FIC: Carve Your Name Into My Arm (Instead of Stressed I Lie Here Charmed) 4/4
MASTER POST
See part one for warnings etc.
Part two
Part three
Word count for part four: ~4500
A/N: Done! I kind of wanted to focus more on Arthur's issues, but drawing it out would have probably meant that I would've never finished writing this. :X I might write an epilogue type of thing later, but I'm not sure yet.
PS - Thanks so much for the comments on part three, everyone, you ROCK! I hope you like the last part too. ♥
*
They made their way back to the dorms without further incident; Arthur was leaning against him, too tired and drunk and emotionally wrung out to care about keeping up appearances. Fortunately, the few people they passed were students who didn't seem to think anything much of it.
Arthur hadn't argued when Eames had ushered them inside, nor had he asked about it when, remembering his promise to Cobb, Eames had taken out his cell and texted with one hand while still supporting Arthur with the other. He'd sent Cobb a quick message which simply said,
> Found him, ttyl
He wasn't looking forward to that talking part, but he figured that's what the 'later' was for.
The whole way back to the dorms Arthur had been silent and pensive, and Eames, still trying to get his head around what had transpired earlier, hadn't tried to force conversation. He hadn't thought beyond getting Arthur back to his room, but now he contemplated sending Yusuf a text not to expect him back that night. He wasn't sure Arthur would approve, but after the scare he'd had, he didn't particularly feel like leaving Arthur alone. Besides, he still didn't know exactly how much Arthur had had to drink. Even if his self-destructive impulses were suppressed for the time being, leaving him on his own might not be the best of ideas.
All thoughts of the best course of action flew right out of his head when he closed the door and realized that Arthur was standing right behind him. Eames took a sharp breath when he felt Arthur's lips against his jaw, one cold hand sliding beneath his shirt.
"Hey," Arthur murmured, nosing at the skin behind Eames' ear. Eames extracted himself from Arthur's hold and turned around. Arthur didn't protest, just moved back in once they were facing each other, trailing his palms over Eames' chest, the fabric catching a little in his hands.
Eames opened his mouth to speak -- to say what, he didn't know -- but before he could, Arthur kissed him, sloppy and hungry, biting at his lower lip a little when he was slow to respond. Bad idea, Eames' thought, tasting alcohol, but even so his hands slipped around Arthur's waist, palms flat against his lower back. Arthur made a pleased sound in his throat and Eames shuddered, tilting his head, deepening the kiss. Arthur's hands smoothed over his chest, restless. He pulled away to press open mouthed kisses against Eames' jaw. Eames swallowed.
"Arthur," he said, turning his head to press his cheek against Arthur's.
"You can fuck me if you want," Arthur said, his breath hot against the shell of Eames' ear. Eames shivered. He did his best to scoff, ignoring the way his heart was pounding.
"Yeah, right," he said, his voice coming out ragged.
"I mean it," Arthur said, teeth grazing Eames' earlobe. "You can, if you want."
Eames swallowed and closed his eyes, shaking his head. He took hold of Arthur's shoulders and pushed him back a little. His skin suddenly felt cold where Arthur had been breathing against it.
"Arthur," he said. "No."
"Oh, come on," Arthur huffed, dropping his hands to Eames' belt. He leaned in, trying to catch Eames' lips in another kiss, but the alcohol in his breath only strenghtened Eames' resolve. Eames pushed him gently back again and grabbed his hands to stop him from undoing the buckle.
"This isn't a good idea," he said, smoothing his thumbs over Arthur's wrist bones.
"Please," Arthur said -- derisive, not pleading. He stepped back, extracting his hands from Eames' hold. "You know you want to," he said with all the drunken conviction, and heaven help him, Eames did. Arthur's eyes were dark, his pupils blown. His hair was messed up from the wind outside, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol. He looked like an invitation as he backed towards the bed, quirking his lips like he knew what Eames was thinking. Despite his intoxication, his fingers didn't falter as he began to unbutton his shirt.
"That's not the issue here," Eames said belatedly, unable to stop watching.
"Then what is?" Arthur asked, his shirt falling open. He sat on the bed and leaned back on his hands, rolling his shoulders a little. He tilted his head, looking Eames up and down. "Come on, this is what you've wanted all along, right? Let's just get it over with."
"Gee, thanks," Eames said, his mouth twisting. "Your enthusiasm at the idea is really a turn on. Put your shirt back on, we're not doing this."
Arthur frowned and pushed himself off the bed. His shirt was hanging off his shoulders, and Eames was briefly distracted by the smooth planes of Arthur's torso. When he looked up, Arthur was right in front of him, smirking faintly.
"I think," Arthur said, sliding his hands under Eames' shirt, his fingers still cool enough to make him shiver, "that you," he leaned in, his breath hot against Eames' neck, "just need to get it out of your system. Then you can go back to whatever, instead of hanging around me all the time."
"That's not --" Eames frowned, then paused, taking hold of Arthur's forearms to keep him at arm's length. "You think the only reason I've been spending time with you was to get in your pants?"
"Why the fuck else would you?" Arthur asked, puzzled and annoyed. "And I'm telling you -- fine, okay, you win. You can have me. Happy?"
"No," Eames said, feeling sick, and Arthur's expression shifted, the look on his face stubborn and angry.
"Don't be a wuss, Eames," he bit out. "And don't even try to tell me you don't want this."
"I don't want this," Eames said honestly.
"Bullshit," Arthur snapped, his cheeks flushing with color. "You've been following me around for weeks, and suddenly you don't want me?"
I want you too much, Eames thought, but didn't say. He wanted more than this, more than Arthur was willing or able to give.
"I don't want you to hate me when you sober up," he said, and that was the truth, too; the idea of taking advantage of Arthur made him feel sick, and so did Arthur believing this was all there was between them. They weren't on the same page here, and while Eames thought that getting on the same page was unlikely to ever happen, he wasn't willing to settle, especially if it meant hurting Arthur. He'd rather disagree about the story than burn the book.
