[fic] What's the Time, Mr. Wolff. (8/8)

[kiyala.livejournal.com]

Saito organises a private flight for the entire team down to Sydney immediately. They pack up the workshop, making sure not to leave any traces of their presence behind, gather their belongings and head off to do what they’ve been preparing for all this time. Arthur and Eames take the seats beside each other on the flight, and begin to realise that this might have been a mistake when they’re four hours into the flight and, despite their best efforts, they can’t help but allow the tiniest bit of affection to creep into the way they treat each other. Eames touches Arthur more than strictly necessary, he smiles more often, and when they’re speaking, he leans in just that tiny bit, with an expression that makes it seem as though Arthur is the only person he’s aware of. Of course, Arthur’s own actions speak volumes of how he feels about Eames; he leans against the man as they sit beside each other, allows each touch to linger, and returns every one of Eames’ smiles. Ariadne, however, doesn’t notice these things as much as she notices Eames. Nine hours into the flight, Arthur’s fallen asleep reading a book and Eames is pacing the cabin, not wanting to sit still. He’s staring out of the window beside the emergency exit, arms folded and tapping his foot when Ariadne joins him. “You like Arthur, don’t you?” Eames turns to look at her. Instead of insulting her intelligence by making her point out the difference between liking someone and liking someone, he simply sighs. He’s good at witty comebacks, innuendo, and spinning lies on the spot that sound entirely plausible. He doesn’t want to lie to Ariadne, but he doubts she wants to hear the truth. “Is it obvious?” he asks, instead, looking out of the window. “Kind of. I started to notice it even before we went on that coffee run, but after that… yeah.” She smiles and folds her arms like he is. “You know, I don’t really mind. If you told me before, I would’ve had someone to ramble to. I can’t be the only one who appreciates that sweater vest.” Eames lets out a deep chuckle. “That’s the truth.” “You know,” she says, her tone light, “If he likes guys, I guess I can’t really help it. And if he does, I hope he likes you.” Eames smiles convincingly, but there’s no sincerity behind it. He does, he thinks to himself, and I think he does. “And if he likes girls,” he replies, “he’d be stupid not to realise that you’re quite the catch.” Ariadne laughs, flattered and pleased. Eames tries to ignore how much he just wants to apologise to her for something that isn’t even his fault. He returns to his seat and she stays at the window. Arthur wakes when he feels Eames sits down and quirks his lips in a sleepy smile. Eames’ expression softens and he gives Arthur’s hand a brief squeeze. Neither of them notice Ariadne watching them with a knowing look in her eyes. • It’s a sunny day in Sydney when they land, but Eames is more focused on his notes than the weather. They’ve planned this to perfection and have run each other through the entire procedure so many times that it’s simply a matter of doing it. This doesn’t stop Eames from flicking through his files, visualising everything and trying not to let his eagerness show. His expression is set in his usual calm and disinterested mask, but the way he jiggles his knee gives him away. “Excited, Eames?” Ariadne asks, and the laughter in her voice is forgivable because the quirk of her lips says that she is, too. “You haven’t been sitting still since—well, getting on the plane. You’re either really excited or you really need to pee.” “Eames couldn’t sit still if his life depended on it,” Arthur comments and then, before Eames can even turn to him, adds, “okay fine, you have. But I’m pretty sure it’s the only situation you’ve ever managed it.” Even Eames has to admit that this is true. “But Ariadne’s right. You’re really looking forward to this.” “Of course I am,” Eames says. “We’re performing inception, Arthur, and this time, it’s actually going to work. What’s not to be excited about?” Everyone on the team can appreciate this fact, and Eames watches them all in the first class lounge, a day later, as they wait to board. Arthur flips through his moleskine, scribbling notes here and there, and Ariadne sits next to him, looking worried as she watches Cobb. Eames can guess that the concern has something to do with Mal, but he doesn’t bring it up. Cobb himself looks stressed as he stands by the window, speaking to Saito, no doubt discussing the outcome of the job. The only one of them that looks at ease is Yusuf, and that probably has something to do with all of the complimentary champagne he’s downing. Not that Eames can blame him; he’s seen the hidden den of dream addicts—he can understand Yusuf’s reservations perfectly well. He doesn’t stop tapping his foot as he waits for the boarding call, and it’s a relief when they finally stand, gathering their bags and presenting their boarding passes. They can only move forward from here, and Eames feels the wonderfully familiar thrill of anticipation run through him. They’re all in the mindset for work, now, and the calm facades quickly fall away once Fischer’s been put to sleep by a particularly strong sedative. They hook themselves up, nod tersely to each other, and fall asleep. But they are not prepared for what they wake up to. It’s war zone. They’re already tense, and this isn’t helped at all by the rain, by the fact that Fischer’s projections are shooting at them, or the sudden appearance of a freight train. All Eames can hear over the gunfire and the blood pounding in his ears is Arthur shouting—at him, for him, it doesn’t matter—and his instincts to duck and survive give way to his training and to his