Title: Specificity (Dreams Are Not Enough)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Word count: 3009
Summary: The thing about dreams is that sometimes they come true (or the one where Arthur invades Eames's dreams and Eames doesn't mind in the slightest).
Author's notes: My first fic in this fandom. Inspired by a quote from Jane Austen's Emma: "...faultless in spite of all her faults". I'm sure this plotline has been done to death already, but this fic has been running around in my head, demanding to be written, so eventually, I just had to give in.
Specificity (Dreams Are Not Enough)
It began as an accident. So many things do. Eames was standing in front of the mirrors in the room he had dreamed up to perfect his forges. He was trying to determine what was off about his latest impersonation, when suddenly he became aware that he wasn't alone.
This was something of a surprise, since the room had been designed without doors or windows to afford absolute privacy. Also, he had been alone when he went under and even if he hadn't been, his colleagues were too professional to gatecrash another team member's dreams.
On the other hand, the identity of the intruder was not very surprising.
"You need to straighten your back more", Arthur told him, "and squint less. Right now, you look like Mr Magoo."
Eames spun around, the mark's face sliding off him as he focused on the other man. Trust Arthur to get past his defences and worm his way even into these dreams.
"Are you real", he asked, "or a projection?"
Arthur didn't answer. Instead he stepped closer and slipped a hand into Eames's hair and his tongue into his mouth. Eames let out an embarrassing little moan and returned the kiss eagerly. It didn't last nearly as long as Eames would have liked and when they pulled apart, Arthur whispered,
"What do you think?"
This time, Eames was the one who didn't reply. He kept his eyes closed, wanting to pretend a little while longer. When he finally opened them again, Arthur was gone. Eames stared for a while at the empty space in front of him, before sighing and going back to work.
He only hoped the projection would stay out of any dreams he shared with the real Arthur.
~*~*~*~*~*~
After that, it was as if a dam had broken and the projection of Arthur kept appearing. Fortunately, he limited his visits to Eames's private dreams in that small room, allowing Eames to stop worrying about him messing up his missions or exposing his secret crush to the real Arthur. Even in those private dreams, he didn't always appear, but it happened regularly enough that Eames started feeling a thrill of anticipation whenever he went under.
They didn't really do anything to warrant the excitement. Mostly, dream-Arthur stood behind him and watched him practice his forges, occasionally making a suggestion how to improve them. In the real world, his work mates, Arthur among them, commented on how his work had improved. Eames just smirked at them, refusing to tell anyone about his secret helper.
Sometimes, usually when Eames had been working in close proximity with the real Arthur and needed something to take the edge off, he and dream-Arthur would spend some time kissing each other in front of the mirrors, while Eames snuck glances at them, taking note of how perfectly they fit each other.
They never did anything more. It wasn't that Eames didn't want to take it further. God, did he ever! He just had yet to give up hope that one day he would have the real Arthur pressed up against him like this, wiry arms around his waist and shoulders, one hand tugging at his hair, the other groping his arse. When that happened, he wanted to be able to enjoy the sensation fully and not be desensitised by the regular, seemingly physical, but ultimately illusory manifestation of his fantasies.
Of course, he couldn't quite resist touching his dream lover. He was only human. As their kisses grew increasingly heated, he'd slip his hand underneath dream-Arthur's waistcoat, pull the perfectly ironed shirt from his trousers and slide one hand up against the bare skin of his back. Without fail, Arthur would shiver in his arms at the contact and press even closer, kissing him even more fervently. Eames always wondered if the real Arthur would react the same way and desperately wished he'd get the opportunity to find out.
At other times, he'd make the projection stand in front of the mirrors, while Eames pressed up against his back, sliding his hands up and down his chest and stomach, down his arms and caressing his face. He loved the heavy-lidded looks of desire those dark, dark eyes sent him through the mirror, the way that expressive mouth parted on a gasp, the hint of dimples and the dark curl of hair escaping the perfectly styled slickness, signs of Arthur falling apart. Sometimes he'd whisper in the projection's ear, hot and intimate,
"Look at you, so human and flawed! You work so hard to be perfect, when really, it's your imperfections that make you so. How I wish you could be real, so I could show you this!"
Well, that's the trouble with wishes. Sometimes they come true.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Eames is standing in front of the mirrors, watching himself critically. His latest forge is a young man, handsome and arrogant. He thinks he has the looks down right, but there is still something he's missing.
"You're too confident", Arthur's voice comes from behind him, "as if you really believe in yourself. Keep in mind that arrogance often is just a cloak used to disguise insecurity."
Eames smiles and allows the handsome young face to melt away, wanting to be himself when he looks upon his favourite projection. These visits have become less frequent of late and he has begun to worry that maybe his growing acceptance that Arthur will forever be out of his reach is to be blamed. He doesn't know if he'll be able to deal with that. Kissing Arthur, even this poor replica of him, has become a drug and if he is never to have the real thing, shouldn't he at least be allowed to keep this consolation prize?
