Fic: Stay, thou art so beautiful - Act III
Act III
Master post of all chapters here.
Act III
Los Angeles, a year and a half later
"Eames," Cobb says, straightening up over the architectural model he's working on as Eames saunters through the door. "You're not-what are you doing here?"
Cobb's handsome, Eames supposes, in that broad, dull, American way. A dependable architect and surprisingly skilled extractor, he forms a formidable team with that gorgeous French wife of his as chemist and Arthur as a point man. It's a pity they only go in for legal jobs (more paperwork, less pay), but that's what children and family will do to you.
"Arthur's expecting me," Eames lies smoothly, continuing towards the back office where Arthur has surely set up camp. "Carry on with whatever you're doing-I won't be long."
The expression on Cobb's face indicates skepticism, but he simply shakes his head and returns to the model. At a second glance, Eames notices a certain fatigue to Cobb's countenance that seems like it might be recent-a strange tension in his jaw that Eames can't recall ever seeing before. Trouble in suburban paradise, perhaps?
Eames sweeps into the office where Arthur is typing away at his laptop and shuts the door behind him. He's dressed in a suit, posture as elegant as always, and looks exactly the same as Eames remembers.
"This is a surprise," Arthur says, not sounding surprised at all.
"Inception," Eames says as Arthur shuts his laptop. "I believe it can be done."
Arthur pushes his wheeled chair back from the desk. "You've tried it?"
"Didn't take," Eames says, suddenly struck by the arrogant vee of Arthur's spread legs, the nearly lewd tailoring of his suit. "Not enough time to plan and a client who wouldn't dedicate the proper resources required for such an undertaking."
"I hear most of the dreamshare community has abandoned the idea of a successful inception." Arthur sits back, and Eames bites his lip at the way Arthur's trousers pull tight. "It's too difficult to convince a mark an idea was theirs all along."
"It's difficult but not impossible. Not if one is willing to go deeper." Eames tears his eyes away, the memories of Arthur's cock ramming down his throat entirely too fresh despite the year and a half that's passed.
"Eames," Arthur says softly as he leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, "are you asking me for something?"
"All I want is an opportunity," Eames says, an echo of words from what feels like another lifetime. "The necessary resources, a competent team. I can handle the rest myself."
Arthur is quiet a moment, inscrutable, before he finally nods. "Yes. Inception can be done. But it will take time to move all the proper pieces into alignment."
"I can wait."
"And since this is a new-arrangement," Arthur says, "I will require compensation."
Eames takes three steps forward to straddle Arthur's lap, curving forward to mouth lightly against Arthur's ear. "Shall we settle my tab now?"
Arthur's hands run up Eames' sides, heavy and hot. Eames sucks in a shaky breath as Arthur touches him all over, brings every nerve in his body tingling to life. He thinks about how it'd feel to slide to the floor and bury his face in Arthur's soft bollocks, or what it'd be like to strip naked and seat himself on Arthur's hard cock, writhe while Arthur watched and-
"Oh, my dove," Arthur murmurs as he pushes backwards in his chair and Eames is abruptly bereft of his touch. "You don't know what you do to me."
"Are you," Eames starts, blinking hazily as Arthur stands and puts his clothing to rights. "Don't you-"
Arthur quiets Eames with a gentle caress of his jaw. "Soon, Eames. Once the wheels have been set in motion."
Eames watches, wordless, as Arthur steps away and disappears through the door.
Zurich, six months later
Eames strolls through Münsterhof square, going completely unnoticed by the hordes of tourists who stop every few feet to take photos of the guild houses. None of their wallets contain credit cards he could plausibly use (Akihiko Yamaguchi, anyone?) but he does lift enough cash to see him comfortably through the week.
Aside from being the home of numerous multinational corporations and therefore ripe with corporate espionage opportunities, Zurich is a rather boring city. He's worked three consecutive jobs in Switzerland over the past five months and though they were lucrative, there's only so much skiing and German one can stomach before tedium sets in.
He's on his way back to the hotel when someone falls neatly into step beside him. One glance at the slim-cut trousers and dress shoes tell him all he needs to know: Arthur.
"I hope you're here to tell me I'm about to get a call," Eames says, "for a six figure job on the other side of the world."
"Tired of your private ski chalet already?" Arthur asks, sounding amused.
"I'm ready for something warmer," Eames says as he crosses the hotel lobby. "Africa, maybe. Somewhere to spend all the money I've accumulated from invading the exceedingly boring minds of bankers and accountants."
"The work is steady and it's safe," Arthur says. "There are worse things that could happen in dreams."
Eames glances sidelong at Arthur. "I heard about Cobb's wife. Is it true what they say?"
"The truth is-complicated," Arthur replies, and seems disinclined to say more than that. They reach Eames' hotel room and Arthur follows him in without so much as a by your leave. As soon as the door is closed, he says, "Your opportunity for inception is approaching. The pieces are falling into place."
"I see," Eames says as he tosses his jacket on a chair and walks over to the minibar. "Should I clear my calendar?"
"Not yet. I'll send word when it's time."
Eames pours a tiny bottle of vodka into a glass with orange juice and studies Arthur's reflection in the mirror above the counter. "Why are you here?"
"To tell you the news."
"You could have emailed me. Called."
"I could have." Arthur ducks his head, then looks up at Eames through dark lashes. "But maybe I wanted to see you."
"You've come to collect," Eames says, feeling clearheaded for the first time around Arthur in ages. There's the familiar curl of desire itching under his skin, but he's learned a thing or two about cold-bloodedness from the Swiss: this is all a business transaction, nothing more, and nothing less.
"You don't believe I'm here because I want to be," Arthur says. "You don't think I've missed you?"
"I think you want your payment," Eames replies, throwing back his screwdriver in two gulps. "And everything else is incidental."
"I could go," Arthur says. "If that's what you're telling me to do."
"Yes, go," Eames says, closing his eyes. "I'm in no mood for-"
Strong arms wind around Eames' waist, a firm chest presses against his back. "Eames," Arthur whispers as he nuzzles against the curve of Eames' neck, "please don't make me leave."
"You were the one who-" Eames stops himself before he can say, sent me away.
Arthur lifts Eames' right hand and presses a kiss to each knuckle. "I knew it would be months before I could deliver you anything and I couldn't stand the idea of seeing you disappointed. That's why I had to, Eames."
Eames swallows as Arthur's body seems to envelope him in heat. "I would have understood."
"I know that now." Arthur kisses and sucks at the spot behind Eames' ear, making him shudder with pleasure. "Will you let me make it up to you? Will you let me show you how much I've missed you?"
"How-" Eames starts, but Arthur simply takes his jaw in hand and kisses him. It's astonishingly gentle, Arthur's lips soft and sweet with promise.
When Arthur breaks away from the kiss, Eames opens his mouth to protest but Arthur says, "Come with me."
Eames allows Arthur to lead him by the hand to the bed. Arthur sits down on the edge of the mattress and touches Eames' chest. "You're gorgeous, even when you're pouting."
"I don't pout," Eames says as Arthur parts his shirt and leans in to lavish a nipple with attention. Eames buries his fingers in Arthur's hair as Arthur switches from one nipple to the other, sucking and licking the sensitive flesh with single-minded devotion. Perhaps not so single-minded, however, because Eames feels his trousers, weighted down by his undone belt, fall past his hips to the floor, followed shortly by his boxers.
Eames can scarcely believe it when Arthur bends down to wrap his lips around Eames' cock. It doesn't feel like any other blowjob he's ever received before, the pleasure of it nearly transcendent as he jerks forward and Arthur simply takes it all. Eames registers a finger probing at his entrance and usually it'd hurt, but it doesn't-nothing hurts when Arthur's got his mouth wrapped round Eames' cock like this.
Then Arthur touches something inside Eames and it's like a fucking sparkler going off behind his eyes. He doesn't know whether to thrust forwards or back, can hardly move at all with the rush of climax passing through him. He gasps and his hips stutter, Arthur smoothly swallowing and sucking without missing a beat.
After Eames finishes, he sags and Arthur guides him onto the sheets. Arthur crawls up over him and takes off his clothing, one article at a time, as Eames watches through half-closed eyes and touches liberally.
"Have I earned your forgiveness?" Arthur asks as he sits between Eames' legs, erection smearing precome against his inner thigh.
"Not yet," Eames says as he trails fingers up and down Arthur's back, over the swell of his arse.
"I guess I'll have to try harder then," Arthur says before lifting Eames' legs and pushing in.
Eames chokes out a gasp, unprepared for the blunt heat, the sensation of something pressing in, in, in. "Arthur," Eames exhales, unable to breathe as Arthur fully seats himself, buries his dick inside Eames like it was meant to be there.
When Arthur begins to fuck him, there's no hesitation, no gradual build. His every move rasps over Eames' prostate unerringly, steady bliss pulsing through Eames' entire body. His toes curl and his legs practically vibrate with tension, dick hardening again even though it's too soon, far too soon.