experience of fighting off projections, back to back with Arthur, over the years. They’ve always been a good team, he thinks, feeling the tiniest bit of fondness through the panic and the stress. Of course, the panic and the stress only get worse when they find out that there are only two outcomes to this job; success or Limbo. Saito, the source of their income and—perhaps more importantly, Eames concedes—Cobb’s last hope, is headed decidedly towards the latter, and Arthur is blaming himself. He never says it—he only snaps at Cobb, and then snaps a little more—but Eames doesn’t need words to know Arthur’s thoughts. He knows better than to actually mention it himself, and so he gives Arthur his best placating look, all the power of this isn’t your fault without a single word. Arthur is still tense, but less so. Eames tries for light-hearted comments, but he’s far too tense himself. The best he can manage is another crack at Arthur’s imagination. The darling that slips out of his mouth is entirely accidental. Perhaps it’s what makes Arthur calm down, or perhaps that’s the result of the grenade launcher making sure they have the clearance to get out of the workshop, but either way, Eames finds that suddenly, he’s the one struggling underneath his mask of calm and trying not to think too hard about what he’s just said and what it means. Not that he’s ever learned to make his thoughts shut up when he’d like them to; he knows that it doesn’t matter what the outcome of this job is—he’s mad about Arthur and no amount of reminding himself that he needs to be careful with him is going to stop this. At least it seems this sentiment is returned, Eames thinks when he is another level down and wearing the skin of a beautiful blonde. He can feel Arthur’s gaze on him as his heels click against the tiled floor, and takes a moment to look up and wink. If Arthur leans over him much more than truly necessary as he hooks Eames up to the PASIV in room 528 of his dreamed up hotel, neither of them complain. And Eames certainly has no intention of protesting when Arthur takes his wrist in both hands, the touch lingering for a moment longer than truly necessary, before he feels the somnacin being pumped into his system. Go to sleep, Mr. Eames. Eames goes to sleep. • They’re awake, the job is over, and Eames has never seen Arthur so outwardly panicked. He paces the first class cabin, raking his fingers through his hair, managing to look terrified and furious at the same time. “Calm down, now,” Eames murmurs, placing a hand on Arthur’s shoulder to still him. Arthur sighs, but doesn’t protest when Eames pulls him close. He shuts his eyes and leans into the touch, his back to Eames’ chest, for a brief moment before he straightens up and walks back to where Yusuf and Ariadne are sitting, with the PASIV and the others, who are still asleep. “We’ll unhook them from the machine,” Yusuf decides, with the authority of someone who has a good understanding of the way this works. “It will stop the somnacin compound from being pumped into their system, so they’ll have a better chance of escaping Limbo.” A better chance, Arthur thinks, uncomfortable with the fact that there is no guarantee that Cob will escape Limbo successfully. His expression barely changes, but Eames can read it anyway, placing a comforting hand on Arthur’s back once again. And again, Arthur leans into the touch like he needs it. Eames rubs soothing circles into his back, unable to bring himself to care if the others notice. “Fischer’s going to wake once you get him off the PASIV. How much longer will he be out with the other sedative that Cobb slipped into that drink?” “A few more hours,” Yusuf says, getting up and unhooking Cobb and Saito. “We won’t need to worry about him for a while. All we need to do is wait for Cobb to find Saito.” “They’ll be out soon enough,” Ariadne says with a conviction that Eames envies. Not even Arthur is this confident that everything will go well, but there really is nothing to do but wait. There’s no sign of improvement, even by the time Fischer wakes, disoriented and thoughtful. Eames notices the tension in the way Arthur sits, but they’re all staying in their seats now and there’s nothing he can do about it. He doesn’t have a very clear view of Cobb from where he sits, directly behind him, but Eames finds himself listening carefully for any signs of the man waking up. This isn’t solely for Arthur’s sake; he already has the satisfaction of knowing their inception had been successful—he’d seen enough on the third level of the dream to be sure of it—but he wants Cobb to wake. He wants Saito to follow through on their arrangement, not because it will get Cobb off Arthur’s back and out of his way, but because he knows that deep down, beyond all the issues that have risen between them over the years, he has a deep respect for the man. Despite his projection of Mal, despite the way Arthur has always followed him without question, Eames knows that he’s been in the business of dream-sharing for years, and the only team that has ever felt like home has, of course, had Arthur in it, but has had Cobb for even longer than that. He knows that when he’d brought Arthur into the business, he’d chosen the Cobbs for a very good reason that had barely anything to do with the fact that they needed a point man and everything to do with the fact that they had always been the best. For a moment, he misses Mal with an intensity he hasn’t felt since her funeral, and he shuts his eyes, willing for it to pass. She would know what to do—she would be just as convinced as Ariadne that Cobb will be fine—and the thought eases his mind. He opens his eyes to find Arthur looking at him, giving him a small smile when their eyes meet. God, Eames thinks, he