[fic] Michael

[kiyala.livejournal.com]

Title: Michael
Author: kiyala
Word Count: 6,472
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Explicit sex and shameless fluff. Also: this is kidfic
Notes: Written for this prompt on inception_kink

With many thanks for insane_duckfish and hidden_gems for their help when I was writing this ♥ ♥

It all starts one morning, when Eames is staring at his phone and it starts ringing. The caller ID informs him that it is not the person he wants it to be, but he answers immediately anyway. “Cobb.” There is the sound of children laughing and playing in the background, and then a deep breath that can only be Cobb. “Do you know where Arthur is?” And that, Eames will remember for years after, is the beginning of everything. Presently, he frowns and feels a sinking sensation in his gut, because he doesn’t know, and he’d just been about to call Cobb with the same question. “Do you think he’s in trouble?” Eames asks, already running through his mental list of people who would consider Arthur an enemy. “We’ve got a process set up to alert each other if something comes up.” Cobb doesn’t need to elaborate further, because Eames is familiar with it. Still, it’s entirely possible that Arthur could have been caught by surprise. Or worse… “Besides,” Cobb continues, “he left a note.” “A note.” Something twists in Eames’ stomach; jealousy. “He didn’t leave me a note.” “Are you sure?” There’s a loud crash, and the sound of a boy crying. Cobb swears under his breath. “I have to go.” Eames drops his phone on his unmade bed, and that’s when he notices it. There’s a small, square envelope on one of the pillows and he picks it up, huffing out a laugh at the neat handwriting that reads David William Eames. It’s from Arthur, and Eames can imagine him slipping into this hotel room in the middle of the night to leave it there. Well, he thinks to himself, that explains why his dreams had smelled of Arthur. He reads, lips moving to form each word as he imagines it in Arthur’s voice: Eames, This is a goodbye. I’m leaving, and I don’t think I can explain why. Thank you for everything. And I’m sorry I can’t say this to your face. Please don’t try to find me. (We’ll always have Vancouver.) —Arthur. PS: look under your bed. Eames sits down heavily and tries to process this. His mind doesn’t want to, because it keeps bringing him to one conclusion: he isn’t going to see Arthur again, and he doesn’t even know why. Not even Cobb knows where he is, and that’s an extremely unsettling thought. He glances at the note again and then puts it down, getting onto his knees and looking under the hotel bed. The unmade bed sheets get in his way and he brushes them aside until his hand knocks against something solid. “No,” he breathes, pulling the silver case out. It’s Arthur’s, he knows without having to think, and there’s a small, red die sitting on top of it. With a shaking hand, he reaches for it and rolls. It drops heavily, landing on a four. He tries two more times; four. “Oh,” he doesn’t pick it up again this time. Running his hands through his hair, he reminds himself to calm down and breathe. “Oh, fuck.” He’s dialling Cobb’s number before he can fully realise that he actually knows it off by heart. “Eames. Sorry about before.” “Not a problem. How’s your boy?” “Skinned his knee. He’s okay,” Cobb pauses for a moment, and says, “but that’s not why you called me.” “He left his PASIV with me. And his totem.” There’s a long silence, and Eames frowns. “Cobb?” “He’s actually gone,” Cobb sounds disbelieving. “He told me in his note that he wanted to get out of dream-sharing. I didn’t think he was this serious.” “Well apparently he is.” Eames clenches his teeth together and tells himself not to take his frustration out on Cobb. “You’re sure you don’t know where he is? Or know anyone who might?” “That’s why I called you. I couldn’t think of anyone else who’d know.” Eames swears quietly. “Then what do we do?” “Maybe we just leave him be,” Cobb suggests carefully. Eames shakes his head, even if Cobb can’t see it. “No. I can’t.” • The thing is, Eames really can’t let Arthur disappear like this. He can’t. Because of Vancouver. In Vancouver, they’d shared an apartment for two months because Eames owned one there, he didn’t see the point in making Arthur live elsewhere, and they were working together. They’d spent the first week arguing over all the small things that bothered them, which came from sharing the same space. The second week, they’d become actual friends. The third week, Eames had gotten up from his spot on the couch when