Fic: "How to Know," Inception, Mature (2/3)
Title: How to Know
Fandom: Inception
Characters/Pairing: Arthur/Cobb
Rating: Mature/R (sex, language)
Word count: 22000
Summary: Arthur builds a relationship with Cobb, which begins as casual sex between friends and gradually becomes more. But as it does so, Arthur's lack of confidence in Cobb weighs on him.
Notes: Written for the following inception_kink prompt: "Arthur notices that Cobb still wears his wedding ring when they're dreaming." I posted it there anonymously, and now I've cleaned it up a bit and am reposting. Not sure how it got to be this long!
Arthur's luggage resurfaces at the end of the week. When he finally gets it back, his stuff finds its way into Cobb's bedroom. His clothes fill up the empty side of the closet. Cobb gives him a drawer in the dresser.
There are two sinks in the master bathroom. One of them is surrounded by Cobb's things: his comb, his shaving cream and razor, some hair gel . . . . The other side is bare and dusty from disuse. Arthur wonders if the second sink used to be Mal's.
Both he and Cobb are morning people. It takes some time to get used to sharing a bathroom in the morning.
"Sorry," Cobb says one time, with an apologetic smile, after bumping into Arthur while he's trying to brush his teeth. "I'm not used to sharing like this. Mal never got up before ten if she could avoid it."
A few days later, Cobb looks at him across the kitchen table and says, "You know, I was thinking you could move the rest of your stuff in. That stuff you have in storage or wherever."
Arthur looks up from the newspaper and tries to smile sarcastically. "Are you seriously suggesting I move in? A little premature, isn't it?"
The kids are playing not more than ten feet away, pushing toy cars around on the polished wood floor.
Cobb shakes his head. "No. No. I mean, of course you can stay here as long as you'd like. That's a given. But I thought you could use a safe place for your things, whether you're here or not. There's no reason for you to pay for storage."
He lays it out like he would the details of a job. Practical. To the point. That's the way to get Arthur on board.
Arthur shrugs and returns his gaze to the paper. "All right, I'll consider it. Thanks."
"And your car. You still got that Corvette you were so crazy about? We have a two-car garage. There's room."
Arthur nods. Cobb is right, of course. And he's sure they'd consider such a move even if they weren't sleeping together. He, for one, would be more likely to do so. Accepting a kind offer from a friend is simpler than moving his stuff into his lover's house.
Between his time in the army and the years of living out of hotels, the idea of a permanent home is foreign to Arthur. Cobb's house becomes the next best thing: he's mostly comfortable, and has no immediate plans to leave.
That doesn't mean there's nothing to adjust to.
First, Arthur isn't used to sleeping in the same bed with someone every night. It makes him feel unexpectedly vulnerable.
One night, he wakes up in a sweat, his heart pounding. He hears Cobb ask, "What's wrong?"
He fumbles around for the bedside lamp. He pulls the chain, and feels a little better when the room has some light.
"Nothing," he says.
"Nightmare?" Cobb still sounds concerned.
Arthur wonders if he did anything embarrassing to arouse Cobb's worry: talking in his sleep maybe, or thrashing around. No way to know.
He swallows hard. "Yeah. It's not a big deal." He can still feel Cobb's eyes on him. "Sometimes I have dreams about Afghanistan. Nothing serious."
It usually isn't. Of course, he usually uses the PASIV enough to suppress natural dreaming, an advantage of regular work that he hadn't realized until recently.
He's never told anyone about this before. He never thought he would.
Cobb, wisely, seems to sense that silence is best. Arthur excuses himself and goes into the bathroom for a drink of water. While he's there, he splashes some of the cold water on his face. When he comes back to bed, Cobb is still waiting for him with his eyes open. He doesn't turn over and close his eyes until Arthur has settled into bed and turned off the lamp.
Second, there's the sex, or the lack of it. They can't do it whenever they want. The kids have to be in bed, and they have to be asleep. By the time that's done, sometimes Arthur is ready to go to sleep, himself.
One morning, Arthur wakes up with an erection. Cobb is already awake, and he notices the tent in Arthur's pajama bottoms when he turns over.
"Dreaming about me?" he asks with a grin.
Arthur snorts. "You wish, huh?"
Cobb reaches for the drawstring securing his pants. "How about I take care of that for you?"
But he's barely loosened Arthur's pants when there's a soft knock on the door, and a tearful "Daddy?"
Cobb pulls back, and Arthur climbs under the sheet before James pushes the door open and comes in.
"What's wrong?" Cobb asks.
James sniffles. "I fell out of bed and hurt my arm."
Cobb gets out of bed and rushes over to James. He pulls up the boy's sleeve and says, "It looks okay, but let's go make sure."
He spares a quick glance back at Arthur before leading James out of the room.
Arthur waits a few minutes, and it's soon clear that they aren't going to finish what they started. It's also clear enough that there's no medical emergency. So Arthur gets up and heads for the shower.
His cock has mostly softened, but as he steps under the warm water, he thinks about getting himself off. He might as well. But the moment after he starts palming his cock, the bathroom door opens and Cobb comes in.
"Sorry about that. James is fine - he was just shaken."
He stands by the sink and starts brushing his teeth. He looks in the mirror, where he can see Arthur in the shower behind him. Arthur has moved his hand away from his cock, but he knows Cobb can see the burgeoning hard-on he managed.
Cobb hesitates for a moment, like he's waiting to see if Arthur will finish what he started, or maybe invite him to join in.
Arthur does neither. He's never been much of an exhibitionist, and the mood has passed.
He's forgotten what it's like to lack privacy. Cobb has probably seen more of him recently than he has in years, and now Arthur gets the pleasure of Cobb's comments on his habits, comments like, "Jesus Christ, Arthur. How much Red Bull have you drank today? You're gonna give yourself a heart attack or something." or "I thought you quit smoking last year."