just wants this to be over and for everything to be okay. He just wants to be on the ground in Los Angeles so that he can have some desperately needed alone time with Arthur. Every passing moment only intensifies this feeling. When Cobb and Saito finally do wake, it is almost anticlimactic; as though there’s no great importance to the fact that they’ve escaped Limbo, that Saito is on the phone with his contacts, that they’ve done it and Cobb will finally be a free man. They cannot celebrate openly, because Fischer is right there and they need to remain as innocuous as possible, but Eames watches Arthur smile, the tension disappearing from his posture immediately, and thinks that, well, that’s almost just as good. It’s obvious that the entire team is relieved to touch down in LAX, and they all pass through immigration without a hitch. Not for Cobb, with his charges cleared, and not even for Eames or Arthur, who both use false identities purely out of habit. They both watch Fischer, Cobb and then the rest of the team leave the baggage claim terminal, and Arthur wheels his trolley over to where Eames stands. “There’s this old apartment,” he says as casually as he can, “it’s a pretty nice place that belongs to these people I know. Except one of them is an idiot who never actually appreciates what he’s got—” “And the other happens to be an arsehole who’s a little too proud for his own good, and never learned to share,” Eames adds. There’s a brief flash of a dimple in Arthur’s cheek. “Yeah, maybe. And—you know, I just happen to have a key to this apartment on me.” “Well, fuck me,” Eames grins. “Because so do I, and I was just thinking it’d be a shame to go to such a nice, big place all by myself.” Arthur smiles wide this time, and brushes his hand against Eames’ before gripping the handle of his baggage trolley. “Let’s go home, Eames.” • They have a lot to talk about and they both know it, but the moment they walk into their apartment, their bags lie forgotten by the door as Arthur grabs Eames by the front of his shirt and leads the way to the bedroom. “I was trying not to think of this through the rest of that goddamn flight,” Arthur says, his mouth open against Eames’, straddling his lap and already grinding against him. “I want to fuck you until we’re both spent and you’re hoarse from screaming for me.” Eames shivers with pleasure at the very thought. With a smirk, he presses kisses along Arthur’s jaw. “And here I thought I’d suck you off, because I know how much you like these pretty lips around your cock.” “Fuck, Eames,” Arthur moans, undoing his pants. “Never said we can’t do both.” “That’s the spirit,” Eames grins, undressing himself. By the time they’re done with each other, they barely have the energy to wipe themselves off before falling asleep in each other’s arms. Eames wakes an hour later, slipping out of bed and into the kitchen, digging out his tea and Arthur’s coffee, setting the kettle to boil. By the time he’s done, Arthur is awake and has moved to the couch and Eames joins him there with their mugs. “You know,” Arthur says, putting his empty mug down on the table beside Eames’, “You called me darling.” “Did I?” Eames asks with a small smile, pulling Arthur into his arms. “Mm. First level of the Fischer job. You told me to dream a little bigger,” Arthur murmurs, resting his head back against Eames’ shoulder. “And then you managed to drop us in zero gravity. I’m proud of you.” Arthur’s lips curve upward at the compliment. “Wasn’t my point.” “Oh?” Arthur turns his head to look at Eames. “You’ve got this habit of calling me darling right before we end up getting together. That first time after we fucked up that job, then in that restaurant where Phillip saw us, and then this time, during the job.” Eames laughs softly, shaking his head. “It’s not exactly some kind of magic word, Arthur.” “Well it’s always felt like you’re assenting to something we both want,” Arthur murmurs, “Like you’re deciding that we’re actually going to do this.” “Interesting,” Eames hums in thought. “You know, I’d always thought you were the one calling the shots in this relationship.” Arthur snorts quietly. “We really do need to talk things through, don’t we?” “Communicating? In a relationship? What a novel concept,” Eames grins. “Come on, let’s get dressed and get some… lunch, or dinner, or whatever it is that you eat at four-thirty. And then we can talk.” They go to a small café nearby and sit towards the back with their food. Arthur picks at his salad, and Eames eats chips, examining them one at a time before biting into them. “You know,” Eames finally says, “since we’re talking about who did what during the Fischer job: I saw you kiss Ariadne on the second level.” Arthur doesn’t bother denying it. He shrugs and spears a cherry tomato with his fork. “With the Mr. Charles ploy on top of everything else, the risks were high. We needed a distraction.” Eames bites into another chip. “And that was all it was.” “Of course. It meant nothing.” “You think Ariadne knows that?” “She… of course she would. She must know we’re in a relationship. I can’t say we were all that subtle about it on the flight when Dom was still in Limbo.” “He’s Dom again now, hm?” Eames smiles, allowing himself to be temporarily distracted. “I’m glad.” Arthur, on the other hand, pursues his point. “Ariadne has to know by now.” “Arthur,” Eames murmurs affectionately. “Honestly? Even I’m not sure we’re in a relationship right now—no, before you argue, listen to me. I don’t know how long this is going to last for, this time. Maybe you’ll keep me around for a week. Maybe we’ll fuck for longer. I don’t know, Arthur, because for all I know, something might come up tomorrow and you’ll decide I’m not all that important—” “Is that what