[fic] Those Who Wait

[kiyala.livejournal.com]

Title: Those Who Wait
Author: kiyala
Word Count: 4,683
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames (past Arthur/OMC)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: references to sex, references to infidelity, OMCs
Notes: For danifangirl :) sorry to keep you waiting for such a long time!
Thank you to hidden_gems for beta reading this for me! ♥

“Lunch, Arthur. That’s all I’m asking.” Arthur is frowning, but that probably has more to do with the fact that he’s reloading his gun and aiming it at the rogue projections through the small windows of the apartment they’re in. Eames is picking them off individually with his sniper rifle, confident that their extractor will have the time to get the information they’re after before the dream collapses. This job feels sedate, even with an army of projections closing in on them. That’s the problem; perform inception and nothing feels challenging unless it has the threat of limbo, the promise of entirely changing somebody’s life. This—a simple matter of staying alive for long enough—is child’s play. Eames knows this, and Arthur knows this too. This is why Eames grins when Arthur mutters, “Keep us alive until the kick and it’ll be my treat.” They walk away from the job considerably richer, and there’s a note tucked into Eames’ jacket pocket with instructions to meet at a restaurant two cities over the following day. Beneath the address are two instructions; don’t be late and wear something nice. Eames rereads it before leaving his hotel room the following afternoon, his thumb following the underline that emphasises nice. He goes wearing his best suit and worst tie. • To say that Eames has been unsuccessfully courting Arthur for two years would be a lie. It’s casual flirting, really, and there are times like this, when Arthur gives in. Perhaps they don’t end up leading where Eames wants them to, but he’s learned to take what he’s given. The restaurant that Arthur picks is unsurprisingly expensive, richly decorated and Eames can practically smell the money. The tables have unnecessarily fancy flower arrangements as centre pieces and Eames raises an eyebrow at Arthur as they are seated. “If we’re going out to eat, we might as well do it properly,” Arthur says simply, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips, and Eames takes a moment to appreciate his dimples; how much easier his smiles come now that Dominick Cobb is safely home with his children. “I would expect no less of you, of course,” Eames grins into his glass of wine. “Gun fights one day, fine dining the next.” “I have sophisticated taste, Mr. Eames,” Arthur slants him a smile and Eames has a good feeling about today. This time, he thinks to himself, I’ve got him. To his luck, this is the precise moment they are interrupted by a male voice saying, “Arthur? Is that really you?” The first thing Eames notices is the way Arthur tenses. It’s not his customary caution when thrust into a situation that he doesn’t already have the complete measure of; this is far more involuntary, far more troubled. He turns his head to face the speaker like it’s the very last thing he wants to do. “Matthew.” The man standing at their table is tall and has a solid build. His hair is the colour of honey and his eyes are a dark green. Behind him stands another man, younger and smaller, with black hair and grey eyes, his features pinched into a scornful expression, directed straight at Arthur. Eames decides that he dislikes them both, and the feeling only intensifies when he looks at Arthur and sees all of his little tics; the tightened jaw, the tight-lipped smile, the tilt of his head all pointing to the fact that he’d rather be anywhere than here. In the dream-sharing community, rumours spread just as fast and inaccurately as everywhere else. There’s a story that Eames has heard about Arthur, back when he’d only ever performed legal extractions with the Cobbs. He’d had a lover who had also worked with him, and that lover had routinely cheated on him with another man. The story goes that Arthur had killed them both, perhaps to serve as a warning to stay in line when working with him, but Eames doesn’t need anything more than what is in front of him to tell him that the last part of the story is untrue. “I haven’t heard from you in years,” Matthew says, like he’s actually surprised that Arthur