Arthur had come home late, and greeted him with a kiss. He’d pulled away sharply, an apology on his tongue, but didn’t have the chance to actually utter it; Arthur had taken Eames’ face in his hands and pulled him back for another. After that, they’d gone from simply sharing an apartment to living together. They’d share meals, share space, and share Eames’ bed. The job had ended, two months later, and they’d parted ways, but there was an unspoken agreement that things had changed between them because of the job. In Vancouver, Eames had fallen in love. • “No, you see, Ariadne, if Arthur doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be found.” Eames paces back and forth across the floor of Ariadne’s studio apartment, hands in his pockets and a frown on his face. Ariadne looks up from the foam core building she’s working on and gives him a sad look. “Are you trying to talk yourself out of looking for him?” she puts her glue down and sighs. “If you’re looking for him, why are you at my place? Not that I don’t appreciate it when you visit.” “I’m here because I know where you are,” and it’s a nice change from chasing leads with dead ends. “I was hoping that you might have heard something from him. I noticed that you two got along well during the Fischer job.” She shakes her head, picking dry glue off her fingers. “I wish I could help. I wish I knew if he was okay.” Eames rubs a hand over his face, suddenly remembering how exhausted he is. “Right. I’ll leave you to your school work, then.” “Let me know,” she calls as he leaves, taking the stairs two at a time, trying to pretend he actually has someplace he wants to go. “If—when you find him.” He waves, not looking back, and repeats, under his breath, “If.” His hotel room is dull and impersonal, and he spends as little time there as possible, but he needs to sleep. He falls into bed, dreaming. Arthur is everywhere; not just one, but several of him, all hurrying in different directions, not sparing a glance at him. He follows one, then another, but none of them listen to him, his tone becoming increasingly desperate as he asks, where are you going, where are you going, where are you, where are you, where— He wakes, gasping, sweating and reaching for his wrist, making to tear the needle out, berating himself for the self-torture. His scrabbling fingers find nothing; no cannula, not even puncture holes. Well fuck, Eames thinks, dropping his head back onto his pillow. Even his natural dreams have been taken over by Arthur. “I need to find him,” Eames says later, to Ariadne, and it’s his form of a goodbye. She hugs him, looking worried, and it doesn’t even occur to Eames that the concern is for him, not Arthur. • He searches the small, obscure corners of the world before he flies Stateside, feeling that it’s too obvious of a choice to get his hopes up. He’s there for a day before his phone rings, and the caller ID informs him that the number is being withheld. “…Hello?” “Eames.” It’s Arthur’s voice, and Eames feels his chest tighten. “Arthur.” There are so many things he wants to say, that Eames has even taken to imagining entire conversations in his head, but he can’t think of anything now. “It’s been three months,” Arthur tells him, as if he really needs reminding. “You haven’t been working.” “Just searching,” Eames replies with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I just want to see you, Arthur.” “I told you not to look for me.” There’s a loud sigh on the other end, and Arthur sounds resigned. “You’re in the right city, Eames. But I’m warning you now—” “I’ll find you,” Eames says, palms sweating at the thought of being so close. “I know you will,” Arthur sounds tired. “Bye, Eames.” “See you.” Eames is already reaching for his laptop. He moves to the nearest cafe, because he needs tea, coffee, anything, and refines his search. It’s amazingly easy to find Arthur, once Eames knows where to look. He finds an address, commits it to memory, and orders himself another steaming mug of tea as he tries to think of what he’ll say to Arthur. • Eames sneaks through the back of the small, suburban house, partly out of habit, and partly because he can’t think of why Arthur is here, in a quiet neighbourhood and a two-bedroom house. Picking the locks, he slips inside, looking around at the neat kitchen, and moving into the lounge room. “Stay right where you are.” Eames freezes, turning slowly with his hands held in the air. “Eames.” It’s Arthur, holding a gun and standing protectively in front of something on the couch. “You couldn’t knock like a normal person?” “You know I