fic: close your eyes, replay these days (3/3)
Part Two
******
When Arthur wakes, it's to the uncomfortable feeling of one and a half years' worth of memories being compressed into minutes of actual memory. It always feels a little strange, but with the increased difference in time, he can definitely feel a headache coming on.
"Eames," he says, spotting him at once. He narrows his eyes in suspicion. "You weren't here when we went under."
The extra minutes in the dream have all but been erased up here; Eames has just woken up himself, maybe a second before Arthur. His wince tells Arthur that he's also experiencing memory compression, which is good because it gives Arthur a chance to school his expression, as from Eames' perspective, he's not supposed to be remembering anything. He's grateful to discover that he's regained better control over his facial expressions topside; Tom Hansen had been terrible at keeping his face blank.
"Just an added bit of security," Eames says coolly, turning to Yusuf and speaking quietly. "You and I need to have a discussion. Give me a call later tonight."
He gives Paul a polite nod, and without even glancing back at Arthur, he heads for the door. Arthur tries not to be disappointed.
He clings to the dream as he recalls parts of it, but as promised, it all feels distant and fuzzy. All he can remember are mundane details, events, but he was so happy to be doing them, particularly with Eames. It's an emotion different from the foolish desire he's been harboring for Eames for years. This time it feels much more genuine, but he can't remember what changed to make it that way. He can still feel it, that ridiculous euphoria, but when he tries hard to remember and fails, he attributes the feeling to the dream. No wonder it's so easy to steal a mark's secrets when love is involved.
The difference, though, between a natural dream and this one, is that Eames wasn't a projection. The smiles Arthur remembers were actually from Eames, as was the fleeting kiss.
Arthur pushes it into the back of his mind for now, working with Paul and Yusuf to discuss the results of the drug.
******
That night, Arthur spends a great deal of time trying to remember as much of the dream as possible. He can remember being really happy and quite sad, but not exactly why he felt that way. He can remember the last exchange pretty vividly, as you do with a dream. He remembers Eames' expression, the quick kiss, his resolve to retaliate once he wakes up. As far as the details of the rest, all he can remember is that he got along better with Eames, and that he wanted him more than ever, but he can't remember how or why. He remembers Summer a little too well. He remembers realizing where Summer came from in his subconscious. He remembers Eames patronizing him to be more like Tom Hansen.
With all of these memories still in tact, Arthur schemes to reveal to Eames that he does actually remember. He hopes that by staging an elaborate reveal, Eames will realize his hand had been shown and actually be on board when Arthur makes a move on him. He can't remember why, but his dream self had been resolved that whatever risks were worth it. That he should take a chance on Eames.
Then again, Tom Hansen hadn't exactly been an expert on modern relationships.
Still, there is the fact that he can still feel the phantom press of Eames' lips against his own, even though it never happened in the real world. That is what drives him to move forward with his plan, even though it involves making a fool of himself in front of people he actually knows and may one day see again.
In the days leading up to the main event of their plan, Arthur starts to have doubts. He can remember his resolve from the dream, and it's fun to scheme with Paul and leave Eames wondering, but he can't remember exactly what the plan was meant to accomplish. After this, Eames would know that Arthur remembered the dream, but he can't recall why he thought that would lead to a happy ending.
The karaoke bar isn't as nice as the one from his dream, but it'll do the job. Arthur waits anxiously for Paul to show up with Eames, revisiting his doubts in the meantime.
Yusuf is with them when they walk in, which was not part of the plan, but Arthur finds that his presence alleviates some of his stress. He raises his glass at them to get their attention, then downs the rest of it before they sit down.
"Early start?" Yusuf says with a smile at the same time Paul says, "Slow down there, buddy."
The tension dissipates quickly once they all get drinks and Yusuf starts recounting stories of him and Eames getting drunk and trying to mix unstable chemicals. It's an immense relief not to be the center of attention any more; he hadn't even realized he had been until he woke up from the dream. He laughs openly, his leg warm against Eames' in the wrap-around booth, and thinks maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.
When the moment comes for him to sing, though, the anxiety comes back full-force. It's not smooth like it was in the dream. He has to ask Paul to let him out and then awkwardly slide out of the booth, tripping on the way to the stage. Bad idea, he reinstates, but at least they have the song he needs.
Singing "Good Old-Fashioned Loverboy" feels a bit ridiculous now that he thinks about it, but it's too late to go back now. He glances at Eames a couple of times as he makes his way through the song, but he sees him talking to either Paul or Yusuf both times, so decides it better to ignore him.
When he finishes out the song (rather poorly, but it's just karaoke), Eames is at the bar, ordering another drink. Arthur walks up next to him and orders another vodka tonic, waiting for the inevitable reaction.
"So you remember," Eames says plainly. His expression is closed off; Arthur has no idea what he's thinking.
"Yeah, I mean. Just bits and pieces, mostly feelings rather than events, and events more than conversations, but little things trigger memories here and there."
Eames nods, taking his drink from the bartender and swallowing a big gulp of it. "Do you remember the last day?"
Arthur's stomach swoops; maybe this is what he'd been hoping for. "I remember you kissed me."
Eames looks pained. "Anything else?"
"You also had a gun to me at the time, if memory serves." The projections had turned against them, he remembers, but the words Eames had said as he backed Arthur up against the wall are too distant. "Why? How much do you remember?"
"I remember everything," Eames says succinctly. He keeps scanning the bar as if he's looking for something, not looking Arthur in the eye. "There were pieces that were fuzzy at first, but I believe that I've pieced together the most important bits."
Arthur can't quite reconcile his nervousness at Eames' tone with the hope stirring in his chest. "Anything I should know?" he asks jokingly.
Eames purses his lips. He always purses his lips before deliberately lying to Arthur. "No, nothing important."
Arthur doesn't know what to say to that, but after a pause, Eames speaks again.
"So will you be continuing with the architecture, then?"
It feels like a slap in the face. The most painful part of remembering was knowing that in the real world, he had no excuse to waste his days in front of a drawing table. But he knew his place, and he was dealing with it.
His consternation must be showing on his face - fuck, he's becoming more like Tom - because Eames makes a noise and says, "Why not?"
"I have more important things to be doing than sitting around drawing all day."
"Why? There are architects in our line of work."
Arthur shakes his head. He remembers the Lieutenant's speech like it was yesterday. The high honor of his words. He isn't about to throw away all the progress he's made on a silly whim from a dream he's not supposed to remember. He may have started out as an architect, but he's spent years perfecting his role as a point man.
He downs the rest of his drink and fixes Eames with a challenging look. "I prefer if you wouldn't tell me how to do my job, Mr. Eames."
Eames looks unhappily surprised at this statement, and his voice is flat when he says, "We should get back."
Arthur follows him back to the table, doing his best to keep his anger contained. Of course Eames would dismiss everything else from the dream. Arthur had been right; Eames' interest had only lay with Tom Hansen, and now Tom was gone for good. God, what was he thinking? He'd made a fool of himself up there, and for what? For Eames to remind him what he'd preferred about his dream self.
A few minutes after they join the group, Arthur pretends to remember something important and makes his excuses to leave, ignoring Paul's concerned look.
The walk back to his apartment is just chilly enough to knock some sense into him. He shouldn't have let his guard down around Eames, not in the dream and not tonight. He won't make the same mistake again.
******
He doesn't see Eames for a few months after that. They still keep in touch, more than they did prior to the dream, but Arthur attributes that to a natural reaction to spending a prolonged amount of time sharing a dream. He keeps in touch with Paul just as much, though their conversations are easier, more relaxed like they really have been friends since they were kids.
As he goes about his day-to-day life, he gets flashes of the dream from the most random triggers, but he does his best to ignore them. He tries not to resent that lingering memory of happiness that seems tied to the dream, reminding himself with a roll of a die that it was just that. A dream.
When the next job he takes calls for a forger, Arthur squashes down his pride and calls Eames in.
The first thing that happens when Arthur walks into the warehouse and sees Eames is a flashback, sudden and poignant, of sitting at a drafting table in Tom Hansen's apartment. Eames had taken one look at his sketch for the Bank of America building and made a snide comment about Tom's dreams. Arthur once again curses the dream for tearing him open and exposing all of his vulnerabilities for Eames to walk all over.
"Alright?" Eames says, approaching Arthur with an expression of mild concern.
Arthur nods, schooling his expression. "When can we get started?" he asks, pulling his organizer out of his messenger bag and concentrating on getting set up.
"Still waiting for Zeke to get here," Eames says. Arthur tries not to scowl. Eames would probably never insult Zeke's mockup for the Bank of America building. "Are you sure you're alright? You're clenching your jaw."
Arthur looks at him, then. He does actually seem concerned, which stops Arthur from his automatic response of 'I'm fine.' He takes a moment to calm himself down and then says, "Just a headache." It's metaphorically true, anyway.
Zeke shows up shortly thereafter, and they all get to work planning the dream. The meeting seems to last forever, with Zeke only paying half of his attention as he doodles in his notebook, and Arthur really does have a headache by the end of it.
He stays later than the rest of the team, hoping to document all of their notes before leaving for the day. He steps out for a moment for a bathroom break, and when he comes back, there's a bottle of water and a couple of pills waiting for him next to his laptop. Arthur takes a moment to hope they're not poison and takes them gratefully.
******
It's not too difficult to deal with Eames now that a few months have passed, and as the job goes on, Arthur finds himself slipping more easily into their usual cutting banter. When they discover that they both need to do quite a bit of research, Eames suggests a stakeout. Arthur feels a flash of memory as he smiles, connecting the stakeout to a vegetarian diner, and then to a run in the park. He feels his smile falter as he recalls - Eames accused him of breaking protocol on that first job.
"What is it? What's wrong?" Eames asks, taking a wary step forward and then hesitating like he's just recalled that he doesn't do that with Arthur, not in the real world.
"Nothing, just. Remembering."
Eames takes that next step forward, voice warmer as he says, "What is it you remember?"
"You really didn't like McKenzie," he says as if he's just realizing. He can't bring himself to tell the whole truth. I've certainly never hated you. Far from it, Eames had said. Arthur doesn't know what to make of it.
