chaostheorem

Benjamin Franklin: An American Hero

chaostheorem — Mon, 25 Jun 2012 03:25:36 GMT

Title: Benjamin Franklin: An American Hero
Word Count: 4,476
Rating: PG-13
Beta: eternalsojourn
Summary: Cobb wonders how Arthur ever convinces him to carry out Arthur's drunken ideas.
A/N: Written for the Pan-Fandom Friendship Fanworks Fest. Crack

On AO3

--

Dom Cobb is twenty-two years old. He’s twenty-two years old, and he’s almost certain that he has never been, and never will be, as uncomfortable as he is right now.

Arthur pulls the banana out of his mouth. “Are you getting the shot? Does it work?”

Dom hesitates to answer. Yes, he’s getting the shot. Yes, it works. But if he tells Arthur these things, he’s going to have to continue filming Arthur fellating a banana. It’s no use, though, because Arthur just takes his silence as a yes and resumes licking the damn thing, moaning around it.

When Arthur had come back to the dorm room a few hours earlier and asked for help, Dom never imagined they would end up here.

“Are you free tonight?” Arthur asks, swinging his backpack into a corner and sitting on his bed.

Dom looks up from his notes to find Arthur staring at him intensely, face flushed and a little out of breath.

“Yeah,” he lies. Mal will understand. More than that. Mal will rip him a new one if he ignores Arthur just to watch a movie at her place. “Why?”

“I need to get drunk,” Arthur says, somehow answering the question and evading it at the same time. “I was thinking we could head over to Sol’s.”

Hell no, Cobb thinks. Sol’s is the worst bar around. It only stays open because it’s cheap and within walking distance of a college. Also, Dom’s pretty sure the owner bribes the health inspector. Arthur must mean business. “Sure,” he says.

Arthur doesn’t mention what’s bothering him until he’s well on his way to being truly smashed. "Eames and I had a fight," he says, interrupting Dom's story about the drunk girl who came to class late and blew chunks on the professor.

"Again?" Dom asks. "That's.... I mean. You've have a lot of fights lately. Right?"

Arthur sighs. "He never fucking listens to me. We barely get to see each other, and when we are able to, what does he do? He goes to play poker. Fucking poker. Fucking cards. Fucking...fucking....what are they called? Just fuck."

Dom has seen Arthur drunk several times, and he's always been a fun drunk, but not this Arthur. Dom isn't sure what to say. "Everyone needs to blow off steam sometimes," he ventures.

"But that's just it!" Arthur exclaims. "It's not sometimes! It's every Saturday. Between school and jobs and us living an hour apart and fucking everything else, we get to see other maybe two nights a week. Two nights! That’s...what? Eight times a month, and he spends half of those nights off with a group of other guys."

"Are you jealous?" Dom asks. "If that's it, I have to say, Eames would chew his own foot off before cheating on you."

"That's not it," Arthur slurs, shaking his head and slouching, the fire suddenly gone out of him. "I don't think he's cheating. I just miss him."

Dom reaches up, his hand hovering over Arthur's back, before haltingly patting him a few times.

"I really screwed up this afternoon," Arthur says into his drink. "I tried to make him jealous."

"How?" Dom asks.

Arthur groans, running his hands down his face. "I- I need another drink before I tell you." He taps the bar and gets two more shots, downing them both before Dom can reach for one.

"I...um. I- Jesus, this is so embarrassing. Why do I do things like this? I should never be allowed to speak to people."

"Just spit it out," Dom says encouragingly.

Arthur takes a deep breath. "I told him that when he leaves me alone to play poker, I go online and do a sexy foodie broadcast."

Dom tries and fails to make sense of that. "What do you do?"

"I don't actually do it!" Arthur protests. "But I told him that I have a webcast, and I... you know.”

“I really don’t.”

“Do...that I do sexy things with food."

Dom doesn't think he's drunk, but Arthur's not making any sense. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Arthur says, getting frustrated, "that I lied and told Eames that I basically molest food online. And now he wants to see! And of course I was lying," Arthur says, "and we both know it, and that’s the problem, because he's not backing down. It was- it was supposed to be a joke, you see? To lighten the mood. But it didn’t work, and now...I don’t even know how it happened, but it ended with me insisting that I actually do this and now I have to prove it, but I can’t, because I don’t."

"That sucks, Arthur," Dom says consolingly. "But it's not the worst thing. Just explain and he'll understand."

"I can't just explain! You've got to help me!"

"Help you do what?" Dom asks, profoundly confused.

"Help me tape a few of these episodes. Then I can show them to Eames and he’ll quit poker."

Dom reels. "You do realize that this is the worst idea ever, right? You're not so drunk that you don't realize that?"

"No, no. It'll work," Arthur insists, slapping the bar with the flat of his palm for emphasis.

"How?"

Arthur thinks, actually scrunching up his face in thought. "I... I’ll figure that later," he says. "Just help me."

And he sounds so sad that Dom can't say no.

“First thing we need to do,” says Arthur when they get back to their room, “is think of some usernames for my viewer people.”

“Right. Wait. What?” asks Dom.

“Viewer people,” Arthur repeated, as if that explains everything.

Dom can’t work out if he’s too drunk to understand Arthur or if Arthur is too drunk to make sense. “I need some water,” he says, hoping it will help clear things up.

“Okay, you do that. I’m gonna get started on names. Maybe change into something more comfortable.”

Dom grabs a plastic cup that he’s had since freshmen orientation and heads to the water fountain. He bets himself an ice cream treat from the pub that Arthur will be asleep by the time he returns. Alcohol always puts Arthur to sleep.

He’s deliberating between M&M or Oreo when he opens the door to see Arthur, dressed in the same clothes as before but now also wearing a fedora, perilously balancing on one leg while writing on a Post-It.

“Dom Dom Dom! Look what I have!” Arthur shouts when he sees him, thrusting the notepad into Dom’s hand and stealing the water.

He looks down to see a list of names in Arthur’s chicken-scratch writing, even worse thanks to alcohol. Dom specifically blames that last shot. Fucking shots.

Dom squints, hoping that the list will suddenly make sense. It doesn’t. “What the fuck?” he asks slowly.

“You don’t like them?”

“I don’t know what they are!”

Arthur sighs heavily. “I said that I do a foodie broadcast. Who do you think I broadcast to? I have to have...” Arthur trails off as words seem to fail him. “People,” he finishes lamely.

“Oh!” Armed with this new information, Dom reads the list again. “Yeah, still don’t get it. Some are porny, you have celebrities, historical figures - and what the heck is ‘red velvet’? Is that a sex move?” Dom asks, not entirely sure he wants to know the answer.

Arthur looks thoughtful for a minute, and Dom braces himself, but then Arthur shrugs and says, “I’m hungry.”

“‘Flymetothemoon?’”

Arthur smiles, looking proud of himself. “‘Cause we went to the moon in 1969. Get it? 69.”

“Okay,” Dom says, even though it is so clearly not. “What about ‘franklinlover1776’?”

“Benjamin Franklin is an American hero, Dom!” Arthur spits. “He has fans everywhere!”

“You scare me sometimes. Most of the time. Almost always.” Arthur is glaring at him. “Doesn’t matter,” Dom says, shaking his head and praying for his life as he looks back at the list. “Napoleon and Ben Franklin? Do you have some hidden fetish for historical figures?” Dom teases.

“Oh, yeah,” Arthur deadpans. “They get me so hard.”

Dom sighs. “I know I brought that on myself, but can we change the subject? And also pretend it never happened?”

“Sure. Should we start with the strawberries and chocolate?” he asks, holding up the food in question.

Dom drags his camera out from under the bed and readies it. “You owe me so many fucking favors and kickass birthday presents forever.”

Arthur nods distractedly as he squeezes the chocolate sauce out of the bottle, seemingly entranced by the way it drips into the bowl.

Arthur digs through the fridge, looking for the caramel sauce. "Hey, look what I found!" he shouts, excitedly waving a container of leftover mashed potatoes. "We should do this one next!"

"Mashed potatoes? You can't make mashed potatoes sexy, Arthur.”

A grin spreads across Arthur's face, slow and dark. Dom is a little terrified.

After a minute and thirty-three seconds in the microwave, because “those three seconds matter, Dom,” Arthur finds the milk and starts pouring a copious amount in the potatoes.

“What are you doing?” Dom asks, curious.

In reply, Arthur dips his fingers into the lumpy mixture and starts painting his face. He puts most of it around his mouth, and adds some by his eyes and on his nose as well.

Dom is fascinated at first, then horrified when he realizes what Arthur is trying to do. “No. No. That doesn’t look anything like come, Arthur. There are huge chunks.”

“It’s fine,” Arthur says. “It doesn’t have to be perfect, so long as you can recognize it for what it’s supposed to be.”

“It’s not fine,” Dom protests. “Where has your pride gone?” While he’s thinking about it, where did his pride go? When did he go from reluctant friend to passionate director?

“Whatever,” Arthur says dismissively. “I’m too drunk to care about artistic integrity.”

“If you can still talk about artistic integrity, you can still care about it.”

“Fuck you, just start recording.”

Dom does.

"And now for the pièce de résistance. The crème de la crème. And a whole bunch of other French terms," Arthur slurs. "The banana," he says dramatically, whipping it out from behind his back and brandishing it about, accidentally knocking over recently-emptied beer bottles. Arthur waves a hand towards the mess as if that fixes the problem. “Let me tell you, Dom, I can eat a banana. You have no idea how good I am at eating bananas," he says, voice heavy with innuendo.

“And I hope I never do,” Dom agrees vehemently.

Arthur just stares, his lips curling up slightly, and Dom realizes that he only has a few more minutes of “never.”

I must have been the worst person ever in my past life, Dom thinks. Nothing but karma could explain why he deserves to watch his best friend give head to a banana. Maybe I was Hitler, his drunk mind supplies.

“I think I was Hitler in my past life,” his drunk self says. Out loud.

As far as Dom knows, there’s no list of things not to say to your Jewish roommate, but if there was one, he’s pretty sure that claiming to be Hitler reincarnated would be at the top of the list.

Arthur stares. He isn’t shocked or angry, just confused and bewildered - his face a perfect picture of are you serious?! “That’s probably something you should take up with your therapist,” he says finally.

“No, I just meant...because I’m doing this for you, and karma and— not because I think that — I don’t actually think I’m Hitler. That would just be....no!” Dom sighs in frustration. “You get what I’m saying?”

“Seriously, Dom,” Arthur says. “Therapist.”

“Never mind. Pick up the damn banana and let’s do this.”

Dom has his finger on the record button when his phone starts ringing. It’s Mal’s ring tone, so Dom tells Arthur to take five. Arthur flips him off.

“Hey, Mal,” Dom answers.

“Dom. How is Arthur?” she asks.

“Arthur’s fine,” Dom says, and he wonders, not for the first time, if Mal likes Arthur more than him.

“Oh, most certainly,” says Mal.

It takes Dom a few seconds before he catches on. “Did I say that out loud?”

Mal laughs. “You did. And of course I like Arthur more than you. It’s not like I spend all of my time with you, or think about you, or love you. Honestly, Dom. You can be quite the idiot sometimes.”

“If this is your way of convincing me that you like me, you’re doing an excellent job,” Dom says, more moodily than intended.