Arthur tells him where to go, and mentally decides to pick on Cobb's annoying habits sometime.
Still, it isn't like they don't have their space. Cobb spends most afternoons in his study. He runs on the treadmill for a while, and then he does, well, whatever it is that he does in the absence of work. Read and use the computer, Arthur supposes. The kids mostly entertain themselves, though Cobb comes out now and then just to see them. He'll lean against the wall and watch them play, smiling like a man who has everything.
Occasionally, the kids will acknowledge Arthur. James will call him over to see some structure he's built with blocks, which Arthur will summarily praise. Phillipa, who's taking violin lessons, will use him as an audience.
He usually has his headphones on, truthfully to block out the sound of the violin. But when Phillipa runs over, and says, "Arthur, listen to this," Arthur will take them off, look up from whatever he was doing, and smile through yet another squeaky round of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star."
The kids will come to their room at night sometimes, usually because of nightmares. James, more often than Phillipa. Arthur suspects that, despite Cobb's efforts, she's learned the unfortunate lesson that parents cannot be relied on to protect her. Arthur is a light sleeper, and inevitably wakes up before Cobb does. Though Cobb, even being the deep sleeper that he is, never fails to hear one of his children calling for him.
But one night, Arthur wakes up to nothing. He listens for a second, thinking it might have been James who woke him up, but there's no sound. Then he realizes he can't hear Cobb's soft snoring, either. He rolls over and sees the bed is empty beside him. It's like the emptiness woke him.
His first thought, of course, is that Cobb is just in the bathroom. But the bathroom door is open and the light is off.
Arthur checks the time: it's after one in the morning. He slips on his flip-flops and gets up. He wanders out into the hall, listening for a sign that Cobb is with one of the children, maybe calming another nightmare. But their rooms, which he can see through the cracked-open doors, are dark except for the nightlights. The kitchen, too, is dark except for the one dim light that's always left on.
But there's light coming out from under the study door.
Arthur walks to the door and knocks softly. "Cobb?" he says. "You in there?"
There's no answer, and Arthur opens the door slowly, his hand sweaty on the metal doorknob.
What he sees doesn't surprise him, even though he's not expecting it. Cobb is sitting in a wing chair by the window, his head flopped to the side. An IV leads from his wrist to the PASIV set up on the floor.
Arthur wonders what dream could be so important that Cobb has to have it now. The idea of Cobb going under alone doesn't bother him, but he's almost positive Cobb hasn't been doing so during the day, even in his hours holed up in here. So the real question is, what's he doing that he wanted to wait until Arthur was asleep, and wouldn't know?
He looks at the clock on the PASIV. It's counting down 2:32, 2:31, 2:30 . . . . Arthur backs away, deciding he'd rather not be around when Cobb wakes up. He knows that even if this is innocent, his presence will lead to a discussion he doesn't want. Instead, he goes back to the bedroom and climbs into bed.
It's perhaps ten minutes later when Cobb comes in. Arthur doesn't look, but can hear him put the PASIV away in the safe, his actions hushed in a way that's clearly intentional.
Arthur lets him believe he's asleep.
* * *
One morning, Arthur gets out of the shower and leans in the doorway to the bedroom, watching as Cobb rushes around in a pair of black dress pants. Behind Arthur, the mixed smell of shaving cream and Cobb's aftershave hangs in the air.
Cobb steps into the closet and emerges with a white shirt. He sticks one arm in a sleeve and his brow creases with confusion. Then he chuckles and looks at Arthur.
"I think I just grabbed one of your shirts by mistake. Couldn't figure out why it didn't feel right." He takes it off and tosses it on the bed.
Arthur scoffs and smiles. "How'd you do that? I keep all my stuff separate."
"Hey, give me a break. I've never shared a bedroom with another man before." He looks at his watch. "And I'm running late." He goes back in the closet and comes out with the correct shirt. As he walks by, he glances at Arthur, who's naked except for a towel wrapped around his waist. He eyes him up and down with a lascivious look before going on with his business.
Arthur puts his own shirt away, smoothing it out so it won’t wrinkle. He pulls on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, making sure to stay out of Cobb’s way as he does so.
Once Cobb is finished dressing, he faces Arthur and stands up straight. He straightens his dark red tie and the hem of his jacket and asks, "I look all right to you?"
Arthur studies him, purses his lip, and nods. "Yep, great. At least you shaved."
"Let's just hope my portfolio is equally impressive, huh?"
"Either way, you'll ace the interview. You're great at that kind of thing."
Cobb has his first interview with an architectural firm today. Arthur is too realistic to expect him to get something on the first try, but he pretends to be confident for Cobb's sake.
In the foyer, while Cobb tries to give Arthur instructions for the children's lunch, James attaches himself to Cobb's leg.
"Not right now, James. I've gotta run."
James tries to stand on Cobb's foot, his sneakers scuffing Cobb's polished black leather shoe. "No . . . but you said-"
Cobb gently pushes him off and crouches down. "Later, James, all right? When I get home, we can spend some time together, but I have to go now. Be a big boy for Arthur, okay?"
He ruffles James's hair and stands up. He grabs his portfolio and an umbrella, and then he's out the door.
James stares at the door until he hears the car engine start. He reaches for the doorknob -- his small hand is just able to grasp it, but the deadbolt is engaged, keeping the door shut.
Before Arthur can say anything, James bursts into tears. "Daddy . . . ." he cries out. He pulls down on the doorknob like he’s trying to pull it off the door.
The loud cries stun Arthur into inaction. James has cried before during his stay here, but never like this, and Cobb has always been around to take care of it. Arthur realizes this is the first time he's been present to see Cobb leave the kids behind. Does this happen often? Does it happen when Liz watches them? He wonders if he should call Liz.
