a step towards him, shoes squeaking in the damp grass as he does.
"I was ready to burn it all, but I chickened out," Arthur says, and Eames can see it now: the odd clearing on the temple roof, charred stumps where there had once been thick foliage. "The rain couldn't stop the fire in time. Half the trees were gone already."
Eames takes a seat next to Arthur on the boulder. The mountain air smells faintly of smoke and cinders. "And the rest of the temple?"
"Fine. No structural damage to the building, none of the other plants or levels caught fire."
"Did you really want to burn everything down?"
"When Aiden and I were kids, we used to make blanket forts out of sheets. Drove Mom crazy because all the beds would be stripped and we'd be inside, making up adventures. We'd pretend to be in Egypt, visiting the pyramids, or in Mexico, checking out Aztec ruins," Arthur says. "One day, Aiden came home with a new place he wanted to explore: the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. Except no one had any pictures of the damn thing, only vague descriptions."
Eames exhales. "Arthur…"
"Aiden never got why I stuck with dreamshare." Arthur tightens his grip, hugging his legs tighter to him. "He never understood the potential, the possibilities. And a part of me always thought, if he saw-if he could come into a dream with me and experience-" Arthur cuts off. "That's never going to happen now. Obviously."
Eames puts his arm round Arthur's shoulders. He can feel Arthur shiver in the chilly, high altitude air through his damp shirt. "You can plant something new. Or wait to see what sprouts up and surprises you."
"Maybe nothing will," Arthur says, head tipping onto Eames' shoulder.
Eames looks the moss beneath them, the scrubby grass on the ground. He thinks he sees a flash of mauve petals out of the corner of this eye. "Give it time."
Poll Fic: There's got to be a morning after Chapter 9
Next: Chapter 10: The Animal Song
Chapter 9c: Hound Dog
Master post of all chapters here.
Wordcount: 30000
Chapter 9c: Hound Dog
The hospital room is long and narrow, with three beds and curtains in between. Two of the beds are empty and the third is occupied by Arthur's twin.
Aiden is indeed Arthur's double, a mirror image with grey hair in a shorter haircut. He hasn't Arthur's elegant posture, shoulders slightly hunched from an office job spent mostly in front of a computer screen. He's a bit more filled out than Arthur as well, cheeks rounder, a noticeable paunch. All that aside, Aiden is quite striking.
He's hooked up to an array of machinery, his leg propped up in a cast and sling. The nightstand beside him is covered in children's artwork, cards, and a mug with #1 DAD on it.
Then there's the framed photo. Aiden's smiling warmly into the camera, arm around his gorgeous wife. Between them is a girl with her mother's dark skin and Aiden's silver hair, and a little boy beaming with gap-toothed enthusiasm. They look like the poster family for an interracial Hallmark commercial.
"Hi," Arthur says with a hesitant smile.
"What are you doing here?" Aiden asks. He doesn't return Arthur's smile.
"I heard you were hurt," Arthur says. "I came to see how you're doing."
"How did you-Keisha." Aiden shakes his head. "Well, don't hang around in the doorway-come on in. Pull up a chair and feel free to prop your feet up on a heart monitor."
"Aiden," Arthur says.
"Aiden. Now there's a name I haven't heard in a long time," Aiden replies. "Are you going by Arthur now?"
"Yeah." Arthur straightens almost imperceptibly. "This is Eames."
"Cheers," Eames says with a wave. He wishes that he could be in the hall, the depressing lobby-even an operating room table might be preferable at this point.
"Cheers," Aiden echoes, disbelieving. "You're banging some British secret agent?"
"Aiden-" Arthur starts, alarmed.
"No, you're definitely more than a casual fuck if you offered to come along for this shitshow." Aiden turns to regard Eames, his scrutiny is nearly a physical force. "I suppose you are our type. Were you thinking you could score some twin threesome action out of this?"
"Aiden!" Arthur says again, sharply. "Eames is a friend and he came as a favor to me. He's not up for discussion."
"I can step outside," Eames says, ready to bolt.
"No, I think you should stay," Aiden says, pinning Eames with his gaze-unsettling in its resemblance to Arthur's. "I think it's important for you to know that no matter how sweet my twin brother may talk or act towards you, he's not someone you should count on. Just like our mother."
"Don't talk about Mom that way."
"I'll talk about her any damn way I please," Aiden snaps. "I have the right. You don't, after the shit you pulled."
"Shit I pulled? Someone had to hustle and pay the bills while she-"
"The hustle, of course, always the fucking hustle with you two," Aiden says. "Maybe if she hadn't been so obsessed with another one of her get-rich-quick schemes, she might have caught the tumor before it metastasized."
"You mean if she lived a boring, normal life like you always wanted," Arthur retorts. "If she'd given up everything she was and wanted in order to appease your-"
"Fuck you," Aiden says. "You don't know what it was like. Not after you abandoned-after you left."
"I never abandoned you," Arthur says, taking a step back.
"Yeah, because joining a covert special ops team really says home for the holidays." Aiden laughs harshly, a flash of something lonely and sad in it. "Just admit that as soon as you could get the hell away from us, you did."
"I wasn't-" Arthur's voice grows quieter. "I wasn't trying to leave you behind. I never wanted that."
"Whatever. So you joined the military and found some guy to throw yourself into." Aiden casts a narrow glance at Eames. "Not much has changed since then, I see."
"I didn't-"
"How did you get into the country, anyway? I thought you were going to be court-martialed."
Arthur hesitates. "Sudheer." Eames blinks, not entirely pleased by this surprise.
Aiden snorts. "I rest my case."
"It's not like that."
"Yeah, I'll bet Sudheer regularly secures pardons for traitors to the US government that he's not sleeping with."
"I'm not a traitor."
"Selling off secret military technology to the highest bidders-including terrorist groups and rogue governments-that's all part of your patriotic duty, isn't it?"
"The technology was bound to get out anyway," Arthur replies. "Black market Somnacin was already on the streets and people were dying trying to figure out how to use it."
"You were doing a public service that just happened to earn you a bundle of cash," Aiden says, dripping with sarcasm. "How convenient. But you and Mom always did have convenient morals when it comes to making a buck."
"I told you not to talk about Mom that way."
"Why do you keep defending her? Oh that's right, because you were her favorite." Aiden turns to address Eames. "It's funny, right? We're fucking identical twins, but he was still the favorite."