Eames purses his lips, but whatever lie was on his mind, he keeps it to himself. He moves back out of Arthur's space and changes the subject.
The stakeout is actually enjoyable. They're in comfortable territory as they try to one-up each other at every turn, and Arthur does fairly well despite feeling like he's off his game. It's a good day, and Arthur thinks he's finally ready to move on from everything.
But then, the next day, when they're reviewing their findings, Eames makes an off-the-cuff comment to suggest Arthur should ditch his role as point man and get back into architecture.
Arthur slams his pen down, feeling a muscle in his jaw twitch as he grits his teeth. "Would you just let it go?" he demands. "Why is it so important to you, anyway? Do you have a new point man that you're eager to start working with instead? Because I don't have to be here."
Eames' eyes flash, but his tone is calm when he speaks. "Come on, Arthur. You're miserable lately. The only times I see you smile are when you beat me at my own game, when you talk to Paul, and when you're working with Zeke. You've hated every job you've run for the past several months."
"I'm the point man, goddammit, and I'm good at what I do."
Eames purses his lips. "No one's arguing that, Arthur. But you don't have to limit yourself to one role on every job. Just look at me!" He reaches out a hand toward Arthur's shoulder.
Arthur huffs a mean laugh. "You alternate between thieving people and tricking people. Your options are limitless."
Eames draws back his hand, hurt obvious in his expression. Arthur instantly feels like shit.
He sighs. "I didn't mean it like that."
"Your words weren't exactly ambiguous," Eames snaps, expression hardened.
"I just meant... You're manipulative. It's part of what you do, and it's supposed to be. You can change roles seamlessly from job to job because you have the skill set to do so." He draws a breath, working to word his thoughts properly. "You adapt well because no matter what you're doing, you're basing it off of other people's reactions. As for me,... I haven't done anything more with architecture than memorize a layout in years."
Eames looks heartened by this instead of shot down. "Clearly your subconscious remembers how. Tom Hansen wasn't exactly lacking in skills now, was he?"
Arthur glares at the insinuation. Clearly Eames preferred him when he was Tom, a fact that Arthur resents almost daily. "I thought we established--"
Eames holds up his hands in a surrendering pose. "I'm not insinuating anything, Arthur. I just think you should test the theory before declaring that you have no skill in it whatsoever."
Arthur stops himself short of telling Eames to mind his own damn business. He doesn't want to argue with Eames, and it's unfair to hold it against him that he's not truly interested in Arthur. What he says instead is, "I don't know why you care."
Arthur doesn't meet his eye as Eames stands, but his voice sounds sad when he places a hand briefly on Arthur's shoulder and says, "Of course you don't."
Arthur lets him go. He's just tired. He just needs a break - from jobs, and from Eames. With some time to clear his head, he's sure he'll start feeling better.
******
When the day comes for the team to actually go under, something goes wrong. Arthur's eyes meet Eames' across the way, and they team up to keep the projections at bay while the extractor works twice as fast to get what they came for.
Arthur's vision blanks out for a minute when he gets shot in the shoulder, and he drops his gun. Eames is by his side in a moment, cursing creatively and covering his bad side. Arthur should probably tell him to leave him and ensure the extraction is a success, but the pain is clouding his judgment.
"We need a paradox," Arthur says through gritted teeth.
Eames nods. "Take this," he says, and then his glock is resting Arthur's left hand. Through a haze of pain, Arthur remembers the last time he saw the gun. Eames had complimented his dream architecture, and his body had been so warm as he pressed Arthur bodily against the wall of the alley to protect them from projections. He swallows thickly; things had been different then, and it's time he let it go.
"This is the last time I agree to a dream setting at a shooting range," Eames says roughly, guiding Arthur by his good shoulder while Arthur covers them. Eames has dreamt up a new gun for himself, and they have to pause every few feet to clear out the next group of projections. "How's the pain? Should I wake you up?"
It's a nice enough euphemism for shooting him in the head, but Arthur takes a deep breath and says, "No. The dream will collapse if we move too soon. Let's just keep them away from the vault. I'll be fine."
It feels like hours later when Arthur blinks awake in the hotel room, and when he stands up to help the team clear everything out, he's still favoring his right shoulder.
"Good work back there," the extractor says once they leave the hotel, looking first at Arthur, then at Eames.
Arthur nods, but he knows he could have done better. He knows that if Eames hadn't been there, the job wouldn't have been a success. Before they go their separate ways, Arthur pulls Eames aside and says, "Thank you."
Eames nods, his mouth turned down into a slight frown. "How is it?" he says quietly, pressing down gently on Arthur's shoulder.
Arthur winces, but the pain isn't really there. "It'll be fine."
Eames smiles, eyes a bit distant. "Lucky your projections weren't quite so well-armed," he says, "or things might have gone differently."
Arthur clears his throat and stands up straighter. "Yes, that was lucky. Now if you'll excuse me, Mr. Eames, I have a train to catch."
"See you, Arthur," Eames says wistfully. Arthur walks away and hopes that the distance he gives himself will prevent a simple touch from having such an effect on him.
******
A mere three weeks later, Arthur is feeling restless. In his time off, he's been keeping up with Paul, the two of them swapping stories about their roles as point men, and Arthur's happy to count Paul as one of his closest friends. He also keeps up a business-only correspondence with Eames, deciding it's for the best. He's not about to cut himself off from Eames entirely, knowing that would be a bad business decision and a petty personal one.
Given plenty of time for reflection, he's finally convinced himself that whatever they had in the dream was just that: a dream. Eames may have had a thing for Tom, but it clearly doesn't translate to Arthur. And that's fine. Arthur will find someone else, and then working with Eames won't be so difficult.
He finds his old drafting table buried away in storage and pulls it out, figuring it's as good a way as any to pass the time. Now that he's had a chance to cool off, he thinks maybe Eames had a point. There's no harm in giving it a try, anyway, not right now when he's taking time off.
For the first few days, every new attempt winds up crumpled in the bottom of the trashcan, but then he starts to have more confidence in his ideas. He's more likely to edit a sketch than trash it entirely, and within a week he has to visit the craft store to update some of his drawing tools.
He's on his eighteenth revision of one particular sketch, a dream layout that has been on his mind for a while, when suddenly he recognizes it. He labels the part of the walkway that could be flipped to form a paradox, smiling as the memory washes over him.
For the first time, one of his memories actually ties in to that light, happy feeling he'd woken up with.
He has to set his pencil down as he remembers Eames pressing up against him in nothing but a towel. Eames had listened to him ramble about his design for several minutes, and it was all his own work without even a mention of Tom.
He had been truly happy that day. Maybe Eames remembered that; maybe his emphasis on Arthur going back to architecture wasn't so unfounded after all. Maybe Arthur hasn't been giving him enough credit.
Along with that memory comes the one of him biting his pillow the following night, trying to stop himself from making noise as he jerked off to the sense memory of Eames pressed up against him. They'd slid so easily into flirtation, and Arthur can't remember the conversations, but he can remember how he'd had to get past his own distrustful behavior before it could happen.
"I'm still remembering things," he tells Paul the next day over the phone. He rolls his die out on the table for probably the twelfth time that day and thinks maybe he understands Mal a little better these days.
"Dude. You need to make up your mind, okay. Every time I talk to you it's, 'Oh, I'm totally past that. Oh wait! No, this latest update has made me reevaluate everything I've ever known.' Seriously, I'm down for whatever, but you're worse than Tom."
"Now that's just not fair," Arthur says, mouth twitching into a smile. "At least I'm not breaking china against the countertops over everything."
"Yeah, that doesn't sound like you. You're more of a 'scheme and insult until it feels better' kind of guy." Arthur makes a noise of protest, but it's kind of true. "How's that working out for you, by the way?"
"Thinking of backing off on the insults for a while, actually," Arthur says. "Question for you. In the dream, you were always so sure that Eames was interested in me. Do you think he was interested in the things that made me Tom or the things you know about me now?"
Paul makes a noise that means he's shrugging. "Tough to say, since I thought you were still Tom all that time, but I can tell you, he was already into you the moment I walked in the apartment and found you both there."
Arthur never would have believed that from the Paul he thought was a projection, and even a few weeks ago, he still would have dismissed the notion with an eyeroll. But Paul is good at reading people; he'd probably give Eames a run for his money in their game of predict-the-mark. And more importantly, Arthur trusts him.
"Listen, I get that you're dealing with a lot of shit right now, and that dream really fucked with your head. But you've gotta forget all that, and just figure out what you really want from Eames, reaction be damned. I mean, if I had my way--"
Arthur never hears the end of that sentence, though, because he hears that phrase, If I had my way, echoed back in Eames' accent, and he has to set the phone down as the memory washes over him.
"Paul," he says, interrupting him mid-sentence, "I'm gonna have to call you back."
The memory is so strong he can almost feel the phantom pang of the headache. Eames had stolen painkillers for him. He had said he would like to spend an entire day with Arthur in bed. It hadn't been about Tom, about architecture, about anything. Eames had taken care of him, and he'd done it without expecting anything in return.
Arthur has some things to rethink. He pulls a moleskine notebook from under his mattress and flips to the page he'd last written on, absently rolling his die out on the table one more time.
******
"Hello, Eames," Arthur says immediately after accepting the call. There's no use pretending he didn't recognize the number; they've been working together too long for that to be unusual.
"Arthur," Eames says with a chuckle, "ever the charmer. How have you been? No more shoulder wounds I take it?"
Arthur hums. "No wounds at all. I've actually been on hiatus for the past couple months."
Eames makes a surprised noise. "What brought this on?"
"Well, the shoulder wound certainly didn't encourage me to stay."
"Come on, Arthur. We both know you can handle a dream wound and be fine the next day."
It's true, and Arthur is glad that Eames knows this. "Just needed a break, I guess." He pauses just for a moment, then continues, "Ever since that Los Angeles dream, I've been driving myself crazy. I took a couple months to clear my head."
There is a long pause, long enough that Arthur checks to make sure the call hasn't dropped. "And did it help?"
"Yeah," Arthur says, feeling a smile stretch over his face. "I think I've got some things figured out."