He immediately dismisses that idea. He has too much pride to call a teenager for help.
Phillipa says, "He'll come back." Her voice is soft and sad in a way that suggests this isn't a new occurrence.
Arthur gently pulls James from the door and crouches down in front of him. "Hey, James, it's okay. Your dad will come back. He just had to go out for a little bit. He'll be back in a few hours, I promise."
James scrunches up his face and lets out an agonized cry. When Arthur reaches out to hold him by the shoulders, he backs away and rubs his eyes with his fists.
Arthur doesn't know much about developmental psychology. He seems to remember hearing something about small children and their concept of time, and wonders if James is old enough to understand what "a few hours" means.
He knows he should do something, but he also knows his control here is limited. He can't force James to stop being scared, and he hasn't spent nearly enough time with the kids to know how to comfort them.
Distraction, that's what he needs. Noticing the tears are starting to lighten up, he says, "Hey, James, tell you what: why don't we watch a movie? Would you like that?"
James just stares at him. His face is red and wet. Phillipa, however, smiles and jumps up and down at the suggestion. Arthur herds them into the family room and hopes Phillipa’s enthusiasm will rub off on James.
He opens the cabinet under the TV and tells him to pick whatever they want. James doesn’t budge, but Phillipa gets down on the floor to choose something. She must take “whatever” literally, because her first choice is Scarface. She hands it to Arthur, who immediately puts it back on the shelf, saying, “You dad might not be happy with me if I let you watch that. Choose something else.”
Her next choice looks harmless enough, so Arthur puts it in. The kids flop down on their stomachs on the floor, and Arthur stretches out on the couch, resting his head one arm and his feet on the other.
For the first half hour, he pays vague attention to the movie. After James’s meltdown, he doesn’t think he should leave the kids alone. But after a while, he dozes off.
When he wakes up, it’s to the sound of a crash. His eyes shoot open and he’s awake before he realizes what woke him.
The movie has reverted back to the DVD menu, and the kids are nowhere to be seen. Knowing this can’t be good, Arthur pushes down the rising dread and gets up to investigate.
He finds the kids by the hall table, staring at a shattered lamp on the floor. James has his thumb in his mouth, a nervous habit he’s yet to give up, and Phillipa is holding a Barbie doll by the legs. They look up when they hear him approach.
“We didn’t do anything,” Phillipa says. “We were playing--” she points to the end of the hall “--over there, and it just fell, all by itself.”
She’s not that good a liar, but trying seems to come naturally enough. In a few years, when she perfects her technique, she’ll be a force to be reckoned with.
“Yeah, right,” he says, “I’m sure you guys are totally innocent.”
James’s eyes start to water. “Daddy’s going to be mad.”
Arthur blinks. “What? Of course he won’t. Trust me, nobody’s going to be mad. It’s not like it was valuable.”
He doesn’t actually know that, but he thinks Cobb keeps anything of value in the study and the master bedroom.
And if Cobb gets mad at anyone, it’ll be him. He’s supposed to be responsible, here. What if the lamp had fallen on one of the kids’ heads? He’s not actually sure how much supervision they need. He realizes he doesn’t know much at all about watching children.
He can handle this, at least. He gets the kids to show him where the broom and dustpan are, and he sweeps the shards of ceramic and light bulb into an old paper shopping bag. The children watch him with relieved expressions -- Arthur gets the sense that his calm reaction has endeared him to them.
When the clean-up is complete, it’s about lunch time, and he gets started on making sandwiches for the kids. Since Cobb isn’t around to chide him about his diet, he doesn’t make anything for himself, but instead leans on the kitchen island with can of Red Bull while the kids eat.
They’re almost finished when Cobb comes home. They push back their chairs and run to greet him. Arthur can hear them running down the hall, and giving Cobb an elated greeting. Arthur trails behind.
With the kids vying for Cobb’s attention, it’s several minutes before Arthur can ask him about the interview. Finally, Cobb goes into the bedroom to get changed, and Arthur follows.
"So, how'd it go?" he asks.
Cobb takes off his jacket and lays it on the bed. He sits down to untie his shoes.
"It went great. I think I made a good impression."
Arthur has no doubt of that, but he can tell Cobb is leaving something out.
Cobb stares at the floor. "I think . . . maybe they want someone with more recent experience. But they were impressed with my older work. I think I have a good chance."
This is what happens, Arthur supposes, when one drops out of the legitimate workforce to work in dream share and extraction. Arthur’s sure there are ways to mitigate two years of unaccounted-for unemployment. Cobb could say he took time off after the death of his wife, for example. The problem is, Arthur is also pretty sure that Cobb's murder charge was mentioned in the media. Potential employers can find that sort of stuff on Google. Putting it all together, everything about Cobb screams, "Spent time eluding the police."
Arthur shrugs. "Well, if you don't get this one, it's not the end of the world."
Cobb clicks his tongue and sticks a finger in the knot of his tie, loosening it. "Of course not. But I'd like to find a job."
“Have you thought it out, though?”
“What do you mean?”
“For one thing, what are the kids going to do when you start working again? Who’ll watch them?”
Cobb shrugs. “It’ll work out. Phillipa’s starting kindergarten in the fall. And Liz is just across the street.”
“Liz? Liz is fourteen. Even if she could watch the kids every day, she sure as hell won’t want to. She’s a babysitter, not a nanny.”
“Obviously,” Cobb says with a frustrated sigh. “I wasn’t suggesting I leave them with her every day.”
“What about their grandmother? Mal’s mom? Is she not willing to help out anymore?”
Cobb’s jaw tightens. “I’m not going down that road.” He stands up and starts to empty his pockets. He tosses his wallet and keys onto the nightstand roughly, followed by a handful of change. A penny rolls onto the floor, but Cobb ignores it.
