Inception - Grace Under Pressure (5/10)
Title: Grace Under Pressure (5/10)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Word count: ~4,100
Pairings/Characters: ArthurxEames
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: mentions of underage, language, mentions of past drug abuse, currently un-betaed
Summary: AU. Sequel to Bite Hard. Arthur reunites with Eames. By the next day, they're living together. Still, with the two of them, there's always the opportunity for things to get complicated.
Part Five
By the time they arrived at the cabin, it was dark outside. The snow had piled high on both sides of the road and was still coming down, but it looked as though someone, probably Cobb, had gone out and shoveled it prior to their arrival.
By that point, Arthur had chain-smoked more than Eames.
"Finally!" Olivia exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air as soon as she threw the car into park. "Let's get out of this fucking car!"
Both seemed to agree, but Eames seemed to take his time getting out. Arthur took him by the arm, locking eyes with him, and Eames shrugged him off.
"Why are you so bloody on edge, Arthur?" he asked. "Relax, would you? I'm going to be on my best behavior for your friends."
"It's not about that, Eames. I'm just… You've just been acting a little weird, and I thought that maybe you just-Don't worry about it. It's just me being OCD. Sorry."
Eames grinned and tapped the tip of Arthur's nose. "You're doing it again, love. Relax, all right? Everything's fine."
Arthur wasn't quite so sure but bit down on his thoughts and kept them to himself.
He wondered when it had gotten to the point that he couldn't tell Eames what was on his mind. Eames used to be the only one he could talk to. He tried to tell himself that of course things would be different now because they weren't the same people as they were five years ago, but…
Arthur's thoughts finally lightened up the moment the door to the cabin swung open. He was immediately pulled into Mal's arms and into the warmth inside, and he smiled contentedly against her shoulder, fingers curling into her long hair.
"Arthur, Arthur, mon cher, mon cher," she cooed, rubbing her hands up and down his back. "Oh, it's been too long. I've missed you."
Arthur kissed her cheek as he pulled back, smiling. "Merry Christmas."
"Joyeux Noel." She kissed both of his cheeks and even pecked his lips in response, leading the group in with laughter and excited chatter.
Eames followed behind slowly, watching as Mal continuously touched Arthur and smiled and hugged him. She was stunning. She was more beautiful than Arthur had told him, more beautiful than she was in her photographs.
Amongst the chaos, Eames did manage to see when the man who must have been Mr. Cobb thrust his hand out at him, looking cheerful but a bit confused. "Hi there," Cobb said, and Eames couldn't help but think that Cobb was quite attractive too. Since Arthur had photographed them, Cobb had apparently decided to start growing his facial hair.
"Hello," Eames replied awkwardly, shaking Cobb's hand firmly. "Ah… I'm Thomas. Arthur invited me."
"Welcome, then," Cobb said, releasing Eames's hand to go shut the door. "Make yourself at home."
Eames nodded and followed the direction of the voices of Olivia, Arthur, and Mal. It turned out they'd made their way into the sitting room, crammed with plush furniture and real wood furniture, where there was some sort of animated Christmas special playing on the television. There was a real pine tree in the corner, covered in blinking lights, tinsel, and sparkly ornaments. It was all extremely festive; reminiscent of the Christmas's Eames had had back in England back when he was a child. The thought doesn't make him sad like it usually would because he sees Arthur there by the tree, colors reflecting onto his skin and the mug of hot chocolate already in his hands, and he's smiling…
He thought it would have been cheesy to claim he went a little weak-kneed, but it was the truth.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Mal said, standing as soon as Eames entered the room. "Oh, I should have introduced myself. I'm so rude. Hello, I'm Mallorie."
Eames took her hand, knelt down, and kissed the top of it. "Enchanté."
Mal giggled, charmed, and her smile was bright and perfect. "Your French pronunciation is quite good, Monsieur-"
"Thomas," Eames replied, winking at Arthur inconspicuously over her shoulder. "I'm Thomas, a good friend of Arthur's from back home. I used to bum around Montmartre when I was a lad and picked up on quite a bit of the language. I'm not fluent by any means, but I do know some basics."
"I didn't know that," Arthur said.
Eames brushed by Mal with a smile to ruffle Arthur's hair. "There are plenty of things you still don't know about me. I wonder how much I don't know about you."
"Don't do that," Arthur grumbled, trying to restore his hair to its un-mussed state.
Eames did it again.
Arthur huffed.
"So, Monsieur Thomas," Mal said, pressing a gentle hand on his shoulder, and Eames was once again taken by her beauty. "How do you know our Arthur?"
"Oh," Eames said as she led him to the couch and sat down, and she had the most radiant smile. "Oh, ah-Arthur and I ah-"
"We met at Starbucks," Arthur finished for him, awkwardly.