like my surprises,” Eames smiles a little, looking at Arthur and carefully cataloguing the differences since the last time they’d seen each other. “What’s that there?” Arthur steps to the side and Eames realises that it’s a cradle. Sitting down, Arthur looks at the tiny baby inside and says in the most gentle tone Eames has ever heard, “Eames, this is my son.” The colour drains from Eames’ face and he looks at the child, sleeping peacefully, and then at Arthur, suddenly forgetting everything he’s planned to say, his mind taken over by the thought of Arthur with somebody else—with a woman—having a child. “Ah.” He swallows around the lump in his throat and forces a smile, turning his gaze back to the pale baby with dark hair. “He—looks like you.” “My adopted son,” Arthur clarifies. “I’m… taking care of him myself.” “Oh.” Eames sinks into the nearest chair, staring at the baby once again. Arthur would probably make a good father, he thinks distantly. The same way he’s good at everything he puts his mind to. “What’s his name?” “Michael,” Arthur smiles fondly, and it’s the first time Eames has seen that look on his face—since Vancouver. “After my grandfather.” “Michael,” Eames repeats softly. “That’s a lovely name.” “He’s nearly ten months old,” Arthur sounds proud. “He’s a good boy. He’s quiet most of the time, but he doesn’t seem to like sleeping at night.” “Like his father, then,” Eames smiles, and Arthur’s eyes widen. He grins, looking away. “Yeah. I guess so.” With another glance at Michael, he gets to his feet. “Would you like some tea?” “Please.” Eames stands as well, following Arthur into the kitchen. “I’m sorry,” Arthur says quietly, when the water’s boiled and they’re pouring it out. “This must be awkward. You weren’t expecting this when you came here.” “No, not really,” Eames admits, getting the milk out of the fridge. “But I wanted to see you. And I wanted to find out why you’d disappeared. I’ve done both of those.” “I checked up on you,” Arthur says, “regularly. Out of habit, I told myself, but I didn’t check where the others were even half as much.” “I moved more often than they did,” Eames shrugs. “You haven’t stayed still since I left.” “I was looking for you.” Eames is so blunt that it gives Arthur pause. With a sigh, he takes a sip of tea. “I missed you, from the moment I realised you were gone.” Arthur puts his cup down a little too hard, and tea spills over the side. He cleans it, not looking at Eames, and he puts his hands in his pockets to hide the fact that they’re trembling. “Considering I was expecting you,” he says, to the sink, “I cleared out some space in the office, and the couch has a fold-out bed… but, you know, there’s Michael, and if you don’t want to stay—” “I’ve got a job lined up nearby. Something quick and easy; shouldn’t take more than a week. I haven’t booked a hotel room yet, but if you and Michael wouldn’t mind the company…” Arthur stares, disbelieving, and then smiles. It’s the same lopsided smile that tells Eames he’s done something right. “We’d love company.” Eames grins. “I was hoping you would say that.” • The week passes and the extraction Eames takes part in goes without incident. Arthur doesn’t make any mention of Eames finding somewhere else to go, and Eames makes no effort to do so himself, content to sleep on the couch at night, and watch Arthur and his son with fascination during the day. “You know,” Eames watches Michael’s gaze follow the colourful stuffed toy he’s dangling in the air, “I don’t think it will be this easy once he learns to talk.” Arthur laughs quietly. “I’ll just enjoy this while I can, then.” “Just one question…” “Why I’m doing this?” Arthur guesses, raising an eyebrow. “Well, yes.” Eames fixes his gaze back on Michael. “You had quite the adventurous life, didn’t you? And you gave it up just like that.” “I’ve wanted to be a father for a long time,” Arthur admits, and his lips curve into a small grin. “Since the first time I held Phillipa, I think. She was so tiny, so beautiful, and Dom and Mal looked so happy. I wanted that. To know what that felt like. Except I couldn’t exactly do that the traditional way.” “So you adopted.” “You know, they drag you through hell and back if you’re a single male and want to adopt.” Arthur mutters, shaking his head. “The inception money finally came in handy.” “What did you do, buy the orphanage?” “That’s Saito’s style. No, I just gave them a generous donation.” “How generous?” Arthur grins. “Enough to keep them running for the next five years. And I drew up a plan for them that would help them stretch it out to ten, if they