you think?” Arthur asks, but instead of sounding angry, he’s quiet and thoughtful. “Let me start at the beginning. In Paris, when the Cobbs asked you to move here with them, you didn’t even tell me.” “I didn’t end up moving, Eames…” “Doesn’t matter. What bothered me was that they asked you assuming that whatever you did, we’d do it together, but you didn’t seem to think the same.” “I couldn’t just ask you to move away with me. I couldn’t just assume you’d want to change your life to suit me.” “We may have owned separate apartments at the time, Arthur, but we were essentially living together. It wouldn’t have been an unreasonable assumption to make.” “You said it yourself, Eames. You don’t like staying in one place too long.” “That may be true,” Eames admits with a small nod. Arthur’s shoulders slump in defeat and Eames looks up, a look of fierce determination in his blue-green eyes. “I may not like staying in one place for too long, but I know I’d rather have your company while we move from place to place. Damn it, Arthur, I want this to work, and if that means settling in one place, it will be a small price to pay.” Arthur is silent in thought for a torturously long time before he finally says, “An apartment in every major city we work in.” “…Sorry?” “We’ve got our apartment here, and I’ve got one we can share in Paris. We might want to look into Sydney, Mombasa if you want—” “Arthur,” Eames interrupts, “what the hell are you talking about?” “Apartments, Eames,” Arthur says, slowing down this time. “We’re going to need them if we’re planning on moving from one place to another. I’m pretty sure we both have the experience to know that finding a place to stay in the last minute can be an absolute bitch.” Eames laughs. “Is that your way of asking me out, Arthur?” “Yes.” Arthur grins. “But you can hardly talk. Your idea of introducing yourself to someone you’re interested in is by kidnapping them and then breaking into their dreams. I wonder sometimes, if you’re a brilliant, if misguided, genius and actually managed to incept me one layer deep in that first dream.” “And what would I have made you believe?” “That there’s nothing I want more in the world than to be kissing those goddamn beautiful lips of yours.” Eames laughs loud enough to catch the attention of other patrons in the café. “Oh, darling,” he murmurs, leaning across their table. “I don’t need to be in a dream to convince you.” When Eames kisses him, right there in the café, filled with other customers that are resolutely looking away from them, Arthur has to admit that this is entirely true. • They visit Dom the next day, and Arthur buys stuffed animals for the children on the way, purely out of habit. Eames makes the selection; a sparkly purple unicorn for Phillipa and an absurdly cute dragon for James. The children are thrilled, and Phillipa announces that she’s going to show off the coin tricks she’s learned since Eames first taught her. This earns him a reproachful look from Dom, which doesn’t stay in place for more than five seconds before he is impressed by just how good she is. “She learned from the best,” Eames winks and Arthur shakes his head with a small smile. “Just as long as you teach her to put the coins back,” Dom says, amused. They sit down for coffee while the children play outside, and Eames leans back in his chair, nodding in their direction. “Well, they definitely look happy to have you home.” Dom grins, “Yeah, well I’m pretty happy too. And by the way, I noticed that the two of you came here together.” Arthur shrugs casually, but a grin creeps across his face and his cheeks dimple. “Yeah, well…” “Couldn’t keep his hands off me,” Eames says, and Arthur kicks him under the table. “I’m glad you’re finally thinking about yourself,” Dom says honestly, “I know I wasn’t the greatest person to deal with, and I wouldn’t be here now without you, Arthur, but I’m sure Eames will agree with me when I say that you’ve earned the right to be a little selfish from now on. Think about yourself, and about what you want to do.” Eames hums in agreement and Arthur looks between them and sighs. “You’re forcing me into a vacation, aren’t you? Fine.” “That’s the spirit,” Eames says, clapping Arthur on the shoulder and mouthing a quick thank you to Dom, who simply nods. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Arthur raises his eyebrows at Dom. “I mean, I know you’re back home and all, but if Mal—” “I don’t think I’ll be seeing her any more,” Dom says with a cautious smile. “I think that when I went down to Limbo, I let her go. I’ll still miss her—I’ll always miss her—but I’ll remember her the way she deserves to be remembered. Not as some twisted form of my own guilt.” Arthur nods solemnly and Eames does his best to sound casual when he says, “Just try getting some sleep without using a PASIV, eh?” Dom gives him a rueful smile. “Nothing escapes your attention, does it?” Arthur opens his mouth, ready to rebuke Dom for this—and for never telling him—but Eames covers the hand he has on the table with his own, thumb stroking over the warm skin, and it’s enough to calm him down. “Just make sure you don’t lose yourself,” he finally says, his tone just a little harder than normal. “The kids need you here.” “I know that, Arthur,” Dom says gently, “I’ll be fine. And I don’t want to hear from you for at least a good three months unless it’s a social call.” “Three months,” Eames says disapprovingly. “That’s a little short, considering.” “This is Arthur we’re talking about. Baby steps.” “I’m right here, thank you.” Arthur sighs, and then adds, “Fine. I—we have plans anyway.” “Good. So, stay for dinner, and then go enjoy yourselves. And try keep each other out of trouble. Eames, I’m looking at you.” “Yes sir, Mr. Cobb.” Eames