They both seemed to notice Olivia turn her eyes on them, so Eames quickly added, "Arthur and I are right good mates. We're both artists, you see. We really connected through that."
"Oh, yes, Arthur is a splendid photographer," Mal said, beaming at the object of her praise. "Do you do photography too, Monsieur Thomas?"
"Oh, please, ma'am, Thomas is fine… Ah… no, no, I never really had a knack for photography. I'm a painter, mostly. Sometimes I draw, use pastels and the like."
"Oh, really? I'd love to see some of your artwork," Mal said. "I painted a bit back in school, but I was never very good at it. I could do still lives, but I never could paint people properly."
"Well, they don't call it an art for nothing," Eames replied, grinning a little proudly. "I'll do a portrait for you tomorrow, if you like. I'm a bit knackered right now after the drive."
"Oh, I understand, I understand," Mal nodded. "Dom, dear, could you get Thomas a drink for me?"
"Sure," Cobb said, nodding. "Arthur, why don't you come with me? I want to show you the renovations we made to the kitchen last summer after you left."
Arthur followed after him, leaving Eames with Mal and Olivia.
As soon as the door flapped shut behind Arthur, Cobb turned on him, squinting unsurely at him.
"What?" Arthur asked, shifting a little uncomfortably under his gaze.
"You thought you could fool me, eh?"
Arthur looked everywhere but at Cobb, heart skipping a beat as he panicked. He irrationally thought that Cobb was about to lecture him about how dangerous Eames was, and how Eames was going to fuck him over, just like Robert had… He feared that Cobb saw what Robert saw that Arthur apparently didn't, and he didn't want to hear it because that meant that maybe there was truth to Robert's words and Arthur really was blinded by love and affection.
That maybe…
"He's your boyfriend, isn't he," Cobb said then, and Arthur fought not to expel the breath he'd been holding too rapidly.
"…kind of… I mean… well, yes. He is."
"He's older than your last boyfriend."
"I always seemed to have an affinity for older men, I guess," Arthur replied awkwardly. He thought that perhaps it was a bad idea to bring that up. "My last few relationships have been kind of… flops. This one is different though."
"So, this one's serious, hm?" Cobb asked, raising his eyebrows.
Arthur nodded, looking at the floor. "Yeah… it is."
"Why are you so downtrodden about that?" Cobb asked, chuckling a little, but even that sound was a little uncertain, like he was worried. "It's a good thing, right?"
"I… I don't know… It's a big step. I guess I'm just freaking out over nothing."
He wanted Cobb to tilt one corner of his lips upward and laugh it off and tell him to stop being silly, but it wasn't what he did. Instead, he furrowed his brow and said, "What is nothing, exactly?"
Arthur didn't want to tell him that he was worried about Eames's weird attitude and slenderness and distant sleepy eyes because they surely must have all been in his head, so instead, he decided to say something else.
"Cobb… if I tell you something, you promise you won't be mad?"
"Depends."
"Promise."
"Okay, fine… I promise."
Arthur looked around like there were eyes all over him, and then he said with a sigh, "That's Eames."
It took Cobb a second to remember who Eames was, but when he did, it was obvious. He raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes and simply said, "What-"
"It's not what you think!" Arthur amended quickly, realizing what it must look like. "It's not like I've been continually seeing him behind your back for years, okay? We really did break up, I swear." He feared that sounded a lot like a lie, even though it wasn't. "We just met up again recently and… and I still had feelings for him, and… well, since I'm legal and all that…"
"You thought you'd give it another shot," Cobb finished for him.
"I didn't… plan on it going this way, but… Yeah. I guess so."
Cobb sighed, running a hand over his hair. "I had a feeling that was him. He was the same age, and he was English, and he was an artist… It sure sounded like him."
"Your memory is ridiculously good," Arthur deadpanned.
"There's no way I could forget that story, not with the way you sounded when you told it."
The sentence caught Arthur off-guard. "What do you mean?" he asked, heart aching a little.
"It was so clear how much he meant to you when you told the story, the way you cried, the look of agony on your face when you talked about how much you wanted to protect him and how touched you were when he took care of you. It was the most emotion I'd ever seen you feel."
"…Oh…" Arthur said, partially blown away. "Oh, well… oh. Okay."
Cobb pressed his palm to Arthur's shoulder, warm even through his jacket and shirt. "I'm only asking this as your friend. Please, just tell me, are you sure, absolutely positive that this is a good idea? That this is real, genuine love? That everything's okay?"
Arthur wanted to cry and throw his arms around Cobb and tell him No, no, I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. I know I love him, but I don't know what to do.
Instead he said, "Yes. I'm sure."
"Then I support you, all right? You know I'm always here for you."
"I know," Arthur said. "Um… could you not tell Mal about all this? I… I'll tell her later… when I'm ready."