"I was beginning to fear that you were one demon I'd managed to exorcise", he teases, trying to hide the hurt beneath a flippant tone and not quite hitting the mark, "and wouldn't that be ironic, considering you're the one demon whose possession I gladly subject to?"
The projection blinks, looking almost confused for a moment, but it is so brief that Eames tells himself he imagined it.
"I'm not sure I like being called a demon", dream-Arthur says and Eames laughs. He loves how the projection is becoming more like the real Arthur every time it appears and does his best to ignore what this says about his own habits. When you think about it, it's almost a shame he'll never have to forge Arthur. The time he's spent studying him, he'd have no trouble whatsoever getting it right.
"Then maybe you should stop being so fiendishly attractive", he replies, "and bring an end to this personal hell I'm living in by actually allowing me to touch you."
There is no one in the world who can raise an eyebrow with as much scorn as Arthur. Eames wonders if he should be bothered by the fact that it's one of the things that made him fall for him.
"That's a terrible line", Arthur says. "Frankly, I expected better from you."
Eames grins and opens his arms.
"Come here, and I'll show you better", he tempts, but the projection merely shakes his head, although the dimples are showing and that has always counted as a victory in Eames's book. He should be disappointed at the lack of body contact, but this verbal sparring reminds him too much of his interactions with the real Arthur for him to care. Now that he thinks about it, Arthur probably would be the type to play hard to get.
"Maybe you should get back to work", Arthur suggests. "You only have a few days to get it right."
This suggestion isn't anything new. Dream-Arthur rides him just as hard as real Arthur; unfortunately, neither do it in the way he'd like.
"Fine", he agrees, because he really does need to get this right and the projection's suggestions are always helpful. "What were you saying about confidence?"
"You're acting too confident", Arthur tells him again. "There's a difference between arrogance and confidence. Arrogance is often used to hide a lack of confidence - as you should know."
It's Eames's turn to raise his eyebrow at that, although he knows it's nowhere near as elegantly as Arthur does it.
"Seriously?" he says incredulously.
"What?" Arthur challenges. "You deny it?"
"No", Eames replies, because where would be the point in that? "It's just... Pot, meet kettle? I'm sure you'll get along famously."
Arthur scowls at him, crossing his arms defensively, and they can't have that. A peeved Arthur is an unbearably sexy Arthur and yes, Eames probably should feel some concern for his sanity, but then again, there is something to be said for madness. Especially when it takes the form of a slender, well-dressed man with no clue how gorgeous he is in his disapproval. To heck with work; this is far too tempting.
Eames stalks forward towards the projection, crowding him up against the wall. He delights in the way Arthur's eyes widen and his arms drop reflexively against Eames's chest. Before he can speak, Eames captures his mouth in a passionate kiss, too starved for this to take it slow. Arthur gasps and Eames takes the opportunity to slide his tongue inside, swallowing the moan that follows.
They spend some time exchanging heated kisses, with Eames's hands stroking Arthur's back through the waistcoat and Arthur's hands buried in Eames's hair. It's an exquisite form of torture, feeling Arthur's passion match his own and knowing that he won't allow either of them to reach fulfillment. When he finally pulls back - although without breaking their embrace - Arthur moans again, this time in disappointment, and Eames has to chuckle.
"Sorry, pet", he says. "That's as far as I'll go while you're not real."
The projection glares at him darkly, but the effect is somewhat ruined by his swollen lips and flushed cheeks. He looks more delicious than ever and it's taking all of Eames's willpower to resist swooping back in for more, which would be unwise, since his grasp on his control is already tenuous at best.
"Does this feel fake to you?" the projection asks, tugging sharply at his hair and at the same time pressing up against him, making it abundantly clear wherein his displeasure - or rather too intense pleasure - lies.
Eames has to bite back a moan of his own and as Arthur's neck is still bared, it provides the perfect target.
"Fucking vampire", Arthur pants. "If you want to suck, I've a better suggestion where you can put your mouth."
As punishment, Eames licks a stripe from his shoulder to his jaw, which makes Arthur's hips stutter against him, and then releases him.
"I can't", he says. "Not with a figment of my imagination."
"Damn it, Eames!" Arthur runs a frustrated hand through his hair, mussing it up the way Eames loves to see it. "Quit being such a fucking tease! You want me, you can't deny it! It's obvious I want you. So what's stopping you? When the hell did you become such a fucking gentleman?"
"I'm not. But you're not him."
"So what? What does it matter if I am or not?"
"I just can't", Eames says and now he's pleading with his own subconcious. His life is so messed up. "Please, just let it go!"
But of course Arthur doesn't. It's one of the things that makes him such an exceptional point man, his inexorable tenacity. The words 'admitting defeat' are not part of his vocabulary.
"But why?" he says. "Why does it matter when we're both clearly desperate for it?"
And it's too much, trying to keep it in. Why should he lie, anyway? It's his own sodding subconscious. Maybe it'll even help, saying it out loud.
