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“Fill me with the soft moan of your love”
" Between the cradle and the grave, there is the someone that is me.” –Michel Legrand
EYES
Arthur doesn’t know why but there seems to be a problem with Eames’ eyes. Rather, he has a problem with Eames’ eyes.
He just can’t stop staring at them.
He doesn’t know why he should be drawn to them. They are not of a particularly stunning color or shape. They are as brown as most eyes go, with honey colored flecks in them. And they are shaped like most eyes are. It’s not like they were more rounded or something. Nothing extraordinary, really. But he really can’t stop looking at them and the more he looks, the more he discovers exactly why his attention is drawn to them.
For example, Eames has a way of narrowing his eyes without crinkling the outer corners. When Eames does that, he is certainly pissed off about something. Or he’s concentrating on work. When his eyes do crinkle at the outer corners, it’s because Eames is smiling. The more crinkly the corners are, the bigger the smile. When they crinkle so much that you can barely see his pupils, it’s because Eames is laughing.
Then Eames eyes always widen just a little when he’s confused or surprised. And his eyes have a way of flickering to your face and to another thing that tells you that while he is not looking at you, he is still listening to you. His eyes rarely give anything away but there times when they can say volumes even if his face remains expressionless.
One day, Arthur finds Eames sitting on a reclining chair with earphones on, one arm pillowing his head and the other holding an MP3 player. Curious as to what kind of music Eames listens to, Arthur approaches him and asks. Eames smiles at him and pats the edge of the chair, silently inviting Arthur to sit. Once Arthur sits down, Eames removes one of the earphones and hands it to Arthur.
“Jessye Norman sings Michel Legrand.” Eames answers as he settles back down into the chair.
Arthur is surprised because he never expected this. He always thought Eames leaned towards more popular tunes. But he is more surprised by the lyrics that are flowing into his consciousness.
Those tomorrows waiting deep in your eyes
In the world of love you keep in your eyes
I’ll awaken what’s asleep in your eyes
It may take a kiss or two
Through all of my life
Summer, Winter, Spring and Fall of my life
All I ever will recall of my life
Is all of my life with you…*
Arthur’s throat and mouth suddenly goes dry. His mind immediately screams that Eames has planned this, that this is Eames secretly telling him that he has caught Arthur staring at him and that…it’s okay with him?...
Arthur gives his mind a little shake. Seriously, there was no reason to make a big deal out of it. Eames couldn’t have known that Arthur would walk in and ask him what he was listening to. For all he knows, Arthur could have just passed him with a quick hello and that would have been their interaction for the morning. There was no way that this was planned
Besides, Arthur is sure that he has never let it slipped that he is sometimes making a study of Eames. He is too aware of himself to let that happen. There was no way, just no way. And yet…
Then those lyrics sound again in his ear and Eames is mouthing them while staring at Arthur through half lidded eyes. Arthur’s mind does a double take and tells him emphatically that this has been planned. Eames is seducing you. He ignores that and just schools his face into indifference. He can’t imagine why Eames would be seducing him or why Eames would have any interest in him outside of work.
A small frown creases Eames’ forehead and Arthur knows that look. It’s the look Eames wears when he has something to say but doesn’t know how to. He continues to look at Eames, his face never revealing the fact that his pulse has begun to race as Eames lifts his arm and rests the back of his hand against Arthur’s cheek. As if it is programmed to do so, his cheek starts to feel warmer. Then he is aware that another song has started and the lyrics throw him off balance.
There’s ever plan you dare to make
And every dream you dare to dream
There’s every word you hope to say
All that’s yet to be
All that ought to be
All that has to be…**
And then Arthur is thinking that Eames really has this planned. And Arthur wonders why he doesn’t pull away from Eames’ touch, and why he feels comfortable there, and why Eames’ hand is no longer on his cheek but is making its way down his arm until, at last, it closes itself over Arthur’s hand. Arthur thinks that he really should pull away because they are starting to walk down a very dangerous path but why is it that he can’t bring himself to do so?
And Arthur closes his eyes because he knows that they have betrayed him and Eames has seen the turmoil within and he is smiling contentedly.
Bastard.
Arthur opens his eyes just as he hears Ariadne’s and Yusuf’s voices drifting into the room. He starts to pull away but Eames’ tightens his grip. His gaze whips to Eames and he wishes he hadn’t looked because Eames eyes are telling him something. We are not through here.
Arthur stands up, yanking his hand out of Eames’ and he walks over to a PASIV machine. When Ariadne and Yusuf enter the room, they see Eames on a reclining chair with a pained look directed at Arthur’s back. They are smart enough not to ask what’s going on.
Arthur looks up from the machine he’s pretending to tinker with and greets them, all the while remembering the lesson he learned after his first kill.
Don’t look into the eyes of those you kill. They will haunt you forever.
Arthur shakes his head a little as he curses softly. Dead or alive, Eames will haunt him forever…him and those damn eyes of his.
VOICE
Arthur has been blinded in this dream.
Of all the confounded things to happen, two flash bangs went off almost simultaneously in the direction Arthur was looking. Where they came from, Arthur doesn’t know but all things be damned his eyes hurt like they were being skewered. He has to close his eyelids tightly to keep from keening in pain.