"I love the way you sound," Arthur whispers, voice a low counterpoint to the slap of their sweat-slicked bodies together, to the shocked moans Eames can't seem to stifle. "I want to hear you, Eames. I want to know you feel me inside you."
"Oh god," Eames says, an edge of desperation creeping in as Arthur slows his pace, pulls back. His fingertips scrabble across Arthur's back down to his arse, trying to will him into his earlier rhythm. "Arthur, please, I need-"
Arthur puts a hand to Eames' cheek and continues to fuck him, leisurely. It's amazing but nowhere near enough. "What do you need?"
"I need you," Eames says as he licks at the side of Arthur's thumb, shudders in relief when it finally slides between his lips to suckle. He's filled from both ends with Arthur, craving more, craving everything Arthur could ever give him.
"You have been good, haven't you?" Arthur purrs as he permits Eames to take more fingers into his mouth, suck on them rapturously. "You have been patient."
Eames wants to say yes but can't for fear that Arthur's fingers will slip away if he does, leave his mouth empty. He settles on a moan deep within his throat instead, and thankfully, Arthur seems to understand. The pace of his hips increases and Eames pushes against him, frantic.
Arthur shushes Eames' frenzied moans, fucks him so hard Eames is practically convulsing, his legs clamping down on Arthur's hips. He wants to come again, he wants to feel Arthur come inside him, he wants a hand on his cock, he-
"I know what you need," Arthur says as he pulls his fingers from Eames' mouth and slams him flat on the bed with his forearm. Eames tries to chase after them, tries to protest, but it's no use-he's trapped and Arthur doesn't care what he wants. Arthur's eyes burn dark and Eames can't look away, doesn't want to.
"You'll make me come," Eames gasps, and as soon as he says it, he knows it to be true. He can feel Arthur's thick dick inside him, rubbing him raw and pulsing, filling him with come. It seems to go on forever. Eames wants it all.
Arthur smiles as he fucks Eames with his softening cock, liquid trickling between Eames' thighs. Arthur releases Eames' chest and drags his fingers down to coat them in semen. "You will still be good for me, won't you?" he asks as he tenderly feeds Eames his fingertips.
Eames parts his lips and laps at Arthur's come greedily, sucks Arthur in eagerly. Arthur knows what he needs and Eames is so grateful for that, so grateful his mouth is no longer empty.
He comes, at last, Arthur's fingers stuffing his mouth and Arthur's cock stuffing his arse. His back arches off the bed and in a climax that's dazzling.
The orgasm leaves Eames slack-jawed and heaving, unable to move any of his limbs. His eyes shut to the sight of Arthur leaning over him, tracing the contours of his cheek.
He wakes to a darkened hotel room. He's lying face-down in sheets sticky with sweat and what appears to be his own semen. The covers have all been kicked to his floor, his entire body aches, and the memory of Arthur's fingers form a bruise all the way down his throat.
Cairo, 6 months later
Eames leaves Zurich, restless and ready to begin working on inception. He searches for Arthur, anxious for more details, a timeline-but there's no sign of him anywhere.
Eames takes a job in Morocco, travels from Casablanca to Lagos, finally winds up in Cairo where he blackmails a contact for Arthur's current location in the city.
"Where the fuck have you been?" Eames asks once Arthur steps inside the hotel room and flips on the lights. "I've been looking for you for six bloody months!"
"Things got tight in New York," Arthur says, seeming unruffled by Eames' unscheduled presence as he closes the door. "I had to cover my tracks."
"The US, still?" Eames forces himself to sit back in his armchair, take a deep breath. "What were you doing on that side of the pond?"
"A little bit of this, a little bit of that," Arthur says as he loosens his tie. "You and I come from the old world, from tradition. But America is brave and new and filled with such… fascinating things."
"What, like Dominick Cobb?" Eames sneers.
"His grief threatens to consume him," Arthur replies, sounding thoughtful. "It's a potent thing, what has manifested in his subconscious. I am curious to see how it will play out."
"Oh, right, of course, this is all a matter of professional curiosity," Eames says. "Need I remind you that we already made a deal? Exactly how long do you expect me to wait before I see results?"
Arthur undoes his cufflinks and sets them on the dresser calmly, one by one, but his mouth has thinned into a pale line. "I don't think I care for your tone, Mr. Eames."
"And I don't care for being jerked around for over a year," Eames says, standing. "I have been more than patient, Arthur."
"I told you inception would not be an overnight process." Arthur unbuttons his coat.
"And I paid with the expectation that I'd receive something for my trouble," Eames snarls. "Instead you disappear off the face of the earth and I'm left-"
It takes place so quickly Eames can hardly say what happens; one moment he's standing across the room from Arthur and the next he's slammed up against the wall, Arthur's forearm across his throat.
"You don't get to talk to me like that," Arthur says, eyes dark as he presses against Eames' air supply.
"Fuck you," Eames chokes out, which earns him a rough shove to the ground.
"Do you really believe I answer to you?" Arthur asks as he advances, lifts Eames by the collar up to his knees. "That I care about your convenience? Your petty whims?"
Eames takes a swing at Arthur, and even though he misses, it is enough to cause Arthur to release him. "We had a deal," Eames bites out as he scrambles to his feet.
"I set the terms." Arthur's punch glances off Eames' jaw and sends him reeling. "You dictate nothing."
Eames staggers backwards and tries to hit back, but Arthur evades the blow and, using Eames' own forward momentum, shoves him forward. Eames crashes into the hotel desk, the edge colliding with his stomach and knocking the breath from his body.
Arthur wrenches Eames' arm back behind his body and pushes Eames' face into the desk. Eames feels his lip split open as his cheek grinds painfully against the wood grain. "Why did you come here today, Eames? Was it to fight me? Because you know you can never win."
"Go to hell," Eames growls, struggling to break free. Arthur simply yanks Eames' arm back further, pain reverberating throughout his body.
"No. I don't think that's it." Arthur leans in close, breath hot against Eames' ear. Arthur's free hand-the one not holding Eames pinned to the desk-snakes around and up Eames' thigh to where he's painfully, shamefully hard. "I don't think you came here to talk about inception at all."
Eames twists and bucks, tries to throw Arthur off. Futile, of course. "You don't know fuck all," Eames says, but even to own his ears it sounds weak, the throbbing between his legs urgent and unmistakable. Arthur's body is a hot curve over him, feels like a thousand degrees all around him, hand cruelly confidant as he toys with Eames through his clothing.
"I know why you came," Arthur whispers. He undoes Eames' trousers, sends them to the ground while he continues to hold Eames face down, arse up and bare. "You came because it's been six months and now you're gagging for it, aren't you? You came to beg for my cock, didn't you?"
"I'd never beg," Eames grits out even as his dick swells further, heart pounding as he remembers the feel of Arthur inside him, not just his cock but his fingers-
"No more lies," Arthur purrs as he jerks Eames, rubs precome around the head of his dick with his thumb. "You want to feel me come inside you, don't you? You can't get enough."
Eames shudders when he feels Arthur's cock brush against his arse. He refuses to arch backwards, even though all he can think about is how it felt, how Arthur fucked him like an animal and made him pant for it-
"Tell me what you crave." Arthur removes his hand from Eames' cock and Eames bites his lip to stifle a groan, blood trickling into his mouth.
Arthur shoves in with no warning and it hurts, dear god it hurts, but through the pain Eames feels his body begin to react, the grind of Arthur's cock relentless against his prostate. Eames slumps, helpless against every unerring stroke Arthur makes. It feels like he's being ripped open, pleasure surging instead of pain, the length of Arthur so thick and beautiful.
"Arthur," Eames gasps, barely holding back moans as Arthur drills him without mercy, makes his entire body tingle and blaze. It's so good, it's so bloody good Eames can't move at all, can't do anything but take what Arthur's giving him, take it and pray it never stops. "Arthur, I-"
"Yes, Eames?" Arthur sounds hardly out of breath while Eames is panting, eyes rolling back with ecstasy.
"I-" Eames can't say it, he won't. Even as the heat and the pleasure cloud his mind, he refuses to give in.
Arthur releases Eames' pinned arm abruptly, kneeing Eames' legs open wider and tipping him forward for an angle that makes sparks fly behind Eames' eyes. "I can be kind," Arthur says, words punctuated by the obscene sound of his hips, his balls, slamming repeatedly against Eames' arse. "All you have to do is say."
Eames reaches forward with both arms to claw at the edge of the table, gripping hard in order to stay still as Arthur continues to fuck him. Eames refuses to thrust back, refuses to spread wider and take Arthur deeper, let him in as far as he'll go-
"Do you want me to come inside you?" Arthur asks. "Do you want me to fill you up inside? Leave you slick and wet? Do you want to lick the come away? Suck on my soft cock until I can fuck your mouth?"
Eames pants, slack-jawed, against the desk and feels lightheaded, delirious. He wants to rut mindlessly, wants to push back onto Arthur's glorious dick, wants Arthur to make him come over and over and over again.
And then Arthur's cock is suddenly gone. Eames pushes back against empty air a few times before realizing and releases a quiet moan before he can stop himself. When he moves to sit up, Arthur holds him down and his cock comes to lie gently against the cleft of Eames' arse. Eames feels his hole flutter, contract longingly around nothing, and aches.