says, giving him a mock salute and a shit-eating grin. • They don’t linger in Los Angeles for long, to avoid unwanted attention from Fischer, and because Arthur is never comfortable spending too long anywhere that he might be recognised as a Wolff. So they move to Paris, because of all the places they’ve been, it somehow still feels the most like home. Arthur’s apartment easily fits them both, not that it matters very much for the first week, when they barely leave the bed. When they finally reach the point in their renewed relationship where they can spend more than five minutes in the same room without jumping each other, Arthur suggests that they visit Ariadne. University classes have resumed, and so they go to visit Miles to find her sitting in his classroom, speaking of dream architecture with a tone of pure elation. She follows her professor’s gaze over her shoulder and lets out a cry of delight, running up the stairs to hug them both in greeting. She isn’t the slightest bit awkward with Arthur, Eames notes, and this puts him a little at ease. She insists on taking them around the campus and then to her favourite café just nearby. They follow eagerly, pretending that it is all new to them, and end up in a booth at what was once Mal’s favourite coffeehouse. Eames sees the way Arthur’s shoulder tense and then slowly relax as he forces himself to ignore this fact. “So you’re living here now?” she asks them excitedly over coffee and bagels. “That’s so great. I’ll have someone to talk to about dreaming when I want to. I can kind of tell that Miles isn’t a big fan of it.” Understandable, when it cost him his daughter, Eames thinks, but he doesn’t say it aloud. He can tell the same thought runs through Arthur’s mind, and finds his hand under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Uh, Ariadne,” Arthur blurts out, so suddenly that all three of them are taken aback. He grimaces at his own inelegance and continues, “I just… wanted to say something, about the second layer of the—” “Oh, you’re talking about the kiss,” she say bluntly. Arthur flushes, Eames snorts, and she ignores them both as she continues, “Don’t worry about it. I kind of suspected it before, but after the job was over, I could kind of tell that—well, you’re here together, aren’t you? That says enough.” Arthur smiles, and Eames isn’t sure what melts his heart more; the dimples or the way Arthur squeezes his hand in return. Ariadne’s classes are done for the day and she doesn’t have too much homework yet, so they spend the rest of the afternoon together. Eames buys a baguette, insisting that they stop by a pond to feed the ducks. Arthur and Ariadne sit on a bench, watching as Eames gets his shoes wet and his fingers nipped. “Bloody hell, do you not know what patience is!” Ariadne snickers and then nudges Arthur with her elbow. “You know, he really likes you.” Arthur thinks that yes, he knows, and he’s amazed by just how much, but he simply replies with, “Oh?” “When we were planning out the job, he could tell that I kind of had this crush on you.” Arthur frowns. “He didn’t tell me—” “Of course he didn’t. Eames isn’t the kind of guy who would go blurting secrets out.” “He’s a thief, Ariadne. A liar, a cheat, a forger. He’d sell people out without batting an eyelid. I’m pretty sure he did that to one of his old teams.” “They probably deserved it,” Ariadne shrugs, and he’s amazed by her faith in the man. “I know Eames. You know him even better. He’s a nice guy, or you wouldn’t bother. I mean look at him right now, feeding ducks and not caring that they keep biting his fingers.” “That says less about his kind-hearted nature and more about his lack of intelligence. Oh, for god’s sake—Eames! Maybe if you make the pieces bigger, they won’t bite you.” “You’re a love, Arthur!” Eames waves, acknowledging the advice and tearing off larger chunks. Arthur turns back to see Ariadne grinning at him. “You’re adorable together. And like I said before—he knew I liked you, and he liked you himself, but he was still nice to me. Eames let you decide what you wanted to do instead of being all possessive. Not often you see anyone mature enough to do that.” “Oh, please don’t put Eames and mature in the same sentence. It’s a logical paradox.” “And we all know how much you love your paradoxes, don’t we now?” Eames asks, joining them at the bench and dropping a kiss to the top of Arthur’s head. “The ducks send their regards.” They get to their feet. The sun is beginning to set and they part ways at the university. Ariadne says that this is her last semester here before she does her post-grad in the States, and that she is not above bullying them into visiting on a regular basis. They send her off with another round of hugs, and Eames takes Arthur’s hand, holding it the entire way home. Arthur pulls Eames into a slow, passionate kiss the moment they’re through the door and they both relax against each other, deciding that this is the kind of life they could get used to. • They take small jobs, with just the two of them, because they’re both in too deep to simply take a break from dream sharing, and Eames knows that he would be a hypocrite to deny Arthur his fix of the thrill when he, too, needs it almost like breathing. The work gives them a good routine; they keep their jobs a secret from Ariadne so she can focus on her degree in the real world, and they hardly need more than a week to plan and successfully execute a job. They quickly rediscover their inclination to stay up late and between finishing work and falling into bed with each other, they sit in the spare room that Arthur has converted into his study, where they talk and swap stories as Arthur works on his clocks once again. “I like this one,” Eames says, looking over