"No problem," Cobb said with a smile, grabbing a mug and filling it with hot chocolate. "Here, take this to Eames."
Arthur nodded, wanting to get out of the kitchen and away from Cobb's knowing eyes before he said something he'd regret.
He found the group in the same spot, excitedly talking about favorite artists.
"The kitchen looks really great, Mal," Arthur said as he handed Eames the chocolate. He hadn't even noticed the differences because of his discomfort. "Cobb planned the architecture, but you decorated it, didn't you?"
"You know me so well," Mal said, grinning.
Eames blew on the drink before taking a sip and smiling at Arthur, and Arthur reminded himself that the smile was just for him. It was such a great smile, and Eames loved him.
It did make him feel a little bit better as he took a seat on the side of Eames that Mal wasn't occupying.
"Now," Eames said, following Cobb with his eyes as Cobb took a seat next to Olivia, handing her a mug of cocoa as well, "you've been asking questions of me since we got here, but if I may be so forward, perhaps I could ask you a question, Mrs. Cobb?"
"Of course," she said, cocking her head to the side a little, hands folded in her lap, and Arthur realized that she was looking particularly pretty. She'd always been pretty, but…
Eames appraised her for a moment before saying, "You wouldn't happen to be pregnant, would you?"
Her eyes widened a little, and, just before Arthur was about to smack Eames's arm for making her feel self-conscious about her weight, she smiled meaningfully at Cobb.
"Whoa… what?" Arthur asked, mouth falling open. "Seriously?"
Mal couldn't contain her joy as she nodded vigorously.
"Oh, my God…" Arthur said, stunned.
"Congratulations!" Olivia exclaimed, throwing her arms around Cobb and kissing his mouth unashamedly before running to Mal and doing the same.
Arthur just looked at Eames, still dazed, and said, "How… how did you know that?"
"I have a sixth sense for these sorts of things," Eames whispered, leaning close to Arthur's face. Arthur noticed his pupils seemed small. "Go congratulate your friends."
Arthur made sure they were distracted by the enthusiastic well-wishing from his mother before whispering back, "I'm not kissing you until you're well. I don't want the flu."
"Kissing is hardly what I had in mind for later."
Arthur jumped up then to get away from the draw of Eames's voice. It could sound so terribly hypnotizing and alluring sometimes, and Arthur was pretty sure it'd be awkward if he threw Eames over the coffee table and fucked him there in front of everyone.
Arthur crept out of his room in the middle of the night, padding down the hall in his bare feet, arms folded over his chest in an effort to keep some sort of warmth in his body.
He couldn't sleep.
He'd had a nightmare that he couldn't remember, but he was pretty sure it had something to do with Eames and a hole burned into his chest.
He contemplated going into Eames's room but decided against it, slipping silently down the stairs into the living room where the tree still blinked joyously in the corner. He fixed himself a glass of wine and sipped at it for a while, hoping to get drunk enough to fall asleep again and damn the hangover in the morning.
He nearly spilled his third glass all over the couch when an icy touch pressed against the back of his neck. He managed not to scream as he turned around, thankfully, because it was Eames with mussed hair and sleepy eyes.
"What are you doing down here?" he asked, voice scratchy and thick with sleep. He sniffed and wiped his nose on his arm.
"Couldn't sleep," Arthur replied, holding up the wine glass, "decided to have a drink…"
"Ah," Eames said, nodding. He took the glass and took a swallow of it. "Ooh, that is too sweet for my tastes."
Arthur drained the rest of the glass and set it on the coffee table. "You're not too much a fan of sweet things, are you?"
"I'm a fan of you," Eames replied, coming around to stand in front of Arthur. Even in the dim light of the Christmas tree, he could still see the mischievousness of Eames's smile. "My darling…"
"I told you that I would not kiss you until you weren't sick anymore," Arthur threatened, but it sounded more like he was about to take it back.
"I don't have to kiss you on your mouth," Eames said, grabbing Arthur by the elastic waistband of his pajama pants and pulling him closer.
Arthur's arms unconsciously snaked around his neck, and he pressed their foreheads together. His eyes fluttered close as Eames trailed his hands up his abdomen and chest until his thumbs were resting just below Arthur's ears. His eyebrows furrowed just a little, but it didn't go unnoticed by Eames.
"Something bothering you, love?" he asked quietly, breath puffing against his lips.
"You wouldn't ever lie to me, Eames… would you?" he asked, and his voice was so vulnerable that he barely recognized it.
"What brought this about?" Eames asked, mouthing down his neck, and Arthur breathed out of his nose, feeling the unexpected sensation of the beginnings of a breakdown-chest tightening, sinuses panging slightly, knot forming in his throat.
"I told you… I just worry too much about nothing. I have nothing to worry about, don't I?"
Eames pushed Arthur's t-shirt up off of his chest, kissing lightly there. "You have nothing to worry about," Eames said. "Is it me you're worried about?"