"Eames," Arthur says quietly, patiently, even as Eames shifts restlessly. "Tell me."
"What-what do you want?" Eames finally manages.
Arthur begins to rock his hips lightly back and forth, a tantalizing but unsatisfying echo of the way he'd been fucking Eames before. "The truth."
"I want-inception," Eames says, unable to focus on anything but the sway of Arthur's cock against his arse.
Arthur lines his cockhead against Eames' hole but doesn't push in. "And?"
"And-and I want you," Eames says, sighing in relief when Arthur slides an inch inside.
"Excellent." Arthur kisses just behind Eames' ear and makes him shiver. "And?"
"I want-" Eames wets his lips. "I want everything you-you have to give me."
That earns Eames a slap on the arse and withdrawal of that one inch. "Eames," Arthur says warningly.
"Your-" Eames closes his eyes and tries to fight it but he can't, not when all he can think about is how much he wants Arthur to fuck him and put his fingers in his mouth, allow Eames to make him come. "Your cock. I came to you because it's been six months and I can't stop thinking about it. I can't stop sucking off other men and imagining it's you, I can't stop searching for someone to fuck me like you do."
"Oh, dove," Arthur murmurs as he guides Eames' head back, allows him to suck a finger blissfully into his mouth. "Don't you feel better now?"
Eames moans contentedly as he runs his tongue up and down Arthur's index finger. When Arthur puts his cock against the rim of Eames' arsehole, Eames lets him sink in an inch or two before wriggling back gently, trying not to be greedy and take too much. Thankfully, Arthur doesn't pull away or rebuke him, in fact, he guides Eames' hips backwards until Arthur's fully sheathed inside and perfect, utterly perfect.
Arthur leads Eames' hips in a forward and back motion a few times before saying, "Make me come."
Eames inhales and then begins to fuck himself on Arthur's cock, slowly at first and then faster. Every time Eames pushes back it goes deep, so wonderfully deep, and every move forward leaves him hollow and wanting more. He can feel Arthur's satisfaction in the way he strokes Eames' belly, the way he feeds Eames another finger, and then a third. Eames moans with happiness and tightens around Arthur's cock, hopes he can make Arthur orgasm harder than he ever has before.
Eames can feel it when Arthur begins to come, the way his body tenses around Eames like a tightened bow string. Eames savors it, suckles at Arthur's fingers until he's finished.
"I remember when we first met," Arthur says as he withdraws his fingers from Eames' mouth, ignores the whimper. "I still think of it, sometimes. I was alone at the bottom of that lake for what felt like eons and then there you were: beautiful, vibrant, alive."
Eames turns in the circle of Arthur's arms and kisses his neck, trails down his body to his softening cock, glistening with smeared come. Eames nuzzles it, kisses up the sides and flutters his tongue just underneath the head. He begins to lick Arthur's dick clean in earnest, Arthur's words washing over him as he does.
"You were so angry, so defiant-desperate to prove yourself. But you have now, haven't you? No one can deny you any longer."
Eames hums around Arthur's cock, feeling it twitch gratifyingly in his mouth. His lip hurts, still tender and sore where it split, but it's no matter, no matter at all. Arthur caresses Eames' cheek, watching him with heavy-lidded eyes, and smiles.
"I can give you anything you want, Eames. All you have to do is ask."
When Eames wakes up, he's half-naked and horizontal across the floor. The desk has visible gouges across its surface, a chair is broken, and the the room is empty of Arthur and his possessions.
Eames sits up and winces, the place where his lip had scabbed over splitting again. His jaw is sore, his knees are covered in rug-burn, and the rest of his body simply aches.
No more, Eames swears to himself, even as he knows that promise will be another lie.
3 months later, Mombasa
The offer for inception comes from Cobb, of all people.
Whatever issues he may have with Arthur's demented sense of humor, Eames can't fault his delivery: the client is furnishing nearly unlimited resources, there's plenty to time to develop a thorough plan, and the team that Cobb's putting together is first class, if somewhat unconventional.
And of course, Arthur is serving as point man.
The job itself proceeds surprisingly smoothly-unlimited funds and access does tend to make research and planning that much easier, Eames supposes. The team itself is functional, with relatively low levels of interpersonal friction, though Cobb is clearly growing more unhinged with every day that passes. Still, no one is incompetent, and his biggest gripe is that Arthur refuses to engage in anything sexual for the duration of the job ("No distractions, dove,") but insists on wearing trousers which leave virtually nothing to the imagination.
That, combined with Arthur's ongoing, insufferable work-priggishness (some things never change, really) occasionally leave Eames more obviously tetchy than he'd like. A fact their clever and exceedingly nosy architect hardly misses.
"How do you and Arthur know each other?" Ariadne asks while they're under together, doing a walkthrough of the fortress she designed. It's well-constructed-excellent, really.
"We've done a few jobs together over the years," Eames says, fully aware that's not the question she's asking.
"You met before, though, right?" she presses. "Arthur mentioned he knew you from before dreamshare really took off. When it was all still some military experiment."
"Perhaps he was lying, hm?" Eames examines the complicated locking mechanism on the vault doors-more for show than anything, but impressive all the same. "Arthur lies about a great many things."
"And you don't?" Ariadne replies, skeptically.
He chuckles. "In our line of work, it's a dangerous game to take a strange man with a pretty face at his word."
"It's not like that between me and Arthur," she protests immediately, cheeks pinking.
"It's nothing personal, my dear," Eames says as he finishes with the lock and prepares to shoot himself out of the dream, already considering the type of shortcut through the maze he'll have Ariadne install-a ventilation system, perhaps? "I rather suspect it's like that between Arthur and the entire world."
"Been spending your nights with Ariadne, have you?" Eames asks, lounging in Arthur's desk chair. The warehouse is empty except for the two of them, everyone having left for lunch or errands. "I thought you said no distractions."
"I'm not distracted," Arthur replies evenly as he approaches with a large pile of fresh photocopies.
"She's barely more than a child." Eames puts his feet up on Arthur's desk and watches for the annoyed flinch.
"So were you when we first met," Arthur says as he goes about organizing the bank statements.
"Is that your game, then?" Eames asks. "Youth?"
"Human age? No." Arthur pauses. "She's ambitious, just like you were. Eager for more than what her school can provide. Eager for-possibility."
Eames frowns. "And what am I?"
Arthur puts down his works and walks round the desk to where Eames is seated, close enough for Eames to smell the faint notes of his cologne. It is intoxicating, as always. "Possibility isn't what you're searching for anymore."
Eames turns his face two inches to the left, until his nose brushes against the silky fabric of Arthur's waistcoat. "There are still heights for me to scale. Fame, power, wealth."
"This job will provide you all three," Arthur murmurs as he brings a hand up to stroke Eames' neck.
A photo of Robert Fischer peeks out of the pile of papers, handsome and sad. "Our mark was born with all three in spades, and yet-"
"And yet all he longs for is reconciliation," Arthur says gently while Eames swallows, something strange and thick in his throat. "We're going to give him that. We're going to free him from the shackles of his father's dreams."
It's been three years since Eames last spoke with his father, five since it's been in person. Eames remembers being shocked by how old his father had looked at the time, how fragile the hunch of his spine, how grey he'd gone. Does he think of Eames when he looks up from his musty books, his endless research? Has anything changed in that empty old manor, or has everything stayed exactly as it was, coated in dust like an abandoned museum exhibit?
"You've done incredible things," Arthur says softly, palm coming to rest on Eames' back, at the base of his neck. The warmth is familiar, and Eames thinks that once, long ago, someone might have soothed him to sleep with a hand on that very spot. "Things that people have only ever imagined before."
"Things most of the world will never know about," Eames says, and can't help the trace of bitterness that creeps in.
Arthur tips Eames' head back with two fingers under his chin. "You don't need the world to know. Only the people who matter."
"Science," Eames' father had once said to him, "is the light which will guide all of humanity forward."
Inception takes, and Eames would scarcely believe it if not for witnessing it himself: Fischer kneeling by his father's bedside, years of regret lifted in a moment.
After they wake and split up, Eames rings Arthur for a spot of celebratory fucking. For the first time in months, Arthur acquiesces, agrees to taxi over to Eames' hotel room.
Eames expects a teeth-rattling pounding, but what he receives instead is Arthur kissing him, sweet and pliant. They kiss and kiss, Eames wondering when Arthur's going to escalate until he realizes that he simply won't. They're both hard but unhurried, Arthur breaking off every now and again to kiss all over Eames' neck, to murmur, "Eames, Eames," against his throat.
Eventually Eames guides him to the bed, bears him down and watches him strip. It's a challenge removing Arthur's trousers while Eames is grinding so assiduously on top of him, but they manage somehow, and Eames is delighted to discover Arthur skipped wearing his usual briefs entirely.
Everything feels hazy and slow as Arthur spreads his legs and pulls Eames towards him, inside him. His arse is every bit as beautiful and tight as it looks, Eames nearly dizzy with the clenching heat surrounding his cock.