Arthur’s shoulder, and they’re not sitting in his study this time. “It might even be my favourite.” “Just because it’s got the same design as your pocket watch,” Arthur grins, and then grins wider when Eames presses a kiss to the back of his neck. “I’m allowed to be biased. And I like the pendulum on this one.” Arthur finishes working on it and holds it up for examination, “I guess this one goes on the wall too.” “Allow me,” Eames says, and hangs it in its own little space on the wall. He starts the pendulum and stands back, smiling in approval at the entire wall of pendulum clocks, all swinging at different intervals, filling the small room with their soft ticking. “You know, I thought that when you bought me a copy of Of Paradoxes that one time, I’d already gotten the best present ever. And then you buy me a watchmaker’s shop, complete with its own staff.” Eames shrugs casually, but there’s no hiding the fact that he’s beaming. “Well, you know what it’s like. Perform the first successful inception for a billionaire who isn’t afraid to throw his money around, and you end up with a couple million just lying around.” “…Eames?” “Yes, Arthur.” Arthur gives him the most brilliant smile Eames has ever seen; all teeth and dimples and pure happiness. “I love you.” “Likewise, my dear,” Eames chuckles, kissing him softly. “And you’re welcome.” “Do you realise,” Arthur says quietly, wrapping his arms around Eames, “back before, when I was Arthur Wolff and I had all the money I ever needed without even trying, I was never half as happy as I’ve been since you decided to kidnap me.” Eames grins. “You have the worst case of Stockholm syndrome in the entire world.” “I might believe that if you were even capable of pretending you could stay away from me,” Arthur murmurs with a small smile. “You’ve got me,” Eames sighs, sliding his hands down to give Arthur’s arse a gentle squeeze. “I’m mad about you.” “We’ve known each other for… what, not even four years,” Arthur says, “And somehow, you’ve still managed to be responsible for everything good in my life. You gave me a way to escape my old life, you introduced me to shared dreaming, I… have you, and all the apartments scattered across the world, and now you’ve given me an actual reason to sit down and make watches. Nobody has ever done anything like this for me. Are you sure you’re real?” “By all means,” Eames indicates Arthur’s workbench. “Roll your die. See for yourself.” Arthur does, and Eames turns away out of courtesy. The red plastic clatters against the wooden desk once, twice, and he pockets it, satisfied. “Well?” Arthur grins, his hands in his pockets. He’s never loved the number four more than he does right now. “Well, I’m convinced.” “To be fair, Arthur,” Eames says, folding his arms across his chest with an amused look. “I do have my drawbacks.” “Like the fact that you can never stop fidgeting,” Arthur says, with a pointed look at the way Eames shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “I was thinking more in terms of the kleptomania and the constant desire to move from one place to another,” Eames grins, “but okay.” They both look around the shop all set up and ready to be opened tomorrow. Eames has hired an entire team of watchmakers to run the shop and none of them have ever met either of them. The amount they are paid to sell and maintain Arthur’s clocks, however, is a good enough incentive to keep their questions to themselves. “You know, it’s a real pity,” Eames finally says with a sigh. “I won’t be able to steal the best clocks in town for you any more, because they’ll already be yours.” This makes Arthur laugh and he reaches out, finding Eames’ hand and pulling him closer. Well, Mr. Eames,” he murmurs against those wonderfully full lips that he’s never been able to look at without wanting to kiss. “If you really do need to give into your kleptomaniac urges sometime soon, we’re due to visit Dom in L.A. next week, and there’s a still a nice restaurant with a vase we need to steal.” “Oh, Arthur,” Eames chuckles, kissing him hard. “You certainly know how to make a thief happy.” “Just you,” Arthur replies, so quietly that Eames very nearly misses it. He hides his smile against Arthur’s hair and even if he doesn’t need a totem, he finds himself reaching into his pocket and running his fingers along the edge of the poker chip he’s never really gotten around to taking out of his pocket. The touch is familiar and reassuring, like Arthur’s, and he doesn’t need anything more to tell him that this is real, not a dream, and robbing the Wolff manor had quite possibly been the best idea he’s had in his entire life. • Epilogue. (you're right there beside me.) It sits on their coffee table; an elegant production of blown glass, hand-painted, and gilt with a gold that shines softly in the light. It’s hand-made and there are absolutely no air bubbles visible, speaking volumes of the brilliant technique and painstaking care that must have gone into its production. “You know,” Eames says, sitting on the couch just in front of the table, elbows on his knees and cheeks in his hands. “I quite like it, from up close.” Arthur, still running high on the adrenaline of another steal, is pacing their lounge room. He looks over and pauses, taking the vase in for a moment before saying, “It’s beautiful.” “It would look lovely in our Tokyo apartment, wouldn’t it?” Arthur raises an eyebrow. “I thought you were going to sell it.” “Well, yes, but we haven’t promised the vase to anybody just yet, so we can change our minds, can’t we? Think about it, sitting on that rosewood cabinet you bought for the lounge room.” “You’re serious about this.” “Unless you mind, of course,” Eames says with a small smile. “After all, if we did sell it, you’d get half—” “I