doesn’t want to keep in regular contact with him. Eames hates him immediately, and then hates him even more when he adds, “I couldn’t get hold of you to invite you to our wedding.” Eames has already noticed the matching gold bands and judging by the way Arthur doesn’t look away from Matthew’s eyes, he’s either noticed them too, or he doesn’t want to look. “Congratulations,” Arthur says tonelessly and Eames can tell that he’s being careful not to sound bitter—not to sound anything—and oh, what Eames would give to know what Arthur is thinking at this moment. “I’m so happy with him. We were made for each other, weren’t we Jeremy?” Matthew smiles at the man beside him and then looks at Eames as if noticing him for the first time. “Oh, and this must be your current boyfriend.” Arthur’s eyes flick over to Eames, startled for half a second before he schools his expression back into its blank mask. Eames holds Arthur’s gaze for a moment before he turns to Matthew, smiling with no sincerity. “Must be. Darling—who is this?” “We worked together,” Arthur twists the stem of his wine glass in his fingers before taking a sip. “Now we don’t.” “Oh Arthur, we both know that we did a little more than work together,” Matthew chuckles, and Eames wonders how it’s even possible for one person to lack so much tact. “We have so much to catch up on—do you mind if we join you?” “I mind terribly,” Eames cuts in before Arthur even has the chance to open his mouth. His smile has more of an edge to it now and at the very least, Matthew has the sense to know when to back down. “Let’s go,” Jeremy speaks up, looking extremely unenthused to be in Arthur’s presence any longer. “We’re going to be late.” “We’ll definitely catch up later,” Matthew insists. He already has a scrap of paper and pen in his hands. “Here. We’ve recently bought this lovely cabin in the woods just outside of town. This is the address, and my number. You should join us for the weekend. Both of you.” Arthur looks like he’d rather chew glass. He opens his mouth—presumably to say as much—but catches the mocking look Jeremy gives him and instead, he sets his jaw. “We’ll think about it.” “We?” Eames asks, once Matthew and Jeremy have left. “He thinks we’re in a relationship,” Arthur answers, his eyes fixed on the ice cream bowl in front of him. “He was flaunting the fact that he’s married. I wasn’t about to correct him so he’d have the satisfaction of knowing I’m on my own.” But you’re not, Eames wants to say, spearing his piece of cake a little too violently. Instead, he winks at Arthur. “Well, at least you have excellent taste in fake boyfriends, hm?” Arthur’s smiles, but it’s reserved and guarded. Eames vows to himself that by the end of the weekend, he’s going to change that. • They arrive at the cabin on Friday evening and it’s honestly much more of a house in the middle of the woods rather than anything else. It’s large for two people—it’s probably even unnecessarily big for four—and Eames makes a disgusted noise as they look at it. “You remember everything?” Arthur asks, and Eames nods. When Eames had gotten into the car before coming here, he’d been handed a dossier that detailed all of their fictional relationship. Just like the information he’d be working with if he were doing a forge in the dreamscape. Arthur can pretend this is nothing more than another job if he wants; Eames is kind enough not to contradict him. Matthew greets them at the door with a large smile and Arthur finds himself pulled into a hug while Eames carries their bags inside. Jeremy is standing just inside and Arthur pulls away from Matthew’s arms, clearing his throat awkwardly. It’s unfair that out of the three of them, he’s the one feeling any sort of guilt. They’re shown to their room, on the other side of the cabin from the master bedroom; excessively large like the rest of the place, with a bed to fit both of them. Eames takes over unpacking their things and when Arthur moves to help, Eames simply kisses his forehead and tells him to relax. Far easier said than done. Eames is the better actor between the two of them and it’s throwing Arthur off because unlike what he is used to, he’s unable to pinpoint the exact moment Eames has slipped into character. But maybe he’s not acting at all, and that’s an uncomfortable thought to pursue for a too long, so Arthur doesn’t. There’s never been any particular idea in Arthur’s