"So you're ready to get back to work?" Eames asks, and he sounds like he's smiling too.
"Definitely."
"Good, because I've got a job prospect for you."
******
When Arthur shows up at the warehouse for this new job, he doesn't have any particular expectations. A few hopes, maybe, but he's done his best to tone those down. He just wants to see what happens. But when he walks in and sees Paul and Eames working together in front of a whiteboard, well, that's not what he would have predicted at all.
It takes a moment to process, but then he puts the pieces together. Eames is a forger. On the phone, he'd mentioned Janet as the extractor. Paul is a point man. There is only one piece missing here, and it's not very difficult to put together.
"Oh good, you're here," Paul says, and they both turn to look at him.
"Eames," Arthur says, clenching his jaw, "don't tell me you've done what I think you've done."
"Now Arthur, before you get all worked up--"
"I don't know how many times I have to say it, Eames. You don't get to tell me how to live my life."
Paul takes a step forward. "Arthur, don't--"
"Paul, stay out of this," Arthur says, his eyes still fixed challengingly on Eames'.
"Outside," Eames says, and Arthur moves toward the door, already a step ahead of him.
"You have worked with me as a point man for over five years," Arthur says, once they're outside with the sun glinting in their eyes. "Do you consider me incompetent? Have I offended you in some way? Never before this have you even talked to me about architecture. I don't understand your fascination with--"
"Arthur," Eames says sternly, cutting him off. "Enough. This has nothing to do with me. If I'm wrong about this, if you're truly not interested in architecture, then just tell me. Right now. If you can't handle this job, then you can go home, and we'll hire someone that can. It's as simple as that."
Arthur stares at him, dumbfounded. Eames has never spoken to him like that before. Always teasing and sometimes insulting but never stern and demanding. Never, except that one final moment in the dream, and Arthur recognizes that flash in his eyes. It's the first time since that kiss, and Arthur is more than a little turned on right now.
He clears his throat. "No, that won't be necessary. I'm out of practice, so I'll want to get a second opinion on my designs before we use them on the job, but I have plenty of trustworthy contacts that could fill that role."
For a moment, Arthur can read surprise evident on Eames' face, but he schools his expression quickly. "Good."
"I'll go speak with Paul about what I need to know." He purposefully brushes past Eames as he goes back into the warehouse, and he's sure he doesn't imagine Eames' sharp intake of breath. He smirks as he approaches Paul, and Paul makes no pretense of not knowing that look in his eye.
"Have a good chat, Architect?"
Arthur rolls his eyes. "Just tell me about the job, asshole."
******
"Two levels?!" Arthur says a few minutes later. He rounds on Eames, giving him an incredulous look. "Two levels."
"Problem?" Eames asks, smirking as he strides over to them and props his hip against the table.
Arthur makes no secret of following the movement with his eyes. When he meets Eames' gaze, he discovers enjoyment and some surprise there. Encouraged by this, he lets himself smirk back as he says, "No problem. It would have been nice to have some warning, however."
Eames' eyes dance back at him, and Paul clears his throat rather obnoxiously. "As I was saying, the second level is more intricate. It needs to be a park, so the open area means the maze will be harder to conceal."
Arthur shakes his head, pulling out a piece of paper and beginning to jot down notes. "That should be no problem." He sketches out the hills he will have to include, marking out a path that can wind between them.
He continues to talk with Paul, constantly aware of Eames at his side, even though he only interjects occasionally. By the time they're done, Arthur has papers scattered all over the table and two ideas only a few drafts away from testable.
"Okay, I can take these home and map them out. I could have them ready by tomorrow morning. Will the extractor be here then?"
Paul and Eames share a look. "Yeah, the extractor won't be here until next week," Paul says.
Arthur gives them both an unimpressed look.
"We thought it would take a lot more time to convince you," Eames explains. "Wouldn't want to waste her time by getting her here too early."
Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose, making a frustrated noise. When he opens his eyes, Paul has gone to gather his things, and Eames has moved into his space.
Eames pulls Arthur's hand away from his face, then murmurs, "You should take the night off, anyway. I know you tend to want to work 20 hour days, but it's just not necessary for this job."
It's the same soft, private tone Eames has been using with him for years, but Arthur hears it entirely differently today. Maybe it has to do with the fact that Eames came up with this elaborate plot to get him back into architecture, or maybe the fact that he knew how much it really meant to Arthur, or maybe the fact that he didn't give up despite Arthur's protests.
Or maybe it's just that he's hovering inches from Arthur's face when he says it.
Eames is still holding onto his hand, and Arthur turns his palm until it meets with Eames'. Eames looks back at him like he's a touch uncertain, so Arthur makes the decision for them both and leans in to press their lips together.
"As much as I love being the third wheel in all your relationship antics," Paul interrupts, "I am actually gonna head home now. Please don't have sex in the warehouse."
"Paul, not to be rude or anything," Eames begins.
"But get the fuck out of here," Arthur says without glancing at him. He fists Eames' shirt in his hands and pulls him in for a much more thorough kiss. Eames makes a pleased noise and opens for Arthur, their tongues curling together as Eames' hands settle on Arthur's hips.
"Just so we're clear on my intentions," Eames says when they pull away for breath, "I did not actually know this would happen if I got you the architecture job."
"Who gives a fuck about your intentions," Arthur mumbles, moving back in.
Eames anticipates him this time, still exhaling on a laugh when Arthur's mouth meets his. He instantly maneuvers them around so that Arthur's back is against the table, fingers going for the knot in Arthur's tie. He's surprisingly efficient at pulling it off, and Arthur gasps when Eames moves away from his mouth, trailing kisses and bites down Arthur's neck, unbuttoning as he goes so he can get at Arthur's collarbone.
When Eames pulls down the collar of Arthur's undershirt, closes his mouth around Arthur's nipple and sucks, Arthur gasps and grips the table hard, paper crunching under his hands. He glances down and jumps a bit when he realizes what he's crunching, and with a rush he also realizes what they were just about to do. Eames straightens up a bit, looking back at Arthur in confusion.
"We are not having sex in the warehouse," Arthur says, voice less confident than he would've liked but stern nonetheless.
"Not yet," Eames agrees, moving back toward Arthur.
Arthur holds him back with one hand, using the other to button his shirt back. His hands are steadier than he expects them to be. "Not at all," Arthur insists.
Eames huffs out a sigh, drawing Arthur's attention to his swollen lips. He licks his own lips involuntarily. Eames' eyes follow the movement, letting out a shaky groan. "Arthur, you are going to be the death of me."
Arthur drags his gaze away from Eames, turning toward the crumpled sketches on the table. He makes a pained noise as he straightens one out, trying to smooth the creases. Eames laughs softly and appears at Arthur's side, helping him organize the papers into some sense of order.
"We won't ruin all your hard work, darling," Eames says with a smile, his hand coming up to rest gently on the back of Arthur's neck. The endearment, the touch, and the sentiment combine to make Arthur smile brilliantly and lean in for one more kiss. Eames smiles back into it, and it's just a press of lips, but it's the most tender kiss they've shared.
Eames helps him roll up his sketches so that he can carry them back easily, and then they leave for his apartment. The ride over is an enjoyable one, Arthur rambling about his ideas for the layout of the dreams, but the entire thing is undercut by the obvious want thrumming through Arthur's body. Eames keeps touching him, just here on his arm and just there on his knee. It's fucking distracting.
Arthur fully intends to shove Eames back toward the bedroom when they come in, but there is a minor, unfortunate distraction that Eames gets hung up on the moment he walks through the door.
"I thought you just moved into this place this afternoon?" Eames asks, biting down on his smile as if that's preventing Arthur from seeing it.
"I did," Arthur says matter-of-factly, having a sense of where this is going. He gestures at the unpacked suitcases to display his point.
"But if you have only been here for one day, not even a day, and you didn't know the reason I'd asked you on this job, why on earth would you have brought this?" Eames asks, bringing his hand down onto the surface of the drafting table he's been standing in front of since he came through the door.
Arthur rolls his eyes. "I wouldn't have accepted the job if I hadn't at least been practicing," he defends.
"Practicing, right," Eames says, mock serious. "I see. And it wouldn't be that, oh I don't know, you'd already realized I was right, or anything?"
"Eames, the way I see it, you have a few options before you right now. Me, I'm going to go into that room," he says, pointing toward the bedroom, "take all of my clothes off, and bring myself off, one way or another. Whether you get to be present for it and possibly receive the fuck of your life depends on which option you choose right now."
Eames is on him in a second, all thoughts of gloating forgotten. They press into each other in a series of greedy touches until Arthur has the presence of mind to guide them back toward the bedroom.
He's so worked up by the time they both reach the bed, their clothes strewn about the floor, that he ruts up against Eames' hip even as he works him open.
"God, Arthur," Eames gasps, hands clutching at Arthur's ass to urge him on, "you have no idea what you do to me."
"There are so many things I want to do to you," Arthur admits breathily, his filter clearly not functioning. "But the first thing is that I want to ride you into these sheets until the only word you can remember is my name."
"Fuck," Eames says eloquently, his hips pushing back against Arthur's frantically.
Eames clutches at the headboard as Arthur fucks him, conversation dying out in favor of half-uttered curses and choked-off moans. Arthur's mind gets more and more hazy as he nears the edge, and he has no idea what he's saying as he snaps his hips once more into Eames and comes.
Eames is still repeating Arthur's name like a mantra as Arthur comes down, his hands clutching at Arthur wherever he can reach. Arthur takes a shaky breath and pulls out, three fingers sliding in easily in place of his cock, and then he moves to swallow Eames down.
"Jesus fuck," Eames shouts, his fingers threading through Arthur's hair immediately. Arthur keeps up the frantic rhythm from before and when he twists his fingers inside Eames, Eames utters a filthy moan and shoots down Arthur's throat.
Eames urges him up as he pulls away, licking into his mouth enthusiastically. Arthur responds to the kiss, but he can feel sleep bearing down on him as Eames' body warms his own. A distant part of his mind tells him he should check his totem, but right now he can't be bothered to get up and check. If it's a dream, he'll enjoy it while it lasts.