“I know,” Mal says lightly. “I have a gift for —” Mal’s words are drowned out by a burst of loud music from Arthur’s laptop.

Dom covers the mouthpiece with his hand. “Arthur, what are you doing?” he yells.

“I need a theme song for the vlog,” Arthur responds.

“And you chose ‘Sexy and I Know It’?” Dom asks.

“Yeah, ‘cause I’ve got passion in my pants and I ain’t afraid to show it,” Arthur says, somewhat distractedly as he sets his laptop on their microwave and presses record on his webcam.

“Hang on, hang on, hang on,” Dom says quickly, words slurring together until they’re barely recognizable. “Why am I filming these if you can just use your webcam?” he asks, incredulous.

“Please,” Arthur scoffs as he swivels his hips. “The quality on this thing’s terrible. This is just a test to see if it’s worth doing at all.”

“You’re such a little shit!” Dom screams, but Arthur is too busy singing “Boy, look at that body” over the original track to listen.

“Arthur, I’m gonna kill you for making me do this when I didn’t have to!” Arthur flips him off again.

Dom brings the phone back up to his ear to hear Mal screaming at him, something about cutting off some very important bits if Arthur isn’t still alive in the morning. “Do I need to come over there?” she asks.

“Mal, I promise you, no amicu—, amicrucide...no, hang on.” Dom mouths the word a few times, trying and failing to get it right, and finally settling on “amicricide.”

“Do you mean ‘amicicide’?” Arthur asks.

“No,” says Dom stubbornly. “Amicricide. Also, when’s the last time you had a drink? Take a shot.”

“You just made that word up,” argues Arthur, but he takes two shots anyway. Trust Arthur to go above and beyond.

“Did not. Not everyone can remember Latin when they’re drunk,” he tells Mal proudly.

“And you can’t either,” Arthur says, wiggling his hips as per the song’s instructions.

Dom has seen Arthur dance before, and the boy can move. As drunk as he is now, though, it looks like he has a bug in his pants that he’s trying to shake out. Dom laughs.

“Fuck you, Dom. I’m sexy and we both know it.”

“You’re very belligerent tonight. And I know you want to flip me off again, so don’t.”

Arthur, still dancing, slowly raises two fingers. “Benefits of having an English boyfriend: more ways to insult people.”

“You’re crazy. Wait,” he says, suddenly remembering that he’s still on the phone with Mal. “Do you want Mal to come over?” he asks.

“Sure, I love Mal! Wait, no!” he cries. He waves a hand in front of him, apparently referring to his disordered state.

“No, Mal, you can’t come over. Arthur doesn’t want you to see him with potato on his face.”

“Is that an American idiom?” Mal asks.

“No, he literally has potato on his face.” Dom ignores the glare Arthur sends his way.

“Well in that case, you can tell Arthur that I have seen him in much worse states. Does he remember the ironing incident?”

Dom holds the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he reaches for his drink. “She wants to know if you remember the ironing incident,” he relays.

Arthur’s eyes widen. “She swore that would stay between us!”

“What’s the ironing incident?” he asks. Before Arthur can respond, he asks Mal, “What’s the ironing incident?”

“Mal, don’t you dare!” Arthur yells, grabbing Dom’s arm to support himself as he leans toward the phone.

“May I come over?” she asks.

Arthur is silent, obviously trying to decide which would be worse. Dom’s eyes flick impatiently between Arthur and the phone. “No,” Arthur finally says.

“Fine, then Dom, you should know that I once walked in on Arthur while he was naked because he had to iron his boxers.”

“You iron your boxers?” Dom exclaims. “I knew you were fastidious, but damn.”

“That’s, that’s-” Arthur sputters angrily. “Don’t stop there! Tell him the whole story.”

“There’s more?” Dom asks, too eagerly if Arthur’s expression is anything to go by.

“The reason I was ironing my boxers was not because they were wrinkled. It’s because I needed to dry them quickly, and the dryers were all full, and Mal wouldn’t bring her hair dryer over. Well, she said she wouldn’t, but then she did, and that’s why she caught me. End of story.”

“But Arthur! You can’t stop there!” Mal says, gleefully throwing Arthur’s words back at him. “Tell him the whole story.”

Arthur froze. “Are you sure you don’t want to come over, Mal? We’d love to have you.”

“That’s okay, Arthur. You made your choice. Tell Dom or I will.”

Arthur glares at the phone, which is unaffected by the anger being directed towards it. “I was ironing my boxers,” he says slowly, “because....because....” Arthur pours a shot, downs it, then says quickly, “because Eames made me come in my pants.”

“Eames made you come in your pants, so you decided to iron your boxers?” Dom asks skeptically.

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t change into a new pair because...?”

Arthur looks like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world. “I didn’t change because Eames told me not to. He said I should wear them all day, but I had a presentation in World Civ. in fifteen minutes, and I couldn’t very well go in that state.”

“You were ironing come so that it would dry? Didn’t it smell?”

Arthur throws the bowl of potatoes at Dom.

“I’m gonna call Eames,” Arthur says.

“No. No, bad idea.”

“It’s a wonderful idea. I have to tell him about this.”

“It’s supposed to be a surprise,” Dom argues, trying to wrestle the phone from Arthur.

Arthur stops moving. “Right,” he agrees. “You’re right. Okay. I won’t call him.”

“Good.”

Dom waits until Arthur is in bed before he turns off the light and crosses to his own. As soon as he closes his eyes, he hears Arthur reach for his phone.

Eames’s phone rings four times and then goes to voicemail. Dom can hear it from his bed: This is Eames. Leave a message.

Arthur doesn’t, just ends the call and calls Eames again. Voicemail. Arthur calls a third time, then again. Eames finally answers.

“Are you okay?” he asks immediately.

“Great,” Arthur tries to whisper, oblivious to how loud he actually is. “How are you?”

“You called me four times in a row,” Eames says. “I thought you were in trouble.”

“Oh. I’m not. Never mind.”

“No, it’s fine. I already left. What’d you want?”

“Nothing, really. Just wanted to talk. I ate Dom’s banana tonight, but I thought of yours the whole time.”

“Jesus christ!” Dom exclaims, bolting upright. “You can’t say that to him! He’s not going to understand.

“Is that Dom?”

“Yeah,” Arthur says slowly, staring at Dom like Dom’s the one being stupid here, like he’s not about to get Dom punched in the face by his jealous boyfriend.

Dom throws off his covers and hops out of bed, holding his hand out for the phone. Arthur gives it to him grudgingly.

“Eames, he means a real banana,” Dom says quickly and emphatically. “As in the fruit. I had one here and he ate it. Nothing more.”

“I’ll be there soon,” Eames says, then hangs up.

Dom drops the phone into Arthur’s outstretched hand, then plops down onto the bed next to Arthur. “Eames is going to murder me. I wonder how many pieces he’ll break me into,” he says glumly, already resigned to his fate.

“Don’t worry,” Arthur says, placing a consoling hand on Dom’s back. “I can protect you.”

“You can barely even stand right now!”

Arthur scoffs. “You think I’m drunk. I am not drunk,” he says, enunciating carefully.

“Says the man who wore a fedora and potatoes all night,” Dom protests, but his heart isn’t in it. He’s still wondering how badly Eames is going to beat him.

“You’ll be fine.” Arthur lies down and makes himself comfortable. “I’m gonna take a nap while we wait. Wake me up if Eames attacks you.”

“Hmmm,” Dom hums agreeably, then settles back next to Arthur to wait for Eames, too tired to cross the six feet between their beds.

Dom wakes to a slow, rhythmic tapping on his temple. He opens his eyes to see Eames kneeling in front of him, staring at Dom with that terrifyingly blank look of his - the one that promises dark thoughts but betrays none of them.

“You didn’t save any room for me,” Eames says with a dangerous smile.

Dom closes one eye and stares at Eames through the other, trying to make sense of the situation. He remembers getting drunk with Arthur and abandoning his pride for his friend, then waiting for Eames to show up. He must have fallen asleep while waiting.

A sudden gust of breath warms his neck as his bedmate sighs in his sleep, and Dom turns to see a head of dark hair snuggled close.

“Um, explain. Explanations,” Dom stutters out, fighting against the grogginess and the alcohol. “This makes sense, believe me. You’ll laugh.” He throws an elbow back into Arthur’s ribs.

Arthur snorts and jolts awake. He breathes deep and rubs his eyes, then spots Eames. He tries to climb over Dom, gives up when he gets trapped in the covers, and ends up wrapping his arms around Eames’ neck while lying half on top of Dom. This has the unfortunate consequence of bringing Eames’ face about two inches from Dom’s, and Eames still hasn’t stopped staring.

“Arthur,” Dom says, but Arthur is muttering nonsense about how mean Mal is, so he doesn’t hear. “Arthur,” he says louder. “You’d said you’d protect me.”

“Right,” he says, finally pulling back. “Eames, don’t hurt Dom. I’d be sad.”

Eames still doesn’t look away. “Why would he need protection?”

“Have you been drinking?” Dom asks before Arthur can answer. He desperately hopes the answer is no, because whereas Arthur is a fun drunk, Eames is scary and possessive.

“I’ve had a couple. Nowhere near as many as you two, apparently. I heard something about someone’s “banana” being involved?”

The mention of the banana must have triggered something for Arthur, because the sappy smile on his face disappears. “You weren’t here, so I had to find something to do.”

“Is that so?” Eames asks coldly, his eyes finally moving to Arthur’s.

“I um,” Dom says from where he’s lying on his back, Eames kneeling beside him on one side and Arthur propped up on an elbow on the other. “I think I’m gonna go.”

Eames nods, but Arthur holds a hand on Dom’s shoulder. “No, stay.”

“Really, Mal’s expecting me,” he tries again.

“No, she’s not.”

Once again, Dom curses his horrible karma. “Hitler,” he mumbles.

Eames looks down at Dom, and for the first time, the cold look in his eyes is dimmed, replaced by confusion. “Did you just call Arthur Hitler?”

“No, I’m Hitler,” he clarifies.

Eames looks back at Arthur for an explanation, and Arthur just shrugs and says, “I told him to take it up with his therapist.”

“You guys are the ones with issues,” Dom protests. “Here.” He shoves the video camera into Eames’ hand.

“No!” Arthur shouts, reaching for it, but Eames holds it out of reach and presses play.

”Okay, are we ready?” the Arthur of the recording asks. “This one’s going to be great. Eames and I have a history with strawberries. He’s gonna be so jealous.”

“Arthur, I don’t want to know this. Just start.”

“What is this?” Eames asks quietly. He lets the video keep playing, looking between the camera and Arthur.

Arthur doesn’t answer, and Dom is about as uncomfortable as he imagines he can ever be (a true feat after tonight), so he answers, “Arthur’s foodie broadcasts. The ones he tapes while you play poker.”

“I hate you, Dom,” Arthur mutters.

“You’re welcome,” he replies.

Eames stares at Arthur, a hurt look in his eyes. Dom is surprised to find that this vulnerable side of Eames is something he never wants to see again. “Is this true?” Eames asks. “Do you really broadcast yourself over the internet?”

“No,” Arthur says quietly. “It was just to make you jealous so you’d spend more time with me.”