don’t care about the money, Eames,” Arthur interrupts, but he’s grinning. “But since when do you actually hold onto anything you’ve stolen?” Sitting back in the couch, Eames gives Arthur a brilliant smile. “Well, I still have you, don’t I?” With a smirk, Arthur crosses the room and straddles Eames. “Yeah, you do.” They sink back against the couch together, and Eames runs his hands over Arthur’s back, his smile growing even wider. “What is it about stealing things that gets you all hot and bothered? I don’t think you’ve ever been like this when we steal information right out someone’s mind.” “It’s not just the act of stealing, Eames, it’s also the fact that we get away with it. When we plan an extraction well enough, we can make sure we don’t leave any traces behind, so the mark never knows that we were there, in their head. It’s different when expensive things suddenly go missing.” “Of course,” Eames says, gently pulling Arthur’s head back by his hair and placing hot kisses down his bared throat. “Only you would be turned on by the thought of doing something difficult.” “Successfully doing something difficult,” Arthur breathes, his eyes fluttering shut. “And the knowledge that we’re getting away with it because we’ve planned it all out so neatly.” “Like clockwork,” Eames murmurs between kisses, and Arthur laughs. “Let’s go to bed, Mr. Eames.” “Mm,” Eames ogles Arthur’s arse on the way to their bedroom, “you only call me Mr. Eames when you want to do especially dirty things to me.” “Or when I’m annoyed,” Arthur adds, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling Eames on top of him. “Or frustrated, or angry.” “Hmm. My point still stands.” They undress each other slowly and Arthur rolls them over so he’s on top of Eames, with a smirk spreading across his lips. “Oh, I like it when you look at me like that,” Eames whispers, his voice husky and alluring. Arthur shivers in pleasure, rocking their hips against each other and enjoying the rough moan it draws from the forger. He does it again, and Eames’ hands settle on his sides this time, holding him still to grind right back. Their cocks are hot and hard against each other, and Arthur glances down at them, swearing in a low, breathless voice at the bead of precome forming on Eames’ erection. He takes hold of it, pumping it once, twice, and Eames arches up into the touch, his mouth open as he grunts softly. “I’m going to fuck you, Eames,” Arthur hears himself say, though he isn’t quite sure how he’s managing coherent sentences with a beautiful sight like this in front of him, Eames’ body twisting as he jerks up into Arthur’s hand. His mouth is dry and his head pounds with want, want, want. “I—I’m going to make sure you feel it for the rest of the goddamn week—damn it, Eames, how the fuck can you be real?” “Certainly not something you’d imagine up,” Eames says with a wink, and Arthur kisses him with more teeth than tongue. He bites right back, nipping on Arthur’s lips before his mouth falls open with a moan at the feeling of two slicked fingers sliding into him. Arthur’s lips move down to Eames’ muscled chest while his fingers stretch him open and they’re both already panting by the time Arthur decides Eames is finally ready, which is met with a fuck, yes, finally. Arthur presses himself all the way into Eames, stopping only when he’s fully sheathed, with Eames’ knees over his shoulders. Eames watches Arthur’s expression in wonder; his eyes nearly shut, his mouth hanging open, his every breath loud and shaky, and thinks as he does every time, that he is unbelievably lucky to be the only one who sees this side of Arthur, with his unkempt hair, sweat-slick body and the sweetest sounds escaping his throat. “Eames,” he gasps, moving slowly at first and then thrusting harder. “Eames.” His own breath hitches every time Arthur slams into him, and Eames can hear it—he’s fairly sure it’s loud enough that Arthur hears it too. This time, Arthur is playing fast and dirty; he knows exactly where Eames’ prostate is, and hasn’t missed it from the very first thrust. The forger knows that he won’t last for very long, but he doesn’t mind when it just means he can return the favour sooner. Then, they’re finally coming; Eames first with a loud moan, tightening around Arthur who follows just another thrust later. They pull apart and Arthur throws his condom out before he’s pulled back into bed, so Eames can nuzzle into him and kiss him with a loud smack of lips. “Oh the dirty… dirty things I’m going to do to you,” he pants against Arthur’s forehead. “Just as soon as we get our breath back.” Arthur huffs quietly as he grins. “First, a nap.” Before Eames can even respond, Arthur rolls onto his side and tucks himself against his lover, shutting his eyes. Eames would complain about having to wait before he can fuck Arthur with his tongue until he’s begging to just come already, except… Well, except that he’s really, stupidly in love with the lethal, brilliant, masterful man in bed beside him, and it’s not just the sex, it’s everything. Even the way he lets out a deep sigh just as his body fully relaxes and he falls asleep. They’re woken later by the sound of Arthur’s phone. “Pick it up,” Arthur groans against Eames’ chest, blinking his eyes open and deciding that he’s definitely not going to move from where he is. “S’your bloody phone,” Eames grumbles, but reaches over to the bedside table to pick it up and glance at the screen. He hands it to Arthur immediately. “Cobb.” “Hello?” Arthur says into the phone, sitting up. Eames sighs and puts his head in Arthur’s lap, placing open-mouthed kisses across his stomach. “No, you’re—not interrupting anything,” Arthur pushes ineffectually at Eames’ head. “What’s up, are you—oh.” Eames looks up at the way Arthur’s