******
"You can wipe that smug grin off your face," Paul says the next day. "I know you got laid, even if there wasn't a musical number in the park to announce it."
"You're the only one who remembers such a thing," Arthur reminds him. He doesn't stop grinning.
"Where is Eames, anyway?"
"I sent him to Starbucks," Arthur says absently, spreading out his sketches over the table. Right away, he notices something that needs to be fixed, and before long he is hard at work on revisions to his original plans.
He doesn't register the time passing until there are fingers in the crook of his elbow, and Eames murmurs, "Your coffee's going cold, love."
"Eames," Arthur says, momentarily surprised to see him. He turns back to his sketches. "Tell me what you think of this. Paul, you too."
Their next several days are spent in collaboration much like this, and by the time Janet arrives the following week, Arthur is almost ready to practice the first level. With her additional input and a couple off-the-clock calls to other architects Arthur trusts, Arthur feels confident enough to plug them all in and show them what he's created.
"Eames, could you please stop distracting our architect?" Paul says during one of these practice runs.
"Oh, shut up, Paul," Janet says. "We can explore without Arthur's input."
Arthur makes a noise of protest and pushes at Eames' shoulders, breaking off their kiss so he can explain his ideas. He glares at Eames for his unprofessional behavior, but the glare only seems to make Eames grin wider.
They do a thorough walkthrough of the first dream level, Janet and Paul offering their input on various aspects of the layout. Eames interjects here and there, sticking close to Arthur and distracting him whenever possible. Arthur would reprimand Eames for his unprofessionalism, but he knows he brought this on himself. Next time he teases his hand past Eames' waistband as he waits for his morning coffee to brew, making promises for the following night in between heated kisses, he will make sure it's on a day that Eames can't get away with clinging to him all day. Hindsight is 20/20, and all that.
That night, they've got each other so worked up that they wind up having messy sex on the floor of the kitchen before they even get halfway done making dinner. The pasta isn't fit to eat at that point, so they order pizza and watch old Seinfeld reruns instead.
Arthur hooks in to the PASIV after and spends several hours perfecting the layout of their second dream level. The park has to be much more subtle in its maze, and he's not about to let his team get trapped the way he and Eames were at the shooting range.
"Is this the part where I beg you to stop working and come to bed?" Eames asks, joining him out of nowhere.
"Don't you distract me enough during normal working hours?" Arthur says in fake exasperation. He lets Eames pull him close and doesn't exactly protest when Eames palms at his ass.
"You've been asleep nearly an hour, which means you've been in here nearly twelve. You've done enough. Now come on. I need a shower and so do you, and I read on the internet that it's more resourceful to share."
Arthur fucks him against the wall of the shower, going slow and savoring the feel of Eames clenching down around him. He mouths at Eames' neck as Eames pushes back into Arthur's thrusts, biting down hard enough to leave a mark as his orgasm builds and drowns out everything else.
He soothes the spot with his tongue as he comes down, working his fist over Eames' cock. Eames makes a whining noise and urges Arthur to pull out, twisting around so he can get at Arthur's mouth as they both work their hands over his erection. Arthur lets Eames guide him back against the opposite wall of the shower as the kiss turns filthier and the speed of their hands intensifies, and they're standing directly under the cooling spray of the shower when Eames' mouth goes slack against his and he comes.
Arthur has the intention of telling Eames all about the improvements to the dream as they get into bed, but within five minutes of crawling under the warm covers and pressing up against Eames, he finds his words slurring and his eyes slipping closed.
"Tell me about it in the morning," Eames mumbles, leaning in for a quick, sloppy kiss.
"Just for that, I'm waking you up at seven," Arthur says, but he's feeling too relaxed and well-fucked to get up and set an alarm.
******
For all of the buildup in Arthur's mind regarding the job as it approaches, the job itself is relatively low-key. Everything goes more or less according to plan, and Janet takes the time to thank him for his attention to detail once the information has been passed on to their employer.
Janet heads home after that, but Arthur, Eames and Paul all go out for dinner to celebrate their success.
Paul tries to make a toast when their drinks arrive, but Eames keeps interrupting him to tell Arthur something else from the second level of the dream, which Arthur hadn't been present for. Arthur doesn't think he realizes he's doing it.
There is another pause, and Paul looks just about ready to speak up again, but then Eames raises his beer and meets Arthur's eyes, saying loudly, "To Arthur!"
"You're an asshole," Paul says as Arthur laughs. Still, he holds up his drink and they both look at Arthur to do the same. Arthur ducks his head for a moment, then accepts the toast.
"I'm serious, man," Paul says later around a mouthful of steak. "It is so nice to work with an architect who understands my job. I can't tell you how many times I've been built into a corner because the architect only made room for the extractor to move freely."
"Did no one ever teach you not to talk with your mouth full?" Eames asks, making a mildly disgusted face.
"He's always done that, and no, I know what you mean," Arthur says. "Personally I feel a lot more comfortable building when I know I can trust the people doing the research."
"Why Arthur," Eames says, sharing a look with Paul, "that sounded like a compliment."
Arthur shrugs. "I've worked with far too many architects who wouldn't adjust their layouts to incorporate a key piece of information discovered in the planning stages. That's not the kind of architect I'm going to be."
Actually, he hasn't mentioned this to either of them yet, but he's fairly sure he's only going to build on jobs with either of them on the team. He enjoys the creative process, sure, but he's too much of a perfectionist to let the research fall to someone he's not quite sure he can rely on. It had taken him a while to trust Eames' ability to dig up information, and he's heard enough of Paul's process to know that he's more than competent. With either of them backing him up, designing a dreamscape won't be so difficult.
By the time they reach dessert, Eames' leg is pressed fully up against his under the table. Eames also places his hand on Arthur's knee for good measure while they wait for the check, and when Arthur meets his eyes, he can feel the anticipation running through him.
"You know what, this one's on me," Paul interjects, breaking them from their reverie. "Why don't you crazy kids head home before you do something to get yourselves kicked out of the restaurant."
Eames doesn't have to be told twice, but Arthur takes a moment to say thanks before he lets Eames pull him out of the building. They make out in the back of the cab, even though Arthur normally wouldn't condone that sort of thing. He finds that tonight he doesn't really care.
Inside the apartment, Eames takes him apart piece by piece, murmuring about how much he loves Arthur's suits and kissing every newly exposed bit of skin. Arthur lets him set the pace, his arousal thrumming through him as Eames teases with that gorgeous mouth of his.
"Eames," Arthur says, squirming a bit and threading his fingers through Eames' hair as Eames teases the skin high on his inner thigh. "You don't know how long I've wanted you. Your mouth, jesus."
Eames raises up to look at Arthur properly, his warm breath ghosting over Arthur's cock tantalizingly. Arthur's hips tilt up, seeking that warm heat of their own accord. "Arthur," Eames says roughly. "God, I love seeing you come undone. And to think, I haven't even touched you yet."
"Eames," he says, going for stern and settling for somewhat firm.
"What's the magic word, darling?" Eames says, licking a quick stripe down the length of Arthur's cock.
"Please," Arthur says before he can stop himself, and then he's glad he did because Eames makes an appreciative noise and swallows him down. "Oh jesus fuck."
Eames' mouth is just perfect, and Arthur lets himself get lost in it as he builds up a rhythm. Honestly, he could write sonnets about Eames' mouth, and he's pretty sure he says something to the effect, but then Eames does something with his mouth and Arthur is nudging the back of Eames' throat, oh god.
Arthur can feel himself losing what little control he had left, pushing into Eames' mouth as Eames makes encouraging noises. And then through the haze of everything he registers distantly that the reason the whole bed is shaking is that Eames is working his hand over his own cock, which means that Eames is getting off just from sucking Arthur off, and that single thought is all it takes to push Arthur over the edge, pulling at Eames' hair and coming down his throat.
By the time he's regained coherent thought, Eames has brought himself off and gone to get a towel. When he returns, Arthur makes an unintelligible noise and pulls him back down on the mattress, kissing him thoroughly and tasting himself on Eames' tongue.
"That was," Arthur says, and then stops. "I don't have a word for what that was."
"Incredimazing," Eames suggests, and laughs when Arthur pulls a face. "It was, don't lie." He kisses Arthur again, framing his face with his hands. "I can't even begin to describe what it does to me to see you lose control. One of the many things I love about you is just how precise and contained you are, but to see that wall come down just for me?" He growls his appreciation and worries Arthur's bottom lip with his teeth.
"Why did you do all of this for me?" Arthur asks, thinking of the job, the whole deal with architecture, Eames showing up in his dream in the first place.
Eames makes an exasperated noise. "Arthur, I have cared about you for longer than I'd like to admit, but you're so stubborn, I would be surprised that you ever managed to interact with another human being if I didn't know you better." He purses his lips, a gesture that Arthur has come to realize has nothing to do with lying, but rather with Arthur screwing up. "If you don't know the answer by now, then there's nothing else I can do."
They share a look for the span of a second before Arthur surges forward to kiss Eames. "I'm a fucking idiot," he says with feeling. "I'd like to make it up to you, starting now."
Eames smiles wickedly. "Oh, I think that could be arranged."
******
Two weeks later, Arthur still hasn't managed to move out of the apartment that he was only supposed to have for the one job. In fact, Eames seems to have moved in.
Eames is out for his morning run, though, and Arthur figures it's as good a time as any to work on some sketches he's been thinking about in his spare time. When he pulls out his tools, there's a shiny new compass sitting on top, and Arthur flashes back to the dream again, to the day that Eames had bought him a compass.
The memory surrounds him like a blanket, and he smiles as he remembers how happy he'd been to discover the gift. But this time he doesn't rush off to add the memory to his book. This time the memory is nice, but the reality is better. In the real world, Eames has helped Arthur go back to something he loved, he's had Arthur's back, and he's the person Arthur trusts the most. Arthur rolls his die out on the desk and then smiles as he tucks it back in his pocket.
When Eames gets back from his run, Arthur pulls himself away from the drafting table and hauls Eames in for a kiss.
Eames makes a surprised noise and responds to the kiss warmly. After Arthur breaks away, he raises an eyebrow and asks, "What was that for?"
"Nothing," Arthur says with a smile. "Just happy to be awake."