Dom stays as still as possible, hoping that Arthur and Eames have maybe forgotten about him. Luck seems to be on his side, as neither Arthur nor Eames have ever discussed such personal matters of their relationship in front of him before. It’s probably the alcohol. Arthur may kill him tomorrow when he realizes Dom has witnessed the scene.

“That’s what this is about? You want to spend more time together?” Eames asks, looking surprised.

“Yes! Arthur cries. He flops down onto the pillows next to Dom and doesn’t move, looking a bit ill. Dom takes this opportunity to escape to his own bed. “What did you think it was about?”

Eames doesn’t reply, just watches the video again. He starts to smile, and both Arthur and Dom stare.

“What did you think?” Arthur asks again.

“I thought you wanted to break up,” Eames says, voice quiet.

“What? No! Of course not.”

“I’m beginning to understand.” He snaps the camera shut, sets it on Arthur’s desk, then bends down and kisses Arthur. “You don’t want to break up?”

“No, you asshole,” Arthur says, gently brushing Eames’ hair back from his forehead. “I fucking love you.”

Eames’ smile lights up his face. “I fucking love you, too,” he says, pressing Arthur fully onto his back and straddling him. He bends down and kisses Arthur fiercely, drawing a moan from Arthur.

Dom clears his throat, but Arthur and Eames ignore him. “Um, yeah,” he says uncomfortably. “I’ll just...go.” Arthur waves his hand in a shooing motion. Dom grabs his wallet and his cell phone and starts towards to door.

“Dom?” Arthur calls.

He hesitates to turn around, afraid of what he may see, but he braces himself. “Yeah?” he asks, turning to see Arthur smiling at him.

“Thanks.”

Dom smiles. “Anytime, Arthur.”

Until the Willow Weeps

chaostheorem — Thu, 22 Dec 2011 06:47:48 GMT

Title: Until the Willow Weeps
Word Count: 2,444
Rating: NC-17
Beta: eternalsojourn, who's such a dear to keep putting up with me ♥
Warnings: Character death, effects of grief
Summary: Eames begs Arthur to fuck him, but Arthur is a tease and likes to take his time. Everything may not be as it seems, though.
A/N: I originally went anon on this because I'm a coward and was afraid the OP would hate me for making this so angsty when the prompt didn't call for it. Fortunately, she seemed to enjoy it, so here we go.

(If you'd like to read the version with a happy ending, click here)

Eames ambles down the street, not in any hurry to reach his empty flat. He stops dead in his tracks when he reaches his neighborhood and sees light shining through his window, a beacon in the dark. He knows immediately. Arthur.

Eames hasn’t seen Arthur for eight months — eight long, torturous months. He’s not sure how long he stands there, heart racing, before he bursts into a sprint. Months without contact, and now, knowing how close Arthur is, Eames can’t get to him soon enough. He races into the building and up the stairs, calling apologies over his shoulder to Mr. and Mrs. Tau when he bumps them but not slowing at all.

His hands shake as he tries to fit the key in the lock, which is ridiculous, because Eames has had guns shoved in his face more times than he can count and remained calm, but having Arthur waiting for him can apparently reduce him to a quivering mess.

When Eames finally, finally gets the door open, he sees Arthur sitting with a book in his hand, staring at Eames with a small smile on his face, apparently amused by Eames’s obvious problems with the lock. One of Yusuf’s cats is lounging in Arthur’s lap, and Eames doesn’t even know what it’s doing here, but he doesn’t care because his only thoughts are for Arthur.

Eames crosses the expanse between them in quick strides. The cat startles and leaps away, which suits Eames perfectly because it lets him fall to his knees in front of Arthur and wrap his arms around his waist, burying his face in Arthur’s lap and holding on for all he’s worth. It’s an awkward position, but somehow utterly perfect.

“Jeez, Eames.” Eames can’t see Arthur’s face, but he can hear Arthur smiling. “It’s like you thought I was dead.”

Eames doesn’t quite whimper, but it’s close. His grip tightens, because that’s exactly what he thought. Now Arthur is here, in his arms, and Eames can’t imagine ever letting him go again.

Arthur knows what Eames needs, like always, and he doesn’t say anything else, just cards his fingers through Eames’s hair gently. They stay like that for several minutes, both of them luxuriating in the feel of the other, before Arthur moves to stand, and Eames moves with him.

“Arthur,” Eames whispers reverently, hands still clutching Arthur close to him. It’s the first thing he’s said, and it seems to shift something between them, their chaste tranquility suddenly frantic and fevered. They tear at each other’s clothes, buttons and cloth becoming martyrs to their lustful fervor, neither man willing to slow down or step back.

“Christ, Arthur,” Eames murmurs into Arthur’s mouth. There’s nothing between them, bodies pressed so closely together it almost hurts and they’re still not close enough. “Fuck me.”

Arthur nods, and Eames could sob with relief. It’s such a bad idea — they have so much to talk about, so much has happened, but Eames needs it, needs Arthur more than anything.

They slowly make their way to their bedroom, mouths still attached, and they miraculously manage not to break anything on the way. When Eames is sitting on the bed, knees splayed to make room for Arthur, he runs his mouth across Arthur’s stomach, hips, anything he can reach. Arthur lightly pushes Eames onto his back, crawling onto the bed and stretching out over him. Eames loves the weight of him, wants more, but Arthur ignores Eames’s tugs at his elbows, staying propped up.

They just kiss for a while, content to finally be in each other’s arms again, but then they’re gasping and rutting against each other, and Eames grabs Arthur’s hand and guides it to his ass, silently begging.

“Lube?” Arthur asks.

“Same place as always,” Eames says, and he knows it’s irrational, but he’s a little hurt that Arthur has to ask.

Arthur is gone and back before Eames can overthink things. Arthur must see something on his face, though, because he doesn’t open it and slick his fingers, just tosses it onto the bed, then wraps a hand around the base of Eames’s cock. He takes the rest in his mouth, tonguing the slit.

“Fuck,” Eames breathes. It’s been far too long since anyone has touched him, let alone Arthur, who knows his body like no one else. “Oh, fuck, yes,” he says, lost in the sensation of Arthur’s tongue swirling around and around and around.

Arthur pulls his hand away, sliding his mouth down farther. Eames raises his hips, trying to get even deeper into Arthur’s mouth. Arthur lets him at first, but then he presses Eames’s hips into the mattress and holds him there, and that’s just as good, if not better, because Eames has always loved how deceptively strong Arthur is.

“Arthur,” Eames groans, feeling himself getting close. He tugs at Arthur’s hair in warning. Arthur pulls off and then — nothing. He doesn’t finish Eames off, and he grabs Eames’s hands and holds them down when Eames reaches for his own cock.

“Arthur,” Eames repeats, and he’s too far gone to care that he’s whining.

“I don’t want you coming just yet,” Arthur says, reaching for the lube. He slicks his fingers while he leans in for a kiss, waiting for Eames to come down from the edge. Once he’s satisfied, he sits back on his knees and presses one finger to Eames’s hole, applying pressure but not pushing in.

“Please,” says Eames, drawing his knees up farther. “Arthur, please.”

“Oh, look at you,” Arthur says, his voice full of wonder, like he’s the lucky one here. “All spread out for me.”

Arthur finally works one finger in, and Eames groans. Eight months, he keeps thinking. Eight whole months since another person has touched him, and that’s got to be why it feels like just one finger is better than anything he’s ever felt.

“So gorgeous,” Arthur says, softly kissing Eames’s stomach.

Eames closes his eyes and asks for more, imagining how good two, three fingers will feel when one already has him shuddering apart, but Arthur just keeps on fucking him with the one.

Eames rocks his hips, wordlessly asking Arthur for more, but Arthur either doesn’t get it or doesn’t care. “Fuck, Arthur, I need it,” Eames breaks and cries after a few minutes, the ache for more almost agonizing. “I need it, please.”

“Shh,” Arthur hushes. “I’ve got you. Just relax. No need to rush.” He slides in a second finger, and Eames groans, partially from pleasure and partially from impatience, both of them knowing he could handle three by now.

Eames opens easily, always has, and he keeps expecting Arthur to draw his fingers back and fuck him, but Arthur doesn’t, just keeps finger-fucking Eames on and on and on.

“Arthur, love, please, fuck me,” says Eames, and he’s certain he’s never begged this much this easily, but he doesn’t care at all if it gets Arthur in him now. Arthur has his own plans, though, and he just keeps moving the same two fingers in and out, tantalizingly slowly.

“Not yet. Just a little more patience.” There’s the slightest hint of strain in Arthur’s voice, and his cock hard and leaking, but he’s otherwise perfectly composed. Eames thinks it’s categorically unfair that Arthur can remain so cool and collected while Eames is going out of his bloody mind.

“Are you ready for a third?” Arthur asks, and Eames does whimper at that.

“I’m ready,” he protests. “Just fuck me. I need your cock. I need you, Arthur, fuck!”

Arthur presses a soft kiss to the inside of each thigh. “You’ll get it,” Arthur promises, words contradicting his actions as he adds a third finger. “Just a little more. God, you’re so beautiful. Always.”

Eames feels crazy with lust, thrusting down onto Arthur’s hand, pleas of more, more and harder, fuck, harder escaping him. He’s not sure how long Arthur fingers him, probably only minutes but it feels like hours before Arthur orders him onto his knees.

Eames rolls over as quickly as possible, almost falling off the bed in his haste, not expecting his limbs to be quite so useless. He waits for the unmistakable press of Arthur’s cock against his ass, longs for the exquisite sensation of that first push, so it’s completely understandable when he jumps and yelps when he feels Arthur’s tongue instead.

“Fuck,” Eames groans, long and low. It’s good, unbelievably good, Arthur’s wet, hot tongue curling in and out of his hole, but it’s not enough.

A sob tears out of Eames’s throat. “Arthur, please. Now.” His pleas are mostly ignored, but Arthur does slide a finger back in, licking around it, and Eames thinks he might be able to come just from this, before Arthur ever fucks him and without a hand on his cock. Arthur must know, because he pulls back, and Eames is not proud of the noise he makes but he can’t stop it.

“Not yet,” Arthur murmurs, stroking Eames’s back. “I want you to come with me. Can you do that? Can you hold on?”

“Yes,” Eames says. “Stop teasing. Just fuck me already,” he demands.

“God,” Arthur chokes out, like Eames is the one who’s been making them wait. “You’re so —” Arthur doesn’t finish, just rolls Eames onto his back and kisses him hungrily, claiming and all-consuming. Eames wraps his legs around Arthur’s waist, trying to draw him as close as possible. “You have no idea what you do to me,” Arthur mutters against Eames’s mouth. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Eames’s whole body jerks. He can’t handle this right now, can’t handle the emotions that Arthur’s words bring when he’s this out of his mind with lust and Arthur is still teasing him, fingers rubbing against his entrance.

“No,” Eames says without thought. “Give me your cock. Let me feel you — I need to feel you, Arthur, please.”

“Alright,” Arthur says softly, and then his fingers are gone, replaced by the head of his cock, and he’s pressing in. He moves slowly, even though Eames takes him so easily.

“Oh, fuck. Yes,” Eames breathes. He lifts his hips to take more of Arthur in, both of them groaning when Arthur bottoms out.