"Right." Arthur sneered and stepped back, his hands falling back to his sides. He turned sharply enough to stumble a little, slapping away the supporting hand Eames offered. "You've made your point," he said, going to his desk. "You can go now."
"You shouldn't be alone," Eames said, feeling helpless.
"What am I, your pity project?" Arthur snapped, rummaging the bottom drawer and emerging with an unopened bottle of vodka, same brand as the previous one. He set it on top of a book on the desk and turned to glare at Eames. "Out!"
"This has nothing to do with pity," Eames argued.
"Get out of my room." Arthur said, his voice low.
"Arthur," Eames tried to reason with him, but he was having none of it.
"Get the fuck out, or I'll throw you out," Arthur warned, and Eames knew it wasn't an idle threat. He wasn't sure Arthur would actually manage it in his current condition, but he'd sure as hell try, and Eames wasn't looking forward to fighting him. He held his hands up in a placating gesture.
"Okay, fine," he said. "But I'm taking the vodka with me, you've had enough for one night."
"How about, no," Arthur said, crossing his arms over his chest. Eames closed his eyes for a minute, running a hand through his hair. Arthur was done being co-operative and this was going nowhere. He had a feeling he was doing more damage than good at this point, which galled him, but also left him with few options.
Once in the hallway, he did the only thing he could think of: he called Cobb.
-
Eames was on his way to class on Monday morning when he saw Arthur ahead of him in the hallway, coming his way. Arthur spotted him at the same time, looking like he wanted to turn around and pretend he hadn't seen Eames, but nonetheless continued walking. Instead of passing him like Eames half expected, Arthur stopped in front of him.
"Hi," Eames said. He hadn't seen either Arthur or Cobb all Sunday, and now that Arthur was in front of him, he didn't know what to say. He couldn't find any clues at all in Arthur's bland expression.
"I'm breaking up with you," Arthur said by the way of greeting.
"Excuse me?" Eames said.
"You heard me," Arthur said, narrowing his eyes at a passing student who looked at them a bit too long. The guy practically squeaked, quickening his steps as he looked away. Arthur looked back to Eames and said, "Whatever this thing we had," he said, making a vague hand motion between them, "it's over. Feel free to go back to dating whomever."
"What?" Eames said, slow to catch up, and then, unbidden; "No."
Arthur looked at him like he thought there was something wrong with his head, which, Eames admitted, was a somewhat fair assessment.
"Look, this... arrangement isn't working anymore," Arthur said. "I'm not sure it ever did, and the benefits really aren't worth the trouble. You didn't want this in the first place, and I'm, well, it was a stupid idea. So let's forget about it, alright?"
"But..." Eames started, not knowing how to finish. Forget about it, Arthur said, like it was just that easy. For all that there was technically nothing to end between them, this was playing out awfully much like an actual break up.
"But what?" Arthur asked, glaring at another unfortunate student. His patience was obviously wearing thin.
"If this is about the other night --" Eames said, but the expression on Arthur's face stopped him cold.
"We're not talking about the other night," Arthur said, his voice cutting. "I don't need your pity, and if you've changed your mind about the -- the other thing, too bad."
"Right, no, that's," Eames said. "Okay."
"Good," Arthur said, making a move to get past Eames like he couldn't leave quickly enough. It was reflex mixed in with a flash of panic that made Eames catch his sleeve, stopping him.
"We can still hang out, right?" He asked, trying to smile. God, Eames thought, cringing a little inside. He was pathetic.
"You do know what breaking up means," Arthur said slowly, looking pointedly at Eames' hand until he let go.
"Yeah, but..." Eames glanced around, lowering his voice to avoid being overheard, not that he was sure why he cared, at this point. "We weren't really dating, so there's no reason we can't..." He trailed off, biting his lip.
"We can't what?" Arthur asked. He was holding himself stiffly, nothing about him encouraging Eames to continue.
"I thought we could at least be friends," Eames said, feeling stupid, yet unable to shut up and give up like the tattered remains of his dignity were telling him to.
"Exactly what," Arthur spat out, his tone of voice scathing, "makes you think I would ever want to be your friend." The last word sounded like a curse.
"Right," Eames said, feeling numb. "My mistake."
Arthur was gone before he finished speaking.
-
They avoided each other for the rest of the day, didn't speak to each other in the classes they shared, and managed to avoid eye contact to boot, even with the way Eames kept staring when Arthur wasn't looking.
The next day was much the same, with the exception of basically everyone now knowing about their break up. Ariadne kept bringing it up, and Yusuf was of no help, which made Eames feel like avoiding them, too. He didn't have anything to tell them.
On Wednesday, after art class, he stayed behind when the other students filed away. It was the last class of the day and the teacher had given him permission to use the room after hours to work on his paintings. He didn't get anything mention worthy done that day, the canvas ravaged by abstract, angry patterns in dark colors, but he did feel marginally better afterward.
When he stepped out of the class, absently rubbing at a stubborn smear of paint that hadn't completely washed away, he almost ran into Cobb, who was leaning against the wall next to the door.
"Hey," Eames said, surprised. He hadn't really expected Cobb to want anything to do with him after Arthur had severed ties with him. "What's up?"
"You're an idiot," Cobb said, looking kind of pissed.
"Uh," Eames said, taken aback. "What?"
"Arthur is too, if it makes you feel any better," Cobb said. If anything, he seemed even more annoyed by that.
"At the risk of repeating myself," Eames said slowly; "What?"
"Arthur has problems," Cobb said. Duh, Eames thought.
"I know," he said.
"Of course you do, especially after Saturday," Cobb said, nodding, and then gave him a critical once over.