THE END
******
When Arthur wakes, it's to the uncomfortable feeling of one and a half years' worth of memories being compressed into minutes of actual memory. It always feels a little strange, but with the increased difference in time, he can definitely feel a headache coming on.
"Eames," he says, spotting him at once. He narrows his eyes in suspicion. "You weren't here when we went under."
The extra minutes in the dream have all but been erased up here; Eames has just woken up himself, maybe a second before Arthur. His wince tells Arthur that he's also experiencing memory compression, which is good because it gives Arthur a chance to school his expression, as from Eames' perspective, he's not supposed to be remembering anything. He's grateful to discover that he's regained better control over his facial expressions topside; Tom Hansen had been terrible at keeping his face blank.
"Just an added bit of security," Eames says coolly, turning to Yusuf and speaking quietly. "You and I need to have a discussion. Give me a call later tonight."
He gives Paul a polite nod, and without even glancing back at Arthur, he heads for the door. Arthur tries not to be disappointed.
He clings to the dream as he recalls parts of it, but as promised, it all feels distant and fuzzy. All he can remember are mundane details, events, but he was so happy to be doing them, particularly with Eames. It's an emotion different from the foolish desire he's been harboring for Eames for years. This time it feels much more genuine, but he can't remember what changed to make it that way. He can still feel it, that ridiculous euphoria, but when he tries hard to remember and fails, he attributes the feeling to the dream. No wonder it's so easy to steal a mark's secrets when love is involved.
The difference, though, between a natural dream and this one, is that Eames wasn't a projection. The smiles Arthur remembers were actually from Eames, as was the fleeting kiss.
Arthur pushes it into the back of his mind for now, working with Paul and Yusuf to discuss the results of the drug.
******
That night, Arthur spends a great deal of time trying to remember as much of the dream as possible. He can remember being really happy and quite sad, but not exactly why he felt that way. He can remember the last exchange pretty vividly, as you do with a dream. He remembers Eames' expression, the quick kiss, his resolve to retaliate once he wakes up. As far as the details of the rest, all he can remember is that he got along better with Eames, and that he wanted him more than ever, but he can't remember how or why. He remembers Summer a little too well. He remembers realizing where Summer came from in his subconscious. He remembers Eames patronizing him to be more like Tom Hansen.
With all of these memories still in tact, Arthur schemes to reveal to Eames that he does actually remember. He hopes that by staging an elaborate reveal, Eames will realize his hand had been shown and actually be on board when Arthur makes a move on him. He can't remember why, but his dream self had been resolved that whatever risks were worth it. That he should take a chance on Eames.
Then again, Tom Hansen hadn't exactly been an expert on modern relationships.
Still, there is the fact that he can still feel the phantom press of Eames' lips against his own, even though it never happened in the real world. That is what drives him to move forward with his plan, even though it involves making a fool of himself in front of people he actually knows and may one day see again.
In the days leading up to the main event of their plan, Arthur starts to have doubts. He can remember his resolve from the dream, and it's fun to scheme with Paul and leave Eames wondering, but he can't remember exactly what the plan was meant to accomplish. After this, Eames would know that Arthur remembered the dream, but he can't recall why he thought that would lead to a happy ending.
The karaoke bar isn't as nice as the one from his dream, but it'll do the job. Arthur waits anxiously for Paul to show up with Eames, revisiting his doubts in the meantime.
Yusuf is with them when they walk in, which was not part of the plan, but Arthur finds that his presence alleviates some of his stress. He raises his glass at them to get their attention, then downs the rest of it before they sit down.
"Early start?" Yusuf says with a smile at the same time Paul says, "Slow down there, buddy."
The tension dissipates quickly once they all get drinks and Yusuf starts recounting stories of him and Eames getting drunk and trying to mix unstable chemicals. It's an immense relief not to be the center of attention any more; he hadn't even realized he had been until he woke up from the dream. He laughs openly, his leg warm against Eames' in the wrap-around booth, and thinks maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.
When the moment comes for him to sing, though, the anxiety comes back full-force. It's not smooth like it was in the dream. He has to ask Paul to let him out and then awkwardly slide out of the booth, tripping on the way to the stage. Bad idea, he reinstates, but at least they have the song he needs.
Singing "Good Old-Fashioned Loverboy" feels a bit ridiculous now that he thinks about it, but it's too late to go back now. He glances at Eames a couple of times as he makes his way through the song, but he sees him talking to either Paul or Yusuf both times, so decides it better to ignore him.
When he finishes out the song (rather poorly, but it's just karaoke), Eames is at the bar, ordering another drink. Arthur walks up next to him and orders another vodka tonic, waiting for the inevitable reaction.
"So you remember," Eames says plainly. His expression is closed off; Arthur has no idea what he's thinking.
"Yeah, I mean. Just bits and pieces, mostly feelings rather than events, and events more than conversations, but little things trigger memories here and there."
Eames nods, taking his drink from the bartender and swallowing a big gulp of it. "Do you remember the last day?"
Arthur's stomach swoops; maybe this is what he'd been hoping for. "I remember you kissed me."
Eames looks pained. "Anything else?"
"You also had a gun to me at the time, if memory serves." The projections had turned against them, he remembers, but the words Eames had said as he backed Arthur up against the wall are too distant. "Why? How much do you remember?"
"I remember everything," Eames says succinctly. He keeps scanning the bar as if he's looking for something, not looking Arthur in the eye. "There were pieces that were fuzzy at first, but I believe that I've pieced together the most important bits."
Arthur can't quite reconcile his nervousness at Eames' tone with the hope stirring in his chest. "Anything I should know?" he asks jokingly.
Eames purses his lips. He always purses his lips before deliberately lying to Arthur. "No, nothing important."
Arthur doesn't know what to say to that, but after a pause, Eames speaks again.
"So will you be continuing with the architecture, then?"
It feels like a slap in the face. The most painful part of remembering was knowing that in the real world, he had no excuse to waste his days in front of a drawing table. But he knew his place, and he was dealing with it.
His consternation must be showing on his face - fuck, he's becoming more like Tom - because Eames makes a noise and says, "Why not?"
"I have more important things to be doing than sitting around drawing all day."
"Why? There are architects in our line of work."
Arthur shakes his head. He remembers the Lieutenant's speech like it was yesterday. The high honor of his words. He isn't about to throw away all the progress he's made on a silly whim from a dream he's not supposed to remember. He may have started out as an architect, but he's spent years perfecting his role as a point man.
He downs the rest of his drink and fixes Eames with a challenging look. "I prefer if you wouldn't tell me how to do my job, Mr. Eames."
Eames looks unhappily surprised at this statement, and his voice is flat when he says, "We should get back."
Arthur follows him back to the table, doing his best to keep his anger contained. Of course Eames would dismiss everything else from the dream. Arthur had been right; Eames' interest had only lay with Tom Hansen, and now Tom was gone for good. God, what was he thinking? He'd made a fool of himself up there, and for what? For Eames to remind him what he'd preferred about his dream self.
A few minutes after they join the group, Arthur pretends to remember something important and makes his excuses to leave, ignoring Paul's concerned look.
The walk back to his apartment is just chilly enough to knock some sense into him. He shouldn't have let his guard down around Eames, not in the dream and not tonight. He won't make the same mistake again.
******
He doesn't see Eames for a few months after that. They still keep in touch, more than they did prior to the dream, but Arthur attributes that to a natural reaction to spending a prolonged amount of time sharing a dream. He keeps in touch with Paul just as much, though their conversations are easier, more relaxed like they really have been friends since they were kids.
As he goes about his day-to-day life, he gets flashes of the dream from the most random triggers, but he does his best to ignore them. He tries not to resent that lingering memory of happiness that seems tied to the dream, reminding himself with a roll of a die that it was just that. A dream.
When the next job he takes calls for a forger, Arthur squashes down his pride and calls Eames in.
The first thing that happens when Arthur walks into the warehouse and sees Eames is a flashback, sudden and poignant, of sitting at a drafting table in Tom Hansen's apartment. Eames had taken one look at his sketch for the Bank of America building and made a snide comment about Tom's dreams. Arthur once again curses the dream for tearing him open and exposing all of his vulnerabilities for Eames to walk all over.
"Alright?" Eames says, approaching Arthur with an expression of mild concern.
Arthur nods, schooling his expression. "When can we get started?" he asks, pulling his organizer out of his messenger bag and concentrating on getting set up.
"Still waiting for Zeke to get here," Eames says. Arthur tries not to scowl. Eames would probably never insult Zeke's mockup for the Bank of America building. "Are you sure you're alright? You're clenching your jaw."
Arthur looks at him, then. He does actually seem concerned, which stops Arthur from his automatic response of 'I'm fine.' He takes a moment to calm himself down and then says, "Just a headache." It's metaphorically true, anyway.
Zeke shows up shortly thereafter, and they all get to work planning the dream. The meeting seems to last forever, with Zeke only paying half of his attention as he doodles in his notebook, and Arthur really does have a headache by the end of it.
He stays later than the rest of the team, hoping to document all of their notes before leaving for the day. He steps out for a moment for a bathroom break, and when he comes back, there's a bottle of water and a couple of pills waiting for him next to his laptop. Arthur takes a moment to hope they're not poison and takes them gratefully.
******
It's not too difficult to deal with Eames now that a few months have passed, and as the job goes on, Arthur finds himself slipping more easily into their usual cutting banter. When they discover that they both need to do quite a bit of research, Eames suggests a stakeout. Arthur feels a flash of memory as he smiles, connecting the stakeout to a vegetarian diner, and then to a run in the park. He feels his smile falter as he recalls - Eames accused him of breaking protocol on that first job.
"What is it? What's wrong?" Eames asks, taking a wary step forward and then hesitating like he's just recalled that he doesn't do that with Arthur, not in the real world.
"Nothing, just. Remembering."
Eames takes that next step forward, voice warmer as he says, "What is it you remember?"
"You really didn't like McKenzie," he says as if he's just realizing. He can't bring himself to tell the whole truth. I've certainly never hated you. Far from it, Eames had said. Arthur doesn't know what to make of it.