"Are you going to make me come?" Arthur asks, lazily dragging his fingers across Eames' pectorals, playing with his chest hair.
"Can I say no?" Eames asks as he rolls his hips, savors the way Arthur tightens around him.
"Yes." Arthur smiles up at him, playful. "But I won't like that answer."
"You'll just keep asking until you hear what you want to hear."
"I could never force you to do something you don't want to." Arthur's hands drift round to Eames' backside, digging into his arse and driving him forward.
Eames drops his head to Arthur's shoulder, already on the verge of losing himself to this sublime, impossible heat. "All this time, and you've never told me what you want."
"You know." Eames can feel the curve of Arthur's lips ghosting across his ears. "I want everything."
Eames wakes, but finds himself not alone.
A few inches to his right is Arthur, lying flat on his back with arms arranged neatly by his sides. In sleep, he is perfectly composed, creases smoothed away, cupid's bow lips as rosy and ready to be kissed as Snow White. Eames has seen Arthur asleep a thousand times before, but this is the first in his bed, upon waking.
Eames' usual reaction to unexpected bedmates is annoyance, often tempered with a healthy dose of paranoia and a mental review of the list of people who'd be pleased to receive his disembodied head in the post. Today, however, he feels lethargic, fatigued but not ill-tempered. This is a surprise, though not an entirely unwelcome one.
"Awake?" Arthur asks, opening his eyes with no sign of grogginess.
"Enough," Eames says, not bothering to fumble with his totem. It hardly matters either way when he's with Arthur. "And you're still here."
"Cobb's gone home." Arthur offers a wisp of a smile, and it's impossible to read the emotion behind it. "At long last."
"Disappointed?" Eames asks. "Homesick?"
Arthur rolls over to face Eames, propped up on one elbow. "Me? I go home all the time. Well, to the nice parts, anyway."
"Limbo?" Eames hazards a guess. "Is that where you were first-born?"
Arthur hums thoughtfully. "It may be more accurate to say that I am a fragment of Limbo given shape, given will."
"You clawed your way out."
Arthur traces a tattooed whorl just above Eames' nipple. "You lifted me up."
Eames looks over Arthur's shoulder, through the half-shut curtains in the window. It's begun to rain.
"When was the last time you went home?" Arthur asks.
Eames considers remarking about Mombasa, then decides against it. There seems no point to dancing round the truth anymore. "Almost ten years since I set foot on that property. The hallowed ground of my birthright, or so my grandmother used to tell me."
"Do you miss it?"
Eames thinks back to the moors, the miserable sodding weather, the creaking floorboards and perpetual mustiness. "No," he says. "And yet I still want to see it. Strange."
"What do you want to see?"
"My old bedroom. My father's study. My-" Eames stops himself.
"They were wrong about you," Arthur says. "Bailey, the military, everyone you knew growing up. They thought of you as an empty shadow."
"Fools," Eames says, scornful. "If they could see me now."
Arthur drags a fingernail across Eames' nipple, the contact sending a sharp bolt of arousal through Eames. "One look at you and they'd know."
"Yes," Eames says, as heat blossoms across his body, radiating from Arthur's hand. "You'll help me, we'll find them-"
"Yes," Arthur murmurs as he hikes Eames' legs in the air and enters him, rough and sweet and perfect.
They track down Townsend first, who has grown round and even more careless than he used to be. He cowers in the corner of kitchen while Eames advances.
"You sold me out," Eames says, level and cold.
"That was ages ago," Townsend says, eyes darting towards Arthur. "And who-"
"You thought I'd forget?" Eames interrupts. "That I'd forgive you for destroying my military career?"
"Please, Eames, you have to understand. I had no choice." Townsend's double-chin wobbles as he swallows. "They made me-"
"You're pathetic," Eames says as he turns his back on Townsend. It takes but a moment, Arthur ever the model of brutal efficiency as he cuts Townsend off in mid-scream.
They find Walker next, his eyes widening in recognition and shock as he pulls out his gun. He puts up a fight, but not as much of one as Eames would have expected.
They save Bailey for last. He's grown paunchy and gray, highly decorated but consigned to a desk after a debilitating injury in his left knee.
It takes him a moment to place Eames' face, but after he does, he shakes his head. "I should have known," Bailey says. "I heard about Townsend."
"I don't forget those who have wronged me," Eames says, taking careful aim.
"You haven't changed at all," Bailey says, snide tone absolutely infuriating. "Did you come here to watch me ask for your forgiveness? For me to tell you I was wrong? Or simply to beg for my life?"
"I came here for one thing," Eames says before he pulls the trigger. "And that is to watch you die."
With Arthur by his side, Eames feels powerful, invincible. All of the dreamshare community has heard of his incredible skill, every client demands Eames as the head of their team, and each of Eames' enemies retreats into hiding, terrified of his wrath.
He has money, bank accounts overflowing and lucrative work only a phone call away. He travels, he gambles, he drinks, he smokes, he fucks in a dizzying whirl of locales and people.
This is happiness, Eames decides, it must be. This is a life lived, an existence his father could never comprehend, would only look down upon from his mountain of books.
"You're the only one who understands me," Eames says after a long night at a roulette table, as Arthur leads him back to his hotel room and bends him over the side of the bed. "You're the only one who knows me."
"I know, my beautiful dove," Arthur murmurs, soft words a contrast to the way he shoves in.
Eames buries his face in his arms, helpless as Arthur sets his entire body ablaze, from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes. "Do you-"
"Yes," Arthur says, though Eames doesn't even finish his question.
Eames can't do a thing besides pant, suck in giant, wheezing breaths while Arthur makes him shudder and soar. Eames has been fucked by many people, fucked even more, and it's never anything like it is with Arthur. None of them leave him shaky and weak and desperate for more.
"You've been so good," Arthur murmurs as Eames comes, slicking the sheets and his stomach. "So very good for me." Eames lets Arthur roll him onto his back, takes Arthur's prick eagerly between his lips.
"And look at how you've grown," Arthur continues, stroking Eames' cheek while Eames closes his eyes and sucks. It's so familiar by now-comforting.
Eames feels Arthur's dick pulse, come flooding the back of his mouth, and swallows contentedly. When Arthur pulls out, Eames lays back while Arthur straddles his face, allows Eames to lick Arthur's bollocks to his heart's content. Eames sucks them into his mouth one at a time, laps at them with his tongue, inhales the overwhelming scent of Arthur all around him. He could do this forever, but feels Arthur's cock, bumping against his cheek and nose, begin to stiffen once more.
"On your stomach," Arthur says.
Eames exhales deeply as he rolls over, shudders at Arthur's mouth against his arse, raw and used. He hurts, he's never felt so empty before. When Arthur's tongue finally dips in, Eames' fingers and toes curl as something inside him loosens with relief. He wants to arch backwards and beg, but he's exhausted, wrung out.
Arthur coaxes another orgasm from Eames with his fingers and tongue, slides into him roughly again before Eames has even come down.
"Oh," Eames groans, and it takes tremendous effort to turn his head, continue to breathe through the wracking bliss. "Yes, Arthur, that's-"
Arthur smooths a hot hand down the Eames' sweat-slicked back, and continues to fuck him hard enough for his arse to ache. "I'm going to miss this," Arthur says, tone nearly tender.
Eames registers the words but can't quite work out their meaning, pleasure soaking his body and mind, eliminating the possibility for thoughts beyond more, more, more. Arthur's so deep inside him, exactly where he belongs.
"You brought me here, little dove," Arthur says as Eames' eyes slide shut, fatigue and warmth settling across him like a physical weight. "To a waking world filled with endless potential. Endless-hunger."
Eames struggles for a response but can't summon the energy to even moan. He is so tired, eyelids heavy, the darkness of sleep rushing to greet him.
Arthur flips Eames over as easily as a child, holds his body close and brushes his lips against Eames' one last time.
"I'll never forget you," Arthur whispers.
Arthur straightens his tie and considers his next step. The discovery of a phyiscal body poses no threat, but the disappearance of the only known forger in dreamshare will create ripples, rumors. Suspicions regarding the circumstances will slant towards the man Eames most frequently favored in his bed--in addition to his long list of enemies.
It may be necessary to begin anew, Arthur realizes with a pang of regret. A shame, for he has grown fond of this body, this face and name. Still, this is probably for the best; a new identity will allow for the formation of fresh relationships, untainted by any memories from the past.
He spares a moment to kneel on the bed beside Eames, stroke the curve of his jaw. He is beautiful in repose, his little dove. A pity that wings are so easily broken.
Arthur stands, closes his eyes and listens to the call of so many human hearts, beckoning him forward. Across an ocean he hears one voice in particular, a man with an empire shattered by his own hand, surrounded by a circle of sycophants. A man freed from the golden cage created by his father, in search of a new dream. A man who could have everything he desires, if only Arthur were there to show him the way.
Arthur opens his eyes and begins to walk with renewed purpose. Robert Fischer is waiting for him.
