Inception - Grace Under Pressure (7/10)
Title: Grace Under Pressure (7/10)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Word count: ~4,200
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 Seven
Eames was lounging on his bed and making a great effort not to scratch his infected spot when Arthur came in. It was evening, and everyone had gone off to bed. Eames had assumed Arthur would be unconscious for the night, snoozing on the couch and only pissy and complaining in the morning when he was hungover and sore.
"Are you hungover?" Eames asked, removing the cigarette from between his lips and putting it out in the ashtray.
Arthur shook his head, leaning against the doorjamb. "No… I'm still a little drunk, honestly."
"Well, at least you're coherent," Eames said. "Come to bed. Sleep it off."
Arthur stumbled across the room and collapsed onto the mattress next to Eames. He mumbled into the pillow for a moment before raising his head. "What did I come in here for?"
"Sex?" Eames queried.
Arthur furrowed his brow, thinking, and then shook his head. "No… I… Oh, yeah..." He dug in his pocket until he produced a small, wrapped box. "Merry Christmas, Eames."
"You got me a gift?" Eames asked, smiling delightedly, unable to help himself. He had felt a little left out during the exchange earlier. "Why didn't you give it to me earlier?"
"I just wanted it to be us," Arthur replied, sitting cross-legged with his hands on his ankles. "Go ahead and open it."
Eames undid the wrapping, laughing lightly. "It's a little box. It's not an engagement ring, is it?"
"No, it isn't," Arthur deadpanned, ears tinting just a little.
Eames opened the box and found inside a pair of dog tags on a chain. "Ooh," he said, tossing aside the box to examine them more closely.
One of them had his name, THOMAS EAMES, engraved across it while the other had Arthur's name on it.
On the back of the Eames tag were the words: Fell in your opinion
On the back of the Arthur tag were the words: when I fell in love with you.
"Do you remember?" Arthur asked quietly.
Eames clutched the dog tags in his hand and looked up at Arthur, touched. "Of course I do."
"I… I didn't really know what to get you. I mean, if you don't like it-"
Eames shut him up with a kiss. "I love them, darling. It's the best thing you could have ever given me. Thank you…" he slipped them over his neck and admired them glinting in the dim light of the room. "I feel like such a tosser because I haven't gotten you anything. Fuck, I should have-I'm the worst boyfriend ever."
"You didn't need to get me anything," Arthur said, fiddling with the chain. "I know you don't have a lot of money. Besides, you've already given me so much… I mean, you made me the person I am. You helped me live again, and now I'm happy and following my dreams. I'm having dreams. What more could I ask of you other than to be here with me?"
"…and you thought I was cheesy," Eames said, but he actually had tears in his eyes. He didn't know why it hit him so hard, but it did, right to his heart… and as he leaned in to kiss Arthur again, he whispered, "You're too bloody good for me."
"It's too bad I don't want anyone else," Arthur said back, and Eames shoved him down onto the bed, kissing him fiercely. He didn't let up until Arthur was writhing underneath him, moaning between Eames's lips.
"What would you like for me to do, darling? I'll fuck you however which way you like. I'll even let you fuck me. Tell me what you want."
Arthur shook his head, signaling that he either no longer remembered how to speak or no longer cared what Eames did as long as he did something. With the awkward bulge in his pants and keening sounds, Eames had a feeling it was a bit of both.
Eames slowly lifted Arthur up off the mattress, pulling his shirt off of him and tossing it to the floor. He worked Arthur's pants and underwear off of him and added them to the pile and pecked his lips again.
"Tell me what you want, love," he said again, combing a hand through Arthur's hair, admiring the way the light jumped off of his skin.
Arthur swallowed hard and took a deep breath, calming himself, and his eyes sparked with nervousness. "Just fuck-Eames, please."
Eames grinned, kissing him again before crawling off of the mattress to get the supplies from his bag.
Arthur sat back on the mattress, watching him, and he demanded, just as Eames was crawling back onto the bed, "Take off your clothes."
Eames raised his eyebrows at Arthur. "So direct," he said.
Something unreadable glinted in Arthur's eyes behind the heavy clouds of lust.