mind regarding what a good partner would be. After Matthew, he just hasn’t given serious thought to any kind of relationship because having to deal with all of it is more time-consuming than he has the patience for. The trust issues, the reluctance to let anybody in, all of the problems he is all too aware that he has, require time. Or the right person, his mind supplies. No room for that when he was following Dominick Cobb around the world and since then, he’s forgotten what it’s like to do things because he wants them to, not because he needs to. Eames, though. Eames has been changing that, however slowly. The questions start as soon as they’ve settled down. Matthew has dinner set out for all of them and as they eat, he asks how they met, how long they’ve been together, where they’ve been staying, and Arthur has prepared all of these answers in the dossier he’d given Eames, so the answers come easily. “I do believe we met through a friend of yours, didn’t we darling?” Eames leans towards Arthur as he speaks, looking at him like nobody else even exists. “That day when you…” “Almost decked you for being an incorrigible flirt, yes,” Arthur grins with a flash of teeth and dimples. That much of the story is true. “It was love at first sight,” Eames says, giving Matthew and Jeremy a serious look, and adds, “for him.” “Asshole,” Arthur snickers, jabbing at Eames with his fork. Eames parries with his knife, twisting his hand so Arthur has to drop his makeshift weapon. Taking the slender hand into his own, Eames kisses it lightly, soft lips brushing over knuckles. “Love at first sight.” There’s something in Eames’ eyes that makes Arthur feel very exposed for a brief moment, but then he blinks and it’s gone. Whatever it is, Eames slowly lets go of his hand and Arthur lets their fingers linger against each other. They must look convincing enough, because Matthew’s beaming at them, raving about how happy he is for them. “You must have been together for years.” “One year,” Arthur corrects, “and three months. Almost to the day.” Eames says nothing, but his smile is adoring. Dinner isn’t so bad, because even if Matthew is tactless and Jeremy is acting like he has a prize that Arthur is after, Eames continues looking at Arthur like this is all he ever wants. They move to the couch after, relaxing with glasses of good red wine. Eames pulls Arthur close so they’re leaning against each other, turning Arthur so they’re facing each other. It almost works; Arthur nearly misses the way Jeremy crawls into Matthew’s lap and proceeds to kiss him breathless. He focuses on his proximity to Eames, his warmth and his smell, and ignores the sounds of lips smacking against each other. “We should go,” Eames murmurs, glancing over Arthur’s shoulder to where Matthew and Jeremy’s kisses are becoming a little too enthusiastic. He gets to his feet and Arthur takes the time to appreciate how skilled Eames is, constantly angling them both so that the two on the couch are never in Arthur’s line of sight. Eames shuts the door behind them and sighs loudly, rubbing his temples. “I didn’t expect them to have absolutely no shame.” Arthur smiles humourlessly. “Then you haven’t heard many of the rumours about me and Matthew, have you?” “Only that he cheated on you,” Eames sits down on the edge of their bed and adds, “and the rumour said that you killed them both for it. Which honestly, I think you should have if they’re this bad.” “I was with him for three years,” Arthur says, his voice quiet. “For two of those years, I… knew about Jeremy, but I kept denying it. I let Matthew fool me, because I wanted to pretend everything was fine. It was humiliating.” “Arthur,” Eames says softly, getting to his feet. “I don’t need your pity.” There’s a hard edge to Arthur’s voice, but it doesn’t stop Eames. His hands are warm on Arthur’s shoulders, body solid where they are pressed together. “I know. But it doesn’t make me want to shoot them any less. How could Matthew not realise what he had?” “What would that have been,” Arthur’s tone is bitter, “an emotionally stunted idiot who was too afraid to walk away from something so obviously harmful just because I didn’t think I’d ever find anything better?” “You can do better,” Eames says fiercely, and it reminds Arthur of back when Mal had said the exact same thing to him. Except Eames’ fingers are warm on his chin, his eyes are dark and intense, and