Fin
POLL HERE
Poll Fic: Stay, thou art so beautiful
Master post of all chapters here.
Act III
Los Angeles, a year and a half later
"Eames," Cobb says, straightening up over the architectural model he's working on as Eames saunters through the door. "You're not-what are you doing here?"
Cobb's handsome, Eames supposes, in that broad, dull, American way. A dependable architect and surprisingly skilled extractor, he forms a formidable team with that gorgeous French wife of his as chemist and Arthur as a point man. It's a pity they only go in for legal jobs (more paperwork, less pay), but that's what children and family will do to you.
"Arthur's expecting me," Eames lies smoothly, continuing towards the back office where Arthur has surely set up camp. "Carry on with whatever you're doing-I won't be long."
The expression on Cobb's face indicates skepticism, but he simply shakes his head and returns to the model. At a second glance, Eames notices a certain fatigue to Cobb's countenance that seems like it might be recent-a strange tension in his jaw that Eames can't recall ever seeing before. Trouble in suburban paradise, perhaps?
Eames sweeps into the office where Arthur is typing away at his laptop and shuts the door behind him. He's dressed in a suit, posture as elegant as always, and looks exactly the same as Eames remembers.
"This is a surprise," Arthur says, not sounding surprised at all.
"Inception," Eames says as Arthur shuts his laptop. "I believe it can be done."
Arthur pushes his wheeled chair back from the desk. "You've tried it?"
"Didn't take," Eames says, suddenly struck by the arrogant vee of Arthur's spread legs, the nearly lewd tailoring of his suit. "Not enough time to plan and a client who wouldn't dedicate the proper resources required for such an undertaking."
"I hear most of the dreamshare community has abandoned the idea of a successful inception." Arthur sits back, and Eames bites his lip at the way Arthur's trousers pull tight. "It's too difficult to convince a mark an idea was theirs all along."
"It's difficult but not impossible. Not if one is willing to go deeper." Eames tears his eyes away, the memories of Arthur's cock ramming down his throat entirely too fresh despite the year and a half that's passed.
"Eames," Arthur says softly as he leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, "are you asking me for something?"
"All I want is an opportunity," Eames says, an echo of words from what feels like another lifetime. "The necessary resources, a competent team. I can handle the rest myself."
Arthur is quiet a moment, inscrutable, before he finally nods. "Yes. Inception can be done. But it will take time to move all the proper pieces into alignment."
"I can wait."
"And since this is a new-arrangement," Arthur says, "I will require compensation."
Eames takes three steps forward to straddle Arthur's lap, curving forward to mouth lightly against Arthur's ear. "Shall we settle my tab now?"
Arthur's hands run up Eames' sides, heavy and hot. Eames sucks in a shaky breath as Arthur touches him all over, brings every nerve in his body tingling to life. He thinks about how it'd feel to slide to the floor and bury his face in Arthur's soft bollocks, or what it'd be like to strip naked and seat himself on Arthur's hard cock, writhe while Arthur watched and-
"Oh, my dove," Arthur murmurs as he pushes backwards in his chair and Eames is abruptly bereft of his touch. "You don't know what you do to me."
"Are you," Eames starts, blinking hazily as Arthur stands and puts his clothing to rights. "Don't you-"
Arthur quiets Eames with a gentle caress of his jaw. "Soon, Eames. Once the wheels have been set in motion."
Eames watches, wordless, as Arthur steps away and disappears through the door.
Zurich, six months later
Eames strolls through Münsterhof square, going completely unnoticed by the hordes of tourists who stop every few feet to take photos of the guild houses. None of their wallets contain credit cards he could plausibly use (Akihiko Yamaguchi, anyone?) but he does lift enough cash to see him comfortably through the week.
Aside from being the home of numerous multinational corporations and therefore ripe with corporate espionage opportunities, Zurich is a rather boring city. He's worked three consecutive jobs in Switzerland over the past five months and though they were lucrative, there's only so much skiing and German one can stomach before tedium sets in.
He's on his way back to the hotel when someone falls neatly into step beside him. One glance at the slim-cut trousers and dress shoes tell him all he needs to know: Arthur.
"I hope you're here to tell me I'm about to get a call," Eames says, "for a six figure job on the other side of the world."
"Tired of your private ski chalet already?" Arthur asks, sounding amused.
"I'm ready for something warmer," Eames says as he crosses the hotel lobby. "Africa, maybe. Somewhere to spend all the money I've accumulated from invading the exceedingly boring minds of bankers and accountants."
"The work is steady and it's safe," Arthur says. "There are worse things that could happen in dreams."
Eames glances sidelong at Arthur. "I heard about Cobb's wife. Is it true what they say?"
"The truth is-complicated," Arthur replies, and seems disinclined to say more than that. They reach Eames' hotel room and Arthur follows him in without so much as a by your leave. As soon as the door is closed, he says, "Your opportunity for inception is approaching. The pieces are falling into place."
"I see," Eames says as he tosses his jacket on a chair and walks over to the minibar. "Should I clear my calendar?"
"Not yet. I'll send word when it's time."
Eames pours a tiny bottle of vodka into a glass with orange juice and studies Arthur's reflection in the mirror above the counter. "Why are you here?"
"To tell you the news."
"You could have emailed me. Called."
"I could have." Arthur ducks his head, then looks up at Eames through dark lashes. "But maybe I wanted to see you."
"You've come to collect," Eames says, feeling clearheaded for the first time around Arthur in ages. There's the familiar curl of desire itching under his skin, but he's learned a thing or two about cold-bloodedness from the Swiss: this is all a business transaction, nothing more, and nothing less.
"You don't believe I'm here because I want to be," Arthur says. "You don't think I've missed you?"
"I think you want your payment," Eames replies, throwing back his screwdriver in two gulps. "And everything else is incidental."
"I could go," Arthur says. "If that's what you're telling me to do."
"Yes, go," Eames says, closing his eyes. "I'm in no mood for-"
Strong arms wind around Eames' waist, a firm chest presses against his back. "Eames," Arthur whispers as he nuzzles against the curve of Eames' neck, "please don't make me leave."
"You were the one who-" Eames stops himself before he can say, sent me away.
Arthur lifts Eames' right hand and presses a kiss to each knuckle. "I knew it would be months before I could deliver you anything and I couldn't stand the idea of seeing you disappointed. That's why I had to, Eames."
Eames swallows as Arthur's body seems to envelope him in heat. "I would have understood."
"I know that now." Arthur kisses and sucks at the spot behind Eames' ear, making him shudder with pleasure. "Will you let me make it up to you? Will you let me show you how much I've missed you?"
"How-" Eames starts, but Arthur simply takes his jaw in hand and kisses him. It's astonishingly gentle, Arthur's lips soft and sweet with promise.
When Arthur breaks away from the kiss, Eames opens his mouth to protest but Arthur says, "Come with me."
Eames allows Arthur to lead him by the hand to the bed. Arthur sits down on the edge of the mattress and touches Eames' chest. "You're gorgeous, even when you're pouting."
"I don't pout," Eames says as Arthur parts his shirt and leans in to lavish a nipple with attention. Eames buries his fingers in Arthur's hair as Arthur switches from one nipple to the other, sucking and licking the sensitive flesh with single-minded devotion. Perhaps not so single-minded, however, because Eames feels his trousers, weighted down by his undone belt, fall past his hips to the floor, followed shortly by his boxers.
Eames can scarcely believe it when Arthur bends down to wrap his lips around Eames' cock. It doesn't feel like any other blowjob he's ever received before, the pleasure of it nearly transcendent as he jerks forward and Arthur simply takes it all. Eames registers a finger probing at his entrance and usually it'd hurt, but it doesn't-nothing hurts when Arthur's got his mouth wrapped round Eames' cock like this.
Then Arthur touches something inside Eames and it's like a fucking sparkler going off behind his eyes. He doesn't know whether to thrust forwards or back, can hardly move at all with the rush of climax passing through him. He gasps and his hips stutter, Arthur smoothly swallowing and sucking without missing a beat.
After Eames finishes, he sags and Arthur guides him onto the sheets. Arthur crawls up over him and takes off his clothing, one article at a time, as Eames watches through half-closed eyes and touches liberally.
"Have I earned your forgiveness?" Arthur asks as he sits between Eames' legs, erection smearing precome against his inner thigh.
"Not yet," Eames says as he trails fingers up and down Arthur's back, over the swell of his arse.
"I guess I'll have to try harder then," Arthur says before lifting Eames' legs and pushing in.
Eames chokes out a gasp, unprepared for the blunt heat, the sensation of something pressing in, in, in. "Arthur," Eames exhales, unable to breathe as Arthur fully seats himself, buries his dick inside Eames like it was meant to be there.
When Arthur begins to fuck him, there's no hesitation, no gradual build. His every move rasps over Eames' prostate unerringly, steady bliss pulsing through Eames' entire body. His toes curl and his legs practically vibrate with tension, dick hardening again even though it's too soon, far too soon.
"I love the way you sound," Arthur whispers, voice a low counterpoint to the slap of their sweat-slicked bodies together, to the shocked moans Eames can't seem to stifle. "I want to hear you, Eames. I want to know you feel me inside you."