"I wasn't. She loved us-"
"Don't lie to me, it's embarrassing for us both. I was fine with it-really, I was. At least, until I was the one taking care of her. Checking her meds, driving her to doctor's appointments, cleaning up her vomit because she always got sick after chemo. All she wanted to talk about was you. Where you were, what you were doing, why you hadn't called in so long."
Arthur stares down at the floor. "I wanted to be there. But the military-"
"The military was already through with you by the time she got sick and you know it," Aiden interrupts. "You were off in Paris, vacationing."
"I wasn't vacationing," Arthur says, jaw tightening. "There were some side-effects from the experimental version of Somnacin we used in the military. There was someone in Paris who-"
"You were healthy enough to hop on a flight to Europe, but not healthy enough to fly back to the US?"Aiden says. "Or were you on the run from the US government with your bootleg PASIV at this point? I lost track of all your excuses."
"They weren't excuses-"
"She asked about you every day for two years. Asked why you weren't coming to see her, why weren't you calling. She wouldn't let up, you know how she was. I had to make up some story about what a hero you were and how the Marines needed you too damn badly for you to take any leave."
Arthur's face is ashen. "I didn't come here to talk about-"
"Does he know?" Aiden jerks his head at Eames. "No, he doesn't, does he?"
"I should leave," Eames says, halfway to the door.
"I said stay," Aiden says, voice colder than Eames has ever heard Arthur's. "You should know the kind of man my twin is."
Eames glances at Arthur. He's gripping the footboard of an empty bed, staring at the wall.
"You know Mom never gave up when she wanted something," Aiden resumes. He adjusts his cast, wincing, some Sharpie-drawn flowers and 'I <3 you, daddy!' messages coming into view. "So she started making calls. Whoever she could reach in the military-receptionists and recruiters and anyone else who would listen, explaining the situation, explaining the cancer and how she needed to see you one last time. I finally got her off the phone by convincing her to write a letter to some general, someone very official sounding. She spent days on that fucking letter."
"I didn't know," Arthur says, voice so small Eames almost doesn't hear it.
"You didn't know after all the messages I left you? You didn't know that our dying mother might want to see you?" Aiden's voice grows louder with every word and then he stops, taking a breath. "I told her the military wrote back saying you were on a top secret mission, and that you were too important to national security to interrupt."
Arthur swallows, Adam's apple bobbing in his long, elegant neck. "I wanted to visit. I did."
"You asked me what the last thing she said before she died was," Aiden says. "Maybe you don't even care anymore. But I'll tell you anyway. She said that we were the best deal she ever negotiated. Two for the price of one. What a fucking joke."
Arthur says nothing, continuing to stare blankly at the wall. Eames shifts, wondering if he could sneak out. Aiden appears to have forgotten about him completely.
"Why did you come here?" Aiden asks after a long silence. He's not asking Eames.
That seems to jolt Arthur back into motion. He releases his death grip on the railing. "Your business has been struggling. You're barely keeping the lights on and you're up to your ears in credit card debt that Keisha doesn't know about. I can help you with this, get you some cash flow in exchange for an equity stake in-"
"You think I want your money?" Aiden interrupts. "You think that after all this time, I'd ever take money from god knows what kind of criminal enterprise-"
"It's clean. I'd never get you mixed up in-"
"You know what I really want? I want a goddamn time machine so I could go back into the past and tell my dumbass, naïve self not to wait around hoping anymore," Aiden snarls. "That way maybe I could have prepared for my best friend fucking off when I needed him most. Can you give me that? Because that's what I want."
Arthur's expression goes tight and pinched. "I can help you now."
All the energy seems to drain from Aiden's body. "I don't want your money. I don't want your help either, not anymore. The time when I could have used it-when I would have done anything to get it-that's all passed now."
"Aiden." Arthur's mouth trembles, breathing unsteady. "Please. There must be something I can do."
"Sure," Aiden replies. "You can take the poor sap you dragged here and leave."
Arthur stares, uncomprehending.
"You should leave now," Aiden says, looking at Eames.
"Darling," Eames whispers as he takes Arthur by the arm. Arthur follows Eames through the door, as docile as a lamb.
* * * * *
"Arthur-" Eames begins when they exit the hospital.
"I don't want to talk about it." Arthur presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. "I need to go. I need to be alone."
Arthur walks down the sidewalk, shoulders hunched. Eames watches for a minute, then walks in the opposite direction, back to Arthur's flat.
* * * * *
Arthur returns a day and a half later, eyes bloodshot, hair askew, shirt half-undone. He looks haggard, run-down.
Eames sets aside his book and stands, back protesting faintly from being subjected for an hour to a beanbag chair. "Hello."
"Let's go out tonight," Arthur says with no greeting. "To the Cock 'n Load. We had fun there the other night, didn't we?"
"Did we?" Eames murmurs, but there's something about the frantic light behind Arthur's gaze that makes him say, "Yes, alright."
The club is every bit as dark and loud and crowded as before. Arthur keeps a possessive grip on Eames' wrist as he frogmarches them to the bar.
"I'd like to open a tab," Arthur says to the first bartender who approaches. He holds up a credit card and flips it over to reveal a hundred dollar bill. "That's for you if you keep the drinks flowing."
The bartender accepts both and says, "What can I start you gentlemen out with tonight?"
"Six tequila shots," Arthur declares and half-turns to Eames. "First drink I ever had. We--I was fourteen."
The shots arrive and Arthur throws his back one after another. Eames drinks one, pausing to suck on a lime with a grimace, then takes the other two.
"That's the shit," Arthur says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Now two whiskeys, neat."
"Far be it for me to discourage drinking," Eames says. "But, Arthur, have you had anything to eat at all today?"
"I had a hot dog for lunch," Arthur says, in between swallowing whiskey at an impressive speed. "Speaking of hot dogs, any here you like?"
"Perhaps," Eames says, alarmed by the way Arthur finishes his drink and immediately starts on another. "Would you care for a sip of water? I think I could do with some myself."
"Water and ice are for the birds," Arthur says, slapping a palm against the counter for emphasis. "Whiskey! Tequila! What the fuck else do we need? Nothing!"
"I see an opening on the dance floor," Eames says. "Would you like to dance with me?"
"Fuck yeah," Arthur says, grabbing Eames' arse with both hands and squeezing. "You have the best ideas."
Arthur's already intoxicated, bumping against Eames as they walk away from the counter. When they reach the center of the dance floor, he sways more than dances. Eames keeps an arm round Arthur's waist to steady him and receives a splatter of whiskey down his shirt for the trouble.
"Oops," Arthur says. "You should take that off."
"I'll manage," Eames replies, wondering how much longer they have to stay before he can suggest leaving.
