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At first, he doesn’t notice; he flicks his gaze from one projection to another and watches them interact. He sees an old man offering his elbow to a lady who appears to be his elderly wife as they cross the busy intersection together. He witnesses a kiss shared between a couple in an outdoor café, one that’s quick, as though they don’t really want anyone to see. He passes by a woman who stumbles, her footing lost as the heel of her stiletto breaks. She’s close enough that he can catch her arm and keep her steady. She smiles at him, eyes blue and wide. She says nothing and in a blink her shoe is fixed and she’s back walking down the street, without even a backward glance at him.
“Arthur,” Cobb says and Arthur blinks away. “C’mon, we’ve got work.”
*
Ariadne asks to show him a new layout she’s thought up; he slips the needles under his skin and falls asleep seconds after her.
She’s come up with a building that from the outside looks as though it’s twelve storeys high, but the inside only has two floors. The elevator will never be in service, she says, and the stairs will lead to nowhere.
He will admit that he’s impressed with her imagination. He starts to climb the steps then leans over the balcony and looks up. Hundreds of stairs loom above, but to know that he’s only looking at two flights is remarkable.
Ariadne grins when he tells her so.
He glances once more upwards, then double-takes when he finds someone looking right back at him. It’s a woman, her facial features indistinct from so far up, but her gaze makes Arthur uncomfortable.
“Tell your subconscious to stop staring,” he says as he steps back down to Ariadne’s side.
She shoots him a curious look then moves to the bottom of the stairs and tilts her head back.
“There’s no one there,” she says then shifts the conversation back to architecture. “I was thinking about raising the ceiling a little and adding in some bay windows, that way we can use this place as a vantage point if we need.”
He thinks it’s perfect the way it is, but there’s a reason he’s not the architecture.
*
They’ve been found out.
Ariadne’s already been hit, a bullet square in the heart. Cobb’s behind him, running hard and breathing even harder, but then Arthur hears a sharp yell and then nothing at all. He keeps going, peering over his shoulder briefly; Dom’s gone, but the four men following close behind are gaining ground.
He takes a right, barges straight through a stairwell door and begins climbing, taking the steps two at a time. He figures he can reach the third floor before his pursuers can start upwards. His calves burn and his lungs ache with the strain, but he’s minutes away from completing the task, he just needs a second to read the document that’s crumpled in his hand. He bursts through into the hallway and takes a left, then a right, then another right. The door to room 304 is half open and he doesn’t think twice before he pushes past the woman standing just inside. He wraps an arm around the woman’s waist, pulls her backwards with him as he slams the door with his foot.
“No need to manhandle me,” she says, but doesn’t struggle to get free. He lets her go and she just stands there.
He doesn’t have time to ask her who she is. He rips the envelope open and pulls out two pieces of paper: one has a child’s drawing of a house, two stick figures, and a cat, the other has a list of directions. At the bottom of the page, the words I didn’t mean to kill her stand out above all.
He glances up at the woman across the room, but she doesn’t try to attack him.
He scans back over the page to make sure he has everything he needs to know, and it’s then that the door explodes in a mass of wooden splinters and smoke. He throws his hand up to cover his face and in the seconds he has left, realises that the woman is now gone. There’s a loud rapport from a gun and Arthur finds himself back in an old warehouse.
Eames is beside him looking groggy and Arthur doesn’t remember him being in the dream at all, but – his fingers still as he begins to pull the needle out and he looks over.
“That was you,” he says accusatorily. “You were the woman in 304.”
Eames smiles, lips thin, one eyebrow cocked; he admits to nothing.
*
His mind is an easy escape. It’s open and familiar and all too simple to fall into and lose himself. He says he’s going to run through the next maze, but he finds himself at the end of a bar, gin and tonic in front of him and three empty glasses. He slowly sips it, savouring the bitter tang.
A man slips onto the stool next to him and he acknowledges him with a quick tip of his head. He looks back into his tumbler, swirls the ice around, and when he looks back up she’s sitting across from him, staring easily. She looks familiar, as though he’s seen her more than once before, but she smiles at him and he knows she’ll be coming back with him, to an apartment that only exists in his mind.
