Work Text:
“I want to see you in every kind of light.” -Michel Legrand
“…I touch your absence here
Remembering the speeches of your hair” –Carlos A. Angeles
SEEING
It’s a given with Eames’ job that he has to be observant. The smallest mannerism doesn’t escape him. Sometimes, Eames likes to categorize the things he’s observed. It’s like putting certain mannerisms into boxes for ease in future use.
For example, when he first meets Arthur, what sticks is how clean and tidy he is. Eames then notices that while Arthur’s imagination is not really up to his par, Arthur does make it up with being methodical and punctual.
Eames instantly classifies Arthur as anal retentive but does a double take when his mind conjures up images that were very far from what he actually meant when he classified Arthur as such. It must have been the way Arthur’s adorable dimples peek out even when he is glaring at Eames. Or the way Arthur sometimes runs his hand down the front of his shirt as if he’s unconsciously smoothing the wrinkles there. Or the way that—Eames stops thinking about it because he is sure that Arthur doesn’t swing that way. And he was not one to pine.
But the damage is done, although the effect is not seen until later on. Eames realizes it immediately one day when a projection of Arthur walks into one of his dreams. This projection Arthur has ruffled hair and his clothes are not as spic and span. It was like this Arthur had just gotten out of bed and was not in the mood to think about his clothes because all he could think about was what had just occurred in the bed with Eames.
That alarms Eames. When a particular projection acts the way Eames would’ve wanted them to act in real life, it is a sign that Eames is giving more thought to that person than is platonically reasonable. It is the beginning of Eames’ pining.
Eames wakes up immediately from another of that kind of dream—a longer one—and curses when he sees that he’s hooked to a PASIV machine. Dreaming with a PASIV machine and natural dreaming was no different to the common man. To the trained man, however, the dreams induced by a PASIV machine were more lucid and more controllable. Hence, it was easier to get lost in them. And it was easier to be tempted to keep hooking up to the PASIV to dream specific dreams.
He breathes in sharply. There was no way he was walking down that path, especially not with someone he was working with from time to time…especially not with someone he may be developing feelings for.
And he wasn’t going to lose control of his mind either while hooked up to machine. The last thing Eames wants is to have someone—anyone—walk in on a dream with that projection Arthur sauntering about. Well, no one was rude or stupid enough to barge in on any one of them while they were connected to the PASIV machine unless they had an invitation but Eames was not having it.
He nearly curses again when he notices that Arthur is staring intently at him just a table away. His breath hitches in his throat for the barest of seconds. Like him, it is Arthur’s business to be observant and although Eames is sure he doesn’t talk in his sleep, he is unsure if he does other things when he is asleep. There is no telling if Arthur had caught any mannerisms of his that would have given away the content of his dream.
“Penny for your thoughts, darling?” Eames says with as much bravado as he can muster to distract Arthur.
“Two cents for yours?” Arthur replies instantly.
Touché, Eames thinks and he is momentarily distracted by that blasted dimple. Then he notices that for the first time Arthur is not in a suit. He is wearing a rumpled gray shirt and black cotton pajama bottoms. He instantly remembers that Arthur and Cobb were going to have one of their all-nighter sessions. Maybe Arthur wanted to be comfortable throughout the night? Arthur stands up and stretches while he walks towards him.
Eames is then distracted again by Arthur’s shirt. It is a weird shirt because while the sleeves are a little too big and it is a little too wide, the shirt itself is also a little too short. When Arthur stretches his arms above him, Eames catches a glimpse of a flat stomach and belly button. Was the shirt really too short or did Arthur wear his pants a little lower than most men?
Eames grinds his teeth to stop himself from banging his head on the table. He had to remind himself that he should really stop thinking of Arthur in that way because he doesn’t and wouldn’t swing in Eames’ way. Besides, he’s seen Arthur flirt with some girls. The gentleman in him had no heart to butt in.
But Arthur is suddenly in kneeling in front of him, dimples and all, and Eames has to put a plug on certain thoughts that edge their way into his mind.
“Did you lose your tongue in the dream?” Arthur asks with a raised brow.