Arthur just made a small sound that sounded almost like a sob, and he clenched and unclenched his hands against Eames's shoulders. "No… No… well… it's just that… it's nothing, it's nothing, Eames."
Eames paused, coming back to his full height, and Arthur opened his eyes to see that Eames was staring deeply into his eyes. It was a look so intent that Arthur wondered if he could see straight through the back of his skull to the tree…
…and then Eames kissed him, languid and chaste and slow, and Arthur no longer cared that Eames was sick and he'd sworn not to kiss him, nor did he care that Eames hadn't answered the question about him lying to him. It was stupid to think that he would.
They loved each other.
Arthur wrapped his arms around Eames's neck and deepened the kiss, and his eyes were squeezed so tightly shut that he was seeing spots, and he was clinging to him desperately… and Arthur was absurdly thinking that if he didn't cling to him, he would lose him forever. The thought terrified him.
Even when he and Eames had been apart, Arthur had still held comfort in the fact that the man was in the world, and suddenly the idea that somehow Eames might not be around made him panic.
He couldn't stand the idea of Eames never running his fingers through his hair again, like he was now… He couldn't stand the idea of him never caressing his skin and making him feel like he was the most treasurable thing on the planet or the idea of never seeing that devilish little smile, hearing that little lilt to his voice when he made lofty suggestions, watching him paint or draw with his tongue in the corner of his mouth while he concentrated, tracing his tattoos with his fingers… to never be able to see his eyes twinkle a little when Arthur said his name…
…to never hear him say darling.
"Shh, shh…"
Arthur's eyes opened, and he looked around frantically only to see Eames's chest. Eames was stroking his hair still, but Arthur was distracted by the choking sobs erupting from his own body, by the way he was violently trembling.
"Arthur, shh… you'll wake everyone up. It's okay…" Eames said soothingly, and Arthur looked up at him, mouth curved into a hard frown, and he couldn't get it to stop because suddenly Eames seemed so much sicker, so much paler, so much thinner…
Eames lifted Arthur into his arms, cradling him to his chest like a child, and Arthur hung on for dear life. "You're a bit squiffy is all it is," he explained, as if he knew what was going on inside Arthur's head, and carried him up the steps to his room, laying him down in his bed, and curling up next to him.
Arthur sniffled, slowly releasing his death grip on Eames's shoulders, and he thought that maybe he was a little drunk (he never could hold his wine well)… but the thoughts of Eames's impermanence lingered. He didn't know where the insane fear had come from, but it was too powerful to contain at that moment, and all he could do was kiss him and kiss him and hope that he didn't feel his last breath slip from his mouth.
They fucked, and Arthur cried pathetically through the whole thing. Eames would wipe his tears away only for them to return and kiss away his shouts of anguish that mixed so confusingly with the physical pleasure.
Afterwards, lying spent, drenched with sweat, and panting, he thought of the time back when he was a teenager, back when he had begged Eames to fuck him simply because he'd wanted to make him happy… simply because he loved him so much and didn't want to be a burden in his life… He had cried the same way that night as he was crying now, desperate and afraid and sensing the makings of a broken heart.
He really wasn't any different than he had been all those years ago. He'd tried so hard to mature and be stronger, to be someone worthwhile, but had he really accomplished anything? ...or was it that he had accomplished his goals only to revert when Eames was there to catch him when he fell and coddle him afterwards?
Eames was almost asleep, but he still leaned in and pressed on kiss to Arthur's wet cheekbone and whispered, "Love you…"
"I love you…" Arthur responded quietly, voice cracking all over, and he buried himself in Eames's arms, reassured by the warmth of his skin and the rise and fall of his chest as his breathing slowed and evened out.
…and he ran his hands up and down Eames's forearms, trying to give some sort of comfort, and… and…
His thumb brushed against what he could have sworn was a puncture mark in the skin, warmer than the rest of the arm…
…but… that surely must have been his imagination.
You worry too much.
It must have been.
Please, just tell me, are you sure, absolutely positive that this is a good idea? That this is real, genuine love? That everything's okay?
Arthur pressed his thumb against the mark in Eames's skin, surely bruising there, and he bit down on his bottom lip.
Just don't come crying to me when he fucks you over.
"Go t'sleep…" Eames mumbled, grunting as he moved his arm away from Arthur's harsh touch to wrap it more gently around his back.
"Eames… you wouldn't lie to me, would you?" he asked, voice a quiet croak.
"Go to sleep," he said more gruffly, and that was the end of it.
Arthur woke up four times having to check to make sure Eames's chest still wasn't burned through before he finally fell asleep for good.
I love you.
OH THE ANGST. DAMN, I'M ALWAYS ANGSTING. On an unrelated note, Elizabeth and the Catapult now owns my soul. This last scene was written completely to their song "Just in Time."