"Because it's too much", he admits, "and not enough. Because I can't do this here and then wake up and pretend nothing has changed. It's not just want. I love him and this will just make it that much harder knowing I can never have him."
The projection stares at him, stunned into silence. Eames can't quite bring himself to meet his eyes. He doesn't like being this vulnerable, even in the privacy of his own dreams, and he doesn't really want to know how Arthur might react to such a confession. For however much he prides himself on his imagination, even he can't quite fool himself into believing it'll be positive.
"You love..." Apparently, it's too much to finish that sentence.
Eames nods.
"I love him, yes."
"How long...?"
"Too long. Forever. Since we met. Since our first fight. I don't know."
"But... All those insults, all those verbal barbs..."
"Disguised declarations of love."
"You say I'm condescending and that I have no imagination."
"So?"
"You're always the first to point out my mistakes."
"And?"
"You know my faults better than anyone."
Arthur sounds almost accusatory now. Eames smiles sadly.
"Will it never penetrate that thick skull of yours", he says affectionately, "that that is why I love you? I've never wanted perfection and if I did, I'd still want you. There's not a single thing I would change about you - except maybe your aversion to me. You are perfect! At least you are to me. But don't you see? I don't want some pale carbon copy of you; I want you with all your imperfections and faults, even the ones you still haven't allowed me to see. I want to learn them all, so I can love them all. And that is why this" - he gestures with his hands between them - "will never be enough."
Dream-Arthur stares at him, as if trying to figure out which one of them is dreaming here. It really shouldn't come as such a shock to him that Eames loves his real life counterpart, since Eames has whispered as much in his ear numerous times, but apparently, this time, something is different. Maybe he's finally hearing what Eames is trying to say.
After a while, Arthur finally stops gawking, closes his mouth and narrows his eyes.
"A carbon copy, you say", he repeats. "Tell me, Eames, what exactly is it that real Arthur has that I don't? In what ways am I inferior? How can you tell us apart?"
Eames sighs.
"It isn't just one thing", he hedges, but there's that same determination in Arthur's eyes, saying he won't let this go.
"An example, then", he says. "Give me specificity, Eames!"
And Eames tries, he really does. He already knows the differences aren't physical. He is a good enough forger to take note of even the smallest details in a person's appearance. The trouble is in the personality. People aren't like documents; there are too many layers to them, some of which they aren't even aware of themselves, for anyone to get them all right. Too many varied experiences, big and small, have shaped them; too many ideas and emotions influence how they behave. No matter how long or how hard Eames has studied Arthur, he can never know everything about the man and that makes it impossible for his subconscious to create a perfect projection.
The thing is, though, that the man standing in front of him is. Perfect, that is. There is nothing off about him; nothing to set off alarm bells in Eames's head, telling him that this is wrong, wrong, wrong. On the contrary, everything about him feels right, down to the way he scowls without furrowing his brow and how he crosses his arms without wrinkling his shirt. Details that Eames knows is all Arthur, but that he's never noticed before.
Even before the suspicion is fully formed, his head starts swimming, his heart begins making a wild bid to escape his chest and his knees turn to jelly. He can't bring himself to say it, terrified of having it confirmed.
Apparently, Arthur can see it in his face, because his own expression softens into one almost like guilt. He takes a few steps forward, closing the distance between them, and places one hand on Eames's shoulder and the other on his waist, steadying him.
"I was curious", he says. "I wanted to know what happened here to make you so happy sometimes and so sad at others. I guess I suspected a dream lover and I was... I was jealous. How's that for irony?"
Eames still can't speak. He can't take this in. He just keeps staring at Arthur, his lifeline, the one that always keeps him firmly anchored in reality, even when they're dream-sharing.
"I'm not sorry", Arthur says, almost defiantly. "If I hadn't... You'd just have kept lying, wouldn't you? You'd never have told me. And we'd both still be miserable."
He leans closer, until their foreheads are touching.
"In case you haven't figured it out yet", he whispers, "I love you too."
As if those four words work to break the spell, Eames is finally able to shake off his stupour and respond. Although it is only to rasp out, through a throat thick with emotion,
"Not here. Awake. I want to be awake."
Arthur nods and before Eames knows what's happening, there's a bullet through his brain and he startles awake in the latest of what seems like an endless series of nondescript warehouses. Beside him, Arthur is slowly opening his eyes, fixing them on Eames. He looks almost wary and his cheeks are still flushed. For a long moment, they just sit there, staring at each other.
Predictably, Eames is the first one to move. He rises from his chair and Arthur watches him approach with a mixture of trepidation and anticipation in his eyes. Eames kneels in front of him, praying that they are still alone but not caring enough to check, and places his hands on Arthur's firm, warm, real thighs.
"Now", he says, leaning forward until his lips brush Arthur's as he speaks, "where exactly did you want me to put my mouth? And remember, love, specificity!"