"Look, if you're here to blame me for how I handled --"
"No," Cobb interrupted him sharply, and then repeated, softer, "No. If anything, I should thank you. I know how hard it can be, when he's..."
Cobb didn't seem to find the words for what he wanted to say, but Eames felt like he understood him perfectly. Wondering how often Arthur's moods took him to such desperate depths made him suddenly think of how hard it had to be for Cobb, in particular, to deal with a best friend with self-destructive tendencies, when someone he'd loved had already succumbed to such thoughts.
"He can't help it," Cobb said, as if reading Eames' mind. "I know that. And he's getting help -- maybe not exactly the kind he needs right now, but it's a start. He'll make it."
Eames didn't comment on Cobb sounding more like he was trying to convince himself, rather than like he believed in what he was saying.
"Why are you telling me this?" Eames asked. It wasn't that he didn't want to know, but he doubted Arthur would be too pleased if he found out Cobb had been talking behing his back. Had made it clear enough that he didn't want Eames in his life.
"Like I said," Cobb sighed, eying Eames like he found him disappointing somehow. "You're an idiot."
"I thank you for your diagnosis, Doctor Cobb," Eames said, rolling his eyes to cover up the fact that the words kind of stung. Cobb suddenly pushed away from the wall with a long suffering sigh, muttering something like, he's going to kill me for this, and, perhaps more peculiarly, damn her anyway.
"Okay, look," he said, staring Eames down. "Here's the thing: he likes you."
"The fuck --?" Eames blurted out. People didn't just say stuff like that, and besides --
"Don't interrupt," Cobb ordered. "He likes you, but he's screwed up, so of course he had to screw it up. He's also deaf, blind and stupid when it comes to you, and apparently too stubborn to listen to his friends. So this is an intervention, okay? Be grateful I didn't let Ariadne come with me."
"Ariadne --" Eames said, baffled.
"She's been trying to get you to open up about it for days and you've been blatantly ignoring her blatant hints toward the things you're blatantly missing," Cobb said. "So she's a bit wound up right now."
"What? How does she even --?" Eames couldn't make any sense of the conversation anymore. Cobb frowned, then sighed again.
"She did say you probably didn't know," he muttered to himself, then shook his head in a very put upon manner. "Ariadne knows the two of you were just pretending to date. She'd practically figured it out even before Yusuf gave in and told her."
"Yusuf --"
"Was very helpful in convincing Ariadne to let me handle this, and also in assuring me that this is the right thing to do, instead of a colossal mistake that I'll end up regretting for the rest of my -- never mind."
Eames had no idea what to say anymore, so he just kept his mouth shut, the static in his head almost drowning out what Cobb was saying.
"Here's what you're going to do," Cobb said. "You're going to go to Arthur's room, where he's currently sulking because I confiscated his stash of alcohol to ensure he'd be completely sober today; you're not going to let him kick you out of the room, and while there, you're going to have a nice, long, honest talk about what morons you are. Clear?"
"Er," Eames said. Cobb could be kind of intimidating when he wanted to be. "Yes?"
"Good." Cobb nodded, decisive. "Looking at these past few weeks and taking into account Yusuf's assurances that you're, in fact, tragically in love with Arthur --"
"Hey --!" Eames yelped. Cobb went on without pausing, barely narrowing his eyes at him.
"-- I think you'll be good for him. I can't guarantee that the same will be true in reverse, but since I'm his best friend, and yours already sold you out, that's a rather moot point."
"Wait --"
"I feel compelled to point out, however, that if it turns out I'm wrong about this and you end up hurting him, I will break your legs. To start with. Okay?"
"Okay," Eames said weakly, mentally scratching off 'kind of' and raising 'intimidating' to outright scary. Cobb squinted at him for a minute and, apparently satisfied with what he saw, nodded.
"Go on, then," he said. "You know the way."
-
Which was how Eames found himself standing outside of Arthur's door fifteen minutes later with no clear recollection of how he'd gotten there. He was even less clear on what, exactly, he was supposed to be doing there, and the only thing keeping him from fleeing the scene was the thought of Cobb finding out. And he would find out, that much was obvious.
Even the thought of Cobb's squint of doom wasn't enough to get him to actually knock on the door, though, so he was just kind of stuck, standing outside his ex-pretend-boyfriend's dorm room and attempting to not look like a stalker creep whenever one of Arthur's dorm mates walked by.
That didn't mean he was paying much attention to the people occasionally passing him, and by the time he'd been standing there for a good ten minutes, he was beginning to feel like he was close to reaching some kind of state of zen from staring at the wooden surface of the door. He was also getting good at ignoring everything and everyone, and then someone stopped right next to him.
He blinked and looked cautiously to the side, barely moving his head in doing so. It was Saito, whom Fischer was always talking about, and whom most people only knew by his impressive reputation.
He looked at Eames, unblinking, neither of them saying anything. Just when Eames was starting to lose his zen and get weirded out -- instant karma, maybe, for standing in the corridor and inadvertently weirding people out -- Saito looked at Arthur's closed door, then back at Eames, and before Eames could do more than observe the action with muted horror, raised a hand and knocked on the door. Then he moved past Eames like he wasn't even there, continuing on his way.
Staring after him with frank disbelief, Eames almost missed the door opening. Turning back to the door, he found himself staring straight into Arthur's eyes. The look in them was not at all welcoming.
"Hi," he said stupidly. His hand shot out on automatic when Arthur went to close the door in his face. "Arthur, wait," he said, his palm flat against the door, keeping it open; he wasn't sure he'd be able to convince himself to start knocking if Arthur shut him out, nor was he looking forward to still being there ten or fifteen or ninety minutes from now, whenever it was that Saito would walk by again.
"What are you doing here?" Arthur asked.
"A funny story, actually," Eames said sheepishly. Arthur wasn't amused.
"Eames," he said.
"Cobb sent me," Eames shrugged, shifting awkwardly.
