[The second that they enter the dream world and the disorientating fog quickly lifts from years of practise, it becomes instantly apparent that something is wrong. Where there should be heat there is only wet and cold, and where light should be radiating down on them it's dark and dismal.
It doesn't take Arthur long to figure out where they are exactly and, on top of that, that this must be a memory of Eames' from the time he spent out in the real world lost and alone.
But it doesn't stop the shock from hanging off his every feature when he turns around and comes face-to-face with this distorted version of the man he loves. He's never so much as seen a picture of Eames in earlier days and it's unnerving to have him standing there.
Arthur takes a step forward, approaching slowly, and it's evident that he's worried, a deep indent sitting upon his forehead and the way he holds his hands just above his waist as if to calm everyone within sight. He doesn't sound accusing when he speaks, voice neutral so he doesn't startle the other man.
( ... )
[Arthur knows he should probably look away and concentrate on getting changed himself, but he's fascinated by this younger version of Eames, the obvious differences and the more subtle ones, and he frowns at the bruises, wants to reach out and touch them as if it might make them disappear.
He does focus when Eames speaks, though, steps closer and perches himself on the edge of a cushion on the ripped sofa. Eyes firmly fixed on Eames' between the distance, Arthur offers him his full attention, intrigued and scared at the same time.] All right. Sure. You know I want to help if I can. What is it?
[Eames doesn't answer straight away, just leans out and hooks his toe around the hem of his jeans, drawing them closer to him. He leans forward, picks them up to search through his pockets. It takes a moment before he's curling his fingers tightly around something and standing, coming closer to Arthur. He takes his hand with the other free one of his own, smoothes the palm out.]
I trust you, but I don't trust myself. Not right now at least. This is my fault, there's something wrong in my mind right now, and I can't shift, I can't break this. I have too much to live for up there, darling. I have you, and I refuse to get lost. So I need you to look after this for me.
[He drops something in Arthur's hand, and curls the other man's fingers over it before Eames can get a look at it. It's small, spherical, a poker chip. Eames' totem.] Don't let me look at it while I'm under, mm? When we wake up, it's inside my jacket, the breast pocket. Only then, okay? Promise me.
[Arthur listens in silence, a frown of confusion settling into place at the request, but it doesn't stop him from nodding, and he allows Eames to manipulate his hand as he sees fit.
It doesn't take longer than a second for him to figure out what sits in the palm of his hand, his expression turning into surprise, but he nods again, careful to avoid getting a glimpse of the poker chip as he tucks it away safely into the pocket of his trousers where his own totem lies.]
I won't. I promise. [It feels strange to be in the possession of someone else's totem, especially someone that he cares deeply about, but he takes comfort from the fact this is a dream and not reality, and as long as he doesn't examine in thoroughly then it shouldn't make a difference.] You can count on me. No totems.
[Forgetting that this Eames looks different and feels wrong beneath his touch, Arthur pushes himself up onto his feet and folds the other man up into his arms, one around his waist and the other up around his neck, holding him closer.] Whatever this is,
( ... )
[He ends up pressed against Arthur, weight all wrong and not as intense as usual, but still crooked into his body in the way he likes doing. Face pressed into his neck, Eames takes a deep, calming couple of breaths and goes languid, pale, bare skin sticking to his wet clothes a little. Eventually, he huffs out a sound, pushes back and slides his hands underneath Arthur's shirt.] C'mon, off with this. I'm terribly sorry my mind put you in this Arthur. [With a little smile.] You can punish me later.
[This slighter man - or, he supposes, boy - is enough to make him want to hold on as long as he can, to bring comfort into the past where it was absent. It's still the Eames he knows and loves, and he decides to focus on that instead of comparing the differences.
He's smiling by the time they pull apart, a small but genuine stretch of the lips, and he sighs.] You really will take every opportunity that presents itself, won't you? [He doesn't seem to mind, though, and grabs at the bottom edge of the t-shirt, peeling the rain-heavy fabric from his skin and up over his head, freeing his arms before dropping it to the floor with Eames' things.] I'll hold you to that, Mr Eames.