do their fund-raising properly.” Eames laughs. “Christ, just wait until your son’s in school. You’ll be ruling the P&C committee with an iron fist.” “My mother will be proud. She did the same. You should’ve seen the bake sales.” “I can imagine you standing in the corner, looking mortified. Little Michael has no idea what’s awaiting him.” They grin, lapsing into a comfortable silence. Arthur is the one to break it, clearing his throat. “So, you’ve been here for a week and a half already…” “You want me to leave?” “No. Fuck, no. I’m just—surprised. I thought Michael would scare you off.” Eames makes a show of scrutinising the baby. “Not terribly intimidating, I’m afraid. Cute, though.” “You know what I mean.” “I’m not running, Arthur.” Eames’ expression softens, and he brushes his fingers lightly over Arthur’s knuckles. Arthur links their fingers together, just briefly, and kisses Eames on the mouth. “I’m glad.” It’s just one kiss, and Eames doesn’t push for any more. Michael gurgles happily, and they both turn their attention to him, warm where they’re leaning against each other. That night, Eames walks sleepily into Arthur’s room, a few hours past midnight, to the cries of a baby and the placating murmuring that isn’t helping. “I’m sorry he woke you—” Arthur begins, when the door swings open, but Eames doesn’t reply, going straight to the crib and carefully picking Michael up. “Shh, baby. Come on, let’s go for a walk so Daddy can sleep.” Eames paces back and forth in the hall just outside, rocking Michael gently until he falls asleep. When Eames walks back into the bedroom and places Michael back in his crib, Arthur is sitting up. “Thank you. I didn’t know you were good with children.” Eames yawns and blinks, smiling sleepily. “Well, I think I told you once that my sister has three children. I’ve had plenty of practice being Uncle David.” “You look tired, go to sleep.” “Right. Good night, Arthur—” Eames murmurs, turning to the door when Arthur interrupts. “Where are you going? Sleep here.” Eames turns, and Arthur’s pulled the sheets open on the other side of his bed. He hesitates. “Are you sure?” Arthur rolls his eyes, lying down again. “I’ve been trying to find a way to invite you to share my bed without making it sound sexual for the past two days. Just go to sleep, Mr. Eames.” Eames smiles, crawling under the covers beside Arthur. “Don’t steal the quilt.” “You’d better not. Or I’m kicking you out of bed.” Eames laughs and Arthur grumbles, but it doesn’t take long until they’re lying on their sides, facing each other, and falling asleep. • It’s been two week since Eames’ arrival, and they wake in Arthur’s bed, their arms wrapped around each other. Arthur rubs his eyes and smiles at Eames, whose hair is sticking up all over the place. He runs his fingers through it, and whispers against Eames’ ear, “Vancouver.” “I love you too,” Eames murmurs, and can feel Arthur’s smile against his cheek. “I didn’t think I was the only one who couldn’t stop thinking about those two months,” Arthur says, when they’re eating breakfast. “Especially not when you looked for me for three months.” Eames winces. “When you put it like that, I’m embarrassed it took me so long. I’m supposed to be good at finding people, you know.” “But you’re not as good as I am,” Arthur says proudly. “No, I’m not,” Eames nods and then reaches into his pocket. Arthur frowns at the red die he places on the table, but Eames continues before he can comment, “I wondered if you wanted this back.” Arthur reaches out, closing his fingers around it, and sighs. The weight is familiar, comforting, and Eames watches him with a small smile. “You know Cobb’s back in the business now. His retirement lasted all of a month.” “I know,” Arthur sighs. “I know how hard it is to leave something like dream-sharing. It’s why I left my PASIV with you.” “If you ever want to return,” Eames says casually, “I know Cobb will welcome you back with open arms. And if you need somebody to watch Michael… I’ve had plenty of babysitting experience with my nieces and nephew.” “Thanks, Eames.” “And speaking of Cobb. You still haven’t told him you’re a father now. Nobody knows. As much as I love the thought of keeping the two of you all to myself, you ought to tell him—Ariadne too—we were worried sick for you.” “I don’t know how to tell them,” Arthur shrugs. “I didn’t even know how to tell you.” “We’ll work it out,” Eames sounds confident. “Michael’s turning one soon. They’ll want to be at his birthday party, and to be there, they’ll have to know.” “Can’t we just let them find out when they get their