Eames snorts. “Very funny, love. The dream was rather pleasant, thank you very much.”
“Really? Like having sex kind of pleasant?” Arthur chides innocently.
His eye twitches at that. The hell! Eames thinks, Did I do something to give something away? But all he does is to level his gaze and answer coolly, “Something like that, yeah.”
He hoped that that would disarm Arthur just enough to stop him from prying deeper. It works because Arthur stands up and takes a few steps back. A sheepish grin appears on his face and he scratches the back of his head.
With an awkward laugh, Arthur says, “Okay. I’ll leave you to it then.”
“Right you are, love.” Eames says as Arthur turns and heads out of the room.
Eames follows Arthur with his eyes until the door shuts behind him. Then he leans back and sighs.
All things be damned, Eames cannot believe how that pajama bottom clings to Arthur’s well toned backside.
HEARING
Eames doesn’t like the snide comments Arthur aims at him.
It’s not that Eames is onion skinned. Well, maybe he is when it comes to Arthur. But, really, Eames tells himself, there is a deeper reason why he always feels a tinge of hurt when Arthur takes a verbal swipe at him. Of course, his pride and training and instincts won’t let him show his feelings. Or maybe he does with the sharp counter attacks he makes?
What he’s getting at is that why should his and Arthur’s conversations—if they can be called that—always be like going to battle when Arthur seems capable of talking like a normal human to everyone? Should Eames feel special or something? They rarely meet outside of work too. When they do, it is short and quick, not long enough to have conversations worth appreciating.
He suddenly remembers a quote from his school days that goes something like the more you hate, the more you love. That is ridiculous, of course. If you love someone, you love someone. If you hate someone…Were those snide remarks a sign that Arthur disliked him? Well, he has good reason after all the little shit Eames has pulled on him before. And at least Arthur feels something for him. Better that than total indifference.
But if Arthur does dislike him and those verbal attacks were his way of showing it, then it is such a shame because Eames likes Arthur’s voice. He really, really, likes Arthur’s voice.
And for once, he’d like to have Arthur say something with that voice that will cause Eames to reel over, to stop for a second, to smile (disarmingly), to have a fluttering heart or—by God and the Queen—to make him blush.
But Eames remains cool externally and he continues to give as good as he gets. Sometimes, even better and he loves it when Arthur frowns at having been pawned, when Arthur works his mouth, trying to come up with a good comeback and then settles for one of those adorable looks. I will get back at you one of these days, Mr. Eames.
God, he’ll admit now that he loves everything about Arthur. And if he can’t have him now (because that damned bastard is flirting with other girls and Eames is still a gentleman), can he at least have one good conversation to remember him by?
Eames feels like an idiot, what with pining for Arthur like that. Really, a grown man like him should not fall so easily. It’s like he’s a sitting duck. A little small talk, a smile and he’s stuck[1]. What makes it worse is that Arthur still doesn’t know what he’s done to Eames. And if he does, it’ll be because Eames has confessed and Eames is not about to do that because he cannot see how he’ll handle Arthur’s inevitable rejection.
And he was not giving that bastard the upper hand. If anyone is going to confess love, it’s going to be Arthur to Eames.
Holding a beer bottle in one hand and sitting on the porch of Cobb’s house, Eames bites the inside of his cheek. He should not be thinking such thoughts now. He should not be thinking such thoughts at all. He glances at the bottle of beer and mentally berates him for breaking down his mental barriers. He looks at the view from the porch that is colored golden by the setting sun and scolds them as well.
Cobb had invited them for drinks and a barbecue while Mal was in France to attend to something. Cobb is now upstairs, putting his children to bed. As for Arthur…
The screen door swings and the object of his thoughts walks out with two bottles of beer in hand. Arthur turns to his left, sees Eames, sees the empty wicker chair beside Eames, shrugs and moves towards it.
Instinctively, Eames quips, “You going to drink that all, pet?”
Arthur deliberately steps on his left foot and smirks when Eames jolts upright and lets out a small sound of pain. He sits on the wicker chair and hands one of the bottles to Eames. Doing all of that with that damned smirk and doubly damned dimples on his face.