Arthur doesn’t move at first, just rests, cradled in Eames’s arms and hips. Eames is patient for as long as he can be, but it’s only a few seconds before he’s moving his hips, urging Arthur to do the same.

Arthur starts to move, his thrusts long and deep. It’s slow, but not exactly gentle, and it’s so fucking good, exactly what Eames needs, that it takes all he has not to come.

“Arthur, god.” Eames can’t think straight enough to say anything beyond that, so he doesn’t even try, but Arthur picks up where Eames left off.

“I missed you,” Arthur says into Eames’s neck, voice muffled but perfectly audible. “Missed you so much. I love you.”

“Love you,” Eames replies, and he tightens his already impossible grip, wanting, needing Arthur closer — always closer.

“Eames, Eames, Eames,” Arthur chants, his pace speeding up. Eames tries to match his thrusts, but they’re both so close already, movements turning erratic.

Arthur reaches between them and fists Eames’s cock, hand moving in time with his hips, and it’s not even a minute before Eames is coming, groaning “oh, oh fuck, Arthur” as he does.

Arthur wraps his hand around Eames’s neck and mashes their mouths together, kissing him messily, and Eames thinks he should be upset that Arthur is getting come all over his neck, but he’s not.

“Fuck, Eames,” Arthur says. His thrusts are quick and hard now, searching for his own release. Eames latches onto Arthur’s neck, bites down gently, and that seems to send Arthur over the edge, because he’s coming, spilling inside Eames.

Arthur collapses on top of Eames, both of them breathing heavily. Eames rolls them onto their sides and they lie there, staring into each other’s eyes as they catch their breaths.

“You left me,” Eames says finally.

“I didn’t want to,” says Arthur. “If I could do it all again...”

Eames wants to rant and rail, because they can’t do it again, what happened cannot be undone, but he bites his tongue. He’s had eight months to come to terms with the fact that Arthur was gone, and arguing over it now would be as useless as Arthur’s platitudes.

He somehow manages to move closer, throwing an arm and a leg over Arthur and cradling Arthur’s head. He breathes in Arthur’s scent, tinged with sex but still the same, and it calms him. “You’re here now,” is all he says.

They fall asleep like that, entangled in each other, just like they’ve always been.

--

“Send me back,” Eames demands as soon as he wakes. He’s angry — angry with Arthur for taking the Sanna job in the first place, angry with Yusuf for being so calm, angry with the world for being so damn happy and oblivious in the face of his misery, but mostly angry with himself for resisting this option for so long.

“Eames,” Yusuf says, hesitant. “Don’t.”

Eames isn’t sure if Yusuf is warning or begging, and he doesn’t particularly care. He wants neither right now. “Look around, Yusuf,” says Eames, gesturing one-handedly to the other sleepers surrounding them. “Now is not the time to pretend you have morals.”

Yusuf doesn’t even have the good grace to look abashed. “You know it would kill Arthur to see you like this.”

“He’s not seeing any of this. He’s dead,” says Eames, viciously pleased when he sees Yusuf cringe at his bluntness.

Yusuf starts to protest, but he falls silent when the dream watcher gently lays a wrinkled hand on his shoulder. He leans in to whisper to Yusuf, and Eames remembers what he had said the first time Eames had seen the den for himself: The dream has become their reality. Who are you to say otherwise?

Yusuf stares at Eames, and Eames holds his gaze, never wavering. Eventually, Yusuf sighs and looks away, turning and leaving without a word.

The watcher switches the vial connected to Eames’s line with one presumably loaded with sedative. His finger hovers over the button that will send Eames to sleep for the final time, giving Eames a second chance they both know he won’t take.

“Thank you,” Eames says.

He falls asleep with a smile on his face.

The Rain Becomes the Cloud

chaostheorem — Sat, 01 Oct 2011 00:05:37 GMT

Title: The Rain Becomes the Cloud
Word Count: 5,555
Rating: PG
Beta: Thanks to my ninja beta for part one, and to eternalsojourn for her endless help and encouragement.
Warnings: Fear of character death; happy ending
Summary: Since Dom and Mal adopted him as a puppy, Arthur has always known what to expect. He never expected Eames, though.

Originally posted at ae_match: Part One, Part Two

For all you visual folks out there, here are some pics of the pups: Arthur, Eames, Fischer

“Dom, look at him,” Arthur hears, then feels hands encircle him protectively and lift him up to a warm body.

A man, presumably Dom, leans down to peer at Arthur’s face. “He’s beautiful,” Dom says. He scratches that special spot behind Arthur’s ears, and Arthur presses his head more firmly into the touch. There’s a familiar scent on Dom’s hands, like the dust from the barn but to a much lesser degree.

“He is the one,” the woman holding him says.

“Are you sure, Mal?” Dom asks. “We haven’t been looking for more than an hour.”

Arthur feels Mal grip him more tightly, as if she’s afraid Dom will take him away. “Of course I’m sure. Don’t you trust me?” Arthur likes how playful her voice sounds.

Dom’s eyes crinkle as he smiles. “You know I do.” He steps closer and hugs Mal, trapping Arthur between them, but Arthur doesn’t mind. Instead of feeling crushed, he feels wanted. He can smell Dom better now, a warm, earthy scent. Mal is a tantalizing combination of fresh scents, like those brought on a breeze.

Arthur sees Tom walking towards Dom and Mal. People don’t seem to like Arthur, saying that he’s too small or too boring, but Tom likes him. When he puts Arthur up in the barn in the evening, he always whispers that he can convince Beth to let Arthur stay if no one adopts him, that he won’t take Arthur to a shelter.

“You two seem mighty attached to that one,” Tom says. Arthur snuggles further into Mal’s body at the news. Tom’s eyes widen in surprise. “Well, look at that. He seems to like you, too. Little guy usually keeps to himself. Do you want a few minutes in the barn to see what he’s like when he’s loose?” Tom offers.

“That’s okay,” Dom says. “He’s already made quite an impression.”

“Are you sure?” Tom asks. “Most of his brothers and sisters are gone, but there’s one left that’s a lot friendlier. She’s a sweet little thing.”

“We’re sure,” Mal says warmly, stroking a hand down Arthur’s back. “One can always recognize a kindred spirit.”

Tom smiles, and it’s as if he’s as happy as Arthur that Dom and Mal like him. “Have either of you ever had a German Shepherd before?”

“I had one growing up,” Dom says.

“Good, good,” Tom says. “They’re a lot of work, but they’re worth the effort. Me and my wife Beth have had one or another for about thirty years. You’ll be hard put to find a more loyal breed. This guy’ll treat you right.”

“Does he have a name?” Dom asks, glancing at Tom as he scratches Arthur’s ears again.

“Oh, you folks can name him what you like,” Tom says assuredly, “but we call him Arthur.”

“Arthur,” Mal repeats, and Arthur likes the way his name sounds in her voice. He’s never heard anyone who sounds like Mal.

Dom leans down again to look Arthur in the eyes. “What do you say, Arthur? You wanna come home with us?”

Arthur barks him approval, wagging his tail, and Dom looks up at Mal, surprise showing on his face. Mal laughs, a beautiful, soft sound, and Arthur is pleased that he made them happy.

“You are a smart one, aren’t you, Arthur?” she asks. “You will fit right in.”

**

After five years of living with Dom and Mal, Arthur knows a lot more about the world than he did when he lived on the farm. He knows how to stay and how to heel, how to roll over and how to shake hands. He knows that chasing cars is fun, but not allowed. He knows that some people love dogs, while others hate them. The most important thing that he’s learned is that he is very lucky to have Dom and Mal for a family.

Dom takes Arthur on runs every morning, and when Arthur gets to come inside, Dom lets him follow him from room to room. That dusty smell on Dom’s hands that very first day was from books, and Dom has a whole room of them. Dom and Mal call it lots of different names: library, office, study. Whatever it’s called, it’s Arthur favorite room because Dom will stay in there for hours at a time and let Arthur sit with him.

Mal calls him mon chou and snuggles with him under the tree in the back yard when she reads. She likes to dig in the yard, but she doesn’t like it when Arthur does. Mal has two sets of names for almost everything, but sometimes when she uses the second set, Dom doesn’t understand her. It makes Arthur love both of them even more, because there’s a lot of times when he doesn’t understand them.

Arthur wasn’t too sure about Phillipa or James when they first showed up, but when he got close they smelled like Dom and Mal, so Arthur loved them. He’s watched them grow, and they’re as much his family as Dom and Mal. Phillipa hugs him every day when she gets home from school and plays chase with him in the park, and even though James plays with Arthur’s toys and pulls his fur too hard, Arthur loves him anyway.

Every so often Dom and Mal have visitors, and Arthur likes them, too. Ariadne works with Dom and Mal and comes over for dinner sometimes, and she always finds a spot next to Arthur, as if he’s her favorite. Grandma and Grandpa always bring him a toy just like they do for James and Phillipa when they come to visit. Yusuf from across the street always has different smells on him, but sometimes he has special treats just for Arthur.

Sometimes Dom sets up a contraption called a sprinkler that shoots water for Phillipa and James to run through. Arthur is content to watch as everyone laughs and shouts, but they call his name and tell him to join, and then it’s even more fun.

He gets special food because apparently he has allergies.

He has a bone that everyone knows is his, but Dom likes to pretend as if he’s going to take it. He laughs when Arthur wags his tail and growls softly.

He loves chasing away the cats that prowl around and making the neighborhood safe for his family.

There’s not a lot in Arthur’s life that he doesn’t enjoy. Mrs. Montgomery from down the street always says that Arthur is dangerous, and sometimes Dom and Mal forget to let Arthur outside before they go to sleep for hours during the middle of the day, but other than that, Arthur is happy. Or at least he is until Yusuf brings Eames home.

**

Arthur first sees Eames during a walk with Dom. Eames’s fur is golden and looks incredibly soft in a way that Arthur’s can never be, no matter how many times Mal brushes him.

Dom doesn’t stop to talk to Yusuf, just raises his hand in greeting, but he and Arthur walk close enough for Arthur to know that Eames smells really good. Arthur hasn’t quite smelled anything like Eames, and he just wants to bury his nose in that golden fur. As it is, he has to settle for a few friendly sniffs.

Later, Arthur learns that Eames speaks differently. It reminds Arthur of Mal, but it isn’t quite the same. Arthur will never admit it, but he loves the way Eames says his name, as if he could say Arthur forever and never grow tired of it.

Up until now, Fischer was the only other dog in the neighborhood. Fischer is perfectly tolerable, but he’s always so sad. Arthur has tried to get him to play, but Fischer says that there are better ways to spend their time. Arthur is excited to see that Eames seems to have a sense of adventure.

Except Eames doesn’t like adventure – he likes teasing Arthur. Eames is loud and obnoxious. He’s always bothering Arthur when he needs to watch James and Phillipa, and he likes to steal Arthur’s toys.

What bothers Arthur the most is that he doesn’t know what Eames is really like. He’s quiet and self-sufficient with Yusuf, smart and proud with Dom, teasing and mischievous with Mal, and gentle and playful with James and Phillipa. Even Mrs. Montgomery likes Eames, because he always pretends to be docile and submissive around her. He’s only ever rude to Arthur.

Arthur doesn’t understand why Eames is nice to everyone but him, but Arthur is tired of trying to be polite.

**

“Arthur.”