invitations to the party?” Eames smacks the back of Arthur’s head playfully. “No. You’re going to tell them. Especially Cobb. He needs to know that he’s got a godson, now.” “Oh.” Arthur looks confused for a moment. “You… didn’t want to be Michael’s godfather?” Eames’ eyes widen as he considers it for the first time. He frowns in thought and chooses his words carefully, “I’m not very sure it’s very… appropriate for the godfather to be in love with the kid’s actual father.” Arthur’s lips quirk into a small grin at that. “Yeah, I guess not. Uncle Eames, then?” “Honestly, Arthur, I’m fairly sure your son’s going to learn to call me Eames, with the exact same tone of exasperation you use.” “That’s my boy,” Arthur says proudly. Eames presses a kiss to Arthur’s forehead. “You’re both adorable. But don’t think that gets you out of having to call Cobb and Ariadne.” Arthur grimaces. “Right. I forgot how determined you are when you focus on something.” “I’m not as laid back and lazy as you seem to think, Arthur.” “Not as much as you want people to believe,” Arthur corrects. He kisses Eames gently and gets to his feet. “I’ll call them in the afternoon. For now, it’s almost time for Michael to wake up.” “Wonderful. You know, when he’s cranky from waking up, I could swear he’s learning how to frown from you.” Eames grins at Arthur’s expression. “Right. Exactly like that.” • “Eames is mad about you.” Arthur looks up from his bottle of soda, eyebrow raised. Ariadne has him cornered on the small patio in the backyard, and they’re both watching Eames, who is talking to Cobb, with Michael asleep on his shoulder. “I…” Arthur blinks, “well, yeah. We’re living together, right?” “Permanently?” “Maybe.” Ariadne sighs. “Maybe?” Arthur sips from his bottle. “I don’t know if he’d want to.” “Seriously? You’re such men. Just talk to him. He loves you. He obviously loves Michael. And right now, he’s asking Cobb about low-risk extractions.” “How do you know that? Bat-like hearing?” “Better,” she grins at him, “I was eavesdropping when I was playing with Phillipa and James before.” Arthur laughs, and Eames turns at the sound, a smile already on his lips. It tugs at something in Arthur’s chest, and he glances at Ariadne. “You’re right. I really do need to talk to him. I’ll ask him to stay with us.” “Permanently?” Ariadne beams, and hugs him. “Oh, I’m so glad.” Arthur waits until that night, after everyone else has left and they’re on the couch. Michael is tired from such a big day, and is sound asleep. Eames’ hand is on the back of Arthur’s neck, rubbing soothing circles into the sensitive skin, warm and comfortable. “Eames,” Arthur says in a low voice, sitting up properly, “I want you to live with me and Michael.” Eames smiles, brushing his lips across Arthur’s forehead, “I am.” “I know. I just want to make sure you know that I—don’t want you to leave. Not that you will—” “Arthur,” Eames interrupts, holding the sides of his face, “I love you. I’m not going anywhere. I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me.” “Good,” Arthur breathes, and then they’re kissing, holding onto each other. “That’s good. I mean—you have me. And Michael. You have us.” Eames chuckles, pulling Arthur in again and kissing him. “You know,” Arthur murmurs when they break the kiss for air, looking away, “Ariadne suggested that we turn the second bedroom into a nursery instead of an office. We don’t use it all that much and this way, we’ll have some room to ourselves.” “Mm, Michael has been getting better about sleeping through the entire night,” Eames smiles, “and I do like the sound of having our own room.” “I thought you might.” • They move Arthur’s desk and filing cabinet into a corner of the main bedroom, and there isn’t very much left to clean before they can move the crib in. The stuffed animals Cobb had bought and the oversized building blocks from Ariadne take up one corner of the room and Michael seems happy with the place, busying himself with a green block that he can barely get his arms around. Arthur and Eames both sit back on the floor, watching Michael crawl around and explore. He settles for gnawing on the ear of his stuffed bear, and Eames makes a small, happy sound, linking his fingers with Arthur’s. “You’ve no idea how happy this makes me,” he says, and Arthur raises an eyebrow. Eames gives him a crooked smile, “I’ve always loved to have… something like this, I suppose.” “Really?” Arthur smiles, and his cheeks dimple. He sucks on his bottom lip and says very quietly, “You know, when I was adopting him… I wished I could talk to you about it. Ask if