"Oh god," Eames says, an edge of desperation creeping in as Arthur slows his pace, pulls back. His fingertips scrabble across Arthur's back down to his arse, trying to will him into his earlier rhythm. "Arthur, please, I need-"
Arthur puts a hand to Eames' cheek and continues to fuck him, leisurely. It's amazing but nowhere near enough. "What do you need?"
"I need you," Eames says as he licks at the side of Arthur's thumb, shudders in relief when it finally slides between his lips to suckle. He's filled from both ends with Arthur, craving more, craving everything Arthur could ever give him.
"You have been good, haven't you?" Arthur purrs as he permits Eames to take more fingers into his mouth, suck on them rapturously. "You have been patient."
Eames wants to say yes but can't for fear that Arthur's fingers will slip away if he does, leave his mouth empty. He settles on a moan deep within his throat instead, and thankfully, Arthur seems to understand. The pace of his hips increases and Eames pushes against him, frantic.
Arthur shushes Eames' frenzied moans, fucks him so hard Eames is practically convulsing, his legs clamping down on Arthur's hips. He wants to come again, he wants to feel Arthur come inside him, he wants a hand on his cock, he-
"I know what you need," Arthur says as he pulls his fingers from Eames' mouth and slams him flat on the bed with his forearm. Eames tries to chase after them, tries to protest, but it's no use-he's trapped and Arthur doesn't care what he wants. Arthur's eyes burn dark and Eames can't look away, doesn't want to.
"You'll make me come," Eames gasps, and as soon as he says it, he knows it to be true. He can feel Arthur's thick dick inside him, rubbing him raw and pulsing, filling him with come. It seems to go on forever. Eames wants it all.
Arthur smiles as he fucks Eames with his softening cock, liquid trickling between Eames' thighs. Arthur releases Eames' chest and drags his fingers down to coat them in semen. "You will still be good for me, won't you?" he asks as he tenderly feeds Eames his fingertips.
Eames parts his lips and laps at Arthur's come greedily, sucks Arthur in eagerly. Arthur knows what he needs and Eames is so grateful for that, so grateful his mouth is no longer empty.
He comes, at last, Arthur's fingers stuffing his mouth and Arthur's cock stuffing his arse. His back arches off the bed and in a climax that's dazzling.
The orgasm leaves Eames slack-jawed and heaving, unable to move any of his limbs. His eyes shut to the sight of Arthur leaning over him, tracing the contours of his cheek.
He wakes to a darkened hotel room. He's lying face-down in sheets sticky with sweat and what appears to be his own semen. The covers have all been kicked to his floor, his entire body aches, and the memory of Arthur's fingers form a bruise all the way down his throat.
Cairo, 6 months later
Eames leaves Zurich, restless and ready to begin working on inception. He searches for Arthur, anxious for more details, a timeline-but there's no sign of him anywhere.
Eames takes a job in Morocco, travels from Casablanca to Lagos, finally winds up in Cairo where he blackmails a contact for Arthur's current location in the city.
"Where the fuck have you been?" Eames asks once Arthur steps inside the hotel room and flips on the lights. "I've been looking for you for six bloody months!"
"Things got tight in New York," Arthur says, seeming unruffled by Eames' unscheduled presence as he closes the door. "I had to cover my tracks."
"The US, still?" Eames forces himself to sit back in his armchair, take a deep breath. "What were you doing on that side of the pond?"
"A little bit of this, a little bit of that," Arthur says as he loosens his tie. "You and I come from the old world, from tradition. But America is brave and new and filled with such… fascinating things."
"What, like Dominick Cobb?" Eames sneers.
"His grief threatens to consume him," Arthur replies, sounding thoughtful. "It's a potent thing, what has manifested in his subconscious. I am curious to see how it will play out."
"Oh, right, of course, this is all a matter of professional curiosity," Eames says. "Need I remind you that we already made a deal? Exactly how long do you expect me to wait before I see results?"
Arthur undoes his cufflinks and sets them on the dresser calmly, one by one, but his mouth has thinned into a pale line. "I don't think I care for your tone, Mr. Eames."
"And I don't care for being jerked around for over a year," Eames says, standing. "I have been more than patient, Arthur."
"I told you inception would not be an overnight process." Arthur unbuttons his coat.
"And I paid with the expectation that I'd receive something for my trouble," Eames snarls. "Instead you disappear off the face of the earth and I'm left-"
It takes place so quickly Eames can hardly say what happens; one moment he's standing across the room from Arthur and the next he's slammed up against the wall, Arthur's forearm across his throat.
"You don't get to talk to me like that," Arthur says, eyes dark as he presses against Eames' air supply.
"Fuck you," Eames chokes out, which earns him a rough shove to the ground.
"Do you really believe I answer to you?" Arthur asks as he advances, lifts Eames by the collar up to his knees. "That I care about your convenience? Your petty whims?"
Eames takes a swing at Arthur, and even though he misses, it is enough to cause Arthur to release him. "We had a deal," Eames bites out as he scrambles to his feet.
"I set the terms." Arthur's punch glances off Eames' jaw and sends him reeling. "You dictate nothing."
Eames staggers backwards and tries to hit back, but Arthur evades the blow and, using Eames' own forward momentum, shoves him forward. Eames crashes into the hotel desk, the edge colliding with his stomach and knocking the breath from his body.
Arthur wrenches Eames' arm back behind his body and pushes Eames' face into the desk. Eames feels his lip split open as his cheek grinds painfully against the wood grain. "Why did you come here today, Eames? Was it to fight me? Because you know you can never win."
"Go to hell," Eames growls, struggling to break free. Arthur simply yanks Eames' arm back further, pain reverberating throughout his body.
"No. I don't think that's it." Arthur leans in close, breath hot against Eames' ear. Arthur's free hand-the one not holding Eames pinned to the desk-snakes around and up Eames' thigh to where he's painfully, shamefully hard. "I don't think you came here to talk about inception at all."
Eames twists and bucks, tries to throw Arthur off. Futile, of course. "You don't know fuck all," Eames says, but even to own his ears it sounds weak, the throbbing between his legs urgent and unmistakable. Arthur's body is a hot curve over him, feels like a thousand degrees all around him, hand cruelly confidant as he toys with Eames through his clothing.
"I know why you came," Arthur whispers. He undoes Eames' trousers, sends them to the ground while he continues to hold Eames face down, arse up and bare. "You came because it's been six months and now you're gagging for it, aren't you? You came to beg for my cock, didn't you?"
"I'd never beg," Eames grits out even as his dick swells further, heart pounding as he remembers the feel of Arthur inside him, not just his cock but his fingers-
"No more lies," Arthur purrs as he jerks Eames, rubs precome around the head of his dick with his thumb. "You want to feel me come inside you, don't you? You can't get enough."
Eames shudders when he feels Arthur's cock brush against his arse. He refuses to arch backwards, even though all he can think about is how it felt, how Arthur fucked him like an animal and made him pant for it-
"Tell me what you crave." Arthur removes his hand from Eames' cock and Eames bites his lip to stifle a groan, blood trickling into his mouth.
Arthur shoves in with no warning and it hurts, dear god it hurts, but through the pain Eames feels his body begin to react, the grind of Arthur's cock relentless against his prostate. Eames slumps, helpless against every unerring stroke Arthur makes. It feels like he's being ripped open, pleasure surging instead of pain, the length of Arthur so thick and beautiful.
"Arthur," Eames gasps, barely holding back moans as Arthur drills him without mercy, makes his entire body tingle and blaze. It's so good, it's so bloody good Eames can't move at all, can't do anything but take what Arthur's giving him, take it and pray it never stops. "Arthur, I-"
"Yes, Eames?" Arthur sounds hardly out of breath while Eames is panting, eyes rolling back with ecstasy.
"I-" Eames can't say it, he won't. Even as the heat and the pleasure cloud his mind, he refuses to give in.
Arthur releases Eames' pinned arm abruptly, kneeing Eames' legs open wider and tipping him forward for an angle that makes sparks fly behind Eames' eyes. "I can be kind," Arthur says, words punctuated by the obscene sound of his hips, his balls, slamming repeatedly against Eames' arse. "All you have to do is say."
Eames reaches forward with both arms to claw at the edge of the table, gripping hard in order to stay still as Arthur continues to fuck him. Eames refuses to thrust back, refuses to spread wider and take Arthur deeper, let him in as far as he'll go-
"Do you want me to come inside you?" Arthur asks. "Do you want me to fill you up inside? Leave you slick and wet? Do you want to lick the come away? Suck on my soft cock until I can fuck your mouth?"
Eames pants, slack-jawed, against the desk and feels lightheaded, delirious. He wants to rut mindlessly, wants to push back onto Arthur's glorious dick, wants Arthur to make him come over and over and over again.
And then Arthur's cock is suddenly gone. Eames pushes back against empty air a few times before realizing and releases a quiet moan before he can stop himself. When he moves to sit up, Arthur holds him down and his cock comes to lie gently against the cleft of Eames' arse. Eames feels his hole flutter, contract longingly around nothing, and aches.