"There's a guy behind you who'd like you to take it off," Arthur says, leaning in close. "He keeps staring at your ass."
"I'm deeply flattered."
Arthur gives Eames a sloppy kiss. "He's pretty hot. You want to get a room with him?"
Eames kisses Arthur again, more carefully. "Or we could go home?"
"Then the party's over! And we just got here." Arthur spins them round to face the bloke apparently intrigued by Eames' arse. "Hey there."
"Hey," the man replies. He's handsome in a generic way, Eames supposes. Blond. "Are you guys together?"
"Yeah, and we're looking for some company," Arthur replies.
"You've come to the right place," Generic Blond says, smiling. "All kinds of company here."
"Are you a regular?" Arthur asks.
"I guess you could say that."
"Then I bet you know where to get some E. Or poppers. Or whatever the fuck the newest club drug is, I'm totally out of date," Arthur says. "I have cash."
"Arthur." Eames tenses, and speaks into Arthur's ear, "I wouldn't recommend buying narcotics here. God knows what they've been cut with."
"I know someone who might know someone." Generic Blond smiles. I'll be right back."
"It's fine," Arthur says, patting Eames on the elbow clumsily. "Aren't you all about doing shit before you die? Live a little!"
"Yes, I'm rather fond of living. Which is why I'd rather not go into drug-induced seizures or hurl myself into a river with the aid of hallucinogens," Eames replies. "What's gotten into you? You know you can't operate the PASIV with narcotics lingering in your system."
"Fuck the PASIV. What do I need it for anyway?" Arthur asks. "I'm not on a job. I won't take a job. And you don't want to do your sex bucket list shit in dreams, either."
"What about your gardens?"
A strange expression crosses Arthur's face, pained and raw. "Fuck those gardens. How long has it been, now? Nine years? It's stupid. I should-I should burn them down. Move the fuck on."
"Darling," Eames whispers, touching Arthur's cheek.
"Good news." Generic Blond returns with a mousy brunet. "Tom is a friend of a friend. He can help you with whatever you need."
"I think we're going to stick with alcohol for now," Eames says, steering Arthur away. "Lovely to meet you both, have an excellent evening."
"You want another drink?" Arthur asks, downing the remainder of his whiskey. "Let's get another drink."
Eames sighs. At least Arthur isn't fighting him on the drugs.
Arthur trots off to the bar. He returns with two drinks and a very attractive man in tow. "Want to get out of here?"
"Hey there," the man says, sticking out his hand for Eames to shake. "I'm Kenji."
"Hello," Eames replies, not sure he's liking where this is going. "Milo."
"Let's get a room," Arthur says, words slurring together. "He's hot, right?"
Kenji is indeed hot. On any other evening, Eames would be ready and eager, but Arthur's not thinking clearly and adding another person to the unstable cocktail seems hardly the most prudent course of action. On the other hand, it will get them out of the club.
"Are you up for this?" Eames asks Kenji.
Kenji shrugs, affable and, thankfully, sober. "I'm game if you guys are."
"Hell yeah we are," Arthur says, dragging Eames in for a kiss that ends up mostly on Eames' chin.
* * * * *
"What do you like?" Arthur asks Kenji once they're in another bare bones room at the Cock 'n Roll. "I can do some pretty freaky shit."
"Well." Kenji glances at Eames, then back at Arthur. "I'm good with the basics for now. Sucking, fucking-that kind of thing."
"I think you guys should make out," Arthur says as he struggles to pull his shirt up over his head.
"What a splendid idea," Eames replies. He goes to the bathroom and selects the least dirty of the glasses to fill with tap. "In the meanwhile, you can have some water."
"That doesn't sound like fun," Arthur says, finally freeing himself from his clothing confines. "I want to watch."
"You can watch and drink simultaneously," Eames says soothingly, holding the glass out. Arthur reluctantly accepts and begins to drink.
Kenji, in the meanwhile, has taken off his shirt as well, exposing a muscular physique that sparks arousal despite the less than ideal situation. Kenji also proves to be a solid kisser: light on the tongue, and receptive to biting.
Eames startles when a second pair of hands-Arthur's-begins to undress him. Arthur guides Eames, once he's naked, backwards to sit on the bed.
"Isn't he gorgeous?" Arthur asks Kenji. "A part of me still can't believe I come home to this every night."
Eames looks up at Arthur, uncertain if there's something genuine there or if this is part of a new game they're playing. Arthur doesn't seem sober enough for much role-playing at this point, though.
"Yeah, it's a pretty great view." Kenji sinks to his knees in between Eames' legs. "How long's it been?"
"Over eight years," Arthur says. "I guess I've managed not to completely fuck it up."
"Eight years is pretty impressive," Kenji agrees as he licks delicately at Eames' cock, tonguing the foreskin. "You have a great dick, Milo. You mind if I play with this a while? I usually don't see much uncut dick around."
"I'm thrilled to be your model specimen," Eames says, spreading his legs wider.
"Cool." Kenji commences licking and slurping with enthusiasm.
Arthur clambers onto the bed beside Eames and kisses him, fingers stroking gently over a nipple. "You looked great tonight," Arthur says. "Everyone in the club wanted to be the one to leave with you."
Kenji pulls off Eames' cock with an audible pop. "I can testify to the truth of that claim."
Eames chuckles and touches Kenji's thick hair. "Thank you."
"I know you hate coming here. The club, the music, I know." Arthur presses his forehead to Eames' temple. "But I like being out with you. I like people seeing you and knowing-it makes everything feel more real."
Eames glances at Kenji, who is sucking and watching them with wary, intelligent eyes. "Would you like me to suck you, Tristan?" Eames asks.
"I'm okay," Arthur says, bending down to catch one of Eames' nipples in his teeth. "Let's focus on you tonight."
It's pleasant enough, though Arthur's licks and kisses transform into heavy breathing and light snoring after about five minutes. He's mostly asleep on Eames' chest by the time Eames comes, the drinks and exhaustion having extracted their toll.
"Would you like a blowjob?" Eames asks Kenji, easing Arthur onto the mattress.
"I'd greatly appreciate one," Kenji says, stroking the hard cock sticking out of his trousers. "Won't take too long."
Eames kneels, gazing up as he takes Kenji's dick into his mouth. Almost immediately, Kenji's balls tighten and he says, "I'm gonna come." He does, and Eames pats Kenji's quaking thighs, spitting into the trash bin. "Thanks," Kenji says, body sagging.