“Wanna tell me why not?”
For a second, he thinks Cobb isn’t going to answer. He often doesn’t. But Cobb looks away and says, “She told them I wasn't coming back, Arthur. Do you know what it’s like to always hear about how ‘Grandma’ did things? How she cooked for them? How she read to them at night? When I came back here, I didn’t even know what their favorite books were.”
“Then why not wait until you can figure out a way to work from home or something? Is money an issue? 'Cause you know I'd help out."
Arthur's savings are lessening daily, and he's going to have sniff out a job eventually, but he's got enough to last for a while.
Cobb shakes his head. "No, money is fine. But it's not infinite, either. And I loved being an architect, so there’s no reason not to try to get back in it. The kids are getting old enough that I can.”
Arthur shrugs. “All right. I guess I just don’t see the rush.”
Cobb takes a sharp breath. "No offense, Arthur, but you don't exactly know what you're talking about. Not all of us have rich parents. Some of us do have to work."
"Excuse me?"
"Let's face it," Cobb says, turning around to face him, "you've never had a real job before. I'm not judging-"
"What? The army doesn't count? 'Cause being shot at in Afghanistan is a fucking walk in the park, right?"
"You wanna raise your voice some more? I don’t know if my kids could hear that.”
They stare at each other. Arthur has never been good at backing out of an argument. He prefers to derail them at the first sign of tension. Too late for that, now.
Cobb speaks first.
“I was talking about civilian jobs. Don’t twist my words."
Arthur puts his hands on his hips and chuckles humorlessly. "Right. Whatever. And just for the record, my parents buried themselves in credit card debt a long time ago. And if they could afford to give me money, they still wouldn’t do it. So don't tell me about my ‘rich parents.’"
Cobb raises a hand, palm outward. “Fine. Look, I promised the kids I’d play with them today. I’m not wasting any more time on this conversation.”
“Good.”
Arthur turns around and storms out the room. He walks straight to the back porch, pausing only to get his pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the kitchen. He goes out onto the porch and closes the door behind him.
More than anything, he’s mad at himself for getting riled up. Sometimes it embarrasses him that Cobb knows enough about his life that he can hit nerves if he wants to. Sometimes he wants to keep secrets, like that will make up for what Cobb already knows about him.
He barely knows anything about Cobb. On the rare occasion that Cobb volunteers information about himself, Arthur takes it with a grain of salt. The only stuff he trusts is what Mal told him. He thinks Cobb was honest with her.
As he lights his second cigarette, Arthur grudgingly thinks that Cobb is probably right: he should quit. He’s done it cold turkey before, but he thinks if he tries to quit now, he’ll need some gum or a patch or something. The thought that he’s addicted scares him worse than the health risk. He’s done a lot of things that could result in an early death.
Then again, what right does Cobb have to want him to quit? Arthur didn’t smoke nearly as much before he moved in here.
But then Arthur chides himself for being unfair. He’s just pissed at Cobb right now.
He waits ten or fifteen minutes, and then sneaks back inside. He listens, and thinks he can hear Cobb in one of the kids’ bedrooms. Feeling safe he won’t face another confrontation, Arthur goes back in the master bedroom to get his laptop.
He spends the next few hours surfing the net, trying to relax and lower his blood pressure. He shouldn’t be upset about something like an argument, but he is.
By five o’clock, he’s not feeling much better. Only, instead of anger, now he has a guilty feeling in his stomach that won’t go away. He debates with himself for a few minutes, and then he gets up and ventures down the hallway.
At James’s room, Arthur peeks around the doorframe. Cobb is sitting cross-legged on a large blue rug. The kids are sitting with him, and there’s a colorful board game set up on the floor.
Cobb is smiling, and saying something about it being Phillipa’s move. Arthur clears his throat, and Cobb looks up. His smile fades to an expression of apprehension.
“Hey,” Arthur says, “I don’t know if you have plans for dinner, but I was thinking I could call in for a pizza.”
The lines on Cobb’s brow smooth and he gives Arthur a careful smile. “That’d be great, thanks.”
Later that night, when Arthur is climbing into bed, Cobb says, “I’m sorry about earlier. I wasn’t trying to insult you.”
Arthur nods. “I know.”
“I’ve just been under some stress lately, with applying for these jobs and waiting to hear back. But it’s no excuse. And I shouldn’t have made a comment about your family. I know -- I know you don’t get along well with them.”
“No, I’m sorry, too. It’s not a big deal.”
Cobb climbs into bed beside him. He smiles. “Yeah? I was sorta hoping it was a big enough deal that we could have some make-up sex.” He runs a hand along Arthur’s bare thigh.
Arthur grins back. This is the sort of apology he can appreciate. If that makes him weak, if it means he’s addicted to Cobb’s mouth and hands and cock, then so be it.
Cobb pulls Arthur’s boxers off and slides his lips around his cock. Arthur closes his eyes. Arousal creeps up on him. His cock hardens in Cobb’s mouth and his heart starts to pound. For a man who spent a lot of his adult life married to a woman, Cobb is very good at giving blowjobs.
Arthur bites back a moan and clutches the sheets in his fists.
It doesn't take him long to come, and it feels much too soon. But when it’s over, Arthur is exhausted. He feels like he could go to sleep. But Cobb pulls down his pajama bottoms and smiles hopefully, and Arthur is too kind, and far too fond of sucking Cobb off, not to reciprocate.
Still, it doesn’t stop Cobb from getting up again that night for another round with the PASIV. Arthur adds tonight to the tally he’s been keeping in his head: this is the third time in two weeks. That he’s aware of, at least. This time, he doesn’t wait to hear Cobb return. He dozes off, and when he wakes up in the morning, Cobb is curled up under the sheet beside him, as peaceful as if he’d never gotten up.