"Eames," Arthur says quietly, patiently, even as Eames shifts restlessly. "Tell me."
"What-what do you want?" Eames finally manages.
Arthur begins to rock his hips lightly back and forth, a tantalizing but unsatisfying echo of the way he'd been fucking Eames before. "The truth."
"I want-inception," Eames says, unable to focus on anything but the sway of Arthur's cock against his arse.
Arthur lines his cockhead against Eames' hole but doesn't push in. "And?"
"And-and I want you," Eames says, sighing in relief when Arthur slides an inch inside.
"Excellent." Arthur kisses just behind Eames' ear and makes him shiver. "And?"
"I want-" Eames wets his lips. "I want everything you-you have to give me."
That earns Eames a slap on the arse and withdrawal of that one inch. "Eames," Arthur says warningly.
"Your-" Eames closes his eyes and tries to fight it but he can't, not when all he can think about is how much he wants Arthur to fuck him and put his fingers in his mouth, allow Eames to make him come. "Your cock. I came to you because it's been six months and I can't stop thinking about it. I can't stop sucking off other men and imagining it's you, I can't stop searching for someone to fuck me like you do."
"Oh, dove," Arthur murmurs as he guides Eames' head back, allows him to suck a finger blissfully into his mouth. "Don't you feel better now?"
Eames moans contentedly as he runs his tongue up and down Arthur's index finger. When Arthur puts his cock against the rim of Eames' arsehole, Eames lets him sink in an inch or two before wriggling back gently, trying not to be greedy and take too much. Thankfully, Arthur doesn't pull away or rebuke him, in fact, he guides Eames' hips backwards until Arthur's fully sheathed inside and perfect, utterly perfect.
Arthur leads Eames' hips in a forward and back motion a few times before saying, "Make me come."
Eames inhales and then begins to fuck himself on Arthur's cock, slowly at first and then faster. Every time Eames pushes back it goes deep, so wonderfully deep, and every move forward leaves him hollow and wanting more. He can feel Arthur's satisfaction in the way he strokes Eames' belly, the way he feeds Eames another finger, and then a third. Eames moans with happiness and tightens around Arthur's cock, hopes he can make Arthur orgasm harder than he ever has before.
Eames can feel it when Arthur begins to come, the way his body tenses around Eames like a tightened bow string. Eames savors it, suckles at Arthur's fingers until he's finished.
"I remember when we first met," Arthur says as he withdraws his fingers from Eames' mouth, ignores the whimper. "I still think of it, sometimes. I was alone at the bottom of that lake for what felt like eons and then there you were: beautiful, vibrant, alive."
Eames turns in the circle of Arthur's arms and kisses his neck, trails down his body to his softening cock, glistening with smeared come. Eames nuzzles it, kisses up the sides and flutters his tongue just underneath the head. He begins to lick Arthur's dick clean in earnest, Arthur's words washing over him as he does.
"You were so angry, so defiant-desperate to prove yourself. But you have now, haven't you? No one can deny you any longer."
Eames hums around Arthur's cock, feeling it twitch gratifyingly in his mouth. His lip hurts, still tender and sore where it split, but it's no matter, no matter at all. Arthur caresses Eames' cheek, watching him with heavy-lidded eyes, and smiles.
"I can give you anything you want, Eames. All you have to do is ask."
When Eames wakes up, he's half-naked and horizontal across the floor. The desk has visible gouges across its surface, a chair is broken, and the the room is empty of Arthur and his possessions.
Eames sits up and winces, the place where his lip had scabbed over splitting again. His jaw is sore, his knees are covered in rug-burn, and the rest of his body simply aches.
No more, Eames swears to himself, even as he knows that promise will be another lie.
3 months later, Mombasa
The offer for inception comes from Cobb, of all people.
Whatever issues he may have with Arthur's demented sense of humor, Eames can't fault his delivery: the client is furnishing nearly unlimited resources, there's plenty to time to develop a thorough plan, and the team that Cobb's putting together is first class, if somewhat unconventional.
And of course, Arthur is serving as point man.
The job itself proceeds surprisingly smoothly-unlimited funds and access does tend to make research and planning that much easier, Eames supposes. The team itself is functional, with relatively low levels of interpersonal friction, though Cobb is clearly growing more unhinged with every day that passes. Still, no one is incompetent, and his biggest gripe is that Arthur refuses to engage in anything sexual for the duration of the job ("No distractions, dove,") but insists on wearing trousers which leave virtually nothing to the imagination.
That, combined with Arthur's ongoing, insufferable work-priggishness (some things never change, really) occasionally leave Eames more obviously tetchy than he'd like. A fact their clever and exceedingly nosy architect hardly misses.
"How do you and Arthur know each other?" Ariadne asks while they're under together, doing a walkthrough of the fortress she designed. It's well-constructed-excellent, really.
"We've done a few jobs together over the years," Eames says, fully aware that's not the question she's asking.
"You met before, though, right?" she presses. "Arthur mentioned he knew you from before dreamshare really took off. When it was all still some military experiment."
"Perhaps he was lying, hm?" Eames examines the complicated locking mechanism on the vault doors-more for show than anything, but impressive all the same. "Arthur lies about a great many things."
"And you don't?" Ariadne replies, skeptically.
He chuckles. "In our line of work, it's a dangerous game to take a strange man with a pretty face at his word."
"It's not like that between me and Arthur," she protests immediately, cheeks pinking.
"It's nothing personal, my dear," Eames says as he finishes with the lock and prepares to shoot himself out of the dream, already considering the type of shortcut through the maze he'll have Ariadne install-a ventilation system, perhaps? "I rather suspect it's like that between Arthur and the entire world."
"Been spending your nights with Ariadne, have you?" Eames asks, lounging in Arthur's desk chair. The warehouse is empty except for the two of them, everyone having left for lunch or errands. "I thought you said no distractions."
"I'm not distracted," Arthur replies evenly as he approaches with a large pile of fresh photocopies.
"She's barely more than a child." Eames puts his feet up on Arthur's desk and watches for the annoyed flinch.
"So were you when we first met," Arthur says as he goes about organizing the bank statements.
"Is that your game, then?" Eames asks. "Youth?"
"Human age? No." Arthur pauses. "She's ambitious, just like you were. Eager for more than what her school can provide. Eager for-possibility."
Eames frowns. "And what am I?"
Arthur puts down his works and walks round the desk to where Eames is seated, close enough for Eames to smell the faint notes of his cologne. It is intoxicating, as always. "Possibility isn't what you're searching for anymore."
Eames turns his face two inches to the left, until his nose brushes against the silky fabric of Arthur's waistcoat. "There are still heights for me to scale. Fame, power, wealth."
"This job will provide you all three," Arthur murmurs as he brings a hand up to stroke Eames' neck.
A photo of Robert Fischer peeks out of the pile of papers, handsome and sad. "Our mark was born with all three in spades, and yet-"
"And yet all he longs for is reconciliation," Arthur says gently while Eames swallows, something strange and thick in his throat. "We're going to give him that. We're going to free him from the shackles of his father's dreams."
It's been three years since Eames last spoke with his father, five since it's been in person. Eames remembers being shocked by how old his father had looked at the time, how fragile the hunch of his spine, how grey he'd gone. Does he think of Eames when he looks up from his musty books, his endless research? Has anything changed in that empty old manor, or has everything stayed exactly as it was, coated in dust like an abandoned museum exhibit?
"You've done incredible things," Arthur says softly, palm coming to rest on Eames' back, at the base of his neck. The warmth is familiar, and Eames thinks that once, long ago, someone might have soothed him to sleep with a hand on that very spot. "Things that people have only ever imagined before."
"Things most of the world will never know about," Eames says, and can't help the trace of bitterness that creeps in.
Arthur tips Eames' head back with two fingers under his chin. "You don't need the world to know. Only the people who matter."
"Science," Eames' father had once said to him, "is the light which will guide all of humanity forward."
Inception takes, and Eames would scarcely believe it if not for witnessing it himself: Fischer kneeling by his father's bedside, years of regret lifted in a moment.
After they wake and split up, Eames rings Arthur for a spot of celebratory fucking. For the first time in months, Arthur acquiesces, agrees to taxi over to Eames' hotel room.
Eames expects a teeth-rattling pounding, but what he receives instead is Arthur kissing him, sweet and pliant. They kiss and kiss, Eames wondering when Arthur's going to escalate until he realizes that he simply won't. They're both hard but unhurried, Arthur breaking off every now and again to kiss all over Eames' neck, to murmur, "Eames, Eames," against his throat.
Eventually Eames guides him to the bed, bears him down and watches him strip. It's a challenge removing Arthur's trousers while Eames is grinding so assiduously on top of him, but they manage somehow, and Eames is delighted to discover Arthur skipped wearing his usual briefs entirely.
Everything feels hazy and slow as Arthur spreads his legs and pulls Eames towards him, inside him. His arse is every bit as beautiful and tight as it looks, Eames nearly dizzy with the clenching heat surrounding his cock.