"Cobb sent you." Arthur repeated, raising his eyebrows in disbelief.
"Yeah. Apparently there are some things we should talk about," Eames said with more certainty than he actually felt. "For example, you like me since when?"
Arthur closed his eyes briefly.
"I'm going to kill him," he said, and Eames blinked. It wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting, and for the first time since he'd agreed to pretend to be Arthur's boyfriend, he felt a glimmer of hope.
"So," he said. "You gonna let me in?"
Reluctantly, Arthur stepped aside to let Eames pass.
"What exactly did he tell you?" Arthur wanted to know, closing the door.
"Short version?" Eames drawled, raising an eyebrow. "We're morons who deserve each other. At least, that's what it sounded like to me."
"You're here," Arthur said skeptically, "because Dom told you you're a moron."
"He also threatened to break my legs," Eames said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
"Of course he did," Arthur muttered, turning his back on Eames. He went to his desk, which was practically buried under books, most of them open with bookmarks sticking out from between the closed pages. It looked worse than it had on Saturday. "Well, I promise to keep that from happening, so off you go."
"At this point, I'm actually more scared of him than you," Eames said, only lying a little. He had no idea what he was doing, but at the same time, he didn't want to leave. "So thanks, but I think I'll stay."
"Eames," Arthur snapped, turning to look at him, and suddenly Eames could see something in his eyes, underneath the anger, that had been hidden before -- or maybe he just hadn't been paying enough attention. Arthur looked... vulnerable. Not like he'd been on the roof, drunk and battling his demons, more like...
Eames took a step towards him, then another, his heart pounding. He hadn't really allowed himself to think about what Cobb had said, but now, looking at Arthur, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he'd been telling the truth.
"Why do you want me to leave?" He asked. Arthur blinked, surprised by the question.
"Because." He said.
"Because?" Eames parroted.
"I don't have to tell you why," Arthur said, his lips thinning. "This is my room, I can kick you out any time I like."
"True," Eames said. "Also not what I was asking."
"Because I don't want you here," Arthur said, glaring at him. "That clear enough for you?"
"No." Eames said, stubborn. "Why don't you want me here?"
"I'm not playing the 'why' game with you," Arthur snapped. "Grow up."
"You're the one evading questions and playing games," Eames pointed out, refusing to get irritated. There was something here, he was suddenly sure of it.
"That's not fair," Arthur said, not looking at him. "You're not being fair."
"What did I do to you?" Eames asked, needing to know. "I'd get it if you just didn't like me, but -- we got along fine for weeks. Don't try to tell me I imagined it, you're not that good of an actor."
"Drop it," Arthur told him. "Just, it doesn't matter. It'll be better like this."
"Like what?" Eames wanted to know. "Better to whom?"
"Both of us," Arthur said, gesturing sharply with his hand. "Everyone. Look, I do... like you," he said, making Eames' heart jump, "but it was stupid to think -- it doesn't matter."
"Of course it bloody matters," Eames said, incredulous. He stepped forward, intense. "What are you... Do you still think all I want from you is sex? 'Cause that's not true."
"No," Arthur said. "I suppose not. You made it very clear when I threw myself at you and you rejected me."
Well, Eames thought. That was one way of looking at it.
"The only reason you offered to sleep with me was because you were drunk," he said, frowning. "Right?"
"I thought," Arthur said, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "I hated how nice you were to me. I thought, if I gave you what you wanted, maybe you'd stop."
"Wow," Eames said, snorting. "You really thought I was an asshole, huh?"
"Hoped, maybe," Arthur said, shrugging a little. "Or dreaded, I'm not sure."
"Well, I'm not," Eames said, nonplussed. "I mean, I know I can be a jerk, but I'm not --"
"I know," Arthur said. "That's the problem."
"The problem," Eames repeated, not understanding what Arthur was getting at.
"I like you too much, and I can't be what you want me to be," Arthur said. Eames raised an eyebrow, beginning to think that maybe Cobb had actually, really, truly been right about them both. He reached out and took Arthur's hand before he could protest.
"You already are what I want you to be," he said, and Arthur looked up at him, startled.
"You can't mean that," he scoffed, trying to take his hand back. Eames didn't let him.
"I can't?" Eames said, feeling like he was standing on the edge of a fall. "I'm pretty sure I can. In fact, I know I do."
"I'm screwed up," Arthur said like it was any kind of an explanation, glowering at their joined hands.
"I know," Eames said, giving Arthur's hand a little squeeze.
"I'm no good for you," Arthur said, now glaring at him.
"Probably not," Eames said agreeably.
"And I don't want to be your friend," Arthur challenged.
"I don't want to be your friend either," Eames said, feeling like he was finally getting it.
"You're a moron," Arthur said, but the corner of his mouth was twitching up.
"It seems to be going around," Eames shrugged, then smiled. "Besides, you like me anyway. What does that make you, hmm?"
"Don't say it," Arthur warned, stepping closer.
"I'm not saying anything," Eames assured him. His smile felt too big for his face.
"Stop smiling, you dork," Arthur said, sounding put upon, but he was smiling, too, a little.
"Oh, look," Eames said with dramatic sigh. "Ten seconds into the relationship and already you're verbally abusing me."
"Oh, shut up," Arthur said, rolling his eyes. They were standing close enough that they were practically breathing each other's air. Eames leaned in, unable to help himself, but Arthur stalled him with a hand on his chest. Eames waited him out, running his thumb over the back of the hand he was still holding, lacing their fingers together.
"Eames," Arthur said, his voice soft. "You know this doesn't mean I'm suddenly all better."
"I know, darling," Eames said. He had no delusions about it being easy, but maybe, together, they'd make it. "I know."
Arthur nodded, his eyelashes fluttering a little as he closed his eyes. Eames felt like he was in free fall, his heart stuttering. He closed the distance between them, inevitable, like gravity, and when Arthur kissed him back, he thought,
This is where I belong.