He looks away for a brief moment and when he glances back up, she’s gone, but there’s a hand on his shoulder and he can smell perfume.
“Need some company, sweetheart?”
“Only if you’re offering.”
*
He slips a hand around her waist, curls his fingers over her hip and lets her lead the way out. It’s a short walk – he makes it so with just a quick thought – and he soon has her pressed against the inside of the front door, his mouth open and covering hers, his fingertips edging under the hem of her dress. There’s no resistance and it’s all too simple to hitch her up and let her wrap long, shapely legs around his waist; her heels slip off and thud dully against the wooden floor.
He moves his hands to the soft curve of her backside and carries her, hardly paying any attention as he kisses the breath out of her. They knock into a coat rack and send it tumbling to the floor with a loud crash. Arthur pulls away to apologise and make sure she’s okay, but she tangles her fingers into his hair and tugs him back to her.
“Don’t stop,” she whispers.
He lifts her onto the hallway table, shoving aside a phone and a small plastic dish of keys, pushes her knees open wider and steps between them. He breaks the kiss, breathing uneven as he stares down as her. She’s got fight in her eyes and colour in her cheeks, and he’s not afraid to admit that it’s what he looks for in a woman.
She moves to wrap her fingers around his tie, but he grabs a hold of both her wrists and pins them above her head, pressing her skin into the glass of the mirror behind. He bites at her neck and enjoys the clean taste of skin against his tongue. She moans and he digs his teeth in a little sharper.
When he glances up at her, gauging her reaction, it’s then that he notices her reflection.
He double-takes and barely keeps the noise of surprise in his throat. In the mirror, the wrists he has his fingers wrapped around are larger and not at all delicate. The forearms are different, broader and covered in darker hair. He recognises the back of the head reflected in the glass and everything makes sense. Eames never stops following him.
Apparently, Eames’ repertoire includes breaking shoes, climbing stairs, and standing guard in hotel rooms, because Arthur realises Eames has been each and every woman that’s stood out in his dreams.
He doesn’t jolt away as he half expects himself to, though it might be because there are fingers sliding inside the waistband of his pants. Instead, he pushes her back until her head cracks into the mirror and she lets out a small noise of pain. He’s not usually rough, but he’ll make exceptions for Eames.
He tangles a hand into her hair and tugs, exposing her throat for his mouth to latch onto. He drags his tongue down her skin then bites the curve of her neck, just hard enough to make her try to twist away from him.
He really should step back, should tell Eames that he knows, but long legs wrap around his waist and pull him closer and he can feel heat even through his pants. He makes a decision then and there and slips his hands up the backs of her thighs, lifting her up again. She clings to his shoulders and he carries her down the hallway to the bedroom.
He drops her, sans grace, into the pillows and she’s quick enough to curl a hand around his tie and pull him down with her. He lands heavily on top of her, but she doesn’t make a sound and Arthur knows that’s part of Eames slipping through the forgery. He brings their mouths together and kisses her, his movements slow and deep, until she digs her fingertips into his waist and arches up into him.
He sits back on his heels and doesn’t even bother with the zipper of her dress before slipping it up her body and over her head. She flattens her hair and doesn’t take her eyes off him as he unclips the stockings from her garter belt. He rolls the nylon down her leg before throwing it to the floor, repeating it for the other half.
She breathes heavily, her full breasts heaving and barely contained by her bra. Without a word, she twists her hand behind her back and undoes the clasp, letting the straps fall over her shoulders before she tosses it away from them. He quickly takes off his tie and shirt before lowering his head and licking along her collarbone.
Fingers wrap around the back of his head as he trails his mouth over her skin. He finds a nipple that’s hard and warm under his tongue and her nails dig into his skin. He gently bites down, quickly soothing it with his lips after. He moves onto the other nipple as he hooks his thumbs under the elastic of her underwear, dragging the material down, while she lifts her feet to help and he tugs them off easily.
His mouth moves down her body, over her navel, and her legs part in anticipation. He only leaves her waiting a moment, just enough that she hisses out half a curse. He breathes over the skin of her inner thigh then brushes his tongue at the edge of where he knows she wants him. As he presses his lips against her fully she tenses and makes a small noise in the back of her throat, as if it’s what she’s always wanted, but never expected to get – that’s Eames all over. He flicks his tongue against her clit and her legs fall completely open for him.