Part 1
Part 3
Fandom: Inception
Characters/Pairing: Arthur/Cobb
Rating: Mature/R (sex, language)
Word count: 22000
Summary: Arthur builds a relationship with Cobb, which begins as casual sex between friends and gradually becomes more. But as it does so, Arthur's lack of confidence in Cobb weighs on him.
Notes: Written for the following inception_kink prompt: "Arthur notices that Cobb still wears his wedding ring when they're dreaming." I posted it there anonymously, and now I've cleaned it up a bit and am reposting. Not sure how it got to be this long!
Arthur's luggage resurfaces at the end of the week. When he finally gets it back, his stuff finds its way into Cobb's bedroom. His clothes fill up the empty side of the closet. Cobb gives him a drawer in the dresser.
There are two sinks in the master bathroom. One of them is surrounded by Cobb's things: his comb, his shaving cream and razor, some hair gel . . . . The other side is bare and dusty from disuse. Arthur wonders if the second sink used to be Mal's.
Both he and Cobb are morning people. It takes some time to get used to sharing a bathroom in the morning.
"Sorry," Cobb says one time, with an apologetic smile, after bumping into Arthur while he's trying to brush his teeth. "I'm not used to sharing like this. Mal never got up before ten if she could avoid it."
A few days later, Cobb looks at him across the kitchen table and says, "You know, I was thinking you could move the rest of your stuff in. That stuff you have in storage or wherever."
Arthur looks up from the newspaper and tries to smile sarcastically. "Are you seriously suggesting I move in? A little premature, isn't it?"
The kids are playing not more than ten feet away, pushing toy cars around on the polished wood floor.
Cobb shakes his head. "No. No. I mean, of course you can stay here as long as you'd like. That's a given. But I thought you could use a safe place for your things, whether you're here or not. There's no reason for you to pay for storage."
He lays it out like he would the details of a job. Practical. To the point. That's the way to get Arthur on board.
Arthur shrugs and returns his gaze to the paper. "All right, I'll consider it. Thanks."
"And your car. You still got that Corvette you were so crazy about? We have a two-car garage. There's room."
Arthur nods. Cobb is right, of course. And he's sure they'd consider such a move even if they weren't sleeping together. He, for one, would be more likely to do so. Accepting a kind offer from a friend is simpler than moving his stuff into his lover's house.
Between his time in the army and the years of living out of hotels, the idea of a permanent home is foreign to Arthur. Cobb's house becomes the next best thing: he's mostly comfortable, and has no immediate plans to leave.
That doesn't mean there's nothing to adjust to.
First, Arthur isn't used to sleeping in the same bed with someone every night. It makes him feel unexpectedly vulnerable.
One night, he wakes up in a sweat, his heart pounding. He hears Cobb ask, "What's wrong?"
He fumbles around for the bedside lamp. He pulls the chain, and feels a little better when the room has some light.
"Nothing," he says.
"Nightmare?" Cobb still sounds concerned.
Arthur wonders if he did anything embarrassing to arouse Cobb's worry: talking in his sleep maybe, or thrashing around. No way to know.
He swallows hard. "Yeah. It's not a big deal." He can still feel Cobb's eyes on him. "Sometimes I have dreams about Afghanistan. Nothing serious."
It usually isn't. Of course, he usually uses the PASIV enough to suppress natural dreaming, an advantage of regular work that he hadn't realized until recently.
He's never told anyone about this before. He never thought he would.
Cobb, wisely, seems to sense that silence is best. Arthur excuses himself and goes into the bathroom for a drink of water. While he's there, he splashes some of the cold water on his face. When he comes back to bed, Cobb is still waiting for him with his eyes open. He doesn't turn over and close his eyes until Arthur has settled into bed and turned off the lamp.
Second, there's the sex, or the lack of it. They can't do it whenever they want. The kids have to be in bed, and they have to be asleep. By the time that's done, sometimes Arthur is ready to go to sleep, himself.
One morning, Arthur wakes up with an erection. Cobb is already awake, and he notices the tent in Arthur's pajama bottoms when he turns over.
"Dreaming about me?" he asks with a grin.
Arthur snorts. "You wish, huh?"
Cobb reaches for the drawstring securing his pants. "How about I take care of that for you?"
But he's barely loosened Arthur's pants when there's a soft knock on the door, and a tearful "Daddy?"
Cobb pulls back, and Arthur climbs under the sheet before James pushes the door open and comes in.
"What's wrong?" Cobb asks.
James sniffles. "I fell out of bed and hurt my arm."
Cobb gets out of bed and rushes over to James. He pulls up the boy's sleeve and says, "It looks okay, but let's go make sure."
He spares a quick glance back at Arthur before leading James out of the room.
Arthur waits a few minutes, and it's soon clear that they aren't going to finish what they started. It's also clear enough that there's no medical emergency. So Arthur gets up and heads for the shower.
His cock has mostly softened, but as he steps under the warm water, he thinks about getting himself off. He might as well. But the moment after he starts palming his cock, the bathroom door opens and Cobb comes in.
"Sorry about that. James is fine - he was just shaken."
He stands by the sink and starts brushing his teeth. He looks in the mirror, where he can see Arthur in the shower behind him. Arthur has moved his hand away from his cock, but he knows Cobb can see the burgeoning hard-on he managed.
Cobb hesitates for a moment, like he's waiting to see if Arthur will finish what he started, or maybe invite him to join in.
Arthur does neither. He's never been much of an exhibitionist, and the mood has passed.
He's forgotten what it's like to lack privacy. Cobb has probably seen more of him recently than he has in years, and now Arthur gets the pleasure of Cobb's comments on his habits, comments like, "Jesus Christ, Arthur. How much Red Bull have you drank today? You're gonna give yourself a heart attack or something." or "I thought you quit smoking last year."