tone suddenly turns flat. His expression doesn’t volunteer anything beyond the fact that he’s unhappy, and Eames frowns, sitting up and listening to Arthur’s side of the conversation. “Yes I know it’s been three months—I was under the impression that it was my vacation, not yours—” “—Yeah, so there have been a few jobs. Nothing big. Just listen, Dom—” “—I don’t care if Saito fucking buys America for you. Your kids—” Finally, Arthur sighs wearily and glances at Eames, who knows the next part is for his benefit. “Right. Another corporate espionage job, but this time, we’ll take it slow because it reduces the risk. Four months to gather information and do our most thorough security infiltration yet.” Eames leans forward and his breath ghosts over Arthur’s lips as he speaks into the phone. “I do hope you’ll be needing a forger on this team, because otherwise, you aren’t getting your point man.” Arthur doesn’t even protest to this. Dom clearly says something that takes Arthur by surprise, because he pulls his phone away, puts it on speaker, and says, “Repeat that.” “Hey, Eames. I was under the impression the two of you were a package deal now anyway. Especially considering how long this job’s going to last. You’ve already been doing jobs together anyway, right? “And I suppose this will be in L.A.?” Eames asks, “Right where Arthur could be recognised by someone who knows the Wolffs?” “I’m pretty sure Phillip would keep it from getting out, if it did happen,” Arthur says. “If he knows what’s good for him. Not that the need should arise. We’ll be careful.” “I thought you were yelling at me for wanting to take another job,” Dom says, his tone light and teasing. “You know what it’s like,” Eames replies smirking at Arthur. “Dream sharing gets addictive. And it’s always good to have something to do between all the fantastic shagging.” “I did not need to know that,” Dom says, sounding as embarrassed as Arthur looks. “…Just give me a call when you guys are here and we’ll discuss the job in more detail.” “Give us a day or so,” Arthur glances at the clock on the wall, already making plans. Eames notices with approval that unlike before, he slipping into work mode doesn’t make him tense up. He is still warm and pliant under Eames’ hands and Cobb speaks, taking them both by surprise. “You know, Mal always said the two of you would end up being the most formidable couple in the world of dream sharing. If she could see you now, she’d be so happy.” Arthur shuts his eyes and smiles, and Eames places gentle kisses on both his eyelids before taking the phone from his hand. “See you soon, Cobb.” He hangs up and Arthur looks at him, “Package deal, huh?” “The most formidable couple in the world of dream sharing.” Eames grins. “At least it makes sure you don’t get whisked away for a job that keeps us apart for months on end. I think I’d miss you too much if we had to do that again.” Arthur’s lips quirk upwards into a smile. Before—before inception, before Mal’s death and everything in between—perhaps Arthur would simply have shrugged it off and pretend that it wouldn’t bother him just the same. Now, however, he simply takes Eames’ face into his hands and pulls him close so their foreheads are resting against each other. “Me too,” he admits quietly. “So I guess you’re stuck with me, Mr. Eames.” Eames chuckles and presses a kiss to Arthur’s lips. “Good, because I’m not going anywhere.” Arthur smiles, shutting his eyes. They’re having a moment, he realises, until Eames then continues to say, “Well, I guess I am going somewhere, but I’m taking you with me and that’s the important bit, isn’t it?” This, Arthur decides with a quiet laugh, is better. Better than anything he could have imagined, or wanted. Better than anything else in the entire world, and he strokes Eames’ lower lip with his thumb. “Yes. Yes it is.” x

• Oh my god, it is DONE ;__; ♥ Dear everybody, thank you so much for reading this! ♥ ♥ ♥
• Special thank you (THANK YOU FOREVERRRR) to visualcomplex because I don't know where I would be without you. You're ~AMAZING~ ♥
• Apologies and thanks to my friends list and people following my twitter for all the rambling and complaining and capslocking, hahaha. Especially everybody who encouraged me!
• Dear platina, you are SO AMAZING, omfg *__* Your art has pretty much made my year. Thank you so much ♥
• There is more rambling about the plotting that went into this fic over here, if anybody is interested.
• The lyrics used for each part are from songs found in sefiaczek's fanmix: I Desperately Need You.
  - Part One: Makes Me Wonder // Maroon 5
  - Part Two: Stay With You // Goo Goo Dolls
  - Part Three: Undisclosed Desires // Muse
  - Part Four: This Love // Ellie Goulding
  - Part Five: Better Days // Goo Goo Dolls
  - Epilogue: Meteor Shower // Owl City
• Again: Dear everybody, thank you for your time ♥

Comments

[coconabanana.livejournal.com]

I spent most of the time reading this wanting to knock some senses into their heads. I was like thiiiiisss close to pulling my own hair whenever they broke up, made up, then broke up again, and then made up again. My favourite part out of all is actually the very first part, when Eames kidnapped Arthur. Idk but it felt kind of a little bit out of this world, out of the universe of this story was set in. I AM PARTIAL TO THAT PART OKAY that's why I am waxing poetry over it. Anyway, before I start babbling over this fic until the comment length is as long as the fic, I shall congratulate you for finishing it and for a job well done 8Dbb

[kiyala.livejournal.com]

Haha yes, while I was writing, I would think "LOL YOU TWO, WHAT IS THIS RELATIONSHIP" xD Yay for dysfunctional relationships \o/

Glad you liked the beginning! And thank you for reading and commenting! :D