***
Thank You for reading!
See part one for warnings etc.
Part two
Part three
Word count for part four: ~4500
A/N: Done! I kind of wanted to focus more on Arthur's issues, but drawing it out would have probably meant that I would've never finished writing this. :X I might write an epilogue type of thing later, but I'm not sure yet.
PS - Thanks so much for the comments on part three, everyone, you ROCK! I hope you like the last part too. ♥
*
They made their way back to the dorms without further incident; Arthur was leaning against him, too tired and drunk and emotionally wrung out to care about keeping up appearances. Fortunately, the few people they passed were students who didn't seem to think anything much of it.
Arthur hadn't argued when Eames had ushered them inside, nor had he asked about it when, remembering his promise to Cobb, Eames had taken out his cell and texted with one hand while still supporting Arthur with the other. He'd sent Cobb a quick message which simply said,
> Found him, ttyl
He wasn't looking forward to that talking part, but he figured that's what the 'later' was for.
The whole way back to the dorms Arthur had been silent and pensive, and Eames, still trying to get his head around what had transpired earlier, hadn't tried to force conversation. He hadn't thought beyond getting Arthur back to his room, but now he contemplated sending Yusuf a text not to expect him back that night. He wasn't sure Arthur would approve, but after the scare he'd had, he didn't particularly feel like leaving Arthur alone. Besides, he still didn't know exactly how much Arthur had had to drink. Even if his self-destructive impulses were suppressed for the time being, leaving him on his own might not be the best of ideas.
All thoughts of the best course of action flew right out of his head when he closed the door and realized that Arthur was standing right behind him. Eames took a sharp breath when he felt Arthur's lips against his jaw, one cold hand sliding beneath his shirt.
"Hey," Arthur murmured, nosing at the skin behind Eames' ear. Eames extracted himself from Arthur's hold and turned around. Arthur didn't protest, just moved back in once they were facing each other, trailing his palms over Eames' chest, the fabric catching a little in his hands.
Eames opened his mouth to speak -- to say what, he didn't know -- but before he could, Arthur kissed him, sloppy and hungry, biting at his lower lip a little when he was slow to respond. Bad idea, Eames' thought, tasting alcohol, but even so his hands slipped around Arthur's waist, palms flat against his lower back. Arthur made a pleased sound in his throat and Eames shuddered, tilting his head, deepening the kiss. Arthur's hands smoothed over his chest, restless. He pulled away to press open mouthed kisses against Eames' jaw. Eames swallowed.
"Arthur," he said, turning his head to press his cheek against Arthur's.
"You can fuck me if you want," Arthur said, his breath hot against the shell of Eames' ear. Eames shivered. He did his best to scoff, ignoring the way his heart was pounding.
"Yeah, right," he said, his voice coming out ragged.
"I mean it," Arthur said, teeth grazing Eames' earlobe. "You can, if you want."
Eames swallowed and closed his eyes, shaking his head. He took hold of Arthur's shoulders and pushed him back a little. His skin suddenly felt cold where Arthur had been breathing against it.
"Arthur," he said. "No."
"Oh, come on," Arthur huffed, dropping his hands to Eames' belt. He leaned in, trying to catch Eames' lips in another kiss, but the alcohol in his breath only strenghtened Eames' resolve. Eames pushed him gently back again and grabbed his hands to stop him from undoing the buckle.
"This isn't a good idea," he said, smoothing his thumbs over Arthur's wrist bones.
"Please," Arthur said -- derisive, not pleading. He stepped back, extracting his hands from Eames' hold. "You know you want to," he said with all the drunken conviction, and heaven help him, Eames did. Arthur's eyes were dark, his pupils blown. His hair was messed up from the wind outside, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol. He looked like an invitation as he backed towards the bed, quirking his lips like he knew what Eames was thinking. Despite his intoxication, his fingers didn't falter as he began to unbutton his shirt.
"That's not the issue here," Eames said belatedly, unable to stop watching.
"Then what is?" Arthur asked, his shirt falling open. He sat on the bed and leaned back on his hands, rolling his shoulders a little. He tilted his head, looking Eames up and down. "Come on, this is what you've wanted all along, right? Let's just get it over with."
"Gee, thanks," Eames said, his mouth twisting. "Your enthusiasm at the idea is really a turn on. Put your shirt back on, we're not doing this."
Arthur frowned and pushed himself off the bed. His shirt was hanging off his shoulders, and Eames was briefly distracted by the smooth planes of Arthur's torso. When he looked up, Arthur was right in front of him, smirking faintly.
"I think," Arthur said, sliding his hands under Eames' shirt, his fingers still cool enough to make him shiver, "that you," he leaned in, his breath hot against Eames' neck, "just need to get it out of your system. Then you can go back to whatever, instead of hanging around me all the time."
"That's not --" Eames frowned, then paused, taking hold of Arthur's forearms to keep him at arm's length. "You think the only reason I've been spending time with you was to get in your pants?"
"Why the fuck else would you?" Arthur asked, puzzled and annoyed. "And I'm telling you -- fine, okay, you win. You can have me. Happy?"
"No," Eames said, feeling sick, and Arthur's expression shifted, the look on his face stubborn and angry.
"Don't be a wuss, Eames," he bit out. "And don't even try to tell me you don't want this."
"I don't want this," Eames said honestly.
"Bullshit," Arthur snapped, his cheeks flushing with color. "You've been following me around for weeks, and suddenly you don't want me?"
I want you too much, Eames thought, but didn't say. He wanted more than this, more than Arthur was willing or able to give.
"I don't want you to hate me when you sober up," he said, and that was the truth, too; the idea of taking advantage of Arthur made him feel sick, and so did Arthur believing this was all there was between them. They weren't on the same page here, and while Eames thought that getting on the same page was unlikely to ever happen, he wasn't willing to settle, especially if it meant hurting Arthur. He'd rather disagree about the story than burn the book.