Arthur tells him where to go, and mentally decides to pick on Cobb's annoying habits sometime.
Still, it isn't like they don't have their space. Cobb spends most afternoons in his study. He runs on the treadmill for a while, and then he does, well, whatever it is that he does in the absence of work. Read and use the computer, Arthur supposes. The kids mostly entertain themselves, though Cobb comes out now and then just to see them. He'll lean against the wall and watch them play, smiling like a man who has everything.
Occasionally, the kids will acknowledge Arthur. James will call him over to see some structure he's built with blocks, which Arthur will summarily praise. Phillipa, who's taking violin lessons, will use him as an audience.
He usually has his headphones on, truthfully to block out the sound of the violin. But when Phillipa runs over, and says, "Arthur, listen to this," Arthur will take them off, look up from whatever he was doing, and smile through yet another squeaky round of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star."
The kids will come to their room at night sometimes, usually because of nightmares. James, more often than Phillipa. Arthur suspects that, despite Cobb's efforts, she's learned the unfortunate lesson that parents cannot be relied on to protect her. Arthur is a light sleeper, and inevitably wakes up before Cobb does. Though Cobb, even being the deep sleeper that he is, never fails to hear one of his children calling for him.
But one night, Arthur wakes up to nothing. He listens for a second, thinking it might have been James who woke him up, but there's no sound. Then he realizes he can't hear Cobb's soft snoring, either. He rolls over and sees the bed is empty beside him. It's like the emptiness woke him.
His first thought, of course, is that Cobb is just in the bathroom. But the bathroom door is open and the light is off.
Arthur checks the time: it's after one in the morning. He slips on his flip-flops and gets up. He wanders out into the hall, listening for a sign that Cobb is with one of the children, maybe calming another nightmare. But their rooms, which he can see through the cracked-open doors, are dark except for the nightlights. The kitchen, too, is dark except for the one dim light that's always left on.
But there's light coming out from under the study door.
Arthur walks to the door and knocks softly. "Cobb?" he says. "You in there?"
There's no answer, and Arthur opens the door slowly, his hand sweaty on the metal doorknob.
What he sees doesn't surprise him, even though he's not expecting it. Cobb is sitting in a wing chair by the window, his head flopped to the side. An IV leads from his wrist to the PASIV set up on the floor.
Arthur wonders what dream could be so important that Cobb has to have it now. The idea of Cobb going under alone doesn't bother him, but he's almost positive Cobb hasn't been doing so during the day, even in his hours holed up in here. So the real question is, what's he doing that he wanted to wait until Arthur was asleep, and wouldn't know?
He looks at the clock on the PASIV. It's counting down 2:32, 2:31, 2:30 . . . . Arthur backs away, deciding he'd rather not be around when Cobb wakes up. He knows that even if this is innocent, his presence will lead to a discussion he doesn't want. Instead, he goes back to the bedroom and climbs into bed.
It's perhaps ten minutes later when Cobb comes in. Arthur doesn't look, but can hear him put the PASIV away in the safe, his actions hushed in a way that's clearly intentional.
Arthur lets him believe he's asleep.
* * *
One morning, Arthur gets out of the shower and leans in the doorway to the bedroom, watching as Cobb rushes around in a pair of black dress pants. Behind Arthur, the mixed smell of shaving cream and Cobb's aftershave hangs in the air.
Cobb steps into the closet and emerges with a white shirt. He sticks one arm in a sleeve and his brow creases with confusion. Then he chuckles and looks at Arthur.
"I think I just grabbed one of your shirts by mistake. Couldn't figure out why it didn't feel right." He takes it off and tosses it on the bed.
Arthur scoffs and smiles. "How'd you do that? I keep all my stuff separate."
"Hey, give me a break. I've never shared a bedroom with another man before." He looks at his watch. "And I'm running late." He goes back in the closet and comes out with the correct shirt. As he walks by, he glances at Arthur, who's naked except for a towel wrapped around his waist. He eyes him up and down with a lascivious look before going on with his business.
Arthur puts his own shirt away, smoothing it out so it won’t wrinkle. He pulls on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, making sure to stay out of Cobb’s way as he does so.
Once Cobb is finished dressing, he faces Arthur and stands up straight. He straightens his dark red tie and the hem of his jacket and asks, "I look all right to you?"
Arthur studies him, purses his lip, and nods. "Yep, great. At least you shaved."
"Let's just hope my portfolio is equally impressive, huh?"
"Either way, you'll ace the interview. You're great at that kind of thing."
Cobb has his first interview with an architectural firm today. Arthur is too realistic to expect him to get something on the first try, but he pretends to be confident for Cobb's sake.
In the foyer, while Cobb tries to give Arthur instructions for the children's lunch, James attaches himself to Cobb's leg.
"Not right now, James. I've gotta run."
James tries to stand on Cobb's foot, his sneakers scuffing Cobb's polished black leather shoe. "No . . . but you said-"
Cobb gently pushes him off and crouches down. "Later, James, all right? When I get home, we can spend some time together, but I have to go now. Be a big boy for Arthur, okay?"
He ruffles James's hair and stands up. He grabs his portfolio and an umbrella, and then he's out the door.
James stares at the door until he hears the car engine start. He reaches for the doorknob -- his small hand is just able to grasp it, but the deadbolt is engaged, keeping the door shut.
Before Arthur can say anything, James bursts into tears. "Daddy . . . ." he cries out. He pulls down on the doorknob like he’s trying to pull it off the door.
The loud cries stun Arthur into inaction. James has cried before during his stay here, but never like this, and Cobb has always been around to take care of it. Arthur realizes this is the first time he's been present to see Cobb leave the kids behind. Does this happen often? Does it happen when Liz watches them? He wonders if he should call Liz.