Eames purses his lips, but whatever lie was on his mind, he keeps it to himself. He moves back out of Arthur's space and changes the subject.
The stakeout is actually enjoyable. They're in comfortable territory as they try to one-up each other at every turn, and Arthur does fairly well despite feeling like he's off his game. It's a good day, and Arthur thinks he's finally ready to move on from everything.
But then, the next day, when they're reviewing their findings, Eames makes an off-the-cuff comment to suggest Arthur should ditch his role as point man and get back into architecture.
Arthur slams his pen down, feeling a muscle in his jaw twitch as he grits his teeth. "Would you just let it go?" he demands. "Why is it so important to you, anyway? Do you have a new point man that you're eager to start working with instead? Because I don't have to be here."
Eames' eyes flash, but his tone is calm when he speaks. "Come on, Arthur. You're miserable lately. The only times I see you smile are when you beat me at my own game, when you talk to Paul, and when you're working with Zeke. You've hated every job you've run for the past several months."
"I'm the point man, goddammit, and I'm good at what I do."
Eames purses his lips. "No one's arguing that, Arthur. But you don't have to limit yourself to one role on every job. Just look at me!" He reaches out a hand toward Arthur's shoulder.
Arthur huffs a mean laugh. "You alternate between thieving people and tricking people. Your options are limitless."
Eames draws back his hand, hurt obvious in his expression. Arthur instantly feels like shit.
He sighs. "I didn't mean it like that."
"Your words weren't exactly ambiguous," Eames snaps, expression hardened.
"I just meant... You're manipulative. It's part of what you do, and it's supposed to be. You can change roles seamlessly from job to job because you have the skill set to do so." He draws a breath, working to word his thoughts properly. "You adapt well because no matter what you're doing, you're basing it off of other people's reactions. As for me,... I haven't done anything more with architecture than memorize a layout in years."
Eames looks heartened by this instead of shot down. "Clearly your subconscious remembers how. Tom Hansen wasn't exactly lacking in skills now, was he?"
Arthur glares at the insinuation. Clearly Eames preferred him when he was Tom, a fact that Arthur resents almost daily. "I thought we established--"
Eames holds up his hands in a surrendering pose. "I'm not insinuating anything, Arthur. I just think you should test the theory before declaring that you have no skill in it whatsoever."
Arthur stops himself short of telling Eames to mind his own damn business. He doesn't want to argue with Eames, and it's unfair to hold it against him that he's not truly interested in Arthur. What he says instead is, "I don't know why you care."
Arthur doesn't meet his eye as Eames stands, but his voice sounds sad when he places a hand briefly on Arthur's shoulder and says, "Of course you don't."
Arthur lets him go. He's just tired. He just needs a break - from jobs, and from Eames. With some time to clear his head, he's sure he'll start feeling better.
******
When the day comes for the team to actually go under, something goes wrong. Arthur's eyes meet Eames' across the way, and they team up to keep the projections at bay while the extractor works twice as fast to get what they came for.
Arthur's vision blanks out for a minute when he gets shot in the shoulder, and he drops his gun. Eames is by his side in a moment, cursing creatively and covering his bad side. Arthur should probably tell him to leave him and ensure the extraction is a success, but the pain is clouding his judgment.
"We need a paradox," Arthur says through gritted teeth.
Eames nods. "Take this," he says, and then his glock is resting Arthur's left hand. Through a haze of pain, Arthur remembers the last time he saw the gun. Eames had complimented his dream architecture, and his body had been so warm as he pressed Arthur bodily against the wall of the alley to protect them from projections. He swallows thickly; things had been different then, and it's time he let it go.
"This is the last time I agree to a dream setting at a shooting range," Eames says roughly, guiding Arthur by his good shoulder while Arthur covers them. Eames has dreamt up a new gun for himself, and they have to pause every few feet to clear out the next group of projections. "How's the pain? Should I wake you up?"
It's a nice enough euphemism for shooting him in the head, but Arthur takes a deep breath and says, "No. The dream will collapse if we move too soon. Let's just keep them away from the vault. I'll be fine."
It feels like hours later when Arthur blinks awake in the hotel room, and when he stands up to help the team clear everything out, he's still favoring his right shoulder.
"Good work back there," the extractor says once they leave the hotel, looking first at Arthur, then at Eames.
Arthur nods, but he knows he could have done better. He knows that if Eames hadn't been there, the job wouldn't have been a success. Before they go their separate ways, Arthur pulls Eames aside and says, "Thank you."
Eames nods, his mouth turned down into a slight frown. "How is it?" he says quietly, pressing down gently on Arthur's shoulder.
Arthur winces, but the pain isn't really there. "It'll be fine."
Eames smiles, eyes a bit distant. "Lucky your projections weren't quite so well-armed," he says, "or things might have gone differently."
Arthur clears his throat and stands up straighter. "Yes, that was lucky. Now if you'll excuse me, Mr. Eames, I have a train to catch."
"See you, Arthur," Eames says wistfully. Arthur walks away and hopes that the distance he gives himself will prevent a simple touch from having such an effect on him.
******
A mere three weeks later, Arthur is feeling restless. In his time off, he's been keeping up with Paul, the two of them swapping stories about their roles as point men, and Arthur's happy to count Paul as one of his closest friends. He also keeps up a business-only correspondence with Eames, deciding it's for the best. He's not about to cut himself off from Eames entirely, knowing that would be a bad business decision and a petty personal one.
Given plenty of time for reflection, he's finally convinced himself that whatever they had in the dream was just that: a dream. Eames may have had a thing for Tom, but it clearly doesn't translate to Arthur. And that's fine. Arthur will find someone else, and then working with Eames won't be so difficult.
He finds his old drafting table buried away in storage and pulls it out, figuring it's as good a way as any to pass the time. Now that he's had a chance to cool off, he thinks maybe Eames had a point. There's no harm in giving it a try, anyway, not right now when he's taking time off.
For the first few days, every new attempt winds up crumpled in the bottom of the trashcan, but then he starts to have more confidence in his ideas. He's more likely to edit a sketch than trash it entirely, and within a week he has to visit the craft store to update some of his drawing tools.
He's on his eighteenth revision of one particular sketch, a dream layout that has been on his mind for a while, when suddenly he recognizes it. He labels the part of the walkway that could be flipped to form a paradox, smiling as the memory washes over him.
For the first time, one of his memories actually ties in to that light, happy feeling he'd woken up with.
He has to set his pencil down as he remembers Eames pressing up against him in nothing but a towel. Eames had listened to him ramble about his design for several minutes, and it was all his own work without even a mention of Tom.
He had been truly happy that day. Maybe Eames remembered that; maybe his emphasis on Arthur going back to architecture wasn't so unfounded after all. Maybe Arthur hasn't been giving him enough credit.
Along with that memory comes the one of him biting his pillow the following night, trying to stop himself from making noise as he jerked off to the sense memory of Eames pressed up against him. They'd slid so easily into flirtation, and Arthur can't remember the conversations, but he can remember how he'd had to get past his own distrustful behavior before it could happen.
"I'm still remembering things," he tells Paul the next day over the phone. He rolls his die out on the table for probably the twelfth time that day and thinks maybe he understands Mal a little better these days.
"Dude. You need to make up your mind, okay. Every time I talk to you it's, 'Oh, I'm totally past that. Oh wait! No, this latest update has made me reevaluate everything I've ever known.' Seriously, I'm down for whatever, but you're worse than Tom."
"Now that's just not fair," Arthur says, mouth twitching into a smile. "At least I'm not breaking china against the countertops over everything."
"Yeah, that doesn't sound like you. You're more of a 'scheme and insult until it feels better' kind of guy." Arthur makes a noise of protest, but it's kind of true. "How's that working out for you, by the way?"
"Thinking of backing off on the insults for a while, actually," Arthur says. "Question for you. In the dream, you were always so sure that Eames was interested in me. Do you think he was interested in the things that made me Tom or the things you know about me now?"
Paul makes a noise that means he's shrugging. "Tough to say, since I thought you were still Tom all that time, but I can tell you, he was already into you the moment I walked in the apartment and found you both there."
Arthur never would have believed that from the Paul he thought was a projection, and even a few weeks ago, he still would have dismissed the notion with an eyeroll. But Paul is good at reading people; he'd probably give Eames a run for his money in their game of predict-the-mark. And more importantly, Arthur trusts him.
"Listen, I get that you're dealing with a lot of shit right now, and that dream really fucked with your head. But you've gotta forget all that, and just figure out what you really want from Eames, reaction be damned. I mean, if I had my way--"
Arthur never hears the end of that sentence, though, because he hears that phrase, If I had my way, echoed back in Eames' accent, and he has to set the phone down as the memory washes over him.
"Paul," he says, interrupting him mid-sentence, "I'm gonna have to call you back."
The memory is so strong he can almost feel the phantom pang of the headache. Eames had stolen painkillers for him. He had said he would like to spend an entire day with Arthur in bed. It hadn't been about Tom, about architecture, about anything. Eames had taken care of him, and he'd done it without expecting anything in return.
Arthur has some things to rethink. He pulls a moleskine notebook from under his mattress and flips to the page he'd last written on, absently rolling his die out on the table one more time.
******
"Hello, Eames," Arthur says immediately after accepting the call. There's no use pretending he didn't recognize the number; they've been working together too long for that to be unusual.
"Arthur," Eames says with a chuckle, "ever the charmer. How have you been? No more shoulder wounds I take it?"
Arthur hums. "No wounds at all. I've actually been on hiatus for the past couple months."
Eames makes a surprised noise. "What brought this on?"
"Well, the shoulder wound certainly didn't encourage me to stay."
"Come on, Arthur. We both know you can handle a dream wound and be fine the next day."
It's true, and Arthur is glad that Eames knows this. "Just needed a break, I guess." He pauses just for a moment, then continues, "Ever since that Los Angeles dream, I've been driving myself crazy. I took a couple months to clear my head."
There is a long pause, long enough that Arthur checks to make sure the call hasn't dropped. "And did it help?"
"Yeah," Arthur says, feeling a smile stretch over his face. "I think I've got some things figured out."
"So you're ready to get back to work?" Eames asks, and he sounds like he's smiling too.