While he’s blinded like this, Arthur knows that he is useless. He can’t see any of the projections and this realization makes him panic like never before. He knows that this panic is irrational because if he dies here, he’ll just wake up. They’re not as heavily sedated so there’s no chance of him slipping into limbo. But still… this has never happened to him before.
When he hears the crunch of boots against rubble, Arthur stiffens and trains his gun in the direction (hopefully) of the sound. His finger brushes against the trigger when the sound of footsteps gets closer.
A hand on his shoulders tells him that he’s pointing his gun in the wrong direction. In a flash, Arthur whips around and tries to hit whoever has touched him with the gun. Strangely familiar hands grip his and wrestle the gun out of his grasp. Arthur tries to get those hands into an aikido grip so he can flip his opponent over.
But before he can do that, one hand grips his face and then he can feel the brush of an unshaved jaw line against his cheek. Then there is a starkly familiar voice, rough with emotion and yet smooth as velvet, whispering his name over and over.
“Arthur, love, it’s me.”
And no name has to be mentioned because Arthurs knows exactly who owns that voice. He sighs in relief and rests his forehead on Eames’ shoulder. Eames’ voice is the best thing Arthur has heard since the gunfire started so Arthur is glad that Eames doesn’t stop whispering his name. It calms him down until finally he can form coherent thoughts.
“Eames,” He whispers hoarsely, “I can’t see.”
“It’s okay, darling.” Eames answers, rubbing one of his thumbs along Arthur’s orbital bone. “I’ll be your eyes.”
Eames then tilts his head backwards and Arthur wonders what he’s going to do. His mind goes blank for a moment when he feels Eames’ lips kissing his eyes. Arthur sighs again and leans into it.
“Come on. Let’s make our way out of this hellhole.” Eames says, moving to stand behind.
With his hand gently gripping Arthur’s shoulder and his lips always just inches away from Arthur’s ear, Eames leads Arthur to where they have to be. He steers Arthur around corners, telling him where there are steps or any stumbling blocks. When he tells Arthur to duck, Arthur does so without hesitation because it is Eames telling him to do so and Eames’ voices, no matter how imperative it sounded, was still ragged with an emotion that Arthur has identified as fright.
Arthur wonders what has gotten to Eames. There is no reason for Eames to be frightened. Nothing at all…
Moments later, they are being rained down by bullets. Eames pulls him into a room and shuts the door. There, Eames asks him if he has been hit and Arthur notices that now, Eames’ voice is not only filled with fright, it is also filled with concern. His brows furrows as his vision has started to clear. He can only see a vague out line of Eames but there is no mistaking how flustered Eames is.
Arthur wants to tell him that he is all right, that he hasn’t been hit but Eames rattling away the things they should do in that voice stops Arthur. He thinks that it is best that Eames just let it all out. When everything outside has settled, Eames takes Arthur’s hand and leads him out of the room.
A few meters after, Eames tells him to be careful because there are steps ahead. Arthur smiles because he can already see clearly. He points out that fact to Eames who shrugs but turns to him with a concerned look.
Then Eames says, “Be more careful, love.” And his voice cracks when he says that.
And Arthur can’t help embracing Eames, promising silently that he will because he realizes suddenly that even in a dream, Eames is afraid of losing him.
LIPS
Even after he’s unhooked from the PASIV machine, Arthur still feels a sting where a projection’s sword sliced his cheek, millimeters from his lips. He and Eames are already in another hotel, far from the one with the subject in it but this does nothing for Arthur’s nerves. He doesn’t show it but inside he is deeply shaken.
Sure, he had been attacked by projections before but never with such ferocity of purpose. Those projections had meant to make him suffer and kill him, not just expel him from the subject’s mind. And it wasn’t just militarized projections. He’d seen those before. It’s like the mark had trained his subconscious to make any intruder suffer as a sort of fuck-off-my-mind-you-bastard.
He’d seen how those projections had a go at Eames, how one had given Eames several hard punches to the jaw. Seconds later, a sword had sliced clean through his skin and muscle until there was a gaping hole to the inside of his freaking mouth. He’d actually felt the tip of the blade scratching his teeth! And it was only after a few more punches were delivered that they’d died and woken up from the dream.
Unthinkingly, Arthur reaches up to his cheek and prods it a little just to make sure that there isn’t a sliver of a wound there.
Eames is then beside him, taking hold of his hand and pulling it away from his face. Arthur is startled and his frazzled mind starts jumping to all kinds of conclusions but he is not totally out of it that he doesn’t notice Eames cringing the tiniest bit when he moves his lips.
He slows down his breathing to keep himself in check. There is no reason to make a big deal of what Eames is doing. He is certainly concerned, that is all. It is just like Eames, after all, to spot that something was wrong. And he’s good at spotting hidden things too, especially where Arthur was concerned.
A frown creases Arthur’s forehead as he tries to make sense of what he has just thought but doesn’t go any further because Eames takes two steps too close to him.