Don't worry, I promise I won't coerce you into taking my delicate virginity from me. [He grins then, almost impish and delighted, nudging at Arthur's belt for a second. He wets his lips, leans in just a little, like he's trying to tease him.]
[He laughs at that, raising an amused eyebrow.] Are you sure you were ever a virgin? It really is hard to imagine. [Still chuckling, he shakes his head and works open the belt, then the button and zip.] It would make the time go faster. [He smirks, pushing the combats down far enough for them to fall on their own, stepping out of them and kicking them aside.] Eames, why am I not wearing underwear?
Because my subconscious doesn't want you wearing any underwear? [He does innocent well like this, schooling his face into the picture of schoolboy perplexion. He rubs the back of his neck lightly, gaze flickering over Arthur's naked body.]
And at this point - ? [Touching the scar above his hip lightly.] Definitely a virgin. Would you have sex with anyone if you lived in a flat with thin walls and a hooker with the meanest right hook this side of Brixton? [He shifts from foot to foot, and it would be impossible not to see the blush spreading across his face, because at this age he'd been timid and shy.] I was a late bloomer, but I made up for it in the end.
You should be thankful I'm not the bashful type. Or that I haven't got access to a gun. [A hint of colour does work its way into his face, but he chooses to ignore it.] You're frustratingly adorable wearing that face. Don't make me pinch your cheek.
[He hates that scar, red and there, whereas in reality it's faded in with the rest of Eames' tarnished skin to the point he's never really noticed it. He makes a mental note to explore every inch of flesh he can when he next gets the chance.] How old are you here - seventeen, eighteen...? [He doesn't mean to do it, reaching out to draw a finger along the mark, glaring at it in a way that might burn it off if it were possible.] What happened?
Adorable? Shut your face, darling. I'm still just as dangerous. [He tries to frown slightly, but it's still ruined by the smile spreading across his face. He shivers though, when Arthur touches the scar, skin flexing underneath his fingertips.] I don't know, I got this scar when I turned seventeen.
[Curling his fingers around Arthur's wrist gently.] Got into a fight. Someone tried to stab me.
I don't know about dangerous. If I'm honest, I'm scared of touching that frail frame you've got there. [It's light and teasing, and the more of it they can manage the better all around.
He pulls back at the reaction, expression apologetic, and lets his hand go limp under the hold.] Fuck, Eames. I hope you left the other guy in worse shape.
[Eames shakes his head, steps right on in to his space, body radiating heat against the other man's naked frame. He ends up sliding one hand along Arthur's arm up to his shoulder.] Don't. Don't pull away, I'm still me. Okay, if we get into a fight you're going to have to deal with it, because I've a prostitute who weighs nothing protecting me, so clearly I'm not all that great, but I'm still your boyfriend.
[Mouth inches away from his.] Besides, you're naked. I can't not be happy when you're naked.
[He stays right there as soon as he knows it's okay, smile returning slowly, and sighs, hands pressing against Eames' sides and curling around his hips.] I know. God, I know that. But this is - it's... Fuck, I don't know. It can't be easy, for you, to be back here and like this.
[He stops talking, doesn't want to make things worse by pointing out the elephant in the room any further, and lowers his gaze to watch Eames' lips, still the same as they always are despite everything else. He closes what space is left and chastely kisses his boyfriend.] It doesn't matter where we are or what's happening, I know you're still you and nothing will alter the way I feel about you.
[The thing about Eames now trapped in his then body, is that he reacts shyly when his brain tells him it's okay. So it might be why Arthur's got an armful of soft, willing boy all of a sudden, why Eames is pressed up against his naked body like he's trying to be absorbed by him. With a hum, he winds an arm around Arthur's neck.]
You've never kissed me quite than chastely before. You don't have to, y'know? I'd never not want you to kiss me. Unless this is freaking you out, then you can tell me.
[He smiles, an amused noise sounding in the back of his throat, and he licks his lips.] It's not that. [He slowly and sensually slides his hands up Eames' sides, ghosts them down his back.] You're a virgin. Technically. [There's a flash of hunger in his eyes and he swallows. If this was the real world and the man in the boy suit was just a boy this would be so incredibly wrong, he knows that, but there's something about the idea of being Eames' first, claiming him from the start, that catches his interest.] Did you enjoy your first time?