"Definitely."
"Good, because I've got a job prospect for you."
******
When Arthur shows up at the warehouse for this new job, he doesn't have any particular expectations. A few hopes, maybe, but he's done his best to tone those down. He just wants to see what happens. But when he walks in and sees Paul and Eames working together in front of a whiteboard, well, that's not what he would have predicted at all.
It takes a moment to process, but then he puts the pieces together. Eames is a forger. On the phone, he'd mentioned Janet as the extractor. Paul is a point man. There is only one piece missing here, and it's not very difficult to put together.
"Oh good, you're here," Paul says, and they both turn to look at him.
"Eames," Arthur says, clenching his jaw, "don't tell me you've done what I think you've done."
"Now Arthur, before you get all worked up--"
"I don't know how many times I have to say it, Eames. You don't get to tell me how to live my life."
Paul takes a step forward. "Arthur, don't--"
"Paul, stay out of this," Arthur says, his eyes still fixed challengingly on Eames'.
"Outside," Eames says, and Arthur moves toward the door, already a step ahead of him.
"You have worked with me as a point man for over five years," Arthur says, once they're outside with the sun glinting in their eyes. "Do you consider me incompetent? Have I offended you in some way? Never before this have you even talked to me about architecture. I don't understand your fascination with--"
"Arthur," Eames says sternly, cutting him off. "Enough. This has nothing to do with me. If I'm wrong about this, if you're truly not interested in architecture, then just tell me. Right now. If you can't handle this job, then you can go home, and we'll hire someone that can. It's as simple as that."
Arthur stares at him, dumbfounded. Eames has never spoken to him like that before. Always teasing and sometimes insulting but never stern and demanding. Never, except that one final moment in the dream, and Arthur recognizes that flash in his eyes. It's the first time since that kiss, and Arthur is more than a little turned on right now.
He clears his throat. "No, that won't be necessary. I'm out of practice, so I'll want to get a second opinion on my designs before we use them on the job, but I have plenty of trustworthy contacts that could fill that role."
For a moment, Arthur can read surprise evident on Eames' face, but he schools his expression quickly. "Good."
"I'll go speak with Paul about what I need to know." He purposefully brushes past Eames as he goes back into the warehouse, and he's sure he doesn't imagine Eames' sharp intake of breath. He smirks as he approaches Paul, and Paul makes no pretense of not knowing that look in his eye.
"Have a good chat, Architect?"
Arthur rolls his eyes. "Just tell me about the job, asshole."
******
"Two levels?!" Arthur says a few minutes later. He rounds on Eames, giving him an incredulous look. "Two levels."
"Problem?" Eames asks, smirking as he strides over to them and props his hip against the table.
Arthur makes no secret of following the movement with his eyes. When he meets Eames' gaze, he discovers enjoyment and some surprise there. Encouraged by this, he lets himself smirk back as he says, "No problem. It would have been nice to have some warning, however."
Eames' eyes dance back at him, and Paul clears his throat rather obnoxiously. "As I was saying, the second level is more intricate. It needs to be a park, so the open area means the maze will be harder to conceal."
Arthur shakes his head, pulling out a piece of paper and beginning to jot down notes. "That should be no problem." He sketches out the hills he will have to include, marking out a path that can wind between them.
He continues to talk with Paul, constantly aware of Eames at his side, even though he only interjects occasionally. By the time they're done, Arthur has papers scattered all over the table and two ideas only a few drafts away from testable.
"Okay, I can take these home and map them out. I could have them ready by tomorrow morning. Will the extractor be here then?"
Paul and Eames share a look. "Yeah, the extractor won't be here until next week," Paul says.
Arthur gives them both an unimpressed look.
"We thought it would take a lot more time to convince you," Eames explains. "Wouldn't want to waste her time by getting her here too early."
Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose, making a frustrated noise. When he opens his eyes, Paul has gone to gather his things, and Eames has moved into his space.
Eames pulls Arthur's hand away from his face, then murmurs, "You should take the night off, anyway. I know you tend to want to work 20 hour days, but it's just not necessary for this job."
It's the same soft, private tone Eames has been using with him for years, but Arthur hears it entirely differently today. Maybe it has to do with the fact that Eames came up with this elaborate plot to get him back into architecture, or maybe the fact that he knew how much it really meant to Arthur, or maybe the fact that he didn't give up despite Arthur's protests.
Or maybe it's just that he's hovering inches from Arthur's face when he says it.
Eames is still holding onto his hand, and Arthur turns his palm until it meets with Eames'. Eames looks back at him like he's a touch uncertain, so Arthur makes the decision for them both and leans in to press their lips together.
"As much as I love being the third wheel in all your relationship antics," Paul interrupts, "I am actually gonna head home now. Please don't have sex in the warehouse."
"Paul, not to be rude or anything," Eames begins.
"But get the fuck out of here," Arthur says without glancing at him. He fists Eames' shirt in his hands and pulls him in for a much more thorough kiss. Eames makes a pleased noise and opens for Arthur, their tongues curling together as Eames' hands settle on Arthur's hips.
"Just so we're clear on my intentions," Eames says when they pull away for breath, "I did not actually know this would happen if I got you the architecture job."
"Who gives a fuck about your intentions," Arthur mumbles, moving back in.
Eames anticipates him this time, still exhaling on a laugh when Arthur's mouth meets his. He instantly maneuvers them around so that Arthur's back is against the table, fingers going for the knot in Arthur's tie. He's surprisingly efficient at pulling it off, and Arthur gasps when Eames moves away from his mouth, trailing kisses and bites down Arthur's neck, unbuttoning as he goes so he can get at Arthur's collarbone.
When Eames pulls down the collar of Arthur's undershirt, closes his mouth around Arthur's nipple and sucks, Arthur gasps and grips the table hard, paper crunching under his hands. He glances down and jumps a bit when he realizes what he's crunching, and with a rush he also realizes what they were just about to do. Eames straightens up a bit, looking back at Arthur in confusion.
"We are not having sex in the warehouse," Arthur says, voice less confident than he would've liked but stern nonetheless.
"Not yet," Eames agrees, moving back toward Arthur.
Arthur holds him back with one hand, using the other to button his shirt back. His hands are steadier than he expects them to be. "Not at all," Arthur insists.
Eames huffs out a sigh, drawing Arthur's attention to his swollen lips. He licks his own lips involuntarily. Eames' eyes follow the movement, letting out a shaky groan. "Arthur, you are going to be the death of me."
Arthur drags his gaze away from Eames, turning toward the crumpled sketches on the table. He makes a pained noise as he straightens one out, trying to smooth the creases. Eames laughs softly and appears at Arthur's side, helping him organize the papers into some sense of order.
"We won't ruin all your hard work, darling," Eames says with a smile, his hand coming up to rest gently on the back of Arthur's neck. The endearment, the touch, and the sentiment combine to make Arthur smile brilliantly and lean in for one more kiss. Eames smiles back into it, and it's just a press of lips, but it's the most tender kiss they've shared.
Eames helps him roll up his sketches so that he can carry them back easily, and then they leave for his apartment. The ride over is an enjoyable one, Arthur rambling about his ideas for the layout of the dreams, but the entire thing is undercut by the obvious want thrumming through Arthur's body. Eames keeps touching him, just here on his arm and just there on his knee. It's fucking distracting.
Arthur fully intends to shove Eames back toward the bedroom when they come in, but there is a minor, unfortunate distraction that Eames gets hung up on the moment he walks through the door.
"I thought you just moved into this place this afternoon?" Eames asks, biting down on his smile as if that's preventing Arthur from seeing it.
"I did," Arthur says matter-of-factly, having a sense of where this is going. He gestures at the unpacked suitcases to display his point.
"But if you have only been here for one day, not even a day, and you didn't know the reason I'd asked you on this job, why on earth would you have brought this?" Eames asks, bringing his hand down onto the surface of the drafting table he's been standing in front of since he came through the door.
Arthur rolls his eyes. "I wouldn't have accepted the job if I hadn't at least been practicing," he defends.
"Practicing, right," Eames says, mock serious. "I see. And it wouldn't be that, oh I don't know, you'd already realized I was right, or anything?"
"Eames, the way I see it, you have a few options before you right now. Me, I'm going to go into that room," he says, pointing toward the bedroom, "take all of my clothes off, and bring myself off, one way or another. Whether you get to be present for it and possibly receive the fuck of your life depends on which option you choose right now."
Eames is on him in a second, all thoughts of gloating forgotten. They press into each other in a series of greedy touches until Arthur has the presence of mind to guide them back toward the bedroom.
He's so worked up by the time they both reach the bed, their clothes strewn about the floor, that he ruts up against Eames' hip even as he works him open.
"God, Arthur," Eames gasps, hands clutching at Arthur's ass to urge him on, "you have no idea what you do to me."
"There are so many things I want to do to you," Arthur admits breathily, his filter clearly not functioning. "But the first thing is that I want to ride you into these sheets until the only word you can remember is my name."
"Fuck," Eames says eloquently, his hips pushing back against Arthur's frantically.
Eames clutches at the headboard as Arthur fucks him, conversation dying out in favor of half-uttered curses and choked-off moans. Arthur's mind gets more and more hazy as he nears the edge, and he has no idea what he's saying as he snaps his hips once more into Eames and comes.
Eames is still repeating Arthur's name like a mantra as Arthur comes down, his hands clutching at Arthur wherever he can reach. Arthur takes a shaky breath and pulls out, three fingers sliding in easily in place of his cock, and then he moves to swallow Eames down.
"Jesus fuck," Eames shouts, his fingers threading through Arthur's hair immediately. Arthur keeps up the frantic rhythm from before and when he twists his fingers inside Eames, Eames utters a filthy moan and shoots down Arthur's throat.
Eames urges him up as he pulls away, licking into his mouth enthusiastically. Arthur responds to the kiss, but he can feel sleep bearing down on him as Eames' body warms his own. A distant part of his mind tells him he should check his totem, but right now he can't be bothered to get up and check. If it's a dream, he'll enjoy it while it lasts.
******
"You can wipe that smug grin off your face," Paul says the next day. "I know you got laid, even if there wasn't a musical number in the park to announce it."