"Right." Arthur sneered and stepped back, his hands falling back to his sides. He turned sharply enough to stumble a little, slapping away the supporting hand Eames offered. "You've made your point," he said, going to his desk. "You can go now."
"You shouldn't be alone," Eames said, feeling helpless.
"What am I, your pity project?" Arthur snapped, rummaging the bottom drawer and emerging with an unopened bottle of vodka, same brand as the previous one. He set it on top of a book on the desk and turned to glare at Eames. "Out!"
"This has nothing to do with pity," Eames argued.
"Get out of my room." Arthur said, his voice low.
"Arthur," Eames tried to reason with him, but he was having none of it.
"Get the fuck out, or I'll throw you out," Arthur warned, and Eames knew it wasn't an idle threat. He wasn't sure Arthur would actually manage it in his current condition, but he'd sure as hell try, and Eames wasn't looking forward to fighting him. He held his hands up in a placating gesture.
"Okay, fine," he said. "But I'm taking the vodka with me, you've had enough for one night."
"How about, no," Arthur said, crossing his arms over his chest. Eames closed his eyes for a minute, running a hand through his hair. Arthur was done being co-operative and this was going nowhere. He had a feeling he was doing more damage than good at this point, which galled him, but also left him with few options.
Once in the hallway, he did the only thing he could think of: he called Cobb.
-
Eames was on his way to class on Monday morning when he saw Arthur ahead of him in the hallway, coming his way. Arthur spotted him at the same time, looking like he wanted to turn around and pretend he hadn't seen Eames, but nonetheless continued walking. Instead of passing him like Eames half expected, Arthur stopped in front of him.
"Hi," Eames said. He hadn't seen either Arthur or Cobb all Sunday, and now that Arthur was in front of him, he didn't know what to say. He couldn't find any clues at all in Arthur's bland expression.
"I'm breaking up with you," Arthur said by the way of greeting.
"Excuse me?" Eames said.
"You heard me," Arthur said, narrowing his eyes at a passing student who looked at them a bit too long. The guy practically squeaked, quickening his steps as he looked away. Arthur looked back to Eames and said, "Whatever this thing we had," he said, making a vague hand motion between them, "it's over. Feel free to go back to dating whomever."
"What?" Eames said, slow to catch up, and then, unbidden; "No."
Arthur looked at him like he thought there was something wrong with his head, which, Eames admitted, was a somewhat fair assessment.
"Look, this... arrangement isn't working anymore," Arthur said. "I'm not sure it ever did, and the benefits really aren't worth the trouble. You didn't want this in the first place, and I'm, well, it was a stupid idea. So let's forget about it, alright?"
"But..." Eames started, not knowing how to finish. Forget about it, Arthur said, like it was just that easy. For all that there was technically nothing to end between them, this was playing out awfully much like an actual break up.
"But what?" Arthur asked, glaring at another unfortunate student. His patience was obviously wearing thin.
"If this is about the other night --" Eames said, but the expression on Arthur's face stopped him cold.
"We're not talking about the other night," Arthur said, his voice cutting. "I don't need your pity, and if you've changed your mind about the -- the other thing, too bad."
"Right, no, that's," Eames said. "Okay."
"Good," Arthur said, making a move to get past Eames like he couldn't leave quickly enough. It was reflex mixed in with a flash of panic that made Eames catch his sleeve, stopping him.
"We can still hang out, right?" He asked, trying to smile. God, Eames thought, cringing a little inside. He was pathetic.
"You do know what breaking up means," Arthur said slowly, looking pointedly at Eames' hand until he let go.
"Yeah, but..." Eames glanced around, lowering his voice to avoid being overheard, not that he was sure why he cared, at this point. "We weren't really dating, so there's no reason we can't..." He trailed off, biting his lip.
"We can't what?" Arthur asked. He was holding himself stiffly, nothing about him encouraging Eames to continue.
"I thought we could at least be friends," Eames said, feeling stupid, yet unable to shut up and give up like the tattered remains of his dignity were telling him to.
"Exactly what," Arthur spat out, his tone of voice scathing, "makes you think I would ever want to be your friend." The last word sounded like a curse.
"Right," Eames said, feeling numb. "My mistake."
Arthur was gone before he finished speaking.
-
They avoided each other for the rest of the day, didn't speak to each other in the classes they shared, and managed to avoid eye contact to boot, even with the way Eames kept staring when Arthur wasn't looking.
The next day was much the same, with the exception of basically everyone now knowing about their break up. Ariadne kept bringing it up, and Yusuf was of no help, which made Eames feel like avoiding them, too. He didn't have anything to tell them.
On Wednesday, after art class, he stayed behind when the other students filed away. It was the last class of the day and the teacher had given him permission to use the room after hours to work on his paintings. He didn't get anything mention worthy done that day, the canvas ravaged by abstract, angry patterns in dark colors, but he did feel marginally better afterward.
When he stepped out of the class, absently rubbing at a stubborn smear of paint that hadn't completely washed away, he almost ran into Cobb, who was leaning against the wall next to the door.
"Hey," Eames said, surprised. He hadn't really expected Cobb to want anything to do with him after Arthur had severed ties with him. "What's up?"
"You're an idiot," Cobb said, looking kind of pissed.
"Uh," Eames said, taken aback. "What?"
"Arthur is too, if it makes you feel any better," Cobb said. If anything, he seemed even more annoyed by that.
"At the risk of repeating myself," Eames said slowly; "What?"
"Arthur has problems," Cobb said. Duh, Eames thought.
"I know," he said.
"Of course you do, especially after Saturday," Cobb said, nodding, and then gave him a critical once over.
"Look, if you're here to blame me for how I handled --"
"No," Cobb interrupted him sharply, and then repeated, softer, "No. If anything, I should thank you. I know how hard it can be, when he's..."