"Happy to help," Eames replies, heading towards the bathroom for a piss and a shower. The curtain is more or less transparent, and Kenji watches him with interest while using the sink.
"All yours," Eames says when he finishes, stepping out wet. Kenji grins as he squeezes past, groping Eames' arse as he does.
"You know, I'm pretty glad my friends dragged me out tonight," Kenji says once they're both dressed again. "A threesome with two insanely hot guys sure beats the reality TV marathon I was planning on."
"I'm pleased to hear that," Eames says. "I wasn't quite certain how this experiment was going to play out."
Kenji glances at Arthur's slumbering form. "You guys didn't talk about this in advance?"
"Fantasies are one thing. Reality is often another."
Kenji chuckles, ducking his head slightly. He peers up at Eames through his tousled hair-something that's wholly calculated and very effective. "Well, feel free to give me a call if you ever want a third again. I don't know what kind of arrangement you two have going, but I'd also be up for a one-on-one session."
Eames trails a hand down Kenji's firm abdomen. "I'll bear that in mind."
They murmur goodbyes with a parting kiss, and then Eames is left in a shabby hotel room with a comatose Arthur and sheets that feel like sandpaper.
Eames climbs in next to Arthur, who rolls over with a snuffling snort and wraps himself round Eames' middle.
"I hope you've flushed all this out of your system," Eames says as he closes his eyes. "I may, in fact, be getting too old for this."
* * * * *
Eames wakes up before Arthur. Something he can't recall happening since-well, ever.
He freshens up, settles the bill at the front desk, and purchases some outlandishly overpriced aspirin from the convenience store across the street.
When he returns to the room, Arthur is stirring, skin featuring a greenish cast.
"Aspirin and coffee," Eames says, setting them on the nightstand within easy reach of Arthur. "Here's the bin if you're going to hurl."
"I thought you'd left," Arthur says, voice a hoarse croak.
"What?"
"Kenji seemed cool. Funny and hot. Your type." Arthur eases himself up onto his elbows. "More fun than babysitting me."
"Is that what you think I'm doing?" Eames climbs into bed next to Arthur, legs on top of the covers. "And here I thought I was taking a morning to recover from the wild threesome with a gorgeous man that you arranged."
"Wild, huh?" Arthur swallows the aspirin and coffee gingerly. "I'm pretty sure I'm the one in need of recovery."
"You did seem determined to enjoy yourself," Eames says mildly.
After a moment, Arthur's head tips slightly to lean against Eames' hip. "I know I was acting-crazy last night. I'm sorry about that."
"No worse than anything I've put you through, I wager."
"Yeah, but you don't-" Arthur halts. "This isn't how I thought my homecoming would go. I mean, I wasn't expecting a parade, but. He's my twin."
"I know," Eames says gently. "I'm sorry it didn't go the way you'd have liked it to, darling."
"I told Aiden about Project Somnacin, years ago, when I was first in the military. He hated what we were doing-killing each other over and over, running drills, testing the boundaries of what a human mind could take. He didn't see the potential."
"He thought the experiments were barbaric," Eames says, recalling Gretel's words.
"Yeah," Arthur replies. "He came to visit the base and I wanted him to go under with me so he could understand it. Experience the infinite possibility for himself. I couldn't get clearance, of course."
"Is that why you began making your own PASIV?"
"Yeah." Arthur closes his eyes. "There's this thing in Star Trek called the mind-meld--corny, right? But I wanted to be able to see into his mind the way I've read some twins can. I wanted him to go into mine."
"It must have been difficult. Being away from him for so long."
"It was the first time we'd been separated for over a few weeks. My whole life it'd been him and my mom on the road together. Suddenly, I was alone. Stuck in one place and all alone." Arthur shakes his head. "He didn't understand what I was doing. I wanted to show him, but I'd never made anything as complicated as a PASIV before. I couldn't let him be the first guinea pig."
"So you sold it."
"For a lot of money." Arthur huffs a laugh. "That's when I realized I didn't have to put up with any more bullshit. The drills, the homophobia, the politics-I could make a living and be my own man. Of course, since I wasn't actually a man yet and only a dumb kid, I got caught."
Eames chuckles. "The only way we learn."
"I didn't think she'd actually die," Arthur says, all humor vanishing once more. "I never thought she could. Stupid, I know. People die. My dad did. But not her. She'd talk her way out of it, make a deal."
"It is strange to confront the mortality of our parents," Eames says, the image of his own mother flashing across his mind. "If we are forced to face theirs, we might have to eventually face our own."
Arthur buries his face into Eames' side, dampness spreading in the cotton fabric of Eames' shirt. "I wanted to visit, but I didn't want to see her like that. One of my commanding officers-her husband went through chemo. I saw how it made him, hair falling out, sickly. I didn't want to think about Mom going through that."
Eames strokes the back of Arthur's neck. "You were very young."
"I wasn't there the day she died," Arthur says, barely audible, and those words echo in Eames' mind. "I could have been, and I wasn't."
"One of the many follies of youth. We don't think the things that happen to everyone else will happen to us," Eames says. "Until they do."
"Were you there when your father died?"
"God, no. He died in Havana beside one of his numerous mistresses," Eames says. "Looked dreadful at the funeral. Like a puffy old crocodile. I only went to oversee the paperwork that would ensure I'd receive my portion of his estate-which he did everything in his power to avoid passing on to me."
"Do you ever want to go back? Live on the property you'll inherit?"
"Not if I can help it." Eames kisses the top of Arthur's head. "Speaking of which, I suppose we ought to return to Paris soon. You have a date with a bureaucrat."
Arthur groans and scrubs his hands over his face. "I almost forgot about that."
"Mm." Eames drops another kiss to Arthur's messy hair. "Want to check out of this hotel now?"
Arthur burrows further into Eames' side. "In a minute."
* * * * *
They fly back to Paris.
Being back in Mal's old flat is rather strange, but at least it doesn't reek of stale marijuana and there are no beanbag chairs. It's grown familiar somehow, with its overbearing chaise lounge, the curiously ugly furniture, the enormous painting of people fucking.
Eames thought that removing themselves from Chicago would help Arthur cope with his grief. Perhaps it has, but not as much as Eames had hoped.
Arthur sleeps in later and later, no longer waking for their morning jog or any other exercise. The days he doesn't spend mostly in bed, he mopes on the chaise lounge, staring out the window at nothing in particular.
He abandons work and his usual pursuits, not bothering to answer any calls or check his email. He rarely leaves the flat without a great deal of coaxing from Eames, and even then only for a few hours for a meal.