“I was thinking of enjoying the view here and giving you a beer while I’m at it.” Arthur says.
Eames lifts his hand and tilts the bottle he is holding towards Arthur. “I already have one, darling.”
“And I’ll win any bet that that has been in your hand for some while now and is warm.” Arthur wrinkles his nose, “Can’t taste better than chilled beer, can it?”
Eames stares at the bottle Arthur is offering. Well, he does have a point. He carefully places the bottle he is holding on the floor and takes the one from Arthur. Just to see what his reaction would be, Eames rests his fingertips on Arthur’s fingers and lets it linger there longer than it should.
Arthur’s gaze flickers downwards and he breathes in a little too sharply. But while Eames tries to figure out if he really did see that happening, Arthur withdraws his fingers and proceeds to sip his beer as he stares out into the sunset.
Eames looks at the bottle in his hand and he can’t help wondering what he should do now. Should he try to chat up Arthur, because that is what he’s always wanted to do? But then what should he say that won’t lead to another verbal tussle? He’s not about to start with those boring small talk questions. How’s your mum? The weather’s lovely, yeah? He groans inwardly.
“Silence suits you, Mr. Eames.” Arthur says.
And, unexpectedly, Eames is disarmed with those six words. His mind runs helter-skelter with figuring out an appropriate response for that. Should it be a sharp response because, technically, that could have been a jab? Or should it be something softer because it could have been a friendly tease?
Whatever. All Eames says is, “Same with you, darling.” And he is satisfied with how neutral that comes out.
Apparently, so is Arthur. He smiles and continues to sip his beer with that adorable faraway look. Eames resists the temptation to scoot his chair closer to Arthur’s so that his fingertips can brush against Arthur’s hand accidentally.
Minutes pass and Eames is genuinely surprised when he realizes later just how many minutes have passed. It is dark now and Cobb hasn’t turned on the porch light. Maybe he has forgotten about his remaining guests, engrossed as he is with his kids (later he learns that Cobb actually fell asleep with his kids)? Eames doesn’t mind. He’s happy that Cobb is with his children and he is happy that this moment with Arthur isn’t disturbed.
Arthur picks up the bottle he left on the floor and stands up, declaring that he is hungry. Maybe they could have a go at the leftovers? Eames smiles at the invitation and makes his way to the door. By some stroke of accident, he and Arthur try to pass through the door at the same time which ends up with them being awkwardly positioned, almost chest to chest.
Arthur instantly frowns at the significantly tiny gap between the both of them. Eames just stares down at him, waiting for him to make the first move. When Arthur looks up at him, Eames sees several things flash so quickly in his eyes that Eames has trouble identifying them. And it frightens him a little.
He decides that he should make the first move but Arthur beats him to it. Arthur places a hand on Eames’ chest—of all places!—right above his heart. Then he whispers, “Excuse me, Mr. Eames.”
“Of course, love.” Was his breathy reply as he moves out of the way.
To his surprise, Arthur’s hand doesn’t leave his chest. He lets his hand slide across as Eames moves away. It leaves Eames slightly dumbfounded. That was… He doesn’t go inside. Instead, he returns to his seat and collapses on it. That didn’t just…Eames cannot think straight.
Arthur returns with a bowl of buffalo wings in one hand and a smaller empty bowl in the other.
“Can you hold that, please?” Arthur asks, handing the smaller bowl to Eames, “I don’t want to be accused of littering.”
Eames takes it and watches as Arthur sits down and holds the bowl of wings out to him.
“Buffalo wings, Mr. Eames?”
Eames smiles and takes one. While he is eating it, he notices that Arthur is looking at him intently like he is trying to tattoo Eames in his mind and this makes Eames slightly giddy. When Arthur realizes what he is doing, he clears his throat and quickly grabs a wing.
They sit there in perfectly comfortable silence (which Eames discovers is just dandy with him) until Cobb finally turns on the porch lights and Arthur finishes the last of the buffalo wings.
SMELLING
They are two levels deep in the dream.