He immediately dismisses that idea. He has too much pride to call a teenager for help.
Phillipa says, "He'll come back." Her voice is soft and sad in a way that suggests this isn't a new occurrence.
Arthur gently pulls James from the door and crouches down in front of him. "Hey, James, it's okay. Your dad will come back. He just had to go out for a little bit. He'll be back in a few hours, I promise."
James scrunches up his face and lets out an agonized cry. When Arthur reaches out to hold him by the shoulders, he backs away and rubs his eyes with his fists.
Arthur doesn't know much about developmental psychology. He seems to remember hearing something about small children and their concept of time, and wonders if James is old enough to understand what "a few hours" means.
He knows he should do something, but he also knows his control here is limited. He can't force James to stop being scared, and he hasn't spent nearly enough time with the kids to know how to comfort them.
Distraction, that's what he needs. Noticing the tears are starting to lighten up, he says, "Hey, James, tell you what: why don't we watch a movie? Would you like that?"
James just stares at him. His face is red and wet. Phillipa, however, smiles and jumps up and down at the suggestion. Arthur herds them into the family room and hopes Phillipa’s enthusiasm will rub off on James.
He opens the cabinet under the TV and tells him to pick whatever they want. James doesn’t budge, but Phillipa gets down on the floor to choose something. She must take “whatever” literally, because her first choice is Scarface. She hands it to Arthur, who immediately puts it back on the shelf, saying, “You dad might not be happy with me if I let you watch that. Choose something else.”
Her next choice looks harmless enough, so Arthur puts it in. The kids flop down on their stomachs on the floor, and Arthur stretches out on the couch, resting his head one arm and his feet on the other.
For the first half hour, he pays vague attention to the movie. After James’s meltdown, he doesn’t think he should leave the kids alone. But after a while, he dozes off.
When he wakes up, it’s to the sound of a crash. His eyes shoot open and he’s awake before he realizes what woke him.
The movie has reverted back to the DVD menu, and the kids are nowhere to be seen. Knowing this can’t be good, Arthur pushes down the rising dread and gets up to investigate.
He finds the kids by the hall table, staring at a shattered lamp on the floor. James has his thumb in his mouth, a nervous habit he’s yet to give up, and Phillipa is holding a Barbie doll by the legs. They look up when they hear him approach.
“We didn’t do anything,” Phillipa says. “We were playing--” she points to the end of the hall “--over there, and it just fell, all by itself.”
She’s not that good a liar, but trying seems to come naturally enough. In a few years, when she perfects her technique, she’ll be a force to be reckoned with.
“Yeah, right,” he says, “I’m sure you guys are totally innocent.”
James’s eyes start to water. “Daddy’s going to be mad.”
Arthur blinks. “What? Of course he won’t. Trust me, nobody’s going to be mad. It’s not like it was valuable.”
He doesn’t actually know that, but he thinks Cobb keeps anything of value in the study and the master bedroom.
And if Cobb gets mad at anyone, it’ll be him. He’s supposed to be responsible, here. What if the lamp had fallen on one of the kids’ heads? He’s not actually sure how much supervision they need. He realizes he doesn’t know much at all about watching children.
He can handle this, at least. He gets the kids to show him where the broom and dustpan are, and he sweeps the shards of ceramic and light bulb into an old paper shopping bag. The children watch him with relieved expressions -- Arthur gets the sense that his calm reaction has endeared him to them.
When the clean-up is complete, it’s about lunch time, and he gets started on making sandwiches for the kids. Since Cobb isn’t around to chide him about his diet, he doesn’t make anything for himself, but instead leans on the kitchen island with can of Red Bull while the kids eat.
They’re almost finished when Cobb comes home. They push back their chairs and run to greet him. Arthur can hear them running down the hall, and giving Cobb an elated greeting. Arthur trails behind.
With the kids vying for Cobb’s attention, it’s several minutes before Arthur can ask him about the interview. Finally, Cobb goes into the bedroom to get changed, and Arthur follows.
"So, how'd it go?" he asks.
Cobb takes off his jacket and lays it on the bed. He sits down to untie his shoes.
"It went great. I think I made a good impression."
Arthur has no doubt of that, but he can tell Cobb is leaving something out.
Cobb stares at the floor. "I think . . . maybe they want someone with more recent experience. But they were impressed with my older work. I think I have a good chance."
This is what happens, Arthur supposes, when one drops out of the legitimate workforce to work in dream share and extraction. Arthur’s sure there are ways to mitigate two years of unaccounted-for unemployment. Cobb could say he took time off after the death of his wife, for example. The problem is, Arthur is also pretty sure that Cobb's murder charge was mentioned in the media. Potential employers can find that sort of stuff on Google. Putting it all together, everything about Cobb screams, "Spent time eluding the police."
Arthur shrugs. "Well, if you don't get this one, it's not the end of the world."
Cobb clicks his tongue and sticks a finger in the knot of his tie, loosening it. "Of course not. But I'd like to find a job."
“Have you thought it out, though?”
“What do you mean?”
“For one thing, what are the kids going to do when you start working again? Who’ll watch them?”
Cobb shrugs. “It’ll work out. Phillipa’s starting kindergarten in the fall. And Liz is just across the street.”
“Liz? Liz is fourteen. Even if she could watch the kids every day, she sure as hell won’t want to. She’s a babysitter, not a nanny.”
“Obviously,” Cobb says with a frustrated sigh. “I wasn’t suggesting I leave them with her every day.”
“What about their grandmother? Mal’s mom? Is she not willing to help out anymore?”
Cobb’s jaw tightens. “I’m not going down that road.” He stands up and starts to empty his pockets. He tosses his wallet and keys onto the nightstand roughly, followed by a handful of change. A penny rolls onto the floor, but Cobb ignores it.