Weeks pass. Eames has sex with several attractive strangers, but mostly masturbates in the shower. Sometimes he fantasizes about Arthur, and feels very sorry for himself indeed.
Arthur scrapes himself together for the meeting with the bureaucrat, but says little. Eames does most of the talking, wrangling with arcane points of French property law. After the meeting, which appears to be a success since Arthur isn't going to be thrown out, they go to lunch. Eames eats his chicken and gets to watch Arthur pick listlessly at his quiche. As soon as they return to the flat, Arthur sheds his suit.
"Arthur-" Eames starts.
"It's okay, Eames," Arthur replies dully. "We don’t need to talk about it again."
* * * * *
"Still sleeping?" Eames asks, nudging Arthur's shoulder.
"Mmrgh," is the reply that comes, muffled by the pillow Arthur has his face buried in.
"Nearly noon," Eames says, nudging again. "Do you think it's time to get up?"
Another grunt.
"The weather's lovely. Perfect for a run or jog." Eames pauses. "Do you want to see me in the shorts you bought?"
Arthur turns his head, exposing his mouth at last. "I thought you said they were too short for you to ever wear."
"I'm feeling free-spirited and continental today."
Arthur turns his head further, one eye squinting at Eames suspiciously. "I know what you're doing."
"What, continuing my exercise regimen in pursuit of good health?" Eames replies blithely. "You know, I've lost two inches off my waistline."
"Really?" Arthur sounds impressed.
"Really."
"Okay, you can show me how you look in your shorts." Arthur frees his face from the pillow at last, a network of creases across his cheeks. "But don't bother trying to cheer me up. Or trying to convince me to jog. It won't work."
"Why on earth would I try to convince you to jog?" Eames climbs out of bed, naked, and goes to the closet. He takes a few minutes to survey the contents of the closet, feigning a search. "Perhaps I'll go jogging by myself. See how the breeze feels against my genitalia as I do laps around the park."
Arthur snorts a surprised laugh and smothers it immediately. "Good. You do that."
"I bought a jockstrap to wear with these shorts, but I'm still not entirely certain how to put it on." Eames turns his body a half-quarter, making a show of examining the undergarment. Arthur is watching with poorly disguised interest. "I wouldn't want to chafe, after all."
"You put your leg in right-"
Eames pretends not to hear Arthur's mumbled suggestions and starts towards the bathroom. "I suppose I'll try putting it on in front of the mirror until I get it right and leave for my jog."
"Eames." Arthur reaches out with one arm, vainly trying to catch Eames before he leaves.
"Yes, Arthur?" Eames pauses in the doorway, all puzzlement.
"Come on. Don't go." Arthur shuffles to the edge of the bed. "I want to see."
"See what?"
"The jockstrap. And the shorts. And your ass." Arthur widens his eyes almost comically. "Please?"
"How about I meet you in the foyer in ten minutes?" Eames says, staying just out of Arthur's reach. "I'm sure I can have this jockstrap all sorted by then."
Arthur flops backward with a groan and pronounced pout, but it works. In ten minutes, he's dressed and ready in the foyer.
"You probably think you're pretty clever," Arthur says.
"I don't think it, I know it," Eames says. "Come on now. You'll feel better after a spot of exercise."
Eames is right, of course. After a brisk jog and shower, Arthur's in much better spirits. The blowjob and fucking do help, of course. Eames tries to savor every moment of it, the first opportunity to be the center of Arthur's focus in weeks. Who knows when it might come again.
Afterwards, Eames gives in to the urge to cling to Arthur, a very little bit.
"I've missed this," Eames says, low and mostly into Arthur's chest. He girds himself for Arthur to roll away.
"Yeah," Arthur replies after a long moment. "Me, too."
"People are beginning to talk about your being MIA," Eames says. "I had a very uncomfortable conversation with Ariadne in which she tried to determine if I'd killed you in a lover's quarrel without asking directly."
"You can tell her-everyone-not to worry," Arthur says. "I'm fine."
"That's obviously not true."
"Fuck the truth. Who needs it?" Arthur doesn't sound angry as he says it. Rather, he sounds-resigned. "You know what's funny? I've been thinking about this car we used to have growing up, this rusted-out old piece of shit with ripped seats and weird bumper stickers leftover from the previous owner. In the summer we'd drive for hours and hours, and it felt like I was suffocating because there wasn't any air conditioning. I must have asked Mom a dozen times to trade the car in for something different-anything. She refused and I used to get so angry. We didn't have money for a house, but why not a fucking car? That's where we spent almost all our time anyway."
Eames looks up at Arthur's face, his deep frown. "You moved a great deal, didn't you? No location settled as a home for very long."
"I-" Arthur's eyes refocus, and he glances down at Eames, as if surprised to see him there. "Yeah, I guess. And that was fine. It wasn't like I wanted-I didn't need a big house, or a great car. I don't know shit about cars the way you do. All I wanted was something that wouldn't crap out on the side of the road every day."
"I suppose I moved rather frequently as a child as well," Eames says thoughtfully. "My parents shipped me off to boarding school as soon as they were able, whereupon my storied academic career of expulsions, suspensions and transfers began."
"Was there someplace you lived longest?" Arthur asks. "Your family has several properties, right?"
"A country estate in Scotland with a fusty old manor," Eames replies. "Dreary business, that. Hardly the image of a welcoming home."
"Have you ever had a place you liked going back to?" Arthur asks, thumb stroking Eames' shoulder absently. "Or has your one and only attachment ever been to the Porsche?"
Eames pauses for a long minute. "There was a flat in Spain. Is."
"I didn't know you lived in Spain," Arthur says, sounding genuinely surprised.
"Yes, it's-the property is under Malaya's name. Officially," Eames says. "We lived together when we were-well, when I was married. She moved out after the divorce, left me the place. Transferring property titles is a bureaucratic nightmare-as you well know-so it's not something with a paper trail to me. But it's mine."
"Wow," Arthur says, and hesitates. "You want some scrambled eggs? I could make some."
"I'd love some, but don't think we have any eggs left." Eames sits up. "I suppose I could go to the shops."
"We can go after breakfast. You're probably hungry." Arthur runs a hand through his hair. "We have cereal and milk, right? I can fix you a bowl."
They do have that, at the very least. Arthur climbs out of bed and goes to the kitchen without any clothes on. Eames shrugs, makes the bed, and joins him.
"I'm going to go to the store," Arthur says after they finish eating. "Do you want me to pick anything up?"