It doesn't take Arthur long to figure out where they are exactly and, on top of that, that this must be a memory of Eames' from the time he spent out in the real world lost and alone.
But it doesn't stop the shock from hanging off his every feature when he turns around and comes face-to-face with this distorted version of the man he loves. He's never so much as seen a picture of Eames in earlier days and it's unnerving to have him standing there.
Arthur takes a step forward, approaching slowly, and it's evident that he's worried, a deep indent sitting upon his forehead and the way he holds his hands just above his waist as if to calm everyone within sight. He doesn't sound accusing when he speaks, voice neutral so he doesn't startle the other man. ( ... )
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He does focus when Eames speaks, though, steps closer and perches himself on the edge of a cushion on the ripped sofa. Eyes firmly fixed on Eames' between the distance, Arthur offers him his full attention, intrigued and scared at the same time.] All right. Sure. You know I want to help if I can. What is it?
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I trust you, but I don't trust myself. Not right now at least. This is my fault, there's something wrong in my mind right now, and I can't shift, I can't break this. I have too much to live for up there, darling. I have you, and I refuse to get lost. So I need you to look after this for me.
[He drops something in Arthur's hand, and curls the other man's fingers over it before Eames can get a look at it. It's small, spherical, a poker chip. Eames' totem.] Don't let me look at it while I'm under, mm? When we wake up, it's inside my jacket, the breast pocket. Only then, okay? Promise me.
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It doesn't take longer than a second for him to figure out what sits in the palm of his hand, his expression turning into surprise, but he nods again, careful to avoid getting a glimpse of the poker chip as he tucks it away safely into the pocket of his trousers where his own totem lies.]
I won't. I promise. [It feels strange to be in the possession of someone else's totem, especially someone that he cares deeply about, but he takes comfort from the fact this is a dream and not reality, and as long as he doesn't examine in thoroughly then it shouldn't make a difference.] You can count on me. No totems.
[Forgetting that this Eames looks different and feels wrong beneath his touch, Arthur pushes himself up onto his feet and folds the other man up into his arms, one around his waist and the other up around his neck, holding him closer.] Whatever this is, ( ... )
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He's smiling by the time they pull apart, a small but genuine stretch of the lips, and he sighs.] You really will take every opportunity that presents itself, won't you? [He doesn't seem to mind, though, and grabs at the bottom edge of the t-shirt, peeling the rain-heavy fabric from his skin and up over his head, freeing his arms before dropping it to the floor with Eames' things.] I'll hold you to that, Mr Eames.
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And at this point - ? [Touching the scar above his hip lightly.] Definitely a virgin. Would you have sex with anyone if you lived in a flat with thin walls and a hooker with the meanest right hook this side of Brixton? [He shifts from foot to foot, and it would be impossible not to see the blush spreading across his face, because at this age he'd been timid and shy.] I was a late bloomer, but I made up for it in the end.
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[He hates that scar, red and there, whereas in reality it's faded in with the rest of Eames' tarnished skin to the point he's never really noticed it. He makes a mental note to explore every inch of flesh he can when he next gets the chance.] How old are you here - seventeen, eighteen...? [He doesn't mean to do it, reaching out to draw a finger along the mark, glaring at it in a way that might burn it off if it were possible.] What happened?
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[Curling his fingers around Arthur's wrist gently.] Got into a fight. Someone tried to stab me.
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He pulls back at the reaction, expression apologetic, and lets his hand go limp under the hold.] Fuck, Eames. I hope you left the other guy in worse shape.
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[Mouth inches away from his.] Besides, you're naked. I can't not be happy when you're naked.
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[He stops talking, doesn't want to make things worse by pointing out the elephant in the room any further, and lowers his gaze to watch Eames' lips, still the same as they always are despite everything else. He closes what space is left and chastely kisses his boyfriend.] It doesn't matter where we are or what's happening, I know you're still you and nothing will alter the way I feel about you.
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You've never kissed me quite than chastely before. You don't have to, y'know? I'd never not want you to kiss me. Unless this is freaking you out, then you can tell me.
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