In the level above, Yusuf is driving a van that is carrying the team and that van is taking a roll down a lengthy embankment. In the level that they are in, Cobb is dealing with the mark in one room while Eames and Arthur are in a cramp elevator. With each turn of the van in the level above, all of them are taking a tumble. Arthur is unfazed by it but Eames is starting to feel the effects of vertigo.
“Yusuf and his shitty driving!” He mutters even if, truth be told, he doesn’t mind at all.
Because with his inexperience with this kind of tumbling, Eames finds himself falling against Arthur a lot. At first, the smaller man deftly shoves him aside but after more rolling about and hitting each other, Arthur finally realizes that it’s better to keep a hold on Eames. Both of them now have sore spots from where Eames keeps bumping off of.
And Eames is happy with the arrangement but there’s only a self-satisfied smile on his face to show for that. Arthur is holding him half an arm’s length away. He has never been this close to Arthur. Well, except that time when they had the barbecue at Cobb’s. That was months ago and he hasn’t been in touch with Arthur much in between then and now. So he is gleeful (and a little remorseful for being gleeful) when Arthur hits his elbow against the corner of the elevator doorway.
Arthur cringes and releases Eames just when they take another tumble. Eames falls flat against Arthur. Ever the gentleman, Eames thinks about the bruises Arthur is going to have, what with his weight falling on him and the continued tumbling. So he takes this chance to chastely wrap his arms around Arthur, placing one of his hands under Arthur’s head.
They take another tumble and Eames finds his nose pressed against Arthur’s neck. He inhales and sighs softly. This. This is how he’d always imagined Arthur would smell: clean and fresh like the sea breeze or newly laundered clothes. Eames loves it and he finds his hand moving to cup Arthur’s cheek so that he can press his nose closer.
Then he feels Arthur’s arms on his back and Arthur is gripping his shirt tightly. He feels the tip of Arthur’s nose graze his neck which causes his breath to hitch. Eames’ mind goes into a very brief panic attack over whether or not he had put on some cologne. It doesn’t matter much soon because Arthur’s breath caresses his skin as he rests his forehead on his shoulder and Eames’ mind starts to do its own rolls.
“You smell good, Mr. Eames.” Arthur says in the barest of whispers.
“So do you, love.” He replies, his lips brushing against Arthur’s skin.
“Hmm-mmm” is all that comes out from Arthur and Eames is tempted to think that that is a sound of pleasure.
They slide to the floor as the rolling stops but neither of them moves. They stay there as is until Arthur says his name and Eames lifts himself up a little to look at the other man. Eames is not ready for what he sees.
There is a satisfied smile on Arthur’s lips but a question and an expectation in his eyes. It’s like Arthur is happy with what has just occurred but he also wants a guarantee from Eames that it is what he thinks it is.
Shitty timing, my boy, Eames thinks. He wants to assure Arthur but, dammit, they were working. In a very unstable environment, he might add, and he’s always thought that when he told Arthur it would be all set up properly with a bed nearby. Not in a shitty elevator with the danger of having the mark’s projections attacking them hanging over their heads.
Shitty timing.
“We’re working.” Cobb’s voice cuts through the moment.
Mentally, Eames thanks Cobb for sparing him the agony. On the other hand, he’d rather have stayed there in silence, staring down at Arthur. But work is work and Eames’ work ethic has never been called into question before.
Eames grins while he stands up, “Well yeah. I’ve been working Arthur.”
He doesn’t care what Arthur will make of that statement. They are both adults, after all, and that’s about as much of a confession Eames is going to make now. He knows Cobb has gotten it and he’s not particularly worried about Arthur really…Not after what happened in the elevator.
Eames rakes his hair, turns to Arthur and gives him his most charming smile. “Shall we be going then, darling?” He turns and walks away, not bothering to wait for Arthur’s response.
Silently, he promises to make it up to Arthur in real life.
TOUCHING
“Are you all right, Mr. Eames?” Arthur shouts over the gunfire.
“Perfectly fine, darling.” Eames replies as he takes aim and shoots, hitting two projections at once.
“Are you sure?” Arthur ducks away from the window and reloads his gun.