Author: osaki_nana_707
Word count: ~4,100
Pairings/Characters: ArthurxEames
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: mentions of underage, language, mentions of past drug abuse, currently un-betaed
Summary: AU. Sequel to Bite Hard. Arthur reunites with Eames. By the next day, they're living together. Still, with the two of them, there's always the opportunity for things to get complicated.
Part Five
By the time they arrived at the cabin, it was dark outside. The snow had piled high on both sides of the road and was still coming down, but it looked as though someone, probably Cobb, had gone out and shoveled it prior to their arrival.
By that point, Arthur had chain-smoked more than Eames.
"Finally!" Olivia exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air as soon as she threw the car into park. "Let's get out of this fucking car!"
Both seemed to agree, but Eames seemed to take his time getting out. Arthur took him by the arm, locking eyes with him, and Eames shrugged him off.
"Why are you so bloody on edge, Arthur?" he asked. "Relax, would you? I'm going to be on my best behavior for your friends."
"It's not about that, Eames. I'm just… You've just been acting a little weird, and I thought that maybe you just-Don't worry about it. It's just me being OCD. Sorry."
Eames grinned and tapped the tip of Arthur's nose. "You're doing it again, love. Relax, all right? Everything's fine."
Arthur wasn't quite so sure but bit down on his thoughts and kept them to himself.
He wondered when it had gotten to the point that he couldn't tell Eames what was on his mind. Eames used to be the only one he could talk to. He tried to tell himself that of course things would be different now because they weren't the same people as they were five years ago, but…
Arthur's thoughts finally lightened up the moment the door to the cabin swung open. He was immediately pulled into Mal's arms and into the warmth inside, and he smiled contentedly against her shoulder, fingers curling into her long hair.
"Arthur, Arthur, mon cher, mon cher," she cooed, rubbing her hands up and down his back. "Oh, it's been too long. I've missed you."
Arthur kissed her cheek as he pulled back, smiling. "Merry Christmas."
"Joyeux Noel." She kissed both of his cheeks and even pecked his lips in response, leading the group in with laughter and excited chatter.
Eames followed behind slowly, watching as Mal continuously touched Arthur and smiled and hugged him. She was stunning. She was more beautiful than Arthur had told him, more beautiful than she was in her photographs.
Amongst the chaos, Eames did manage to see when the man who must have been Mr. Cobb thrust his hand out at him, looking cheerful but a bit confused. "Hi there," Cobb said, and Eames couldn't help but think that Cobb was quite attractive too. Since Arthur had photographed them, Cobb had apparently decided to start growing his facial hair.
"Hello," Eames replied awkwardly, shaking Cobb's hand firmly. "Ah… I'm Thomas. Arthur invited me."
"Welcome, then," Cobb said, releasing Eames's hand to go shut the door. "Make yourself at home."
Eames nodded and followed the direction of the voices of Olivia, Arthur, and Mal. It turned out they'd made their way into the sitting room, crammed with plush furniture and real wood furniture, where there was some sort of animated Christmas special playing on the television. There was a real pine tree in the corner, covered in blinking lights, tinsel, and sparkly ornaments. It was all extremely festive; reminiscent of the Christmas's Eames had had back in England back when he was a child. The thought doesn't make him sad like it usually would because he sees Arthur there by the tree, colors reflecting onto his skin and the mug of hot chocolate already in his hands, and he's smiling…
He thought it would have been cheesy to claim he went a little weak-kneed, but it was the truth.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Mal said, standing as soon as Eames entered the room. "Oh, I should have introduced myself. I'm so rude. Hello, I'm Mallorie."
Eames took her hand, knelt down, and kissed the top of it. "Enchanté."
Mal giggled, charmed, and her smile was bright and perfect. "Your French pronunciation is quite good, Monsieur-"
"Thomas," Eames replied, winking at Arthur inconspicuously over her shoulder. "I'm Thomas, a good friend of Arthur's from back home. I used to bum around Montmartre when I was a lad and picked up on quite a bit of the language. I'm not fluent by any means, but I do know some basics."
"I didn't know that," Arthur said.
Eames brushed by Mal with a smile to ruffle Arthur's hair. "There are plenty of things you still don't know about me. I wonder how much I don't know about you."
"Don't do that," Arthur grumbled, trying to restore his hair to its un-mussed state.
Eames did it again.
Arthur huffed.
"So, Monsieur Thomas," Mal said, pressing a gentle hand on his shoulder, and Eames was once again taken by her beauty. "How do you know our Arthur?"
"Oh," Eames said as she led him to the couch and sat down, and she had the most radiant smile. "Oh, ah-Arthur and I ah-"
"We met at Starbucks," Arthur finished for him, awkwardly.