Arthur raises his head from his paws and perks his ears up when he hears Mal call his name.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” she asks, holding his leash up.

He does. It’s Saturday, so everyone is home, but they seem to have forgotten him until now. He holds still so Mal can reach his collar.

“There we are,” she says, satisfied, when the leash is attached. “Dom, I’m taking Arthur for a walk,” she calls.

Dom’s voice travels down the hall toward them from where he’s playing with Phillipa and James. “Okay. Be safe.”

“We will,” Mal says as she opens the door and lets them out. When they’re outside, she leans down and pets Arthur between his ears. “’Be safe,’” she whispers. “As if you wouldn’t protect me, mon chou.”

“Arthur!”

Arthur slowly turns his head towards Eames, Mal following his gaze. “You want to say hello to Eames and Yusuf? C’mon, Arthur.”

He follows Mal across the street obediently, but not happily. When they get close, Eames crouches down playfully as if he’s going to pounce on Mal, his tail wagging so forcefully that the entire back half of his body is swaying. Mal laughs and bends down to pet Eames, scrunching up his ears. He licks her face and she laughs again as she tries to avoid his tongue.

“Dogs and their tongues,” Yusuf says exasperatedly. “I’m sorry about that, Mal.”

“It’s not a problem, Yusuf. It’s just what dogs do.” Arthur bristles slightly. He doesn’t maul people’s faces like Eames. “Besides,” Mal says, “Eames is such a good boy.” Eames cocks his head at the words, wags his tail when Mal smiles. He glances at Arthur as if to say This is how you win people over.

“Do you want him, then?” Yusuf asks. He laughs as if he’s joking, but there’s a note of desperation in his voice. “I can’t find anyone to take him.” Eames barely reacts, but his tail droops for a second before he’s as happy as ever. Arthur pretends not to notice.

Mal looks up, concern on her face. “Why are you giving him up?”

“Oh, he’s not mine,” Yusuf says. “He was my ex’s, but she left him with me. I’m more of a cat person, really.” Eames leaves Mal and circles Yusuf’s legs a couple of times before coming over to sit beside Arthur.

“What’s wrong, Arthur?” Eames asks teasingly. “You seem to be even more of a stick in the mud than usual. I wasn’t aware that was even possible.”

Arthur doesn’t respond, and Eames bumps his heads against Arthur’s muzzle. “Oh, don’t be like that, pet. You’re only proving my point."

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t pretend like you knew me, Eames. You’re not a tenth as smart as you think you are. If you were, you would know that touching me is a good way to get yourself bitten.”

“Oh, kitty has claws,” Eames says delightedly, tail wagging.

The insult too much too ignore. Arthur growls and bares his teeth. “Arthur!” Mal says sharply, turning from Yusuf with surprise on her face. “No!”

Arthur hangs his head, ashamed that he rose to Eames’s taunts and embarrassed Mal. Eames barks happily, earning a smile from Mal.

“We had better be going,” Mal says to Yusuf. “I will talk to Dom about Eames.”

“Oh, I wasn’t serious,” Yusuf says, waving his hands in protest.

Mal smiles knowingly. “Yes, you were.” Yusuf shrugs sheepishly.

“Do you hear that, Arthur? We could be living together any day now.” He sits down next to Arthur and wags his tail so that it hits Arthur with every swing.

“You would love that, wouldn’t you?” Arthur asks. “The chance to make my life hell?”

Eames tilts his head, almost seems confused, but the look is gone before Arthur can properly identify it. “I wouldn’t say no to the opportunity,” Eames says glibly.

Mal leans down to say goodbye to Eames before Arthur can reply. “See you soon, mon joli," and then she’s leading Arthur away.

“Would you like a friend, Arthur?” she asks him. “If you quit growling, I think you and Eames would get along well.”

Arthur thinks Mal may be going crazy.

**

Dom is hesitant to get another dog, citing a lack of space and time, but Mal convinces him to agree to a week-long trial.

Yusuf drops Eames off on Thursday morning. The first three days go exactly how Arthur imagined they would: lots of taunting, teasing, and superiority on Eames’s part. Arthur only manages to keep himself from constantly growling at Eames because he knows that Eames makes the family happy. Mal smiles every time she sees them together, and Phillipa and James have never laughed so much as when Eames plays with them. Arthur’s only consolation is that he still seems to be Dom’s favorite.

On Sunday, Dom and Mal take them all to the park. Arthur likes the park because there are always new smells to explore and lots of room to run. He’s determined not to let Eames ruin the day.

While the family eats, Arthur lies on his side, luxuriating in the warmth of the sun; Eames sits next to him, too afraid of missing anything to lie down and relax.

“Arthur, Eames. Time for treats,” Dom says. He holds up a plastic bag and shakes it, and Eames bounds onto the blankets, leaping into the middle of the family and making them laugh. Arthur gets up and gracefully makes his way to Dom, waiting for his treat calmly. Arthur likes getting treats in the park not for the treats, but because it means that the family is finished eating and it’s time to play. Dom used to throw sticks or balls for Arthur to fetch, but now Phillipa and James like to play chase with him.

Phillipa takes off running, and Arthur tenses, ready to run after her, when she shouts, “Eames!”

Eames barks once, happily, then takes off after a gleeful Phillipa. James toddles after them, his short little legs working overtime to keep up.

Arthur watches from his place next to Dom and Mal as Eames plays tag with Phillipa and James. Arthur can understand why they prefer Eames, with his soft fur, his exhilarating smell, and his playfulness; still, Arthur can’t deny that it hurts to be cast aside so quickly.

“The children obviously love him,” Mal says from behind Arthur.

“I agree, Mal, but a second dog, especially another large breed, will be a lot of work. This isn’t a decision that we should make without taking everything into consideration.”

“You think too much,” Mal says softly. “The kids like Eames. I like Eames, and I know you like him, too. Even Arthur likes him.” Arthur perks his ears up at this, but Mal takes his objection for agreement. “See? Would you deny Arthur his friend?”

“Stop using Arthur against me,” Dom says. His voice is a growl, and he attacks Mal with his fingers, but he and Mal are smiling and she doesn’t smell frightened, so Arthur allows it.

When Dom and Mal finish playing, Dom is lying on his back and Mal is leaning over him, drawing patterns on his chest. “If we really want Eames,” she says, “the extra work will seem like nothing.”

Dom sighs. “Let’s not decide anything now. I’d rather wait until this week is over and Eames is back with Yusuf so our judgment isn’t clouded. It’s how I ended up married to you, after all. I wasn’t thinking rationally because you were always there, being beautiful and making me crazy. Still are, actually.”

“Such a problem,” Mal says. She leans closer to Dom, kisses him, and their scents change slightly, become stronger and sharper.

Arthur lies down, but before he can get comfortable, he hears a dog growling fiercely. Arthur raises his head and looks toward the sound, spotting a large black and brown dog snarling as James approaches him.

Arthur growls, and Dom and Mal sit up quickly. “James!” Dom and Mal both yell, but James is already reaching out. The dog snaps at James’s outstretched hand; James stumbles back and starts to cry.

Arthur takes off running, moving faster than he ever has. He’s between James and the dog in a matter of seconds, teeth bared and hackles raised, the other dog responding in kind.

“Don’t touch the kid,” Arthur growls. “Don’t even look at him, don’t even smell him.”

The dog doesn’t back down. “If you can’t keep the brat out of my space, I’ll make him stay out.”

Behind him, Arthur can smell Mal and Dom approaching James. He can hear Dom calling to him, wanting him to leave the other dog alone, but Arthur ignores him, their safety much more important.

Arthur and the dog stand off against each other, feinting with tiny lunges as they measure their strengths and weaknesses. His opponent is short yet bulky, but Arthur is fast and strong, and he has no doubt he can take the assailant. Arthur is just about to leap forward when Eames appears next to him.

“You’re out of your depth, mate. Back off,” Eames orders the black dog.

The dog looks at Eames, taking in the short stature and soft fur. “Yeah, you’re real terrifying, goldie,” he says, dismissing Eames and turning his attention back to Arthur. He crouches down as if getting ready to spring, and Arthur tenses in preparation.

Eames growls, his entire demeanor changing in an instant. He lowers his neck and shoulders and bares his teeth; his whole body thrums, as if it’s taking all of his control not to rip the dog apart.

Their opponent freezes, looking back and forth between Arthur and Eames, before backing away slowly. “Can’t take me on your own?” he taunts to Arthur. “Pussy cat.”

Eames steps forward quickly, not stopping until he’s right in front of the dog. “You ever call him that again and I won’t bother stopping him from ripping you limb from limb.” Eames’s voice is low and calm, but the undercurrent of raw power is enough to have the dog backing away even more until he’s far enough away to turn and run.

“Well, that was an interesting experience,” Eames says when he turns back to Arthur, friendly as ever.

“Yeah, it was,” Arthur agrees cautiously. He waits for Eames to tease him about having to come to his rescue, or whatever horrible way Eames will phrase it, except Eames doesn’t.

“James is okay?” Eames asks. “I would have been here sooner, but Phillipa and I were on the other side of the park.”

Arthur looks behind him to where Dom is holding a sniffling James, Mal and Phillipa standing next to them. “He’s fine. Scared, but the dog didn’t get him.”

As if to prove Arthur’s point, James starts wiggling in Dom’s arms. “Wanna swing,” he says happily, the incident with the dog already forgotten.

Dom looks around and spots the swings just a few yards away. “Okay, you can play,” Dom says, bending to set James down, “but stay close to your sister, and don’t try to pet any strange dogs.”

“We’ll be good, Daddy. Promise,” Phillipa says, and James nods in agreement. Phillipa grabs his hand and starts off, stopping to look behind them at Arthur and Eames. “C’mon,” she calls.

Eames takes a few steps forward, but Arthur stays where he is. If Phillipa and James prefer to play with Eames, Arthur isn’t going to intrude. He likes sitting with Dom and Mal, anyway. It’s not as fun as running in the park, but it’s still nice.

Eames turns his head to look at Arthur. “You’re coming, right? These kids are tiring me out. I don’t know how you’ve managed on your own all these years.”

Arthur takes off running, easily overtaking Eames. “It’s because I’m not an old dog, Eames,” he calls back teasingly, and he hears Eames bark good-naturedly in response.

Maybe, just maybe, Eames isn’t so bad after all.

**

After the incident at the park, Eames’s teasing looks less like ridicule and more like him trying to coax Arthur into having fun. When the week is over and Eames is getting ready to head back to Yusuf’s, Arthur finds that he doesn’t want Eames to go.

They’re standing in the parlor of Dom and Mal’s house, Mal and Yusuf talking above them, when Eames says, “It’s been fun, Arthur.” He tries for nonchalance, but he doesn’t quite pull it off. Eames, who has been radiating happiness the entire week, is sad, and though he tries to hide it behind his perked ears and his wagging tail, Arthur can smell it.

“It really has,” Arthur agrees. He’s rewarded by a brief flare of happiness from Eames, but it dies down when Yusuf bends to attach his leash.

“If you feel yourself reverting back to your stick in the mud ways, I’m right across the street. Don’t hesitate to visit.”

Arthur isn’t sure why seeing Eames like this, so cut-off and false, is affecting him so much, but he can’t stand it. “Eames, you’re going to be back here soon enough. You’re practically already part of the family. Dom and Mal just have to make things official.”