you wanted to—to join me.” “Well, why didn’t you?” “I was afraid,” Arthur’s grip on Eames’ hand tightens just a little. “I really didn’t think you’d want to. I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to hear you say no.” “Oh love,” Eames murmurs, pressing soft kisses all over Arthur’s temple, down to his cheek and his mouth, “just so you know, my answer would have always been yes. I love you now, with Michael—your son—more than ever.” Arthur ducks his head, hoping his ears aren’t turning red, and hears Eames chuckle, nuzzling against his hair. He’s never been as articulate as Eames, as far as expressing his feelings are concerned, but later that night, when Michael is fast asleep and they have the baby monitor on, Arthur pushes Eames down onto the bed and crawls on top of him to kiss him hard. “Mm, this is nice,” Eames murmurs, grinning as he sits up against the head of the bed, his hands on Arthur’s sides. “What brought this on?” “You’ve been holding out because we were in the same room as Michael,” Arthur whispers, his breath hot against Eames’ ear, “you know it’s just something you have to do, but it’s been driving you crazy. I know, because I feel it too.” “I can see that,” Eames sounds both amused and aroused as he palms Arthur’s cock through his trousers. “So, I take it that now we have the room to ourselves…” Arthur kisses him hard, nibbling on his lower lip. “Exactly.” “Ariadne is a genius.” Laughing, Arthur pulls Eames’ shirt over his head and runs his hands down the hot skin, feeling Eames shiver beneath the touch. He undoes Eames’ pants, wasting no time before he wraps his hand around Eames’ cock, coaxing it to full hardness. “Fuck, Arthur,” Eames’ head falls back against the pillows, and he screws his eyes shut when he feels Arthur’s lips against the head of his cock, “yes.” Arthur hums, and Eames can feel the sound travelling along his body. Arthur’s hair is already messed out of its pristine style, and Eames runs his fingers through it, placing his palm against the side of Arthur’s face and smiling when he leans into the touch. Pulling away, Arthur licks his lips and gives Eames a disarming smile. Then, he bobs his head and swallows the entire length of Eames’ cock in one smooth motion. Eames gasps, fingers twisting in the bed sheets as Arthur sucks, sliding his lips over the length. Placing a hand on Arthur’s shoulder to still him, Eames shakes his head. “You’re—amazing at this, don’t be mistaken. I just want to make this last a little longer.” Arthur smirks at him, crawling up Eames’ body to kiss him. “I see.” “It’s been a while,” Eames murmurs with a dazed smile. “Yeah it has.” Arthur kisses him again, reaching over to the bedside table to pull out a bottle of lube and a pack of condoms. Eames makes a delighted sound when he notices. “Always prepared, aren’t you?” “I just know us too well.” Arthur slicks his fingers, pushing Eames’ legs apart with his other hand. “I’m going to go nice and slow, so you can relax and I can feel you come apart.” “You’ve been thinking about this a lot,” Eames’ breath hitches when he feels one, long finger push into him. Arthur curls it, pulling it halfway out before pushing it back in, fucking him shallowly until Eames grunts quietly, wordlessly asking for a second finger. Arthur complies, scissoring slowly, stretching Eames and watching the expressions on his lover’s face, pinpointing the exact moment Eames wants more, and pushing a third finger in. “Arthur,” the forger gasps out, his knees hooked over Arthur’s shoulders, pupils blown. “Come on, come on…” “Not yet,” Arthur whispers, curling his fingers, exploring, searching… “Oh—oh god,” Eames barely remembers to keep his voice down for Michael’s sake, stars dancing across his vision as Arthur strokes his prostate. “Oh good lord, Arthur, that is amazing.” “Tell me what you want, Mr. Eames,” Arthur murmurs, enjoying the way Eames’ entire body tenses beneath his. “I want—” Eames certainly wants it badly enough that it shouldn’t be this difficult to ask for it, but the way Arthur’s fingers are rubbing over that one spot is making it impossible to do anything but moan softly and try not to come. “Tell me,” Arthur insists, pressing a little harder. “Fuck—” Eames gasps, knuckles white as he grips the bed sheets, “Fuck me. Fuck me, Arthur, please, please…” Chuckling lightly, Arthur presses a kiss to Eames’ forehead, “Only because you asked so nicely.” He rolls a condom on and positions himself against Eames, pushing in gently, and has to bite his lips to muffle his groan at the way it feels to have Eames surrounding