this time, Arthur believes it. Mainly because better is standing right in front of him, but Arthur keeps the thought firmly in his head. Turning away, Arthur sighs. “I’m taking a shower.” Eames watches him gather his clothes and towel, and speaks up, “I couldn’t help but notice. You said that we’ve been together for a year and three months. That’s—” “Just a random date,” Arthur interrupts calmly, not looking at Eames. “Nothing more.” “Of course,” Eames smiles, but he frowns when Arthur shuts the door of the en suite bathroom behind him. A year and three months ago was the Alexi job, in London; one of the few jobs Arthur took without Cobb. It had started with Arthur and Eames being the only competent members on the team, and had ended in Eames’ hotel room, mouths hot against each other, nimble fingers making quick work of their clothes, edging towards the bed. Arthur had pulled away, then, gasping, “I can’t do this, I can’t—” Eames had let him go, blaming the short leash Cobb seemed to keep Arthur on. Now, he knows better. He realises that it’s Matthew, not Cobb, that has always been in his way—in Arthur’s way. Another in the growing list of reasons to put a bullet between his eyes, then. Arthur must know he’s worked it out, if the guarded look in his eyes when he emerges from the shower is any indication. Eames says nothing; if Arthur wants to talk about it, he’ll bring it up, but he doesn’t. “This is a waste of a weekend,” Arthur mutters under his breath, settling on the left side of their bed, pleased that Eames has claimed the right. There’s a pile of books in the middle and Arthur picks one up, flipping it over to read the blurb. “You’ll like that one,” Eames says, not even looking up. He smiles, the way he does when he’s extremely pleased with himself. “I packed us plenty of books to keep us occupied. And Scrabble, because I know how much you like it.” Arthur’s smile is brilliant, and he opens up to the first page of the book, busying himself with reading before he ends up saying something like, you are the best partner I’ve never had. Eames is right—of course he is—and Arthur loves the book, absorbed from page one. He leans back against the headboard, ignoring the world around him right until he’s rudely jolted back by a loud moan. “What…?” He turns to Eames, who is frowning, but before he can say any more, the moan is followed by another and the colour drains from Arthur’s face as he realises exactly what he’s hearing. “That’s Jeremy,” he doesn’t look surprised—just resigned and a little irritated. They hear the sound of a head board thumping against the wall and Eames notices the way Arthur’s grip on his book tightens. “He’s doing this on purpose. Making sure you’ll hear.” Arthur nods grimly. “Because apparently, making a fool of myself by staying with Matthew for so long just isn’t enough.” Eames doesn’t know what to say, but Arthur goes back to his book, ignoring the loud, vigorous sex. Eames takes this as a sign to do the same, but he keeps an eye on Arthur in his periphery, watching as the point man’s face becomes increasingly red. “Fuck this,” Arthur declares, throwing his book back onto the bed. He rolls onto his side, not even bothering to get under the covers. “I’m going to sleep.” “If you’re sure,” Eames tone is gentle. He puts the books in a neat stack on his bedside table and touches Arthur’s shoulder. It’s meant to be light and reassuring, but Arthur is so incredibly tense that Eames doesn’t want to let go. Arthur shrugs him off after a moment and Eames sighs. “I’m taking a shower.” He stands under the spray of hot water, eyes shut as he thinks of the pained look he’d seen in Arthur’s eyes. He can’t take matters into his own hands, because he knows that won’t sit well with Arthur at all. Still, it doesn’t lessen the urge to utterly destroy the two men who had dared to hurt Arthur. The urge only grows stronger when he emerges from the bathroom. The moaning has become louder and Eames is certain he can hear both of them now. Arthur is curled up under the covers, a pillow pressed over his head to muffle the sound. Eames glances longingly in the direction of his gun, hidden in the drawer beside his bed, but he goes to his bag instead. “Arthur,” he says softly, pulling the pillow away. “What the hell are you—” Arthur grabs for it, but goes still when Eames hands him a pair of earphones. His iPod is already on with the