“Arthur, that’s –“ Eames says, and then he’s licking Arthur’s face.

“Eames, stop,” Arthur says, jerking his head back and out of reach, but it’s more out of shock than any real desire for Eames to stop. If Eames’s cheer is anything to go by, he knows it, too.

“See you soon, darling,” Eames says right before the door closes, Eames on one side and Arthur on the other.

Arthur looks up at Mal and she laughs. “Mon chou, don’t look at me as if I have betrayed you. Let’s go find Dom so you can look pitiful around him. It is he you need to convince.”

Arthur follows Mal down the hall to the study. She knocks, then calls out, “Dom, are you busy?”

“Just finishing up the notes you wanted me to look over. Come on in,” he yells back.

Mal opens the door and lets Arthur in. “You have a visitor. He’s very sad because you sent his friend home today.”

Arthur goes to Dom and rests his head on his knee, looking up at Dom with a sigh. He’s learned over the years that this look can get him almost anything.

“You too, old pal? Everyone’s ganging up against me.” Dom sounds betrayed, but Arthur can tell he’s trying not to smile.

“I will let you get back to my notes,” Mal says from the doorway, “but you keep Arthur’s face in mind when you make your decision about Eames, and know that James and Phillipa and I will be just as sad if you don’t want him.”

As soon as Mal closes the door, Dom leans down so that his face is close to Arthur’s. “Don’t worry, buddy. We’re going to adopt Eames,” he whispers. “I just can’t give in too soon or Mal will think she can do anything.”

Dom goes back to work and Arthur settles beside him, amused that Dom thinks he doesn’t let Mal have her way with everything already.

**

When Dom and Arthur get back from their morning run, Mal is standing on the porch next to a cardboard box. She takes Arthur’s leash from Dom and ties it to the porch railing, but Arthur is too intrigued by the box to care. He sniffs experimentally and is pleased to find that the box smells like Eames.

“Is that Eames’s stuff?” Dom asks, breathing heavily.

Mal nods. “Yusuf said he had one more box. He’s getting it now, and he’ll bring Eames over with it.”

Dom says something, but Arthur is distracted by Yusuf’s door opening across the street. Yusuf comes out first, carrying another box, with Eames right behind him. As soon as Eames catches sight of Arthur, he pushes past Yusuf and starts to run.

“Eames, no!” Yusuf yells.

Mal and Dom stop talking and look towards Eames and Yusuf, adding their own cries a second later.

Arthur looks around, desperately trying to understand why everyone is upset. His view from the porch is limited, but he sees the car heading towards Eames a second before it hits him.

“Eames!” Arthur yells, the sound ripping out of him without thought, but it’s too late. The car catches Eames’s hind legs, spinning Eames around and into the body of the car. The sound of the impact does nothing to drown out Eames’s yelps, initially loud and sharp but now fading into soft whimpers.

Arthur lurches forward only to be yanked back by the leach still tied to the porch. Howling wildly, he lunges again and again, but he only manages to tighten the knot and choke himself. He turns around and pulls backwards, hoping to slip his collar off, but it’s too tight.

Yusuf, Dom, Mal, and the driver of the car are all crowded around Eames. Arthur barks frantically in the hope of gaining the attention of any one of them, but they don’t seem to hear him, too focused on Eames and busy talking among themselves.

Yusuf and Dom turn suddenly, Yusuf running into his house and Dom sprinting into the garage. With them out of the way, Arthur has a clear view of Eames. His back legs are a bloody, twisted mess, but that doesn’t stop Eames from trying to drag himself up with his front legs, whimpering as he does so.

Mal sinks to the ground next to Eames and pulls his head into her lap. “Shhh, mon joli You’re okay. You’re alright. Shhh.” The driver is apologizing profusely above them, but Mal only has eyes for Eames. She pets him gently, calming him enough that he stops struggling against her.

Yusuf runs out of his house with a handful of towels right as the garage door opens and Dom backs the car out of the garage and stops it next to Eames. Dom and Yusuf put Eames in the back, everyone wincing and reassuring Eames when he yelps in pain. When Eames is situated, Yusuf sits next to him with the towels and Dom gets behind the wheel. The driver of the other car says he’ll meet them at the vet’s, and then they’re gone.

Mal stands on the sidewalk for a minute before turning back towards the house. “Oh, Arthur,” she says sadly when she spots him, apparently having forgotten him in the confusion. She sits next to him on the porch and wraps her arms around him, leaning her head against him.

They sit there like that, silently supporting each other, until Mal’s phone rings inside. She runs in to grab it, already talking when she comes back for Arthur.

“- there something else they can do?” she asks as she fumbles with Arthur’s knotted leash one-handedly. “No, of course not. Phillipa and James will understand.”

Arthur whines, terrified for Eames, but Mal pays him no mind as she leads him through the house and into the backyard. She unhooks his leash and then goes back inside, leaving him alone with his worry. Arthur tries to calm down and rest, but he can’t stay still. He wanders around the yard, becoming more and more agitated when he catches whiffs of Eames’s scent here and there.

He’s almost frantic by the time Dom and Yusuf come home, and when he sees that Eames isn’t with them, his panic increases. It’s been hours since the incident and still no one will tell Arthur if Eames is going to be okay. They’ve been talking about money for what seems like forever, and none of them seem to notice his distress.

“Yusuf, it’s fine,” Dom says. “I already told Adam that he didn’t need to worry about the cost, and neither do you.”

“Adam was just driving down the street. It’s not his fault that I didn’t put Eames on a leash, is it?” Yusuf rubs a hand over his eyes. “I just didn’t think he’d need a leash to go across the street.”

Mal reaches across the table and lays a hand on Yusuf’s arm. “These things happen. It’s no one’s fault – just a set of unfortunate circumstances.”

There is the sound of squeaking brakes outside, and Mal straightens up. “That’ll be the children.”

“I’d probably better be going, anyway,” Yusuf says, standing up. “We can talk about this later.”

Mal and Dom wave him off, and Yusuf makes his exit as James and Phillipa come running in.

“Is Eames here?” Phillipa asks, her face bright and hopeful. James stands next to her with an identical look.

Mal kneels down next to them. “Eames isn’t here right now,” she says. “He had an accident this morning so he’s going to stay with his doctor for the next couple days.”

“Is he okay?” Phillipa asks in a small voice.

“You bet he’s okay, sweetie,” Dom says. He bends down and picks her up, settling her on his hip. “You’re going to have to be careful with him for a while because he’s going to be sore, but he’s fine.”

Arthur flops down on the spot as relief floods him and the manic energy that kept him wired all day flees his body. He falls asleep thinking of Eames.

**

Mal clears a space in the living room and brings in a large, firm cushion while Dom goes to pick up Eames. Arthur, too anxious to stay in one place, follows Mal like a shadow, but he runs for the garage the second he hears the door opening.

Arthur wags his tail as soon as he sees Eames, but his happiness doesn’t last long. Eames looks almost lifeless in Dom’s arms; his limbs are limp and his eyes are open but unfocused. Dom sets Eames down as carefully as possible, but that doesn’t stop Eames from yelping when his legs touch the cushion.

“The vet said that he shouldn’t feel anything,” Dom says, gesturing to Eames, “but he may yelp or whimper because of the pain medication. She said that it’ll confuse him for a while and may make him seem depressed.”

“Oh, Eames,” Mal says in sympathy. She sits next to him and pets his head. “You’re being such a good boy, mon joli.”

Dom and Mal sit with Eames until he falls asleep. Arthur watches Eames from his spot across the room, content just to know that Eames is safe, when Eames starts whimpering in his sleep. He approaches Eames’s bed slowly, ready to back away if Eames doesn’t want him around. “Eames?” he asks hesitantly.

Eames opens his eyes slowly. “Arthur,” he says, voice tired but happy. “Did you miss me?”

Arthur huffs in response, a little more confident now that he knows Eames is actually okay. “I still can’t believe you got hit by a car,” he says, incredulous.

“It wasn’t my intention, I assure you. I promise not to do it again.”

“Make sure you don’t.” Arthur hesitates. “I have something for you,” he says.

“Yeah?”

Arthur nods. “Hang on. I’ve got it here.” Arthur gets the bone he had stashed in the corner earlier and lays it next to Eames, nudging it closer with his nose. “It always makes me feel better,” he says in way of explanation.

“Thanks, Arthur,” Eames says, but he doesn’t move.

“Don’t you want it?” Arthur asks, suddenly unsure.

“I do,” Eames says. “I really appreciate it. It’s just…I’m really tired, and I can’t feel my body right now. Maybe later?”

Arthur feels a rush of affection for Eames. “It’s okay. Whatever you want.” He leans in and nuzzles Eames. “Go to sleep.”

“Stay with me?” Eames asks.

“Of course,” Arthur says. He circles behind Eames, lying down as close as he can without hurting Eames and staying there when Eames falls asleep.

“Dom,” Mal calls quietly when she comes back. “You must come see this.”

“What is it?” Dom asks from the hallway.

Mal points to Arthur and Eames when Dom comes in. “You were so worried they wouldn’t get along. Look at them now.”

“Should Arthur be that close?” Dom asks, disregarding Mal’s comment.

“He’s fine,” Mal says exasperatedly. “Besides, good luck trying to make him move.”

“They do look comfortable together,” Dom agrees. “They make a good pair.”

Arthur feels a rush of pride at Dom’s words. He shifts closer to Eames, resting his head on Eames’s neck, and drifts off to sleep surrounded by Eames’s comforting scent.

Stop Pretending (That You're Still Breathing)

chaostheorem — Sat, 06 Aug 2011 18:20:51 GMT

Title: Stop Pretending (That You're Still Breathing)
Author: chaostheorem
Team: Angst
Prompt: Lies, Fear
Word Count: 2,379
Rating: R
Beta: eternalsojourn She probably deserves to be named as a collaborator for the amount of work she did ♥
Warnings: Strong language, adult themes (happy ending)
Notes: Title taken from Ellie Goulding's "Your Biggest Mistake." Sequel to "Love Is a Murder," but can be read as a standalone.

Summary: Eames knew he made a mistake leaving Arthur. He just hoped it wasn't too late to fix it.

Originally posted here at ae_match

Eames knocked on the door, foregoing the doorbell for a chance to release some of his nervous energy. He was expecting the door to be slammed in his face as soon as it was opened, but he had to try.

Eames heard footsteps approaching the door. It didn’t open immediately, and Eames knew he was being observed through the peephole. He offered a nervous smile, and the door finally opened.

“Eames? What are you doing here?”

Meeting Cobb’s surprised gaze, Eames answered honestly. “I need to talk to you about Arthur.”

“And you came to me because…?” Cobb asked. He crossed his arms across his chest and leaned against the doorway, subtly blocking Eames from entering the house.

“Because Arthur once said I was welcome here.”

“Yeah, well, Arthur said a lot of things about you once. Doesn’t mean they’re still true.”

Eames sighed. “Let me in, Cobb. We both know you’re going to.”

Cobb glared at Eames for several seconds in the way that only he can, as if by squinting his eyes he could see right into Eames. “Not quite yet,” he said. “You haven’t given me a good enough reason.”

Eames was quickly losing patience, but he calmed himself. He was here for Arthur and he was going to do this properly. “We need to talk because I made a mistake when I left Arthur.”