"Bread, meat, cheese, mayonnaise," Eames says, willing his hopes not to rise. "Eggs."
Arthur gets dressed and runs a hand through his hair again. "My roots are all grown in. Time for a haircut, I guess."
"I like it," Eames says, touching some of the silver above Arthur's ears. "Gives the impression of a rather distinguished and upstanding gentleman."
"Yeah?" Arthur leans into Eames' touch. "You know better, though."
"I do," Eames says, startled by Arthur's small smile. What an utterly pedestrian, domestic conversation to have. And yet it make Eames' heart leap with a strange sort of gladness.
* * * * *
Arthur begins dressing again, answering his calls. He plugs in his laptop and starts attacking the backlog of email. He doesn't leave the flat much, other than going on a daily jog with Eames, but he does resume exercising-pushups and sit-ups in the living room while Star Trek plays on the television.
"Do you want to watch Star Trek with me?" Arthur asks when Eames returns from a stroll through the Louvre. "I'll make popcorn."
"I thought we've seen the whole series," Eames replies, puzzled.
"We have. These are the Star Trek movies. Plus, there are a bunch more series-Next Generation, Voyager, Deep Space Nine," Arthur rattles off, as if Eames has any idea what he's talking about.
"I suppose I could sit for one," Eames says, wary. One somehow turns into 'six' spread out over the course of several days. Arthur does supply popcorn to eat throughout, and seeing his easy smile at Captain Kirk's antics makes the experience relatively tolerable.
The movies are awful, though.
* * * * *
"You dyed your hair again," Eames says when Arthur returns to the flat after one of his first, non-errand related trips out in over a month.
"Yeah, it was time." Arthur touches his roots, a little sad. "I know you liked it lighter."
"I've also a certain weakness for devilishly handsome brunets." Eames catches Arthur's wrist and presses a kiss to the inside of it, watching a tiny smile flicker across Arthur's lips.
Then Arthur's mobile rings. It's a ringtone Eames has come to know and hate.
"Sorry," Arthur says, resignedly. "I should take this. Sudheer's been calling every hour on the hour."
"He already knows you're not dead," Eames says, retreating to the chaise lounge grumpily. "I responded to that paranoid series of emails he sent."
"He thought you might have been trying to cover up murdering me," Arthur says. "I already emailed him to tell him I'm okay, but I guess he wants to hear my voice. Let me put it this way: if I don't take this, he might make a trip down to check in person."
Eames huffs, crossing his arms. "Go on then."
"Hey, Sudheer," Arthur says, walking into the bedroom and closing the door. "Yes, I'm alive and no, I'm not being held at gunpoint as I say this."
Eames re-opens the Spanish textbook he was reading and strains to hear the conversation.
"Everything's fine," Arthur says, snippets of conversation drifting through the thin walls. "No I'm not-I'm not under duress, Eames hasn't kidnapped me. You think I wouldn't tell you if he had? Jesus Christ, Sudheer-" Arthur's voice becomes indistinct. "I'm fine. I've been dealing with stuff, okay? Yes, I saw Aiden and yes, it fucking sucked. There, I said it. Yes, I offered the money and he didn't want it. What do you mean is there more to the story-that, no, I didn't fuck up the offer, he just didn't want it. Well, it didn't work, and that's that. I went radio silent because I've been running to the bathroom every five minutes for the past few weeks, okay? Some kind of stomach bug that wouldn't go away. I don't care if you don't believe me, it's the truth. You know what, I can't talk to you when you're like this. You better not come down, I am not in the fucking mood. No, this is not about Eames. I'm hanging up now. Yes, now. Bye."
Eames returns to quietly practicing his Spanish pronunciation when Arthur steps out of the bedroom again.
"You can tell everyone I had the runs for the past month," Arthur says. "If they ask."
"I suppose that's as good an explanation as any," Eames says, not looking up from his book. "Is it true, what Aiden said about Sudheer?"
Arthur glances over warily. "What part?"
Eames keeps his tone light, as if he were only casually curious. "That he's the reason you can still travel into the US under your real identity?"
"Yeah." Arthur takes a breath. "He isn't technically a member of the military anymore. He's an asset. An independent contractor they pay a lot of money for jobs that require his-specialized skill set. He wasn't dishonorably discharged like I was. In fact, he got a whole bunch of commendations and medals for his service."
"I see," Eames replies. "Being beholden to someone isn't the best foundation for an ongoing relationship."
"I'm grateful to him of course, but that's not-" Arthur halts, and peers at Eames. "You want to know if I’m still sleeping with him."
Eames shrugs as nonchalantly as he can. "You are in a curious amount of contact for ex-fiancés."
"I know he can be a pain in the ass, but Sudheer has been-" Arthur pauses and looks down. "The one constant in my whole adult life. It's hard for me to imagine giving that up."
"You have other friends. Other-" Eames clears his throat. "Do you need him, still?"
"I do have other--friends." There's a ghost of a smile hovering round Arthur's mouth. "That's why I've been better about-at dealing with things recently. I used to be really bad at it."
"Well, you are free to do what you like, of course."
Arthur takes a seat next to Eames, barely touching Eames' thigh with his. "You're the one living here, you know."
"Yes, and who knows how many other properties you have with attractive men stashed away," Eames says, somewhat mollified.
Arthur leans against Eames, very slightly. "You're pretty cute when you pout."
"How dare you," Eames says with no real heat. "I am dignified, masculine, handsome-"
"Nah, you're cute." Arthur's grinning now, touching the back of Eames' head. "Like a puppy, right?"
Eames swallows. "I suppose."
"You want to try it out tonight?" Arthur strokes the short hairs at the back of Eames' neck. "Sometime this week?"
"We might as well," Eames says, feigning indifference even as his heart-rate spikes. "Seems convenient enough."
* * * * *
"This is going to be weird," Eames says as he and Arthur stand awkwardly in the middle of the bedroom. "If it's too much, the safeword is 'Titania.'"
"Queen of the Fairies, huh?" Arthur takes a seat in the chair, dressed in a sky blue polo shirt and jeans. "And yeah, I expect this will take some getting used to. But we've got all night."
"Yes." Eames wipes sweaty palms on his trousers. "I should-disrobe."
"You don't have to if you don't want to," Arthur offers. "I know rugburn can be a pain."
"I-" Eames considers. There's a part of him that does want keep his clothes on. And yet the idea of crawling about, engaging in this roleplay without even stripping is-alarming. He wants the sexual veneer, even if this is hardly about kinky sex at all. "I have kneepads. I'll be fine."