Eames shrugged and pulled his shirt off, scrubbing his head with his hand once he was free. "Any other demands, darling?" he asked as he unbuttoned his pants. It was only as he was pulling them down, the fabric scraping against the back of his knee, that he remembered the infected area.
"Is something wrong?" Arthur asked. His voice sounded more suspicious than concerned.
"Not at all," Eames lied easily, dropping his pants and stepping out of them. He crept back onto the bed, pushing Arthur back down, pinning his hands down while he layered kisses over his torso. Arthur arched, trying to get some sort of friction, but Eames held him down with his good knee, smiling teasingly against the skin before sitting back on his haunches.
Pain burned behind his knee, but he did his best not to let it show on his face. He grabbed the lubricant off of the bedspread and squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers, and Arthur just lay there open-mouthed when Eames reached around behind and slipped one inside himself rather than inside Arthur.
"What are you doing?" Arthur asked, confused but intrigued by the shift in Eames's expression as he slipped another finger inside.
"Thought we'd try something new," Eames said, wincing at the pleasurable burn and the not-so-pleasurable one. He stretched himself for a little bit longer before removing his hand and ripping open the condom wrapper with his teeth. He'd been behaving himself when it came to Arthur wanting protection, at least most of the time, and he figured he'd keep it up since it was Christmas and all, and Arthur deserved to get what he wanted.
"Wait, you're going to-" Arthur stammered as Eames rolled the condom onto Arthur's prick, kissing just below his bellybutton. "…but… I've never…"
"Love, what did I tell you about worrying too much?" Eames gently chastised. "You're going to enjoy this, I promise."
…and, before Arthur could say anything else, Eames lined himself up with Arthur's member and dropped down, taking it all in one go.
Arthur made a strangled sound, eyes bulging.
"How does it feel, darling?" Eames asked roughly. It had been a long time since he'd found himself on the receiving end.
"Holy shit," Arthur gasped.
"I thought you might-nn-like that." He lifted himself and dropped himself again, and it caused Eames to growl, blinking back stars from the pain. It really hurt to bend his knee.
Eames rode Arthur for a few more moments, getting noises out of Arthur that he'd never heard from him before, and then Arthur scrambled to shove Eames over so he could get a better angle and have control. Eames fell upon the mattress and moaned while Arthur slammed into him, hands gripping desperately to his forearms, bruising with his thumbs and-
Wait, why was he doing that?
He didn't really have time to think about it because he could tell by the way Arthur was becoming more frantic that he was close to falling over the edge. Arthur had already been close when they started, dizzy with alcohol, and Eames pulled at least one of his arms away from Arthur's grip to stroke himself, panting as he felt it rising in him too, quickly. He was happy he hadn't shot up since the day before, since the heroin usually put a damper on his sex drive (usually, but not always), and fuck, it just felt good. It didn't feel as good as it did fucking into Arthur, but it still felt fantastic…
…It certainly felt better than the pathetic little high he got from the drugs that went away far too soon to be of any sort of quality…
It was another one of those weird thoughts that just popped up in his head randomly, but oddly enough, this one didn't depress him like so many of them did.
He didn't dwell on it, instead choosing to watch Arthur as his hips stuttered, his mouth hanging open, his eyes squeezing shut, and then he was climaxing, trembling as wave after wave crashed against him. It was enough to make Eames fall off of the edge as well, and the next thing he knew, he was clearing the fuzziness from his body to find Arthur collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily, slick with sweat and sticky with Eames's come.
"Not bad, yeah?" Eames asked, and Arthur smacked his pectoral playfully. "We can switch it up now and then from now on if you like."
Arthur rolled off of him, chest still heaving, and stared up at the ceiling. "I… prefer it when you fuck me, actually," he admitted.
Eames propped himself up on an elbow, looking at Arthur curiously. "Is that so?"
Arthur nodded, eyes sliding shut. "Yeah… I like that… I like the way you make such an effort to please me… Actually, it's kind of like dancing, you know? Hear me out, I'm not that drunk-" he paused to let Eames laugh. "Like… okay, yeah, I am that drunk, but anyway, it's like dancing 'cause, like, the guy is the one who gets to lead, but really it's the girl in the dance that has all the control. Right?"