Cobb looked a bit surprised by Eames’s admission, his eyes widening. “All right, we can talk,” he agreed, standing aside. “But you won’t like what I have to say.”

The warning made Eames want to turn tail and run. Arthur had moved on. His heart felt like it was about to implode, and knowing it was no one’s fault but his own only amplified the pain.

Cobb led him into the family room, sitting in a recliner and waving Eames towards the couch. Eames noted the distinct lack of any offer of refreshments. Once seated, Eames found that he didn’t know what to say.

“Eames?” Cobb asked impatiently.

“This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come.” Eames stood up and made to leave.

“You’re already here. Just say what you wanted to say.”

“No,” Eames insisted. “Arthur’s moved on. I’ll respect that and leave him alone.”

Eames was walking away when Cobb reached out a hand and stopped him. “Why do you say Arthur’s moved on? Have you talked to him?”

Eames shook his head. “I came to you first, in case Arthur had moved on. I didn’t see any reason to interrupt his life if I wouldn’t be welcome even the smallest bit.”

“But what makes you think he’s moved on?”

“You said that I wouldn’t like what you had to say. What am I supposed to think?”

Cobb shook his head slightly and pointed towards the couch again. “I said that because I don’t think you’re good enough for Arthur. You don’t know how many times I’ve told him to find someone else.”

Still standing, Eames tried not to let himself get his hopes up, but he couldn’t help it. “But…” he prompted.

Cobb sighed. “But he hasn’t. He spent the first three months you were gone insisting you would return, but I think he gave up after that.”

“And for the last two months?”

“Nothing,” Cobb said with a small shrug of his shoulders. “He says he isn’t ready for another relationship, but he’s not waiting for you. He’ll find someone else eventually.”

“You think that’s what’s best for him? Someone else?” Eames asked, already knowing the answer.

“Do you honestly think you deserve him after what you did?”

Eames finally sat back down, thinking through his answer before speaking. “Deserve him? No, I don’t deserve him. But that doesn’t change how I feel about him. I would give my life for him, and there’s not many in this world I can say that about.”

Cobb stayed silent for a minute. Eventually, he sighed and seemed to deflate, his anger leaving him. “You need to talk with Arthur. He’s at the zoo with James and Phillipa right now, but they’ll be back in a couple hours. You can wait here.”

“I’ve already got a hotel,” Eames said. “I’ll wait there and talk to Arthur later.”

“All right,” Cobb said. “But before you leave, I want you to know something. If you do this to Arthur again, I will hurt you. We both know I can’t beat you in a fight, but no one is safe when they’re under.”

Eames looked at Cobb appraisingly. Nothing short of killing Arthur would cause Cobb to make good on his threat, but Eames was glad he said it anyway – glad that Arthur had people who were as loyal to him as he was to them.

Leaving the house, Eames made his way back to his hotel and willed the next few hours to pass quickly. He tried to sleep through them, but his mind wouldn’t turn off, and books and movies proved to be ineffective distractions. He took to pacing his room, and then wandered around the hotel when that became too small. He’d explored every inch of the hotel (and had to pretend to be lost when he was caught in an employees only area) before four hours had passed and he felt that he’d given Arthur enough time to get home and cleaned up.

The drive to Arthur’s seemed to take forever, but once he was parked in front of the apartment building, it felt like he’d left the hotel moments before. He was standing at a fork in the path of his life, and while he knew which one he wanted to take, it was completely Arthur’s decision.

Eames left the car and entered the building, taking the stairs to Arthur’s floor. Standing in front of Arthur’s door, he steeled himself and raised his hand and knocked.

Déjà vu gripped him as he heard Arthur come to the door and look through the peephole. The door opened and Eames got his first view of Arthur in almost half a year. Dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, his hair damp, Arthur was standing there with an unreadable expression.

“Cobb said you visited,” Arthur said when Eames didn’t say anything. “You want to talk?”

Eames swallowed and nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, we should talk.”

“Come on in, then.”

Eames stepped inside and then stopped in the entryway while Arthur locked the door behind them, unsure if he could just walk in or not.

Arthur turned and looked surprised to find Eames still standing behind him. “Has it really been so long that you’ve forgotten how to get to the living room?” he asked, his tone giving no indication as to what he was feeling.

Eames shrugged. “I wasn’t sure if I was welcome.”

“I let you in, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Eames agreed, “and please don’t think for one second that I’m not eternally grateful, but why?”

“Why what?” Arthur questioned.

“Why let me in?” Eames asked, not willing to beat around the bush any longer. “Let’s be honest, Arthur, we both know I was a right prat. Worse than that. I was –“

“An idiot,” Arthur cut in. “A jerk, an ass, a stupid motherfucker…You can take your pick.” Arthur’s words were harsh, but he said them with a slight smile.

Eames answered with a self-deprecating grin of his own. “We’ll just go with all of the above, and that will begin to cover it, yeah?” he said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

Arthur gestured to the living room with his head. “Let’s sit down. We shouldn’t have this conversation in the hallway.”

Eames led the way down the hall and settled on the couch, a bit surprised when Arthur chose to sit next to him instead of in his own chair.

“We can skip the pleasantries, right?” Arthur asked. “Are you here to get back together?” He gave off an air of nonchalance, but he stared down at his hands instead of meeting Eames’s eyes.

“If you’ll have me,” Eames said softly.

“Remind me why I should,” Arthur said, a faint note of anger creeping into his voice. “You’re not a smart bet.”

“Maybe not in the past, but I can be. I made a mistake when I left. You were right when you said I was scared, and I think a part of me realized that and it made me angry. I blamed you for things that I didn’t understand and I ran. I’ve learned, though, and if you give me another chance, I won’t make you regret it.”

“Why now? What made you change your mind about relationships?” Arthur asked.

“I’m not sure I have,” Eames said, then winced. “That sounded wrong. I want a relationship with you, Arthur. I’ve always been in love with the bachelor life, moving from bed to bed with no strings attached, and money and a flexible identity make for easy pickings.”

“You’re not exactly helping your case, Eames,” Arthur said with a frown.

“I know, just…I’m trying to make a point, here. I never thought I would ever want to give up bachelorhood, and when we had our anniversary, I panicked, because I hadn’t even realized that what we had was a relationship.”

A look of hurt flashed across Arthur’s face. “How do you live with someone for a year and not consider that a relationship?” Arthur sighed and looked away. “Maybe you should go. I don’t think this is going to work.”

“No, Arthur, please. Just listen,” Eames begged. “I’ve spent the last five months living the supposed life of my dreams and been miserable every second. I thought of you every day, and eventually I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. I enjoyed life as a bachelor, but life with you is so much better. Arthur, I love you – more than I ever thought I could love someone.”

Arthur was silent for several minutes while he thought. Despite the almost frantic need to know, Eames made no try to hurry him.

Finally, Arthur took a deep breath and began to speak. “If I was a third party observer, I would tell myself to run as far away from you as possible. You pulled a dick move, and odds are you’ll do it again.”

Eames opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur cut him off. “Let me finish,” he said. “If I was a third party, I would advise against taking you back, but I’m not. A part of me always believed you would return, and I was hoping you would. I still love you.”

Eames couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. Arthur caught sight of it and raised his hand in warning. “I’m not your toy to play with, Eames. One more fuck up like this and it won’t matter how much I love you. I will leave and never look back.”

Eames took Arthur’s words to heart, but that didn’t stop his grin from getting even bigger as he nodded. Arthur hesitantly smiled back before Eames remembered his activities during the last few months, causing his elation to disappear.

“Arthur, if we’re going to do this, you deserve to know…” Eames began before stopping, unsure of how to continue. He bit the bullet and said, “I haven’t exactly been faithful these past few months.”

Arthur’s smile faded, but he didn’t look angry. “We were broken up,” he said. “I didn’t expect you to become celibate. I didn’t.”

Years of training allowed Eames to keep his face blank, but Arthur knew him well enough to see the betrayal in his eyes.

“Don’t,” Arthur warned. “Do not make me the villain here.”

“No. No, that’s not it,” Eames said, only lying a little. “I was just surprised, is all. Cobb said you hadn’t seen anyone else.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows in amused annoyance. “Believe it or not, I don’t tell Cobb every little detail of my life. Do you think I go to his place every time I have sex and then we gossip about it like teenage girls?”

“Of course not. So…that’s it? We just pick up where we left off?”

Arthur shook his head. “Why don’t we start fresh? And this time we both know we’re in a relationship.”

Eames smiled. “Arthur, would you be terribly averse to me kissing you right now?”

“No, but I am terribly averse to you sitting all the way over there.”

Eames slid over to Arthur, turning toward him and putting one hand on Arthur’s thigh and the other on his cheek. Eames leaned in until their lips were a hairsbreadth apart. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I’ve never had make-up sex.”

Arthur pulled back to look Eames in the eye. “Eames, if you start picking fights just so we can have make-up sex, I will cut off your dick and feed it to a pack of dogs.”

Eames laughed. “A bit like cutting off the nose to spite the face. Sometimes I think you love my cock more than I do. And I love my cock,” he said emphatically.

“We both have every reason to,” Arthur hummed appreciatively. He leaned forward until Eames was on his back and Arthur was straddling him, hands pressing Eames's shoulders into the cushions.

“Now, Mr. Eames,” he said, looking down. “Are you prepared to admit that I am yours and you are mine? If you’re not, you had better leave this minute, because we’re not going to be able to think when we’re through. So if there’s anything else that needs to be said, say it now.”

Eames trailed his hands up and down Arthur’s thighs. “I am yours and you are mine?” he repeated questioningly. He grabbed Arthur’s hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the knuckles. “That might work.”

Arthur smiled fondly. “I think we’re going to need to do a little better than might.”

“Looking for specificity, darling? Eames asked, flashing a grin. His smile dropped slightly, became something quieter, more intimate. “I shall do my best.”

Like Silent Raindrops Fell

chaostheorem — Sat, 09 Jul 2011 03:31:42 GMT

Title: Like Silent Raindrops Fell
Author: chaostheorem
Prompt: Silence
Word Count: 1,265
Rating: R
Warnings: Major character death, mild language, brief sex, unhappy ending
Summary: Eames used to think that being quiet was a weakness. Arthur changed that.
Notes: Title taken from Simon and Garfunkel's "The Sound of Silence"

Originally posted here at the ae_match

Arthur was a quiet person. It was one of the things Eames loved most about him. In the world of dream sharing, being quiet was a weakness that usually meant the person would wind up dead with a teammate's knife in his back, more often literally than figuratively. Not so with Arthur.

**

The first time they met, Arthur greeted Eames with a softly spoken "Nice to meet you, Mr. Eames," and responded to his "The pleasure is all mine, Arthur" with a barely there smile. Eames gave Arthur two years in the business before he went missing, his body either destroyed or stashed somewhere never to be found. Eames felt two years was a generous guess, but there was some indefinable quality about Arthur that wouldn't allow for anything less.

**

The next time Eames worked with Arthur, there was an incident with the chemist. She had apparently decided that the price on his head (a measly $50,000; Eames was offended) was too good to pass up. Arthur, using his quietly devious ways, had discovered the double cross. Eames had gone under for a test run with a live chemist; he woke up with no chemist. As they dumped the body, Arthur never said a word. Eames bumped his prediction up to five years.