“Wanna tell me why not?”
For a second, he thinks Cobb isn’t going to answer. He often doesn’t. But Cobb looks away and says, “She told them I wasn't coming back, Arthur. Do you know what it’s like to always hear about how ‘Grandma’ did things? How she cooked for them? How she read to them at night? When I came back here, I didn’t even know what their favorite books were.”
“Then why not wait until you can figure out a way to work from home or something? Is money an issue? 'Cause you know I'd help out."
Arthur's savings are lessening daily, and he's going to have sniff out a job eventually, but he's got enough to last for a while.
Cobb shakes his head. "No, money is fine. But it's not infinite, either. And I loved being an architect, so there’s no reason not to try to get back in it. The kids are getting old enough that I can.”
Arthur shrugs. “All right. I guess I just don’t see the rush.”
Cobb takes a sharp breath. "No offense, Arthur, but you don't exactly know what you're talking about. Not all of us have rich parents. Some of us do have to work."
"Excuse me?"
"Let's face it," Cobb says, turning around to face him, "you've never had a real job before. I'm not judging-"
"What? The army doesn't count? 'Cause being shot at in Afghanistan is a fucking walk in the park, right?"
"You wanna raise your voice some more? I don’t know if my kids could hear that.”
They stare at each other. Arthur has never been good at backing out of an argument. He prefers to derail them at the first sign of tension. Too late for that, now.
Cobb speaks first.
“I was talking about civilian jobs. Don’t twist my words."
Arthur puts his hands on his hips and chuckles humorlessly. "Right. Whatever. And just for the record, my parents buried themselves in credit card debt a long time ago. And if they could afford to give me money, they still wouldn’t do it. So don't tell me about my ‘rich parents.’"
Cobb raises a hand, palm outward. “Fine. Look, I promised the kids I’d play with them today. I’m not wasting any more time on this conversation.”
“Good.”
Arthur turns around and storms out the room. He walks straight to the back porch, pausing only to get his pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the kitchen. He goes out onto the porch and closes the door behind him.
More than anything, he’s mad at himself for getting riled up. Sometimes it embarrasses him that Cobb knows enough about his life that he can hit nerves if he wants to. Sometimes he wants to keep secrets, like that will make up for what Cobb already knows about him.
He barely knows anything about Cobb. On the rare occasion that Cobb volunteers information about himself, Arthur takes it with a grain of salt. The only stuff he trusts is what Mal told him. He thinks Cobb was honest with her.
As he lights his second cigarette, Arthur grudgingly thinks that Cobb is probably right: he should quit. He’s done it cold turkey before, but he thinks if he tries to quit now, he’ll need some gum or a patch or something. The thought that he’s addicted scares him worse than the health risk. He’s done a lot of things that could result in an early death.
Then again, what right does Cobb have to want him to quit? Arthur didn’t smoke nearly as much before he moved in here.
But then Arthur chides himself for being unfair. He’s just pissed at Cobb right now.
He waits ten or fifteen minutes, and then sneaks back inside. He listens, and thinks he can hear Cobb in one of the kids’ bedrooms. Feeling safe he won’t face another confrontation, Arthur goes back in the master bedroom to get his laptop.
He spends the next few hours surfing the net, trying to relax and lower his blood pressure. He shouldn’t be upset about something like an argument, but he is.
By five o’clock, he’s not feeling much better. Only, instead of anger, now he has a guilty feeling in his stomach that won’t go away. He debates with himself for a few minutes, and then he gets up and ventures down the hallway.
At James’s room, Arthur peeks around the doorframe. Cobb is sitting cross-legged on a large blue rug. The kids are sitting with him, and there’s a colorful board game set up on the floor.
Cobb is smiling, and saying something about it being Phillipa’s move. Arthur clears his throat, and Cobb looks up. His smile fades to an expression of apprehension.
“Hey,” Arthur says, “I don’t know if you have plans for dinner, but I was thinking I could call in for a pizza.”
The lines on Cobb’s brow smooth and he gives Arthur a careful smile. “That’d be great, thanks.”
Later that night, when Arthur is climbing into bed, Cobb says, “I’m sorry about earlier. I wasn’t trying to insult you.”
Arthur nods. “I know.”
“I’ve just been under some stress lately, with applying for these jobs and waiting to hear back. But it’s no excuse. And I shouldn’t have made a comment about your family. I know -- I know you don’t get along well with them.”
“No, I’m sorry, too. It’s not a big deal.”
Cobb climbs into bed beside him. He smiles. “Yeah? I was sorta hoping it was a big enough deal that we could have some make-up sex.” He runs a hand along Arthur’s bare thigh.
Arthur grins back. This is the sort of apology he can appreciate. If that makes him weak, if it means he’s addicted to Cobb’s mouth and hands and cock, then so be it.
Cobb pulls Arthur’s boxers off and slides his lips around his cock. Arthur closes his eyes. Arousal creeps up on him. His cock hardens in Cobb’s mouth and his heart starts to pound. For a man who spent a lot of his adult life married to a woman, Cobb is very good at giving blowjobs.
Arthur bites back a moan and clutches the sheets in his fists.
It doesn't take him long to come, and it feels much too soon. But when it’s over, Arthur is exhausted. He feels like he could go to sleep. But Cobb pulls down his pajama bottoms and smiles hopefully, and Arthur is too kind, and far too fond of sucking Cobb off, not to reciprocate.
Still, it doesn’t stop Cobb from getting up again that night for another round with the PASIV. Arthur adds tonight to the tally he’s been keeping in his head: this is the third time in two weeks. That he’s aware of, at least. This time, he doesn’t wait to hear Cobb return. He dozes off, and when he wakes up in the morning, Cobb is curled up under the sheet beside him, as peaceful as if he’d never gotten up.
Part 1
Part 3