Cobb didn't seem to find the words for what he wanted to say, but Eames felt like he understood him perfectly. Wondering how often Arthur's moods took him to such desperate depths made him suddenly think of how hard it had to be for Cobb, in particular, to deal with a best friend with self-destructive tendencies, when someone he'd loved had already succumbed to such thoughts.
"He can't help it," Cobb said, as if reading Eames' mind. "I know that. And he's getting help -- maybe not exactly the kind he needs right now, but it's a start. He'll make it."
Eames didn't comment on Cobb sounding more like he was trying to convince himself, rather than like he believed in what he was saying.
"Why are you telling me this?" Eames asked. It wasn't that he didn't want to know, but he doubted Arthur would be too pleased if he found out Cobb had been talking behing his back. Had made it clear enough that he didn't want Eames in his life.
"Like I said," Cobb sighed, eying Eames like he found him disappointing somehow. "You're an idiot."
"I thank you for your diagnosis, Doctor Cobb," Eames said, rolling his eyes to cover up the fact that the words kind of stung. Cobb suddenly pushed away from the wall with a long suffering sigh, muttering something like, he's going to kill me for this, and, perhaps more peculiarly, damn her anyway.
"Okay, look," he said, staring Eames down. "Here's the thing: he likes you."
"The fuck --?" Eames blurted out. People didn't just say stuff like that, and besides --
"Don't interrupt," Cobb ordered. "He likes you, but he's screwed up, so of course he had to screw it up. He's also deaf, blind and stupid when it comes to you, and apparently too stubborn to listen to his friends. So this is an intervention, okay? Be grateful I didn't let Ariadne come with me."
"Ariadne --" Eames said, baffled.
"She's been trying to get you to open up about it for days and you've been blatantly ignoring her blatant hints toward the things you're blatantly missing," Cobb said. "So she's a bit wound up right now."
"What? How does she even --?" Eames couldn't make any sense of the conversation anymore. Cobb frowned, then sighed again.
"She did say you probably didn't know," he muttered to himself, then shook his head in a very put upon manner. "Ariadne knows the two of you were just pretending to date. She'd practically figured it out even before Yusuf gave in and told her."
"Yusuf --"
"Was very helpful in convincing Ariadne to let me handle this, and also in assuring me that this is the right thing to do, instead of a colossal mistake that I'll end up regretting for the rest of my -- never mind."
Eames had no idea what to say anymore, so he just kept his mouth shut, the static in his head almost drowning out what Cobb was saying.
"Here's what you're going to do," Cobb said. "You're going to go to Arthur's room, where he's currently sulking because I confiscated his stash of alcohol to ensure he'd be completely sober today; you're not going to let him kick you out of the room, and while there, you're going to have a nice, long, honest talk about what morons you are. Clear?"
"Er," Eames said. Cobb could be kind of intimidating when he wanted to be. "Yes?"
"Good." Cobb nodded, decisive. "Looking at these past few weeks and taking into account Yusuf's assurances that you're, in fact, tragically in love with Arthur --"
"Hey --!" Eames yelped. Cobb went on without pausing, barely narrowing his eyes at him.
"-- I think you'll be good for him. I can't guarantee that the same will be true in reverse, but since I'm his best friend, and yours already sold you out, that's a rather moot point."
"Wait --"
"I feel compelled to point out, however, that if it turns out I'm wrong about this and you end up hurting him, I will break your legs. To start with. Okay?"
"Okay," Eames said weakly, mentally scratching off 'kind of' and raising 'intimidating' to outright scary. Cobb squinted at him for a minute and, apparently satisfied with what he saw, nodded.
"Go on, then," he said. "You know the way."
-
Which was how Eames found himself standing outside of Arthur's door fifteen minutes later with no clear recollection of how he'd gotten there. He was even less clear on what, exactly, he was supposed to be doing there, and the only thing keeping him from fleeing the scene was the thought of Cobb finding out. And he would find out, that much was obvious.
Even the thought of Cobb's squint of doom wasn't enough to get him to actually knock on the door, though, so he was just kind of stuck, standing outside his ex-pretend-boyfriend's dorm room and attempting to not look like a stalker creep whenever one of Arthur's dorm mates walked by.
That didn't mean he was paying much attention to the people occasionally passing him, and by the time he'd been standing there for a good ten minutes, he was beginning to feel like he was close to reaching some kind of state of zen from staring at the wooden surface of the door. He was also getting good at ignoring everything and everyone, and then someone stopped right next to him.
He blinked and looked cautiously to the side, barely moving his head in doing so. It was Saito, whom Fischer was always talking about, and whom most people only knew by his impressive reputation.
He looked at Eames, unblinking, neither of them saying anything. Just when Eames was starting to lose his zen and get weirded out -- instant karma, maybe, for standing in the corridor and inadvertently weirding people out -- Saito looked at Arthur's closed door, then back at Eames, and before Eames could do more than observe the action with muted horror, raised a hand and knocked on the door. Then he moved past Eames like he wasn't even there, continuing on his way.
Staring after him with frank disbelief, Eames almost missed the door opening. Turning back to the door, he found himself staring straight into Arthur's eyes. The look in them was not at all welcoming.
"Hi," he said stupidly. His hand shot out on automatic when Arthur went to close the door in his face. "Arthur, wait," he said, his palm flat against the door, keeping it open; he wasn't sure he'd be able to convince himself to start knocking if Arthur shut him out, nor was he looking forward to still being there ten or fifteen or ninety minutes from now, whenever it was that Saito would walk by again.
"What are you doing here?" Arthur asked.
"A funny story, actually," Eames said sheepishly. Arthur wasn't amused.
"Eames," he said.
"Cobb sent me," Eames shrugged, shifting awkwardly.
"Cobb sent you." Arthur repeated, raising his eyebrows in disbelief.