He raises a brow, “Your concern is flattering. Thank you, pet.”
Just then, he hears a bullet zinging dangerously close to his ear. He moves away from the window but is too late. Two bullets hit him, one in his shoulder and the other in his arm. He clamps his mouth tightly as a groan of pain escapes his lips. He sees Arthur turn sharply towards him and frown.
“Danica!” Arthur calls to their other teammate. “Cover us here. Eames is down!”
“Hardly, love.” Eames answers through gritted teeth.
The pain is searing his body and for a few moments, that is all he can concentrate on. Then Arthur is holding him by his arms, helping him up and leading him farther in the warehouse. He tells Eames to sit on the table so that he can have a look at the wounds.
“None of them hit my heart, darling.” Eames says.
“Yes.” Arthur replies as he unbuttons Eames’ shirt, “But we are using Yusuf’s sedative, remember? If you bleed to death, you’re going to slip in deeper. And I can’t have that.”
Eames looks at Arthur in surprise, “You?”
A frown appears on Arthur’s face and he looks like he wants to strangle himself for saying too much. In his head, Eames is doing a little jig. Freudian slip or not, that meant that Arthur was also thinking about him. He shakes his head and smiles as Arthur proceeds to patch up his wounds.
Eames turns his attention away from the pain and directs them at Arthur’s hands. They are pale and more like a woman’s hands, what with those slim fingers. But Eames remembers what Arthur has done with those hands, how well they have handled any kind of weapon…how they can turn anything into a weapon, even a person’s own arms. He remembers that even as Arthur’s hands are deftly removing the bullets from his body, they have placed a hundred more in different bodies, both in dreams and in real life.
Sometimes, Arthur’s hands scare him just a little.
But at the same time, Arthur’s hands are capable of gentleness and this very moment is proof of that. They firmly but tenderly grip his shoulder as he dabs antiseptic on the wound. Eames hisses as the pain shoots through his body and Arthur apologizes but Eames tells him that is all right because he really appreciates the way Arthur applies the antiseptic more gently to his other wound.
He appreciates how careful Arthur is when he puts a gauze patch over the wound and pats it to keep it in place. He likes how Arthur’s fingertips presses down on the medical tape to keep the gauze in place and Eames wonders how it would like to have Arthur’s touch all over him.
“Well, Mr. Eames, what are you going to do about us?” Arthur suddenly asks as he buttons Eames’ shirt.
“Keep shooting at the projections, I imagine.” Eames answers instantly.
“That’s not what I meant…” Arthurs says, averting his eyes.
“What did you—” It takes only a second exactly for Eames to understand what Arthur meant.
But Eames is interrupted by Cobb who declares that he has gotten the information they need and that they needed to get into the elevator for the kick. Eames jumps off the table and, instinctively takes Arthur’s hand as he starts to run to Cobb. Once all of them are inside the rusty elevator, Danica slides the doors shut and detonates the bombs attached outside.
As they are falling, Eames notices that Arthur’s hand is still in his and that now, Arthur is entwining their fingers together. He gaze jumps to Arthur’s face where there is that same satisfied smile he has worn in another shitty elevator just a month ago.
“Arthur, love.” He whispers so low that only Arthur can hear.
But he doesn’t finish because he is waking up in the first level of the dream and then in the real world and all he can think now is getting away from the mark.
TASTING
They are leaving the hotel where the mark is. Eames is about to get into a taxi when Arthur grabs his arm and half drags him across the street to another hotel. All Eames can do is to follow Arthur because, if he had to admit, he was curious about where this was going.
Arthur goes up to the reception desk and pulls out his wallet. From the wallet, he pulls out what looks like a loyalty card or something. When the receptionist sees this, her smile widens and she tells him that a room is available for him. Arthur takes his card and the key, thanks the receptionist and pulls Eames towards the elevator.
Eames wants to say something but he is lost for words. And really, he’d rather not spoil anything by saying something stupid. So he keeps his mouth shut and dutifully follows Arthur.
Once they are inside the room, Arthur turns to him with a serious expression and asks, “So what are you going to do about us, Mr. Eames?”