He feels more than a little ridiculous as he kneels. There's something terribly absurd and vulnerable about being naked on all fours in front of Arthur, who is fully clothed.
It's a roleplay like any other, Eames tells himself. Sink into it without self consciousness. Lord knows he's done more embarrassing and horrifying things in other roles.
No more Eames. Only-a puppy.
A handsome man is seated in a chair. He extends his arm, palm up. "Hello."
Puppy shuffles towards the man. He has dark, sad eyes, and seems-nervous, perhaps. Puppy isn't sure he trusts this man, sad eyes or not.
"My name is Arthur," the man says. Puppy likes the man's voice, though he's still not sure about the man yet. He investigates the outstretched hand and tenses when Arthur moves to touch his hair. "Is this okay?"
Puppy waits, a bit nervously, for the voice or touch to turn harsher, more demanding. When all Arthur does is stroke lightly, Puppy moves closer.
"Your hair is soft," Arthur says. "I always forget. I guess I never thought it would be."
Puppy relaxes as Arthur continues to pet him. It feels nice, soothing.
"You're a good puppy, aren't you?" Arthur says, words careful.
Puppy pushes upwards into Arthur's palm to register agreement. He leans against Arthur's leg for several minutes, into Arthur's warmth and steadiness. Arthur smells good. Puppy supposes he could come to like Arthur.
"Is this okay?" Arthur asks, sounding unsure. "Ea-is this what you want?"
Puppy straightens and climbs halfway up into Arthur's lap. He licks Arthur's cheek, provoking a startled laugh. Puppy does it again, catching Arthur's nose and chin in the process.
"Enthusiastic, aren't you?" Arthur says, submitting to Puppy's licks with a small smile. Puppy licks the dimples that appear, prompting another laugh, and then drops to the floor again, ready to start a new game.
He trots to the other side of room, causing Arthur to lean forward in alarm until he sees Puppy return.
"What do you have there?" Arthur asks when Puppy drops the ball into his lap. "Do you want to play?"
Puppy sits back and waits, eagerly.
Arthur tosses the ball to the other side of the room, too far for Puppy to see where it goes. They hunt together for the ball until Arthur locates it under the nightstand, apologizing. He throws with less force after that, though it takes several more tries to find a distance that doesn't frustrate them both.
After that, it becomes a fun game. Puppy delights in watching the arc of the red ball in the air, chasing it down, returning it to Arthur for rewards like petting. After each round, Arthur becomes surer, more confident in his words.
"Good boy," Arthur says, seeming to test the phrase while Puppy nuzzles his arm. "You're a very good boy."
Puppy licks his wrist and bounds away, losing interest in fetch even when Arthur tries to direct him towards the ball again.
Puppy begins investigating the closet, which is filled with dust that makes him sneeze. He moves on to the nightstand, which is boring, and finally the suitcase on the floor. After a bit of experimentation, he flips it open and discovers a treasure trove of clothing. It all feels good against Puppy's cheek and smells like Arthur.
"Made a discovery, huh?" Arthur says, walking over to observe. "I guess I should have unpacked by now."
Something about the timber of Arthur's voice makes Puppy look up quizzically. Arthur's expression is distant, sadness descending again. Puppy is dismayed.
A pair of sunglasses resting at the bottom of the suitcase catches Puppy's attention and he growls at it. There's something about the sleek black plastic he doesn't like, something that inspires him to seize it by the teeth, ready to chew on it.
"Whoa there," Arthur says, seizing one ear of the sunglasses. "Puppy, no. These were a birthday gift."
That makes Puppy growl more, stubbornly holding on. He wants to break the sunglasses to pieces, maybe hide them where they can't be found again.
A hand coming down on the scruff of Puppy's neck. "Puppy, stop that. Let go."
At the sound of Arthur's stern voice, Puppy reluctantly releases the sunglasses. He looks pleadingly up at Arthur, willing him not to be angry.
"Doesn't seem like you scratched them." Arthur examines the glasses and sets them down on the nightstand, out of Puppy's reach. "You could have broken those. What's gotten into you?"
Puppy hides his face in Arthur's trouser leg, unable to bear the weight of Arthur's disappointment and displeasure. After a moment, Arthur sighs.
"It's okay," he says, closing the suitcase and zipping it up. "It was my fault for leaving this open on the floor. But from now on, no more chewing on things, okay?"
Puppy peeks out to see if Arthur is still frowning. He looks rueful. "I'm sorry for raising my voice at you. I know you didn't mean any harm."
Puppy shuffles out from hiding, chastised. Arthur gets down on one knee to stroke Puppy's hair. "It's okay. I'm not mad at you."
Puppy leans cautiously into Arthur's fingers, nervous energy settling with every calming pat. He doesn't want Arthur to be upset with him. He doesn't want Arthur to yell.
"I'm sorry, Puppy, I didn't mean to scare you." Arthur puts both arms around Puppy's neck and brings him close, kissing the top of Puppy's head. "We're okay, puppy. You're a good boy."
Puppy snuggles closer to Arthur, savoring his affection. Arthur feels wonderful-strong and comfortable. He's not smiling, though. Puppy wants to make Arthur smile again.
Puppy eases away from Arthur's embrace and goes to where he'd hidden something earlier, something he proudly presents to Arthur.
"Did you get the ball again?" Arthur asks, initially puzzled. He leans over and picks up the object laid at his feet. It's a cardboard tube. "Is this-is this for me?"
Puppy sits back and watches Arthur open it, pulling out an art print filled with infinite staircases. "This is-" Arthur pauses, the tension in his face giving way to surprise and awe. "This is an original Escher print."
Arthur's no longer morose. Arthur is pleased.
Unfortunately, Arthur is preoccupied with the art, and Puppy nudges at Arthur's knee, eager for attention. Puppy wants Arthur's gaze aimed at him.
Arthur looks over, beaming, and says, "You are the best puppy."
When Arthur reaches out, Puppy is practically beside himself, basking in the radiance of Arthur's approval. Puppy licks Arthur's palm and twines himself around Arthur's legs.
Puppy stares up adoringly, thrilled to have chased the melancholy from Arthur's eyes, to have softened the line of Arthur's jaw. Arthur looks better smiling, Puppy decides. He should always be smiling.
"You've been so good," Arthur whispers, cupping Puppy's face. "My thoughtful puppy. My good boy."
Puppy closes his eyes, wrapped in Arthur's praise. He wants Arthur to keep looking at him like that forever, he wants to tell Aiden what a terrible mistake he's made, he wants to never see Arthur frown again.