They both seemed to notice Olivia turn her eyes on them, so Eames quickly added, "Arthur and I are right good mates. We're both artists, you see. We really connected through that."
"Oh, yes, Arthur is a splendid photographer," Mal said, beaming at the object of her praise. "Do you do photography too, Monsieur Thomas?"
"Oh, please, ma'am, Thomas is fine… Ah… no, no, I never really had a knack for photography. I'm a painter, mostly. Sometimes I draw, use pastels and the like."
"Oh, really? I'd love to see some of your artwork," Mal said. "I painted a bit back in school, but I was never very good at it. I could do still lives, but I never could paint people properly."
"Well, they don't call it an art for nothing," Eames replied, grinning a little proudly. "I'll do a portrait for you tomorrow, if you like. I'm a bit knackered right now after the drive."
"Oh, I understand, I understand," Mal nodded. "Dom, dear, could you get Thomas a drink for me?"
"Sure," Cobb said, nodding. "Arthur, why don't you come with me? I want to show you the renovations we made to the kitchen last summer after you left."
Arthur followed after him, leaving Eames with Mal and Olivia.
As soon as the door flapped shut behind Arthur, Cobb turned on him, squinting unsurely at him.
"What?" Arthur asked, shifting a little uncomfortably under his gaze.
"You thought you could fool me, eh?"
Arthur looked everywhere but at Cobb, heart skipping a beat as he panicked. He irrationally thought that Cobb was about to lecture him about how dangerous Eames was, and how Eames was going to fuck him over, just like Robert had… He feared that Cobb saw what Robert saw that Arthur apparently didn't, and he didn't want to hear it because that meant that maybe there was truth to Robert's words and Arthur really was blinded by love and affection.
That maybe…
"He's your boyfriend, isn't he," Cobb said then, and Arthur fought not to expel the breath he'd been holding too rapidly.
"…kind of… I mean… well, yes. He is."
"He's older than your last boyfriend."
"I always seemed to have an affinity for older men, I guess," Arthur replied awkwardly. He thought that perhaps it was a bad idea to bring that up. "My last few relationships have been kind of… flops. This one is different though."
"So, this one's serious, hm?" Cobb asked, raising his eyebrows.
Arthur nodded, looking at the floor. "Yeah… it is."
"Why are you so downtrodden about that?" Cobb asked, chuckling a little, but even that sound was a little uncertain, like he was worried. "It's a good thing, right?"
"I… I don't know… It's a big step. I guess I'm just freaking out over nothing."
He wanted Cobb to tilt one corner of his lips upward and laugh it off and tell him to stop being silly, but it wasn't what he did. Instead, he furrowed his brow and said, "What is nothing, exactly?"
Arthur didn't want to tell him that he was worried about Eames's weird attitude and slenderness and distant sleepy eyes because they surely must have all been in his head, so instead, he decided to say something else.
"Cobb… if I tell you something, you promise you won't be mad?"
"Depends."
"Promise."
"Okay, fine… I promise."
Arthur looked around like there were eyes all over him, and then he said with a sigh, "That's Eames."
It took Cobb a second to remember who Eames was, but when he did, it was obvious. He raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes and simply said, "What-"
"It's not what you think!" Arthur amended quickly, realizing what it must look like. "It's not like I've been continually seeing him behind your back for years, okay? We really did break up, I swear." He feared that sounded a lot like a lie, even though it wasn't. "We just met up again recently and… and I still had feelings for him, and… well, since I'm legal and all that…"
"You thought you'd give it another shot," Cobb finished for him.
"I didn't… plan on it going this way, but… Yeah. I guess so."
Cobb sighed, running a hand over his hair. "I had a feeling that was him. He was the same age, and he was English, and he was an artist… It sure sounded like him."
"Your memory is ridiculously good," Arthur deadpanned.
"There's no way I could forget that story, not with the way you sounded when you told it."
The sentence caught Arthur off-guard. "What do you mean?" he asked, heart aching a little.
"It was so clear how much he meant to you when you told the story, the way you cried, the look of agony on your face when you talked about how much you wanted to protect him and how touched you were when he took care of you. It was the most emotion I'd ever seen you feel."
"…Oh…" Arthur said, partially blown away. "Oh, well… oh. Okay."
Cobb pressed his palm to Arthur's shoulder, warm even through his jacket and shirt. "I'm only asking this as your friend. Please, just tell me, are you sure, absolutely positive that this is a good idea? That this is real, genuine love? That everything's okay?"
Arthur wanted to cry and throw his arms around Cobb and tell him No, no, I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. I know I love him, but I don't know what to do.
Instead he said, "Yes. I'm sure."
"Then I support you, all right? You know I'm always here for you."
"I know," Arthur said. "Um… could you not tell Mal about all this? I… I'll tell her later… when I'm ready."
"No problem," Cobb said with a smile, grabbing a mug and filling it with hot chocolate. "Here, take this to Eames."