Eames knows exactly where Arthur is going with that question but he can’t help but play around a bit. He replies, “What about us exactly?”
“It’s obvious you have feelings for me.” Arthur answers with a gesture.
Eames snorts as he walks farther into the room. “And you figured that out on your own, darling?”
Arthur’s expression changes to the one he wears when Eames gets the upper hand on him. It’s a mixture of denial and defeat and it is absolutely endearing.
“No.” Arthur says after a pause. “Cobb told me.”
“Why do you think Cobb told you?” Eames asks, then he immediately holds up a hand to stop Arthur from answering, “Or rather…why do you think Cobb had to tell you?”
Arthur looks confused, “What?”
In the moment that it takes for Arthur to say that one word, Eames closes the distance between them and says, “You had no idea, love.”
“I didn’t think it was possi—”
Eames stifles that protest with a kiss, a kiss that is equal amounts rough and gentle, a kiss that was meant as a confession, a kiss that laid bare his mind and heart to Arthur. Eames runs his fingers through Arthur’s hair and marvels at how soft it actually is. He’d always imagined that it would feel greasy or something because Arthur always wears his hair slicked back. But they are soft and Eames loves the feel of them.
Arthur pushes him back gently and Eames sees the same questioning look he wore a month ago. He runs his thumb across Arthur’s cheek as the other man blinks rapidly.
“What do you want me to say, my love?”
Arthur’s eyes widened a fraction and Eames wonders what he has said to cause that reaction.
“Nothing, Mr. Eames.” Arthur replies, his expression softening.
And then Arthur is kissing him, hesitant at first but when Eames opens his mouth in an invitation, he presses in immediately. And they make their way to the bed, struggling with their clothes. And Arthur pulls away from the kiss and laughs suddenly because Eames has inadvertently tickled him while Eames was taking care of his trouser buttons. And then Eames can’t maintain a coherent thought.
All he can think about is Arthur’s breath against his skin, Arthur’s body against his, the way Arthur moans against his mouth when Eames runs his tongue along the roof of Arthur’s mouth, Arthur’s passion glazed eyes, Arthur’s fingers running along his torso, him and Arthur melding together, him and Arthur tumbling through the sheets, him and Arthur, Arthur and him.
And Eames thinks this can’t be real but Arthur’s weight on him, Arthur’s lips and tongue on him, Arthur’s stifled moan of his name in his ear tells him otherwise.
FEELING
The subconscious is not ruled by reason. It is ruled by emotion, Cobb once said.
Hell, Eames thinks, even my reality is ruled by emotions. Sometimes…
And this is one of those times. They are in Arthur’s bedroom. The sun is just about to rise and Eames likes this time because the world is bathed in a soft light and under this light, Arthur looks positively angelic.
Especially now when he is still asleep with his arms around Eames waist and his head on Eames’ shoulder. Eames feels a calm happiness at this very moment. He’ll do a lot of things to keep feeling that happiness and he’ll do anything for Arthur to feel the same with him. Then he feels slightly annoyed when Arthur rolls away and deprives him of warmth.
Eames rolls his eyes and pulls Arthur towards him, which wakes him up.
Arthur shifts so that he is facing Eames and says groggily, “Good morning, Mr. Eames.”
“Good morning, love.” He replies with a peck on Arthur’s nose.
“Love?” Arthur whispers as he rubs his eyes.
“My love.” Eames clarifies.
“You betcha.” Arthur says as he scoots closer to Eames, “So how do you feel today, Mr. Eames?”
Eames glances at the ceiling, “Well, I feel a little trepidation now because today is my turn to make breakfast. And I know I’ll just get one of your snide comments again, love.”
Arthur gives him a look that says, “Well, of course. Can’t help my nature.”
“What shall we do about that?” Arthur asks, playing along.
Eames rolls on top of Arthur and whispers something in his ear. Arthur gives him another one of his looks and Eames can’t help but lean down and start kissing Arthur all over his face. Arthur smiles and returns his kisses.
And really, they could forget about breakfast all together if it meant they could enjoy this particular moment with each other a little longer.