“What’s wrong? There’s no wound, love.” Eames whispers in a comforting tone that confirms all of Arthur’s previous thoughts.
Arthurs wets his lips and is a little taken aback when something like longing flashes in Eames’ eyes. But all he says is: “It still stings.”
Suddenly, Eames’ lips are on his cheek, on the exact spot where the wound would be if it were real. Christ, those lips are dangerously close to his own and Arthur is hard pressed not to turn and meld their lips together in a proper kiss.
It was for the briefest moment but Arthur feels like his knees have turned to Jell-o and he just knows that Eames will not miss the blush creeping over his cheeks.
“What was that for?” Arthur stammers, trying not to sound offended because, hell, he is certainly not.
“My mum used to say that a kiss was all it took to take any pain away. Consider it a favor, yeah?” Eames answers as a smug smile tugs his lips.
“Uh huh.” Arthur looks down and shivers involuntarily. It certainly has distracted him from the lingering pain but now the smile on Eames face annoys him. Eames must know what effect that had on him. The smug smile says he did. Arthur wants to punch it off his face but he can’t seem to summon the effort.
“I’ll get you a cup of tea, yeah?” Eames says. He moves towards the mini bar which also has a water heater, two mugs and a small tray of tea bags and sachets of creamer and sugar.
Arthur raises his head faster than he would’ve wanted to and that is clearly also not lost on Eames whose brow rises by a fraction. Arthur forces a smile on his face.
“I’m fine. I think I got everything I need here.” He says, moving towards Eames.
And before Eames can do anything, Arthur closes the distance between them and plants a kiss—a longer lasting kiss—on Eames’ lips. Arthur can feel Eames’ lips moving and he can see that the smug smile has been replaced by an amused smile.
When Arthur pulls away, Eames asks him what that was for.
“Just returning the favor.” Arthur answers as he leans in for another kiss.
SKIN
This is what a man should smell like, Arthur thinks as he nuzzles Eames’ neck. He then laughs at himself because he’s also a man and he’s convinced that he couldn’t and shouldn’t smell like that because that scent is uniquely Eames. Only Eames has the right to smell like that and by all that was real, Arthur means to keep it that way.
“What are you doing?” Eames whispers. “I didn’t think you’d take being my pet seriously, love, and start sniffing me.”
Arthur pinches Eames’ arms even though he knows it’s no use because Eames is all muscles and gentle hardness.
The first time Arthur sees Eames, he thinks that this man can’t possibly care about himself, not with the eyesore of a shirt he’s wearing and the scruff he is sporting. But Arthur is very quickly proven wrong. Eames can and does have a very good personal routine. Hell, he even uses the most moisturizing lotion all over his body, which, Arthur discovers, is his secret to the best skin Arthur has ever seen on a man.
Now, Arthur can’t get enough of that skin. He is always tempted to smell it, bite it, lick it and do all sorts of things with it (except for wounding it). And why should he not be tempted when Eames had the penchant for showing it off all the time? In the apartment that they lived in together, Eames always seemed to be half naked a lot of the time.
Sometimes, Eames walks around with a pajama bottom on but with no shirt. Other times, he’ll have a shirt on but absolutely no bottoms. At first, those antics of his flustered Arthur but the longer they lived together, the more Arthur became used to that. Which was probably why Eames came up with the idea of going stark naked when they were at home.
The first and last time he did that, Arthur had marched Eames to the bathroom and shoved random items of clothing into his hands, telling him that it was indecent for him to walk around such. Eames had smirked and answered that the only thing indecent about it for Arthur was that he was far too distracted when Eames was naked so he couldn’t get any work done.
Arthur had punched him lightly on the chest for that, which elicited a wounded puppy look from Eames and a question about when he could be in all of his naked glory. Arthur had answered “Only in the bedroom, Mr. Eames.” And Eames had taken it seriously. He followed that order. Most of the time.
And Arthur no longer has the strength to tell Eames off because, really, he’d rather have Eames naked than have him cover up that wonderful skin in any of his eyesore of an outfit.
AFFECTION
Eames loves him.
Arthur knows that even if Eames hasn’t said the three magical words.
But Arthur doesn’t need to hear those words because he already knows.
Still, it is a pleasant surprise when, at one karaoke party with others, Eames picks up the microphone and starts to sing a song by the Plain White T’s that Arthur is not familiar with. Arthur resists the urge to covers his ears because, although he loves Eames’ voice, he really shouldn’t be singing. Besides, Eames looks too gorgeous to put down, especially since he’s swaying his hips while he sings.
There’s only one thing to do
Three words
For you
Then Eames suddenly whips towards Arthur, points a finger at him and sings, “I love you.”
Arthur barely registers that Yusuf is howling with laughter while Ariadne is shrieking, “Oh my god!” continuously.
He can only concentrate on Eames and how he’s singing “There’s only one way to say those three words. That’s what I’ll do. I love you.” And how his ears have started to burn. Cobb wakes him from his semi-trance when he hands Arthur a cold beer and says “Now you know.”
Arthur shakes his head.
No. He’s always known.
*What are you doing the rest of your life, Michel Legrand
**Between Yesterday and Tomorrow, Michel Legrand