Arthur nodded, wanting to get out of the kitchen and away from Cobb's knowing eyes before he said something he'd regret.
He found the group in the same spot, excitedly talking about favorite artists.
"The kitchen looks really great, Mal," Arthur said as he handed Eames the chocolate. He hadn't even noticed the differences because of his discomfort. "Cobb planned the architecture, but you decorated it, didn't you?"
"You know me so well," Mal said, grinning.
Eames blew on the drink before taking a sip and smiling at Arthur, and Arthur reminded himself that the smile was just for him. It was such a great smile, and Eames loved him.
It did make him feel a little bit better as he took a seat on the side of Eames that Mal wasn't occupying.
"Now," Eames said, following Cobb with his eyes as Cobb took a seat next to Olivia, handing her a mug of cocoa as well, "you've been asking questions of me since we got here, but if I may be so forward, perhaps I could ask you a question, Mrs. Cobb?"
"Of course," she said, cocking her head to the side a little, hands folded in her lap, and Arthur realized that she was looking particularly pretty. She'd always been pretty, but…
Eames appraised her for a moment before saying, "You wouldn't happen to be pregnant, would you?"
Her eyes widened a little, and, just before Arthur was about to smack Eames's arm for making her feel self-conscious about her weight, she smiled meaningfully at Cobb.
"Whoa… what?" Arthur asked, mouth falling open. "Seriously?"
Mal couldn't contain her joy as she nodded vigorously.
"Oh, my God…" Arthur said, stunned.
"Congratulations!" Olivia exclaimed, throwing her arms around Cobb and kissing his mouth unashamedly before running to Mal and doing the same.
Arthur just looked at Eames, still dazed, and said, "How… how did you know that?"
"I have a sixth sense for these sorts of things," Eames whispered, leaning close to Arthur's face. Arthur noticed his pupils seemed small. "Go congratulate your friends."
Arthur made sure they were distracted by the enthusiastic well-wishing from his mother before whispering back, "I'm not kissing you until you're well. I don't want the flu."
"Kissing is hardly what I had in mind for later."
Arthur jumped up then to get away from the draw of Eames's voice. It could sound so terribly hypnotizing and alluring sometimes, and Arthur was pretty sure it'd be awkward if he threw Eames over the coffee table and fucked him there in front of everyone.
Arthur crept out of his room in the middle of the night, padding down the hall in his bare feet, arms folded over his chest in an effort to keep some sort of warmth in his body.
He couldn't sleep.
He'd had a nightmare that he couldn't remember, but he was pretty sure it had something to do with Eames and a hole burned into his chest.
He contemplated going into Eames's room but decided against it, slipping silently down the stairs into the living room where the tree still blinked joyously in the corner. He fixed himself a glass of wine and sipped at it for a while, hoping to get drunk enough to fall asleep again and damn the hangover in the morning.
He nearly spilled his third glass all over the couch when an icy touch pressed against the back of his neck. He managed not to scream as he turned around, thankfully, because it was Eames with mussed hair and sleepy eyes.
"What are you doing down here?" he asked, voice scratchy and thick with sleep. He sniffed and wiped his nose on his arm.
"Couldn't sleep," Arthur replied, holding up the wine glass, "decided to have a drink…"
"Ah," Eames said, nodding. He took the glass and took a swallow of it. "Ooh, that is too sweet for my tastes."
Arthur drained the rest of the glass and set it on the coffee table. "You're not too much a fan of sweet things, are you?"
"I'm a fan of you," Eames replied, coming around to stand in front of Arthur. Even in the dim light of the Christmas tree, he could still see the mischievousness of Eames's smile. "My darling…"
"I told you that I would not kiss you until you weren't sick anymore," Arthur threatened, but it sounded more like he was about to take it back.
"I don't have to kiss you on your mouth," Eames said, grabbing Arthur by the elastic waistband of his pajama pants and pulling him closer.
Arthur's arms unconsciously snaked around his neck, and he pressed their foreheads together. His eyes fluttered close as Eames trailed his hands up his abdomen and chest until his thumbs were resting just below Arthur's ears. His eyebrows furrowed just a little, but it didn't go unnoticed by Eames.
"Something bothering you, love?" he asked quietly, breath puffing against his lips.
"You wouldn't ever lie to me, Eames… would you?" he asked, and his voice was so vulnerable that he barely recognized it.
"What brought this about?" Eames asked, mouthing down his neck, and Arthur breathed out of his nose, feeling the unexpected sensation of the beginnings of a breakdown-chest tightening, sinuses panging slightly, knot forming in his throat.
"I told you… I just worry too much about nothing. I have nothing to worry about, don't I?"
Eames pushed Arthur's t-shirt up off of his chest, kissing lightly there. "You have nothing to worry about," Eames said. "Is it me you're worried about?"