"Are you going to make me come?" Arthur asks, lazily dragging his fingers across Eames' pectorals, playing with his chest hair.
"Can I say no?" Eames asks as he rolls his hips, savors the way Arthur tightens around him.
"Yes." Arthur smiles up at him, playful. "But I won't like that answer."
"You'll just keep asking until you hear what you want to hear."
"I could never force you to do something you don't want to." Arthur's hands drift round to Eames' backside, digging into his arse and driving him forward.
Eames drops his head to Arthur's shoulder, already on the verge of losing himself to this sublime, impossible heat. "All this time, and you've never told me what you want."
"You know." Eames can feel the curve of Arthur's lips ghosting across his ears. "I want everything."
Eames wakes, but finds himself not alone.
A few inches to his right is Arthur, lying flat on his back with arms arranged neatly by his sides. In sleep, he is perfectly composed, creases smoothed away, cupid's bow lips as rosy and ready to be kissed as Snow White. Eames has seen Arthur asleep a thousand times before, but this is the first in his bed, upon waking.
Eames' usual reaction to unexpected bedmates is annoyance, often tempered with a healthy dose of paranoia and a mental review of the list of people who'd be pleased to receive his disembodied head in the post. Today, however, he feels lethargic, fatigued but not ill-tempered. This is a surprise, though not an entirely unwelcome one.
"Awake?" Arthur asks, opening his eyes with no sign of grogginess.
"Enough," Eames says, not bothering to fumble with his totem. It hardly matters either way when he's with Arthur. "And you're still here."
"Cobb's gone home." Arthur offers a wisp of a smile, and it's impossible to read the emotion behind it. "At long last."
"Disappointed?" Eames asks. "Homesick?"
Arthur rolls over to face Eames, propped up on one elbow. "Me? I go home all the time. Well, to the nice parts, anyway."
"Limbo?" Eames hazards a guess. "Is that where you were first-born?"
Arthur hums thoughtfully. "It may be more accurate to say that I am a fragment of Limbo given shape, given will."
"You clawed your way out."
Arthur traces a tattooed whorl just above Eames' nipple. "You lifted me up."
Eames looks over Arthur's shoulder, through the half-shut curtains in the window. It's begun to rain.
"When was the last time you went home?" Arthur asks.
Eames considers remarking about Mombasa, then decides against it. There seems no point to dancing round the truth anymore. "Almost ten years since I set foot on that property. The hallowed ground of my birthright, or so my grandmother used to tell me."
"Do you miss it?"
Eames thinks back to the moors, the miserable sodding weather, the creaking floorboards and perpetual mustiness. "No," he says. "And yet I still want to see it. Strange."
"What do you want to see?"
"My old bedroom. My father's study. My-" Eames stops himself.
"They were wrong about you," Arthur says. "Bailey, the military, everyone you knew growing up. They thought of you as an empty shadow."
"Fools," Eames says, scornful. "If they could see me now."
Arthur drags a fingernail across Eames' nipple, the contact sending a sharp bolt of arousal through Eames. "One look at you and they'd know."
"Yes," Eames says, as heat blossoms across his body, radiating from Arthur's hand. "You'll help me, we'll find them-"
"Yes," Arthur murmurs as he hikes Eames' legs in the air and enters him, rough and sweet and perfect.
They track down Townsend first, who has grown round and even more careless than he used to be. He cowers in the corner of kitchen while Eames advances.
"You sold me out," Eames says, level and cold.
"That was ages ago," Townsend says, eyes darting towards Arthur. "And who-"
"You thought I'd forget?" Eames interrupts. "That I'd forgive you for destroying my military career?"
"Please, Eames, you have to understand. I had no choice." Townsend's double-chin wobbles as he swallows. "They made me-"
"You're pathetic," Eames says as he turns his back on Townsend. It takes but a moment, Arthur ever the model of brutal efficiency as he cuts Townsend off in mid-scream.
They find Walker next, his eyes widening in recognition and shock as he pulls out his gun. He puts up a fight, but not as much of one as Eames would have expected.
They save Bailey for last. He's grown paunchy and gray, highly decorated but consigned to a desk after a debilitating injury in his left knee.
It takes him a moment to place Eames' face, but after he does, he shakes his head. "I should have known," Bailey says. "I heard about Townsend."
"I don't forget those who have wronged me," Eames says, taking careful aim.
"You haven't changed at all," Bailey says, snide tone absolutely infuriating. "Did you come here to watch me ask for your forgiveness? For me to tell you I was wrong? Or simply to beg for my life?"
"I came here for one thing," Eames says before he pulls the trigger. "And that is to watch you die."
With Arthur by his side, Eames feels powerful, invincible. All of the dreamshare community has heard of his incredible skill, every client demands Eames as the head of their team, and each of Eames' enemies retreats into hiding, terrified of his wrath.
He has money, bank accounts overflowing and lucrative work only a phone call away. He travels, he gambles, he drinks, he smokes, he fucks in a dizzying whirl of locales and people.
This is happiness, Eames decides, it must be. This is a life lived, an existence his father could never comprehend, would only look down upon from his mountain of books.
"You're the only one who understands me," Eames says after a long night at a roulette table, as Arthur leads him back to his hotel room and bends him over the side of the bed. "You're the only one who knows me."
"I know, my beautiful dove," Arthur murmurs, soft words a contrast to the way he shoves in.
Eames buries his face in his arms, helpless as Arthur sets his entire body ablaze, from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes. "Do you-"
"Yes," Arthur says, though Eames doesn't even finish his question.
Eames can't do a thing besides pant, suck in giant, wheezing breaths while Arthur makes him shudder and soar. Eames has been fucked by many people, fucked even more, and it's never anything like it is with Arthur. None of them leave him shaky and weak and desperate for more.
"You've been so good," Arthur murmurs as Eames comes, slicking the sheets and his stomach. "So very good for me." Eames lets Arthur roll him onto his back, takes Arthur's prick eagerly between his lips.
"And look at how you've grown," Arthur continues, stroking Eames' cheek while Eames closes his eyes and sucks. It's so familiar by now-comforting.
Eames feels Arthur's dick pulse, come flooding the back of his mouth, and swallows contentedly. When Arthur pulls out, Eames lays back while Arthur straddles his face, allows Eames to lick Arthur's bollocks to his heart's content. Eames sucks them into his mouth one at a time, laps at them with his tongue, inhales the overwhelming scent of Arthur all around him. He could do this forever, but feels Arthur's cock, bumping against his cheek and nose, begin to stiffen once more.
"On your stomach," Arthur says.
Eames exhales deeply as he rolls over, shudders at Arthur's mouth against his arse, raw and used. He hurts, he's never felt so empty before. When Arthur's tongue finally dips in, Eames' fingers and toes curl as something inside him loosens with relief. He wants to arch backwards and beg, but he's exhausted, wrung out.
Arthur coaxes another orgasm from Eames with his fingers and tongue, slides into him roughly again before Eames has even come down.
"Oh," Eames groans, and it takes tremendous effort to turn his head, continue to breathe through the wracking bliss. "Yes, Arthur, that's-"
Arthur smooths a hot hand down the Eames' sweat-slicked back, and continues to fuck him hard enough for his arse to ache. "I'm going to miss this," Arthur says, tone nearly tender.
Eames registers the words but can't quite work out their meaning, pleasure soaking his body and mind, eliminating the possibility for thoughts beyond more, more, more. Arthur's so deep inside him, exactly where he belongs.
"You brought me here, little dove," Arthur says as Eames' eyes slide shut, fatigue and warmth settling across him like a physical weight. "To a waking world filled with endless potential. Endless-hunger."
Eames struggles for a response but can't summon the energy to even moan. He is so tired, eyelids heavy, the darkness of sleep rushing to greet him.
Arthur flips Eames over as easily as a child, holds his body close and brushes his lips against Eames' one last time.
"I'll never forget you," Arthur whispers.
Arthur straightens his tie and considers his next step. The discovery of a phyiscal body poses no threat, but the disappearance of the only known forger in dreamshare will create ripples, rumors. Suspicions regarding the circumstances will slant towards the man Eames most frequently favored in his bed--in addition to his long list of enemies.
It may be necessary to begin anew, Arthur realizes with a pang of regret. A shame, for he has grown fond of this body, this face and name. Still, this is probably for the best; a new identity will allow for the formation of fresh relationships, untainted by any memories from the past.
He spares a moment to kneel on the bed beside Eames, stroke the curve of his jaw. He is beautiful in repose, his little dove. A pity that wings are so easily broken.
Arthur stands, closes his eyes and listens to the call of so many human hearts, beckoning him forward. Across an ocean he hears one voice in particular, a man with an empire shattered by his own hand, surrounded by a circle of sycophants. A man freed from the golden cage created by his father, in search of a new dream. A man who could have everything he desires, if only Arthur were there to show him the way.
Arthur opens his eyes and begins to walk with renewed purpose. Robert Fischer is waiting for him.
Fin
POLL HERE
Poll Fic: Stay, thou art so beautiful