him, hot and tight. It’s been far too long. Eames screws his eyes shut, mouth falling open in a silent moan as Arthur thrusts; gently at first, until Eames whispers, “harder,” and the bed creaks quietly beneath them as Arthur complies. Neither of them last for long, when they’ve been craving this for so long, and all it takes is for Arthur to find Eames’ prostate again, thrusting against it once, twice, and then Eames is biting back his moan, fingers twisting in the sheets as he arches and comes all over his stomach. Arthur follows soon after, his fingers digging into Eames’ hips as he snaps his hips forward, releasing with a low growl. Eames hums contently, eyes half-lidded and a lazy smile on his lips as Arthur throws the condom out and slides back into bed beside him. “Not a peep from Michael,” Eames announces happily, glancing at the baby monitor before rolling over and nuzzling against Arthur’s neck. “Your boy is wonderful.” Our boy, Arthur almost corrects him, and lies awake after Eames has started snoring softly, both surprised and pleased by the thought. • It’s a warm afternoon, and the three of them are in the lounge room. Arthur sits at the coffee table, typing on his laptop and compiling information for a new job they have taken. Rather than performing an extraction, they’ve been hired to militarise the subconscious of a high-profile CEO. Eames, being Eames, has decided that it is a brilliant idea to do so, but wants to leave behind a tiny hole in his subconscious defence, just in case the need should arise to take advantage of it. Arthur’s only reaction to the suggestion had been to smile and then start researching the best way to leave a weak spot. Eames is sprawled on the carpeted floor, leaning back against the couch and reading through the files Arthur has already put together, and they both keep an eye on Michael, who is babbling happily to himself as he plays with a large, colourful ball. “You know, I’d be concerned about this if you were going in by yourself,” Arthur says casually, not ceasing his typing, “I mean, a standard militarization is easy enough for one person, but if this plan of yours goes wrong…” “Cobb will be there to smooth things over,” Eames finishes, reaching across to pat Arthur’s knee reassuringly. “If anything goes wrong. I am a professional, you know.” Arthur rests his hand on top of Eames’ for a brief moment. He knows better than to tell Eames to be careful, because nobody gets as far as they have in this kind of career without knowing damn well to be careful. Still, when Eames’ fingers close around his hand in a gentle squeeze, they both know it’s a silent promise to do just that. With a cheerful gurgle, Michael bats at his ball with a tiny fist, sending it rolling across the floor. It comes to a rest at Eames’ feet, and Michael reaches for it, huffing when he realises that it’s far out of his reach. “Come on, then,” Eames says, sitting up and placing a hand on the ball, both he and Arthur immediately distracted from their work, “you’ll have to get your ball, won’t you?” Michael places his hands on the floor, and Arthur chuckles, “He’s going to crawl over and snatch that ball away before you realise what’s hit you. That’s my boy.” Eames laughs, but he sounds distracted. His gaze is still on Michael, and he says, “Arthur, I think—” Michael takes that moment to push himself to his feet, taking his first staggering steps. Eames makes a delighted sound, reaching out to encourage him, and Arthur reacts immediately, pulling his phone out and snapping photo after photo. “There we go!” Eames exclaims as Michael manages to take just enough steps to collapse into his hands. The forger holds him up and beams, “What a big boy! Arthur, did you see that?” Arthur isn’t actually sure that he’s ever going to stop smiling. He kneels beside Eames, kissing the top of Michael’s head. “Amazing.” “Sit over there,” Eames says, excited, “let’s see if we can get him to walk over to you.” Arthur shuffles backwards and reaches out. Michael is smiling, sensing their happiness, and reaches for Arthur. “Come here Michael,” Arthur coaxes. “Go to Daddy,” Eames nudges him, and he walks, stumbling and building momentum before he collapses in Arthur’s arms. Lifting his son into a proper hug, Arthur laughs with wonder, “God, it feels like he was just learning how to crawl yesterday.” “They grow fast,” Eames watches them with a fond look. “Don’t just sit there,” Arthur says, holding an arm out. “Get over here.” Obeying, Eames raises an eyebrow. “What’s this?” Arthur’s arm slides around Eames’ shoulder and the three of