volume turned up and Arthur’s expression—immediately more relaxed—tells Eames that this works. Arthur scrolls through the songs and pulls an earphone out when Eames gets under the covers next to him. “Your taste in music is terrible.” “You’re welcome,” Eames grins, reaching out to stroke Arthur’s hair. “Sleep well, darling.” Arthur’s lips quirk upward as he puts the earphone back in and rolls onto his side—facing away from Eames—and flicks the lights off. Eames lies awake for a while longer, trying to ignore Matthew and Jeremy still going at it, and trying to find the line between pretending to be Arthur’s lover and what he really feels. Sleep doesn’t come for a long time. • Eames wakes with the sun, to the sound of animals outside in the woods, and to the Spice Girls blaring from the earphones that have fallen out of Arthur’s ears in the middle of the night, lying somewhere on the mattress. It takes him barely a second to process the position he’s woken in. He’s lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling the same way he’d been while waiting for himself to fall asleep, but Arthur is no longer facing away from him. In fact, Arthur has his face pressed to Eames’ shoulder, an arm thrown across his chest, holding onto him. The next thing Eames realises is that Arthur is awake. There’s a distinct lack of the deep, even breathing and Eames struggles to remember to keep his own breath steady as he tries to process this. Arthur is awake, and is making no attempt to move away from him. Eames decides that he could definitely do with more of his days beginning like this. He could do with every day beginning like this. “Good morning,” Arthur’s voice is gravelly from sleep and his breath, his everything is so warm against Eames. “Stay in bed a little longer.” Eames hums in agreement, not opening his eyes, and almost starts when he feels Arthur pulling away, getting out of bed. Eames nearly protests, but Arthur had never said anything about staying in bed together. The room is silent when the iPod is turned off, leaving Spice Up Your Life bouncing around in Eames’ head as he listens to the rustle of material as Arthur slips out of bed and makes his way into the shower. Eames can’t hear anything over the sound of the falling water, but he imagines Arthur indulging in a slow morning wank and the mental images this gives him would be enough to have his hand in his pants if he weren’t so tired. He rolls over, his breath unconsciously keeping time of the song in his head, and thinks of the smile in Arthur’s voice this morning. Sleep comes easier this time. • He wakes again an hour later, feeling well-rested this time. The bed on Arthur’s side has gone cold, so Eames doesn’t bother to linger. He gets up, showers and gets dressed before searching for Arthur. The kitchen smells like coffee and Arthur’s standing at the espresso machine while Matthew makes omelettes. Eames watches them for a moment, trying to imagine when it was just the two of them like this, when Arthur had been softer around the edges. It makes Eames’ chest tighten with jealousy and he’s about to clear his throat and stake his claim over Arthur when Arthur turns, looking at him with such fondness that it feels real. “I thought I heard you wake up,” he murmurs, placing a mug of coffee on the bench in front of Eames and taking his face in both hands, kissing him. Eames places his hand on the small of Arthur’s back, pulling him close to return the kiss. It’s been—well, one year and three months—since they’ve kissed and Eames hates Matthew for the fact that he has to keep this light and casual, as if it’s something they always do, instead of kissing Arthur like he’s starving for it. Arthur’s eyes are dark when they pull apart, thumb lightly stroking over Eames’ lower lip. “Good morning,” Eames murmurs, meaning it. He understands that beneath the coffee, beneath the kiss, Arthur is saying thank you for last night. The way he rubs small circles into Arthur’s back is his way of saying, you’re welcome. “Just look at the two of you,” Matthew says and he’s beaming. “You’re so in love—I guess that in a way, it’s good that we never worked out, right Arthur? I mean otherwise, you never would have met Eames.” Eames tenses, ready to snap. Arthur places a hand on his chest, silently calming him down, and smiles at Matthew. “I’m not sure about that, Matthew. Perhaps if there’d been no