Arthur just made a small sound that sounded almost like a sob, and he clenched and unclenched his hands against Eames's shoulders. "No… No… well… it's just that… it's nothing, it's nothing, Eames."
Eames paused, coming back to his full height, and Arthur opened his eyes to see that Eames was staring deeply into his eyes. It was a look so intent that Arthur wondered if he could see straight through the back of his skull to the tree…
…and then Eames kissed him, languid and chaste and slow, and Arthur no longer cared that Eames was sick and he'd sworn not to kiss him, nor did he care that Eames hadn't answered the question about him lying to him. It was stupid to think that he would.
They loved each other.
Arthur wrapped his arms around Eames's neck and deepened the kiss, and his eyes were squeezed so tightly shut that he was seeing spots, and he was clinging to him desperately… and Arthur was absurdly thinking that if he didn't cling to him, he would lose him forever. The thought terrified him.
Even when he and Eames had been apart, Arthur had still held comfort in the fact that the man was in the world, and suddenly the idea that somehow Eames might not be around made him panic.
He couldn't stand the idea of Eames never running his fingers through his hair again, like he was now… He couldn't stand the idea of him never caressing his skin and making him feel like he was the most treasurable thing on the planet or the idea of never seeing that devilish little smile, hearing that little lilt to his voice when he made lofty suggestions, watching him paint or draw with his tongue in the corner of his mouth while he concentrated, tracing his tattoos with his fingers… to never be able to see his eyes twinkle a little when Arthur said his name…
…to never hear him say darling.
"Shh, shh…"
Arthur's eyes opened, and he looked around frantically only to see Eames's chest. Eames was stroking his hair still, but Arthur was distracted by the choking sobs erupting from his own body, by the way he was violently trembling.
"Arthur, shh… you'll wake everyone up. It's okay…" Eames said soothingly, and Arthur looked up at him, mouth curved into a hard frown, and he couldn't get it to stop because suddenly Eames seemed so much sicker, so much paler, so much thinner…
Eames lifted Arthur into his arms, cradling him to his chest like a child, and Arthur hung on for dear life. "You're a bit squiffy is all it is," he explained, as if he knew what was going on inside Arthur's head, and carried him up the steps to his room, laying him down in his bed, and curling up next to him.
Arthur sniffled, slowly releasing his death grip on Eames's shoulders, and he thought that maybe he was a little drunk (he never could hold his wine well)… but the thoughts of Eames's impermanence lingered. He didn't know where the insane fear had come from, but it was too powerful to contain at that moment, and all he could do was kiss him and kiss him and hope that he didn't feel his last breath slip from his mouth.
They fucked, and Arthur cried pathetically through the whole thing. Eames would wipe his tears away only for them to return and kiss away his shouts of anguish that mixed so confusingly with the physical pleasure.
Afterwards, lying spent, drenched with sweat, and panting, he thought of the time back when he was a teenager, back when he had begged Eames to fuck him simply because he'd wanted to make him happy… simply because he loved him so much and didn't want to be a burden in his life… He had cried the same way that night as he was crying now, desperate and afraid and sensing the makings of a broken heart.
He really wasn't any different than he had been all those years ago. He'd tried so hard to mature and be stronger, to be someone worthwhile, but had he really accomplished anything? ...or was it that he had accomplished his goals only to revert when Eames was there to catch him when he fell and coddle him afterwards?
Eames was almost asleep, but he still leaned in and pressed on kiss to Arthur's wet cheekbone and whispered, "Love you…"
"I love you…" Arthur responded quietly, voice cracking all over, and he buried himself in Eames's arms, reassured by the warmth of his skin and the rise and fall of his chest as his breathing slowed and evened out.
…and he ran his hands up and down Eames's forearms, trying to give some sort of comfort, and… and…
His thumb brushed against what he could have sworn was a puncture mark in the skin, warmer than the rest of the arm…
…but… that surely must have been his imagination.
You worry too much.
It must have been.
Please, just tell me, are you sure, absolutely positive that this is a good idea? That this is real, genuine love? That everything's okay?
Arthur pressed his thumb against the mark in Eames's skin, surely bruising there, and he bit down on his bottom lip.
Just don't come crying to me when he fucks you over.
"Go t'sleep…" Eames mumbled, grunting as he moved his arm away from Arthur's harsh touch to wrap it more gently around his back.
"Eames… you wouldn't lie to me, would you?" he asked, voice a quiet croak.
"Go to sleep," he said more gruffly, and that was the end of it.
Arthur woke up four times having to check to make sure Eames's chest still wasn't burned through before he finally fell asleep for good.
I love you.
OH THE ANGST. DAMN, I'M ALWAYS ANGSTING. On an unrelated note, Elizabeth and the Catapult now owns my soul. This last scene was written completely to their song "Just in Time."