them sit there, on the floor in the middle of the room, smiling. “It’s a family hug, you idiot.” • Once he learns to walk, Michael finds many more ways to get himself into trouble. It’s a late summer evening and the sun is only just setting. Michael has worn himself out from running all over the house and is asleep. Arthur and Eames, tired from chasing him around, are lounging outside on the porch. “Michael is going to be such a troublemaker,” Eames says, grinning against Arthur’s forehead as they lean against each other, “and he hasn’t even started talking yet.” “He’s going to grow up to be like you, isn’t he?” Arthur grumbles, though his dimples are showing, “Finding trouble just because he’s bored.” “I’ll have you know that if you’re referring to that time I got into a fight with that police officer, it was because he insulted my mother.” With a smirk, Eames nudges him. “Don’t you worry. I’m sure you’ll terrify him into behaving himself.” “I’m not actually planning on terrifying him, Eames. Not everyone needs to be taught the same way you do.” “Oh, Arthur, I was never actually terrified,” Eames laughs, “but you do have plans for little Michael.” “Of course I do,” Arthur smiles, leaning back into his seat, “I was thinking maybe he could learn a musical instrument sometime. I was never that great at sport when I was a kid, but hey, he might be. I can teach him everything he needs to know about science and mathematics—you know, all the fun, logical stuff.” Eames snorts quietly, “Of course. And what are you going to do when he comes up to you saying, Dad, can you teach me how to punch a guy out?” “I’d tell him that violence is not the answer. Unless the guy is a real jackass.” The corners of Arthur’s mouth twitch upwards and he wets his lips, continuing in a careful voice, “And I’d probably tell him that he’s better off asking his other Dad.” Eames’ eyes widen at that, his mouth dropping open. It takes him a full minute to ask, “Do you—you mean…” “I mean you,” Arthur confirms, gauging Eames’ reaction, “I… well, if you want to.” Eames rubs a hand over his face and laughs. It’s a quiet laugh, and he’s still grinning when he turns to Arthur, digging a hand into his pocket. “Well, you know, that makes me a whole lot more optimistic about this.” “What—” Arthur falls silent as Eames pulls out a small box and opens it. It’s a simple, silver ring, and Eames takes it out of its cushion, holding up. “Just one word, Arthur. That’s all I ask.” “Fuck yes,” Arthur breathes, kissing Eames hard. Eames kisses back, slipping the ring onto Arthur’s finger with a quiet chuckle, “Love, that was two.” “Shut up and kiss me again.” “Gladly.” • It’s past Michael’s bed time, and he lies between Arthur and Eames as the three of them read a bedtime story. Michael hasn’t yet started to speak, but he does understand what he hears and this is his favourite book, helped by both the bright illustrations and the fact that Eames has convinced Arthur to do the voices with him. By the time they’ve read through the story twice, Michael’s eyes are finally drooping and Arthur shuts the book, placing it on the bedside table and picking him up. “Right. Off to bed with you. Say good night to Dad.” Eames smiles when Michael waves at him, sitting up and listening to Arthur tucking their son into bed. Arthur returns soon and Eames reaches out, pulling him down into an embrace as soon as he is close enough. Arthur rests his head on Eames’ shoulder with a content sigh, and neither of them need to say anything to break the comfortable silence around them. Eames chooses to anyway, stroking Arthur’s hair and whispering, “God, I love you.” Arthur’s lips twitch upward. “Oh really.” “Really,” Eames says, mock-serious. “It’s terrifying, actually, when I sit down and actually think about just how much.” “Good thing you don’t sit down and think very often then, hm?” “Oh, piss off.“ Eames laughs softly and Arthur joins in. “Honestly, Mr. Eames,” Arthur links their fingers together, his gaze lingering on their identical wedding bands, “weren’t you paying attention to the vows? It was essentially a warning that you would be stuck with me and my asshole comments, as you so fondly call them.” “Of course I was paying attention. I’m pretty sure I warned that I’d give as good as I get,” Eames smirks and adds, “Mr. Eames.” “I didn’t change my name—” Arthur begins, and then his eyes narrow. “Wait. Those fake identities you created for when we go to Belgium next week—” “Surprise.” Eames simply grins. “Aren’t you glad you married me?”

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