"You're the only one who remembers such a thing," Arthur reminds him. He doesn't stop grinning.
"Where is Eames, anyway?"
"I sent him to Starbucks," Arthur says absently, spreading out his sketches over the table. Right away, he notices something that needs to be fixed, and before long he is hard at work on revisions to his original plans.
He doesn't register the time passing until there are fingers in the crook of his elbow, and Eames murmurs, "Your coffee's going cold, love."
"Eames," Arthur says, momentarily surprised to see him. He turns back to his sketches. "Tell me what you think of this. Paul, you too."
Their next several days are spent in collaboration much like this, and by the time Janet arrives the following week, Arthur is almost ready to practice the first level. With her additional input and a couple off-the-clock calls to other architects Arthur trusts, Arthur feels confident enough to plug them all in and show them what he's created.
"Eames, could you please stop distracting our architect?" Paul says during one of these practice runs.
"Oh, shut up, Paul," Janet says. "We can explore without Arthur's input."
Arthur makes a noise of protest and pushes at Eames' shoulders, breaking off their kiss so he can explain his ideas. He glares at Eames for his unprofessional behavior, but the glare only seems to make Eames grin wider.
They do a thorough walkthrough of the first dream level, Janet and Paul offering their input on various aspects of the layout. Eames interjects here and there, sticking close to Arthur and distracting him whenever possible. Arthur would reprimand Eames for his unprofessionalism, but he knows he brought this on himself. Next time he teases his hand past Eames' waistband as he waits for his morning coffee to brew, making promises for the following night in between heated kisses, he will make sure it's on a day that Eames can't get away with clinging to him all day. Hindsight is 20/20, and all that.
That night, they've got each other so worked up that they wind up having messy sex on the floor of the kitchen before they even get halfway done making dinner. The pasta isn't fit to eat at that point, so they order pizza and watch old Seinfeld reruns instead.
Arthur hooks in to the PASIV after and spends several hours perfecting the layout of their second dream level. The park has to be much more subtle in its maze, and he's not about to let his team get trapped the way he and Eames were at the shooting range.
"Is this the part where I beg you to stop working and come to bed?" Eames asks, joining him out of nowhere.
"Don't you distract me enough during normal working hours?" Arthur says in fake exasperation. He lets Eames pull him close and doesn't exactly protest when Eames palms at his ass.
"You've been asleep nearly an hour, which means you've been in here nearly twelve. You've done enough. Now come on. I need a shower and so do you, and I read on the internet that it's more resourceful to share."
Arthur fucks him against the wall of the shower, going slow and savoring the feel of Eames clenching down around him. He mouths at Eames' neck as Eames pushes back into Arthur's thrusts, biting down hard enough to leave a mark as his orgasm builds and drowns out everything else.
He soothes the spot with his tongue as he comes down, working his fist over Eames' cock. Eames makes a whining noise and urges Arthur to pull out, twisting around so he can get at Arthur's mouth as they both work their hands over his erection. Arthur lets Eames guide him back against the opposite wall of the shower as the kiss turns filthier and the speed of their hands intensifies, and they're standing directly under the cooling spray of the shower when Eames' mouth goes slack against his and he comes.
Arthur has the intention of telling Eames all about the improvements to the dream as they get into bed, but within five minutes of crawling under the warm covers and pressing up against Eames, he finds his words slurring and his eyes slipping closed.
"Tell me about it in the morning," Eames mumbles, leaning in for a quick, sloppy kiss.
"Just for that, I'm waking you up at seven," Arthur says, but he's feeling too relaxed and well-fucked to get up and set an alarm.
******
For all of the buildup in Arthur's mind regarding the job as it approaches, the job itself is relatively low-key. Everything goes more or less according to plan, and Janet takes the time to thank him for his attention to detail once the information has been passed on to their employer.
Janet heads home after that, but Arthur, Eames and Paul all go out for dinner to celebrate their success.
Paul tries to make a toast when their drinks arrive, but Eames keeps interrupting him to tell Arthur something else from the second level of the dream, which Arthur hadn't been present for. Arthur doesn't think he realizes he's doing it.
There is another pause, and Paul looks just about ready to speak up again, but then Eames raises his beer and meets Arthur's eyes, saying loudly, "To Arthur!"
"You're an asshole," Paul says as Arthur laughs. Still, he holds up his drink and they both look at Arthur to do the same. Arthur ducks his head for a moment, then accepts the toast.
"I'm serious, man," Paul says later around a mouthful of steak. "It is so nice to work with an architect who understands my job. I can't tell you how many times I've been built into a corner because the architect only made room for the extractor to move freely."
"Did no one ever teach you not to talk with your mouth full?" Eames asks, making a mildly disgusted face.
"He's always done that, and no, I know what you mean," Arthur says. "Personally I feel a lot more comfortable building when I know I can trust the people doing the research."
"Why Arthur," Eames says, sharing a look with Paul, "that sounded like a compliment."
Arthur shrugs. "I've worked with far too many architects who wouldn't adjust their layouts to incorporate a key piece of information discovered in the planning stages. That's not the kind of architect I'm going to be."
Actually, he hasn't mentioned this to either of them yet, but he's fairly sure he's only going to build on jobs with either of them on the team. He enjoys the creative process, sure, but he's too much of a perfectionist to let the research fall to someone he's not quite sure he can rely on. It had taken him a while to trust Eames' ability to dig up information, and he's heard enough of Paul's process to know that he's more than competent. With either of them backing him up, designing a dreamscape won't be so difficult.
By the time they reach dessert, Eames' leg is pressed fully up against his under the table. Eames also places his hand on Arthur's knee for good measure while they wait for the check, and when Arthur meets his eyes, he can feel the anticipation running through him.
"You know what, this one's on me," Paul interjects, breaking them from their reverie. "Why don't you crazy kids head home before you do something to get yourselves kicked out of the restaurant."
Eames doesn't have to be told twice, but Arthur takes a moment to say thanks before he lets Eames pull him out of the building. They make out in the back of the cab, even though Arthur normally wouldn't condone that sort of thing. He finds that tonight he doesn't really care.
Inside the apartment, Eames takes him apart piece by piece, murmuring about how much he loves Arthur's suits and kissing every newly exposed bit of skin. Arthur lets him set the pace, his arousal thrumming through him as Eames teases with that gorgeous mouth of his.
"Eames," Arthur says, squirming a bit and threading his fingers through Eames' hair as Eames teases the skin high on his inner thigh. "You don't know how long I've wanted you. Your mouth, jesus."
Eames raises up to look at Arthur properly, his warm breath ghosting over Arthur's cock tantalizingly. Arthur's hips tilt up, seeking that warm heat of their own accord. "Arthur," Eames says roughly. "God, I love seeing you come undone. And to think, I haven't even touched you yet."
"Eames," he says, going for stern and settling for somewhat firm.
"What's the magic word, darling?" Eames says, licking a quick stripe down the length of Arthur's cock.
"Please," Arthur says before he can stop himself, and then he's glad he did because Eames makes an appreciative noise and swallows him down. "Oh jesus fuck."
Eames' mouth is just perfect, and Arthur lets himself get lost in it as he builds up a rhythm. Honestly, he could write sonnets about Eames' mouth, and he's pretty sure he says something to the effect, but then Eames does something with his mouth and Arthur is nudging the back of Eames' throat, oh god.
Arthur can feel himself losing what little control he had left, pushing into Eames' mouth as Eames makes encouraging noises. And then through the haze of everything he registers distantly that the reason the whole bed is shaking is that Eames is working his hand over his own cock, which means that Eames is getting off just from sucking Arthur off, and that single thought is all it takes to push Arthur over the edge, pulling at Eames' hair and coming down his throat.
By the time he's regained coherent thought, Eames has brought himself off and gone to get a towel. When he returns, Arthur makes an unintelligible noise and pulls him back down on the mattress, kissing him thoroughly and tasting himself on Eames' tongue.
"That was," Arthur says, and then stops. "I don't have a word for what that was."
"Incredimazing," Eames suggests, and laughs when Arthur pulls a face. "It was, don't lie." He kisses Arthur again, framing his face with his hands. "I can't even begin to describe what it does to me to see you lose control. One of the many things I love about you is just how precise and contained you are, but to see that wall come down just for me?" He growls his appreciation and worries Arthur's bottom lip with his teeth.
"Why did you do all of this for me?" Arthur asks, thinking of the job, the whole deal with architecture, Eames showing up in his dream in the first place.
Eames makes an exasperated noise. "Arthur, I have cared about you for longer than I'd like to admit, but you're so stubborn, I would be surprised that you ever managed to interact with another human being if I didn't know you better." He purses his lips, a gesture that Arthur has come to realize has nothing to do with lying, but rather with Arthur screwing up. "If you don't know the answer by now, then there's nothing else I can do."
They share a look for the span of a second before Arthur surges forward to kiss Eames. "I'm a fucking idiot," he says with feeling. "I'd like to make it up to you, starting now."
Eames smiles wickedly. "Oh, I think that could be arranged."
******
Two weeks later, Arthur still hasn't managed to move out of the apartment that he was only supposed to have for the one job. In fact, Eames seems to have moved in.
Eames is out for his morning run, though, and Arthur figures it's as good a time as any to work on some sketches he's been thinking about in his spare time. When he pulls out his tools, there's a shiny new compass sitting on top, and Arthur flashes back to the dream again, to the day that Eames had bought him a compass.
The memory surrounds him like a blanket, and he smiles as he remembers how happy he'd been to discover the gift. But this time he doesn't rush off to add the memory to his book. This time the memory is nice, but the reality is better. In the real world, Eames has helped Arthur go back to something he loved, he's had Arthur's back, and he's the person Arthur trusts the most. Arthur rolls his die out on the desk and then smiles as he tucks it back in his pocket.
When Eames gets back from his run, Arthur pulls himself away from the drafting table and hauls Eames in for a kiss.
Eames makes a surprised noise and responds to the kiss warmly. After Arthur breaks away, he raises an eyebrow and asks, "What was that for?"
"Nothing," Arthur says with a smile. "Just happy to be awake."
THE END