“Arthur,” she moans, and he doesn’t try to correct her on the fact that he’s never given her his name. She curls her fingers into his disarray hair and clings, as though worried he’ll stop if she lets go. She bucks against his mouth and he gives her everything, tongue flicking and rolling and sliding against her. If anyone is to get the last laugh, he’ll make sure it’s him.
He has to grip her by the hips to keep her from moving too much and he glances up to see her toss her head from side to side, face flushed with pleasure. The hands that are still curled around the back of his head pull him closer and he complies by sliding his tongue into her as far as he can. She pushes down onto it and her breathing stutters – he’s pretty sure she’s close to coming already, but this isn’t how he wants it to end.
He slides his tongue away, mouths at her clit once more, then begins to kiss back up her body, his lips full and thrumming against her skin.
She groans when his mouth leaves her and for a second one hand falls away from his head, slipping down her body towards her parted legs with an obvious destination. He catches her around the wrist and pulls it away, pinning her easily with one hand – though he knows Eames isn’t putting much effort into his struggling. With the other, he works on his belt and pants and he quickly pushes them down his thighs, along with his underwear, until he can slip completely out of them.
He moves up to cover her body and she slides her legs around his waist, trying to pull him down into her, but he holds fast.
“Condom,” he mutters into her open mouth and she pushes a laugh into his face in response.
“This is a dream, sweetheart; you won’t catch anything from me.”
He’s pretty sure Eames has just given himself completely away without meaning to, because he’s certain his subconscious shouldn’t be able to recognise dream from reality. Instead of pointing out the obvious, Arthur slips a hand behind Eames’ knee and slides into the forged body below.
She holds her breath until he’s resting completely inside her, then lets it go in one long rush of air and half-muffled moans when he drags out before slamming back in again. Eames writhes and shifts under him, but Arthur keeps his thrusts slow and long, intent on driving Eames completely insane.
She arches her back and he slips in deeper, drawing a noise from between full lips. Her loud begging and pleading sounds like the bad side of acting, but as he picks up speed and starts rolling his hips, her cries become a little quieter and a little more breathless. She looks a little surprised underneath him and he hides his smirk against her skin; he’s proud to have such an effect on someone like Eames.
She grips his back with neatly trimmed fingernails and starts lifting her hips to meet every thrust.
He half expects there to be some sort of catch, but there isn’t, there’s nothing except the tightness around him and the way she repeats his name, voice sounding more strained with each passing minute. He’s pretty sure Eames has got way more than he first bargained for. He presses his lips to her throat, kissing up under her chin and along her jaw. She breathes heavily into his ear, tracing the point of her tongue around the shell of it.
Arthur likes to think he has stamina, but she’s steadily undoing him. He places his hands either side of her head and braces himself as he speeds his thrusts up, pushing into her with enough force to make her grapple along his back until she seems to realise it’s a lost cause and raises her hands, bracing her palms against the wall to hold herself still. He slips a hand down and waits until her eyes slip shut in pleasure before he gently rubs his thumb over her clit.
Her whole body shakes and her eyes fly open again. She clenches around him and lets out a muffled noise as she turns her head and bites the skin on the inside of her own arm. He carefully strokes her through her climax until she lies still below him, her legs dropping from around his waist and landing softly on the bed. He continues to thrust into her and a moment later he comes with nothing more than a shuddering breath.
Gently pulling out of her, he drags his thumb through the wetness slipping from her body and she jolts as he touches where she’s soft and open, but doesn’t make a sound.
Arthur moves, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and glancing over his shoulder. The body tangled in the bedcovers breathes heavily, long legs splayed, chest quickly rising and falling.
“Did I wear you out, Eames?” he asks casually, running fingers through his hair. Blue eyes flicker to meet his own and for one second – a second that’s far too long to forget – the forgery falters and Arthur sees Eames’ real body, long and pale and covered in a faint sheen of sweat against the dark sheets.
It slips back from sharp edges to soft curves, just a moment too late.
Arthur dips his head, hides his grin, and rises to dress.