Fic: When We Swam (3/3)
Title: When We Swam
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: R for violence
Summary: Cobb gets a lesson about Buddhist theology, Arthur always needs to be 17 moves ahead, and Eames doesn't know why.
Words: 11,186
“Then there is.”
And Eames follows him home again, and again, and again.
Arthur doesn’t send him away, and there’s an unnamable feeling curling between his lungs when he looks around his studio and sees reminders: Eames’ shoes, mugs of tea, books, trinkets, and calligraphy pens. Sometimes it presses so hard he can’t breathe, but it’s like being enveloped in something he’s never allowed himself to touch.
They take time off to learn each other, the days tumbling into each other under the Los Angeles sun. Arthur and Eames’ work phones sit together in a drawer, silenced and filling with job offers. Arthur sometimes takes his out and touches Cobb’s number, but never hits the call button.
“I think we’ll need a bigger place soon,” Eames says as he finishes assembling a bookshelf.
Arthur looks up from his perch on his futon, the last vestige of his past life.
“What do you mean we?” He is peering up at Eames from behind his reading glasses, but goes back to his book, a heavy thing in Japanese.
“Well, I haven’t exactly been paying rent on a separate place. Had you not noticed that I’ve been here for three months?”
“Oh.” Arthur hums a little in his throat. “I guess I hadn’t.”
Eames chuckles, shaking his head. “While I should be insulted, I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
“This explains why there’s so much stuff in my dresser, though.”
“My clothes have to go somewhere.”
“And why there’s so much furniture in this place,” Arthur says, but he is smiling, cheeks dimpling.
“I don’t know why you’re so Zen about this place, anyway. Aren’t you Jewish?” Eames asks as he starts to alphabetize books by author.
“I’m non-practicing.”
“I guess that explains all the guilt though.”
Eames feels the pillow connect with his shoulder with a thump and laughs.
“You’ve cluttered up my whole life,” Arthur says with a huff, but when Eames glances over his head is tilted to the side, a small smile playing on his lips.
“You’re quite welcome,” Eames says, smiling back.
-
Arthur cooks, because Eames hates handling raw meat, and Eames does the dishes because of course the kitchen has no dishwasher. He wants to buy Arthur a house, or a sprawling old country manor, with horses and servants. He thinks Arthur might agree to a loft or a condo. Maybe.
Arthur is outside on the tiny concrete balcony, smoking, and Eames slips outside to stand next to him, a glass of wine in hand.
“Hey,” he says, and Arthur smiles.
Eames snakes his hand around Arthur’s lower back, and Arthur shifts his weight from the railing to settle into Eames’ chest. Eames sips his wine and looks down, and Arthur is clear lines and heavy heat up against his body. He breathes shallowly and waits for time to slow down.
Arthur eventually relaxes into him.
01 . 02 . 03
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: R for violence
Summary: Cobb gets a lesson about Buddhist theology, Arthur always needs to be 17 moves ahead, and Eames doesn't know why.
Words: 11,186
“Then there is.”
And Eames follows him home again, and again, and again.
Arthur doesn’t send him away, and there’s an unnamable feeling curling between his lungs when he looks around his studio and sees reminders: Eames’ shoes, mugs of tea, books, trinkets, and calligraphy pens. Sometimes it presses so hard he can’t breathe, but it’s like being enveloped in something he’s never allowed himself to touch.
They take time off to learn each other, the days tumbling into each other under the Los Angeles sun. Arthur and Eames’ work phones sit together in a drawer, silenced and filling with job offers. Arthur sometimes takes his out and touches Cobb’s number, but never hits the call button.
“I think we’ll need a bigger place soon,” Eames says as he finishes assembling a bookshelf.
Arthur looks up from his perch on his futon, the last vestige of his past life.
“What do you mean we?” He is peering up at Eames from behind his reading glasses, but goes back to his book, a heavy thing in Japanese.
“Well, I haven’t exactly been paying rent on a separate place. Had you not noticed that I’ve been here for three months?”
“Oh.” Arthur hums a little in his throat. “I guess I hadn’t.”
Eames chuckles, shaking his head. “While I should be insulted, I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
“This explains why there’s so much stuff in my dresser, though.”
“My clothes have to go somewhere.”
“And why there’s so much furniture in this place,” Arthur says, but he is smiling, cheeks dimpling.
“I don’t know why you’re so Zen about this place, anyway. Aren’t you Jewish?” Eames asks as he starts to alphabetize books by author.
“I’m non-practicing.”
“I guess that explains all the guilt though.”
Eames feels the pillow connect with his shoulder with a thump and laughs.
“You’ve cluttered up my whole life,” Arthur says with a huff, but when Eames glances over his head is tilted to the side, a small smile playing on his lips.
“You’re quite welcome,” Eames says, smiling back.
-
Arthur cooks, because Eames hates handling raw meat, and Eames does the dishes because of course the kitchen has no dishwasher. He wants to buy Arthur a house, or a sprawling old country manor, with horses and servants. He thinks Arthur might agree to a loft or a condo. Maybe.
Arthur is outside on the tiny concrete balcony, smoking, and Eames slips outside to stand next to him, a glass of wine in hand.
“Hey,” he says, and Arthur smiles.
Eames snakes his hand around Arthur’s lower back, and Arthur shifts his weight from the railing to settle into Eames’ chest. Eames sips his wine and looks down, and Arthur is clear lines and heavy heat up against his body. He breathes shallowly and waits for time to slow down.
Arthur eventually relaxes into him.
01 . 02 . 03