Jeremy, you’d know what it feels like to be cast aside for somebody better.” Matthew stiffens. “I never—” “No, he never cast you aside, love,” Eames murmurs, resting his head on Arthur’s chest, but watching Matthew. “He kept you on a string, didn’t he? He was stupid enough to take you for granted, but not stupid enough to let you go.” Matthew’s cheeks colour but before he can say anything, Jeremy enters the room, making a big show of greeting him good morning with a loud kiss. Matthew looks extremely uncomfortable and Eames smirks up at Arthur. “We make a good team, don’t we?” Arthur smiles and presses his lips to Eames’ forehead. “The best.” Matthew is noticeably subdued after breakfast. Jeremy is still intent on throwing their relationship in Arthur’s face, but Matthew doesn’t seem as eager to take part in it. They’re taking a walk through the woods when Jeremy, exasperated, asks Matthew what’s wrong with him. “He’s just jealous, is all,” Eames answers, Arthur’s hand held in his as they walk at a sedate pace behind the other two. “Just wishes he was in a real relationship, instead of something that evolved from a good, quick fuck.” Jeremy glares, his arms around Matthew, and Eames chuckles. “You ever wonder why you’re compelled to be all over your man whenever Arthur’s around? Couldn’t be that you’re afraid that his attention’s going straight to Arthur unless you’re there to distract him now, could it?” “Eames,” Arthur says, but it’s just a token protest. They both know he’s enjoying this far too much to actually mind. “I mean face it, really,” Eames continues, “You only married him so he won’t run off with some other young slut when he gets bored of you. And he only married you so you wouldn’t go looking for another relationship to ruin.” Jeremy growls under his breath, reaching for the gun hidden under his jacket. Eames clicks his tongue disapprovingly and holds it up, from when he’d pick-pocketed them both earlier. “Now, why would you want this?” “For the record,” Arthur says, as Eames wraps an arm around his waist, turning them around to leave, “I don’t need you. Haven’t needed you for a while. I have someone better.” They walk away, leaving Matthew and Jeremy sputtering in the middle of the woods. Eames lasts until they shut the door behind them before he starts laughing. “Oh, Arthur, did you see the way—” He doesn’t finish because Arthur pushes him against the wall, kissing him. This isn’t anything like their other kisses; neither Matthew nor Jeremy are present and this isn’t part of an act. It’s a deep, desperate kiss and they hold onto each other, as if they never intend to let go. “I’ve wanted to kiss you like this since—” Arthur begins, but Eames cuts him off with another kiss. It doesn’t matter; the only thing that matters is the fact that they’re finally doing it now. Their tongues are hot against each other, skin warm under their hands. “I think I can finally say I’m over Matthew. All the trouble he brought with him.” “Well,” Eames licks his lips. “A little difficult for him to compete for your attention now, isn’t it?” “We don’t have to stay here for the rest of the weekend, do we?” Arthur raises an eyebrow and Eames laughs. “Considering that I have a strong suspicion that my answer influences exactly what we’ll be doing tonight… I do have a lovely hotel room, complete with a beautiful balcony view.” “Not that I’m going to be giving you very much of an opportunity to enjoy that view,” Arthur states with a sly look. “That’s what I like to hear,” Eames murmurs in approval, pressing a kiss to Arthur’s forehead. “Let’s go.” It isn’t until they’re in the car, driving back to the city, that Arthur turns to Eames and says, “To be honest, I’m surprised that you left that cabin untouched on our way out.” “I slashed the tyres of their car when you were putting your bags in the trunk,” Eames smiles, “and besides, I was thinking that the next time we get into serious trouble and need to hide, we could leave a nice paper trail to this quiet cabin, just to throw our pursuers off and give our good friends some surprise company.” Arthur laughs, delighted. “You’re a terrible person.” Brushing his knuckles against Arthur’s cheek, Eames smiles. “Just one of the many reasons you love me.” Arthur settles back against his seat, eyes shut as he lets Eames drive them away. “Yeah. You’re right.”

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