"Darling, you don't even dance," Eames chuckled, kissing his cheek.
"I could if I wanted to. We should take dance classes… No wait… that would suck. Would I have to wear heels? I'd look really dumb in heels."
"I think you'd look delectable in heels. Go to sleep, pet. You are drunk off your arse."
"Eames," Arthur slurred, clearly well on his way to sleeping. "You wouldn't lie to me, would you?"
Eames combed a hair behind Arthur's ear like he had earlier, and his knee ached. His heart ached more, guilt blossoming in his chest. "Why do you keep asking me that?" he asked quietly, and he didn't like the way his voice cracked a bit in the middle.
…but Arthur didn't respond.
He was already asleep.
Arthur woke up in the middle of the night to find himself cleaned up and tucked in next to Eames, who was snoring rather loudly since his nose was clogged up (as per usual these days).
Arthur pulled himself out of the warmth of the covers almost regrettably and grabbed his glasses off of the side table. There were no lights on in the room, but the snow outside was bright, its soft white surface reflecting the light of the moon to cast a cool blue glow across the floor, making it easy enough to see.
He lightly touched Eames, to see if there was any response. He only snorted, swallowed, smacked his lips, and went back to snoring.
Arthur looked at the door, paranoid, and turned back, grabbing Eames by the arm.
His arm was clear. He checked the other one, and there was also nothing.
He sighed, crawling out of bed, pulled on his underwear and a t-shirt, and made his way to his bedroom.
He dug his laptop out of his bag and opened a browser.
"Okay," he said to himself, taking a deep breath and letting it out. "Don't panic… Just… okay…"
He typed into Google: symptoms of heroin abuse
He was just scanning an article when there was a light knock on his door, startling him into closing the website and slamming the laptop shut.
His mother stood in the doorway with slept in hair, squinting at him in the dim light. "Couldn't sleep, baby?" she asked.
"Oh… um…" he stammered, heart still hammering against his chest from the fear that he'd almost been discovered. "Yeah. I guess. What are you doing up?"
"I couldn't sleep either," she replied, padding inside to sit down on the mattress next to him. "I didn't shake you up too badly, did I?"
"Ah, sorry, you-It's no big deal. I was just-I thought I was the only one awake in the house, and I was startled."
If she knew that he blabbered when he was nervous, she didn't call him on it. Instead, she said, "So… Is something keeping you awake? Bad dreams?"
It's reality that's freaking me out, actually.
"Ah… I guess. I don't know."
"Is it Eames? You guys seemed a little uncomfortable around each other this week, or is it always like that?"
No, it wasn't always like that. Eames used to be the only person he could be comfortable around. Arthur remembered how he hadn't felt awkward in his skin five years ago, wandering around the man's apartment stark naked, how he'd bared himself both physically and mentally to him without an ounce of regret.
"I think we're just kind of awkward right now," Arthur decided to say, staring at his hands in his lap so he wouldn't have to look at her. "This relationship's still pretty new, and I've been insecure about him meeting my friends and family. I think he must have been kind of nervous too, so we've been walking on eggshells mostly."
"He seems like the kind of guy who's always walking on eggshells."
Arthur glanced at her sidelong, suddenly defensive. "What's that supposed to mean?"
She shrugged, shaking her head. "I don't know, Arthur. I like Eames, I really do, but something about him just hasn't been sitting right with me. The longer I'm around him, the more I'm beginning to wonder what's going on."
Arthur sighed. "I know what you mean…" he mumbled, carding a hand through his hair. "Something's not right, but… don't worry about it. He's probably just going through some stuff right now. Maybe he just has issues with the holidays. He hasn't seen his family in over five years, you know. Maybe it has something to do with that."
She nodded, the answer seeming to satisfy her. Arthur just wished he'd felt the same.
"He doesn't hurt you, does he?" she asked then.
Arthur blinked, surprise washing over his features, and he almost laughed. "What? No… I mean, we've argued before, but he doesn't hurt me physically or anything like that. That's ridiculous."