Eames surges up and kisses Arthur's beautiful mouth.
Arthur kisses back, fingers sliding across Eames' back and shoulders. "My beautiful, mischievous puppy."
"Arthur," Eames rasps as he kisses Arthur's cheeks, his nose, the delicate skin of his eyelids. "I want to be good for you. Tell me what you-tell me how to be-"
"Come here," Arthur says, and Eames tries to move closer though he's already half on top of Arthur, limbs entwined.
They kiss and kiss, open-mouthed and urgent and breathless. Eames buries his fingers in Arthur's hair, the hair that hides Arthur's secret, the silver he never allows others to see.
"I want to feel you," Arthur says, hoarse. "I want to suck you and make you come, I want-"
"Yes, everything, yes," Eames replies mindlessly, undoing Arthur's trousers to worship Arthur's cock with his hands, his mouth. He wraps his fingers round the shaft and licks all over the head, slides down the underside to suck Arthur's balls greedily into his mouth, tongues them until Arthur is trembling.
"Not yet," Arthur whispers, clamping down on the base of his cock.
Arthur leads Eames to the bed, straddles Eames' thighs.
"I want to watch you paint your chest with come," Arthur says, dipping down to suck Eames' nipples into sensitive peaks. "I want to lick it off your pecs. Can you do that for me? Can you cover yourself in come?"
"I can try," Eames says, eager to say yes, yearning for Arthur to smile and be pleased with him once more. "I'll try."
"You can, I know you can." Arthur kisses Eames as he jerks him, sure strokes that leave Eames dazed, distracted. "You're going to be good for me, aren't you?"
"Yes," Eames whispers, already nearing the edge. He gasps when Arthur's free hand cups his ballsack, finger inching backwards to rub his perineum, trace his hole.
Eames comes, bucking up into Arthur and arching his back with it. It feels so good with Arthur watching, approving.
"Fuck, Eames, I knew you could do it." Eames is wrung out, Arthur's hand catching the last of Eames' ejaculate and dragging it up his abdomen. "I love seeing you like this-exhausted and sweaty and covered in your own come."
Eames bares his neck for Arthur's kisses, reveling in the feel of Arthur's lips against his nipples and all over him. "Did I do good?"
"You did." Arthur kisses Eames' pleasure-slack mouth. "My good boy. My sweet puppy."
Eames brings his legs up around Arthur's waist, rubs against Arthur's cock. "I want you to fuck me."
Arthur takes a steadying breath as he clamps down on the base of his cock again, reaching for a condom and lube. He's barely gloved before Eames rolls him over and climbs on top, sinking down without hesitation.
"Eames-" Arthur chokes as Eames bottoms out.
Eames inhales and exhales, adjusting to the incredible fullness, the way Arthur's hard cock feels pressed up inside him. He undulates his hips, watching Arthur's eyes roll back in his head. Arthur feels huge like this, impossible to ignore inside him.
He guides Arthur's hands to his waist and says, "However you want it. Slow or fast."
Arthur adjusts Eames' movements to more of a steady rocking motion, a smidgen faster, and sighs. "So easy to train. Such a good boy."
Eames squeezes his cock, which twitches at the words. "How does it feel?"
"Amazing." Arthur stares into Eames' eyes, a gaze Eames would have backed away from mere months ago. "How do you feel?"
Eames leans forward to brush his lips against Arthur's. "You're going to make me come again."
Arthur rolls them both until Eames is on his back. He plants a hand on Eames' sternum, levering himself up and begins to fuck Eames-setting a rough, relentless pace. Eames can barely catch his breath between the intensity and the new angle, the weight of Arthur holding him in place.
"Stay with me." Arthur says. "Stay with me now."
"I will," Eames whispers, dazed and trapped in Arthur's gaze. He wants to tug at his own cock but can't reach with the way Arthur has him pinioned. "Don’t stop."
"Does puppy want to come again?"
Eames swallows. "Yes."
"Has puppy been well-behaved enough to deserve a second treat?"
"Puppy will be perfect," Eames vows, cock straining up to brush against Arthur's abdomen, his arms, anything. "Please-"
"My good boy," Arthur murmurs as he folds a generous hand over Eames' cock, words heating his blood and setting him off, pulses of come through Arthur's fingers. "My sweet boy."
Eames kisses Arthur as he comes, running fingers over sweat-slicked skin as Arthur collapses on top of him. Eames could wriggle out and away, but he doesn't. The weight of Arthur's body is heavy, reassuring, not unbearable.
* * * * *
Eames finds himself in a part of Arthur's dreamscape he's never seen before. He's standing on the side of a mountain, which overlooks a deep valley and Arthur's hanging gardens.
Arthur's seated on a mossy boulder a few feet away, knees tucked under his chin and arms wrapped around his legs. Eames takes a step towards him, shoes squeaking in the damp grass as he does.
"I was ready to burn it all, but I chickened out," Arthur says, and Eames can see it now: the odd clearing on the temple roof, charred stumps where there had once been thick foliage. "The rain couldn't stop the fire in time. Half the trees were gone already."
Eames takes a seat next to Arthur on the boulder. The mountain air smells faintly of smoke and cinders. "And the rest of the temple?"
"Fine. No structural damage to the building, none of the other plants or levels caught fire."
"Did you really want to burn everything down?"
"When Aiden and I were kids, we used to make blanket forts out of sheets. Drove Mom crazy because all the beds would be stripped and we'd be inside, making up adventures. We'd pretend to be in Egypt, visiting the pyramids, or in Mexico, checking out Aztec ruins," Arthur says. "One day, Aiden came home with a new place he wanted to explore: the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. Except no one had any pictures of the damn thing, only vague descriptions."
Eames exhales. "Arthur…"
"Aiden never got why I stuck with dreamshare." Arthur tightens his grip, hugging his legs tighter to him. "He never understood the potential, the possibilities. And a part of me always thought, if he saw-if he could come into a dream with me and experience-" Arthur cuts off. "That's never going to happen now. Obviously."
Eames puts his arm round Arthur's shoulders. He can feel Arthur shiver in the chilly, high altitude air through his damp shirt. "You can plant something new. Or wait to see what sprouts up and surprises you."
"Maybe nothing will," Arthur says, head tipping onto Eames' shoulder.
Eames looks the moss beneath them, the scrubby grass on the ground. He thinks he sees a flash of mauve petals out of the corner of this eye. "Give it time."
Poll Fic: There's got to be a morning after Chapter 9
Next: Chapter 10: The Animal Song