**

Arthur was as quiet in his personal life as he was in his professional. When they fell into bed with one another after their fourth job, Arthur didn't make any noise except for tiny gasps of pleasure as Eames thrust into him.

"You're so quiet, darling," Eames panted into Arthur's neck. "Let me hear you."

Arthur obliged and moaned like a whore - loud, over-the-top, and absolutely fake. Eames stilled completely and raised his head to look Arthur in the eyes. Arthur smirked but said nothing, raising his eyebrows questioningly. A grin spread across Eames's face slowly as he started to chuckle.

"How about we make a deal?" Eames suggested, rocking his hips minutely. "You let out all the noises you like, but only if you actually mean them." He picked the pace as soon as he finished speaking.

"Perfect," Arthur breathed. Eames wasn't sure if Arthur was responding to the question or to his renewed movements. With the way Arthur's breath kept catching, he figured it was a bit of both.

After that, Eames came to appreciate Arthur's quietness in a whole new manner.

By the time they worked the Fischer job, Eames decided that Arthur may very well be one of the lucky few of their profession to make it out alive - if a life of questioning reality and running from past enemies could be considered lucky. He also decided that being fuck buddies wasn't enough for him anymore.

To Arthur's credit, when he opened the door to his Seattle apartment to find Eames standing there, holding a suitcase and muttering things about life being too short and seizing opportunities before they passed, he merely stepped aside to let Eames in.

Once they started living together, Eames got to see a different side of Arthur. He was naturally quiet, but he made himself heard in his own way.

Eames was sitting in the living room watching a train wreck of a program that he just couldn't turn away from when he heard Arthur, working on his laptop, mutter a few swear words and then stand up and head into the kitchen.

There were a few seconds when Eames was torn between watching the show or watching Arthur, but Arthur won out. Arthur would always win.

Standing up and making his way to the kitchen, Eames stopped and stared when he saw Arthur pulling the dishes out of the dishwasher and setting them on the counter none too gently.

"Those are dirty," Eames said.

"I know," Arthur said. "That's why I'm washing them." His voice was slightly muffled, as if his jaw was clenched. Eames leaned forward and looked. It was.

Eames didn't say anything else. He just stood there and watched Arthur clean their dishes as if their very lives depended on it. He didn't think anyone had ever used so much elbow grease while washing dishes.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Eames asked after all the dishes were cleaned and put away.

"There's not really anything to talk about," Arthur said. "Just that for such a cutthroat business, we sure work with a lot of incompetent fuckers."

Eames wrapped his arms around Arthur and pulled him close. He lowered his head and nosed at Arthur's neck, laying gentle kisses as he worked his way up to his mouth. "That we do," he whispered against Arthur's lips.

There were a lot of things Eames liked to tease Arthur about. He teased him for his vast collection of sweater vests, his endless supply of ties, his love of historical fiction, his obsession with old movies, and how he talked nonstop whenever he was severely sleep deprived. What Eames loved to tease Arthur about most, though, was his alarm.

He thought Arthur would have a loud, harsh alarm, one that no one could ever sleep through. Instead, Arthur had a gentle chime set to the lowest volume. When Eames teased him that it sounded like angels playing music in a field of daisies, Arthur just explained that he hated waking up to loud noises, and that was that.

When Eames came home from a two-week job in San Francisco and Arthur wasn't there to greet him, he didn't think anything of it. He was probably out grabbing dinner or camped out in a bookstore or some such thing.

Dragging his suitcase behind him, he made his way to the bedroom to unpack. Stepping inside, he froze for a split second before rushing to Arthur, lying on the floor in a puddle of blood. Next to him was the body of a man with a knife sticking out of his chest.

Eames took in the two stab wounds in Arthur's abdomen and the one to his chest. "Jesus Christ, Arthur," Eames breathed. "We have to get you to hospital!" he cried. Arthur merely smiled drowsily.

"Eames," Arthur whispered.

"Arthur. Arthur. Arthur." Eames knew he was babbling inanely, but he couldn't stop himself. "Arthur," he said once again before falling silent. His hands hovered over Arthur without touching before finally settling one against Arthur's cheek.

"Eames," Arthur whispered again. He drew in a deep breath, making Eames flinch at the rattle in his lungs. "I'm glad you're here." Another breath, another rattle. "I love you." A tiny bit of blood began to pool in the corner of his mouth.

"Love you," Eames said. He leaned down and pressed his lips to Arthur's forehead. "I will always love you."

Arthur smiled, his breath coming in quiet gulps. Seconds later, Eames heard Arthur stop gasping for air and felt his body go lax.

Weeks later, after the funeral and the condolences and the tears, Eames finally understood why Arthur had lasted so long in dream sharing when he was so quiet. Eames had never appreciated the difference between quietness and silence, and Arthur, while quiet, had never been silent. He may not have expressed himself with loud gestures or a raised voice, but he damn well made sure he was heard.

And that's what hurt the most about Arthur being gone. Because Arthur was silent now, and Arthur was never silent, and no matter how hard he tried, Eames couldn't escape just how wrong his life was without Arthur because the silence was everywhere.

Love Is a Murder

chaostheorem — Tue, 28 Jun 2011 07:06:41 GMT

Title: Love Is a Murder
Author: chaostheorem
Team: Angst
Prompt: Fear
Word Count: 1227
Rating: PG
Warnings: Does there need to be a warning for no happy ending? If so, let this serve as one.
Summary: "You are worth everything, Arthur. Everything I have in this world. But I can't give you what I don't have."

Originally posted here at the ae_match.

Fear not only anticipates misfortunes that never happen, it also precipitates some that would not otherwise have happened. - Anonymous

Closing and locking the door behind him, Arthur slumped against the wall wearily for a few seconds before trudging down the hall to the living room and lying face down on the couch.

"How was it?"

Arthur raised his head over the arm of the couch to peer through the door of the kitchen. He could just make out Eames standing at the counter chopping something on the cutting board.

"It was exactly what one would expect from an eight-year-old girl's birthday party. It was exhausting," Arthur answered. "I wish you would have come," he said, not intending anything by the words other than to let Eames know that he enjoyed having him around.

Eames sighed as he cupped the food he had just cut in his hands and dropped it into the hot skillet waiting on the stove. "Cobb likes me as a forger, Arthur. Not as a friend. He wouldn't want me at his daughter's birthday."

Arthur sat up and reached for his laptop on the coffee table to check his emails. "That's not true," he said over the sounds of sizzling vegetables. "Cobb even asked about you today."

"Oh, really? Does he have a job lined up?"

"No. He just asked why you didn't come."

Eames leaned backwards so that he could look at Arthur through the doorway. "Why would he think I would come? I don't know Phillipa."

"But you know me. I'm important to the Cobbs, and you're important to me; ergo, you are welcome at their house."

Eames disappeared from view, effectively ending the discussion. Arthur caught up on the news while Eames continued to cook.

"I don't want to do this anymore," Eames said.

Arthur looked up from his laptop to see Eames stepping farther away from the rest of the ingredients he had laid out for dinner. He let out a huff of playful annoyance. "Don't think you're getting out of cooking just because you don't want to. I always cook. It's more than your turn."

Eames walked out of the kitchen and into the living room to lean against the wall. His head rested next to the scaled down print of Picasso's Guernica that Arthur had picked up a few years ago. "I'm serious, Arthur. This...thing we have," he said, waving a hand back and forth between them, "whatever it is...I'm done."

"'This thing we have'?" Arthur repeated incredulously. He closed his laptop and set it on the coffee table before getting up and standing a few feet away from Eames. "It's called a relationship, Eames." His mind raced. He'd suspected Eames would do this at some point, but he had never expected it to be so soon.

"Exactly, Arthur. Relationships aren't something that I do." Eames ran a hand over his face wearily; apparently, he'd been thinking about this for a while. "I'm sorry. I really am."

Arthur looked at Eames. He really did look sorry, which made Arthur's heart clench more than anything Eames had said. It was one thing if Eames was being a heartless bastard, but it was another thing completely seeing Eames's face as the very picture of anguish. He looked right at home next to the painting, with the subjects' faces contorted in agony.

"Why?" Arthur asked. "If you're going to do this, I deserve to know why."

"I told you. I don't do relationships," Eames said, dropping his gaze to the floor.

"Not good enough," Arthur countered. "We've been together for over a year, and practically living together the entire time. That sounds like a relationship to me. What's changed?"

"Nothing's changed. It's just..." Eames sighed heavily, falling silent.

A couple minutes passed in which neither man said anything. Eames stared at the floor the entire time. Finally, Eames spoke, still not looking up. "Our anniversary last month got me thinking. I've never had a one-year anniversary, and there's a good reason for that. I...I don't do relationships because I don't want them. I've never wanted to settle down and raise a family like society expects."

"Jesus, Eames. I don't want kids either!" Arthur exclaimed.

Eames ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Bloody hell, that's beside the point, Arthur," he growled. "I'm not ready to spend the rest of my life with you!"

Arthur's head spun. He felt like the conversation was soaring right over his head. "You're not making any sense! We've never even discussed a future together. When did marriage and growing old together come into play?"

Eames snapped his head up and he met Arthur's eyes for the first time since the exchange began. "If I don't leave now, I won't leave at all," he said. As soon as the words left his mouth, he looked like he wanted to take them back.

Arthur took in the new information and tried to make sense of it. When he felt he had a handle, he said slowly, "So you're leaving because you're happy and that scares you?"

"I'm not scared," Eames spit out. "I don't want a relationship, and yet, here I am, in one. I'm leaving because this is what I want, and I'm sorry if that hurts you in the process, but it's not fair to either of us for me to stay if I'm not happy."

"You're a coward," Arthur said, his voice low and dangerous. "You're happy, but you don't think we can last, so you're leaving now before it gets any harder."

"That's not -" Eames began, but Arthur interrupted him.

"Don't deny it. Just...please don't." Arthur closed his eyes and shook his head, his anger chased away by desperation. "I know you, Eames. I knew when we started this relationship," he said, emphasizing the word heavily, "that you were the 'love 'em and leave 'em' type. I knew it, and it scared the crap out of me, but I was willing to try because the possible gains were worth the risks."

Arthur opened his eyes to see that Eames had closed his. He reached out and cupped Eames's face with both hands. Eames opened his eyes, but he didn't jerk his head away, so Arthur took that as a good sign and continued speaking. "Am I not worth the risk?" he asked.

"God, Arthur," Eames breathed, closing his eyes again. He sounded absolutely broken. He reached up and grabbed Arthur's hands with his own, moving them between them and holding them in one hand. With his other, he reached up and caressed Arthur's cheek with his thumb, his gaze following the movement. His eyes met Arthur's after several seconds. "You are worth everything, Arthur. Everything I have in this world. But I can't give you what I don't have."

Eames pulled his hand away and took a few steps toward the door.

"I love you," Arthur said. He didn't yell or cry or whine. He just stated the words as the fact they were.

Eames stopped and turned his head only enough so that Arthur could see his profile. "You shouldn't."

Eames left. Arthur stood there, numb, until the burning smell emanating from the kitchen forced him to move. He dumped the ruined food in the trash, and then threw the skillet in, too.

Sequel posted here