"Yeah. Apparently there are some things we should talk about," Eames said with more certainty than he actually felt. "For example, you like me since when?"
Arthur closed his eyes briefly.
"I'm going to kill him," he said, and Eames blinked. It wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting, and for the first time since he'd agreed to pretend to be Arthur's boyfriend, he felt a glimmer of hope.
"So," he said. "You gonna let me in?"
Reluctantly, Arthur stepped aside to let Eames pass.
"What exactly did he tell you?" Arthur wanted to know, closing the door.
"Short version?" Eames drawled, raising an eyebrow. "We're morons who deserve each other. At least, that's what it sounded like to me."
"You're here," Arthur said skeptically, "because Dom told you you're a moron."
"He also threatened to break my legs," Eames said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
"Of course he did," Arthur muttered, turning his back on Eames. He went to his desk, which was practically buried under books, most of them open with bookmarks sticking out from between the closed pages. It looked worse than it had on Saturday. "Well, I promise to keep that from happening, so off you go."
"At this point, I'm actually more scared of him than you," Eames said, only lying a little. He had no idea what he was doing, but at the same time, he didn't want to leave. "So thanks, but I think I'll stay."
"Eames," Arthur snapped, turning to look at him, and suddenly Eames could see something in his eyes, underneath the anger, that had been hidden before -- or maybe he just hadn't been paying enough attention. Arthur looked... vulnerable. Not like he'd been on the roof, drunk and battling his demons, more like...
Eames took a step towards him, then another, his heart pounding. He hadn't really allowed himself to think about what Cobb had said, but now, looking at Arthur, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he'd been telling the truth.
"Why do you want me to leave?" He asked. Arthur blinked, surprised by the question.
"Because." He said.
"Because?" Eames parroted.
"I don't have to tell you why," Arthur said, his lips thinning. "This is my room, I can kick you out any time I like."
"True," Eames said. "Also not what I was asking."
"Because I don't want you here," Arthur said, glaring at him. "That clear enough for you?"
"No." Eames said, stubborn. "Why don't you want me here?"
"I'm not playing the 'why' game with you," Arthur snapped. "Grow up."
"You're the one evading questions and playing games," Eames pointed out, refusing to get irritated. There was something here, he was suddenly sure of it.
"That's not fair," Arthur said, not looking at him. "You're not being fair."
"What did I do to you?" Eames asked, needing to know. "I'd get it if you just didn't like me, but -- we got along fine for weeks. Don't try to tell me I imagined it, you're not that good of an actor."
"Drop it," Arthur told him. "Just, it doesn't matter. It'll be better like this."
"Like what?" Eames wanted to know. "Better to whom?"
"Both of us," Arthur said, gesturing sharply with his hand. "Everyone. Look, I do... like you," he said, making Eames' heart jump, "but it was stupid to think -- it doesn't matter."
"Of course it bloody matters," Eames said, incredulous. He stepped forward, intense. "What are you... Do you still think all I want from you is sex? 'Cause that's not true."
"No," Arthur said. "I suppose not. You made it very clear when I threw myself at you and you rejected me."
Well, Eames thought. That was one way of looking at it.
"The only reason you offered to sleep with me was because you were drunk," he said, frowning. "Right?"
"I thought," Arthur said, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "I hated how nice you were to me. I thought, if I gave you what you wanted, maybe you'd stop."
"Wow," Eames said, snorting. "You really thought I was an asshole, huh?"
"Hoped, maybe," Arthur said, shrugging a little. "Or dreaded, I'm not sure."
"Well, I'm not," Eames said, nonplussed. "I mean, I know I can be a jerk, but I'm not --"
"I know," Arthur said. "That's the problem."
"The problem," Eames repeated, not understanding what Arthur was getting at.
"I like you too much, and I can't be what you want me to be," Arthur said. Eames raised an eyebrow, beginning to think that maybe Cobb had actually, really, truly been right about them both. He reached out and took Arthur's hand before he could protest.
"You already are what I want you to be," he said, and Arthur looked up at him, startled.
"You can't mean that," he scoffed, trying to take his hand back. Eames didn't let him.
"I can't?" Eames said, feeling like he was standing on the edge of a fall. "I'm pretty sure I can. In fact, I know I do."
"I'm screwed up," Arthur said like it was any kind of an explanation, glowering at their joined hands.
"I know," Eames said, giving Arthur's hand a little squeeze.
"I'm no good for you," Arthur said, now glaring at him.
"Probably not," Eames said agreeably.
"And I don't want to be your friend," Arthur challenged.
"I don't want to be your friend either," Eames said, feeling like he was finally getting it.
"You're a moron," Arthur said, but the corner of his mouth was twitching up.
"It seems to be going around," Eames shrugged, then smiled. "Besides, you like me anyway. What does that make you, hmm?"
"Don't say it," Arthur warned, stepping closer.
"I'm not saying anything," Eames assured him. His smile felt too big for his face.
"Stop smiling, you dork," Arthur said, sounding put upon, but he was smiling, too, a little.
"Oh, look," Eames said with dramatic sigh. "Ten seconds into the relationship and already you're verbally abusing me."
"Oh, shut up," Arthur said, rolling his eyes. They were standing close enough that they were practically breathing each other's air. Eames leaned in, unable to help himself, but Arthur stalled him with a hand on his chest. Eames waited him out, running his thumb over the back of the hand he was still holding, lacing their fingers together.
"Eames," Arthur said, his voice soft. "You know this doesn't mean I'm suddenly all better."
"I know, darling," Eames said. He had no delusions about it being easy, but maybe, together, they'd make it. "I know."
Arthur nodded, his eyelashes fluttering a little as he closed his eyes. Eames felt like he was in free fall, his heart stuttering. He closed the distance between them, inevitable, like gravity, and when Arthur kissed him back, he thought,
This is where I belong.
***
Thank You for reading!