She smiled, relieved. "Good. I just felt like I needed to make sure. I gotta look out for you, you know?"
"No, you don't," Arthur said with a half-smile. "I'm an adult now."
"You'll always be a kid to me, babe," she chuckled, smacking his shoulder. "It's part of the whole 'Mom' thing."
Arthur pretended to be comforted by the shoulder hug and the kiss on the cheek, and he waited for her to get up and wander back to her room with a sleepy goodnight before opening his laptop again and searching.
In the end, he ended up bookmarking some websites, but nothing he found led to solid answers. The possibility that Eames really did just have the flu made just as much sense as the idea that he might be using again. The sites on the internet just weren't conclusive enough, especially when he knew how unreliable the internet could be. He didn't know what to believe or not to believe, and it left him just as confused as before, if not even more unsure.
By the time morning arrived, he'd fallen asleep sideways on his mattress with his laptop on his stomach.
He only knew one thing.
To confirm his suspicions, he'd have to find Eames's stash.
It was the day that they were leaving. The snowstorms had cleared out, making it sunny and melting the inches already on the ground. Arthur had kept his eyes peeled for two days trying to find any suspicious (well more suspicious) activity on Eames's end, but it seemed that Eames was doing just fine. Arthur hadn't caught him sneaking away to be by himself at all, and while that didn't mean he wasn't doing it, it put some of Arthur's thoughts to rest.
Maybe he really was imagining things.
Still, he needed to be sure.
What Arthur didn't know was that Eames was down to the last dwindling bits of his stash and was trying to make it last. Arthur didn't know that Eames hadn't actually been sleeping for the past two nights because he was sweating and restless, and his legs kept spasming, and he swore he kept seeing things in the shadows. He was a hell of an actor, so he put on his best face and pretended it wasn't happening, and Arthur fell for it. For some reason, that didn't make him feel good. He wasn't even relieved when the infection behind his knee had mostly moved out, only leaving a slightly red, itchy spot in its wake.
Arthur didn't know that Eames was panicking just a little because he was almost out of heroin not just because he wanted more but because it should have been enough to last him. It should have been more than enough.
Eames was scared to know what that meant, and that didn't help him sleep either.
He was dozing on the couch, sitting up, hand still curled into some of Mal's hair while she sat next to him, sewing, when Arthur excused himself to go to the bathroom.
He climbed the stairs as silently as he could and then immediately darted to Eames's room. His hands trembled, but he found his resolve, and started searching. He dug through his pile of dirty clothes, flipped through page after page of his sketchbooks. All he found there were some rather horrifying sketches of screaming faces, completely scribbled out pages, and drawings of wounded or lopped off body parts, all in between pretty portraits of everyone in the house. Even his sketchbook was bipolar, apparently.
He opened Eames's suitcase, hands trembling, and looked through the few "clean" (they certainly didn't appear that clean but at least cleaner than the others) clothes left. He opened Eames's shampoo bottle and then his conditioner bottle and found nothing. "Fuck," he whispered, searching the clothes again. He shut the suitcase, ready to open the smaller pouch on the front when-
"What are you doing?"
Arthur completely froze. His heart leapt up into his throat, rendering him momentarily speechless.
"I said what are you doing?" Eames asked from the doorway, and his voice was unrecognizably low.
"I…" Arthur began after swallowing. "I was just… uh…"
"Why are you going through my things?" he asked, taking a step into the room, and Arthur felt a shred of panic start bubbling in his stomach.
"I-I wasn't," Arthur said, shaking his head, smiling nervously as he stood, stepping away from the bag. "I was just uh… I was looking for a shirt to wear-"
"You're already wearing a shirt."
"Ah… but um… yeah, but this one's uncomfortable."
Arthur really was a terrible liar.
…but really, it'd be difficult to not sound frantic with Eames standing there looking the way he did. His eyes were so dark they looked black, his mouth curled into a sneer, the dark shadows around his eyes making him appear more dangerous. Arthur could practically feel hatred emanating off of him, and he wasn't sure what to do. Eames had shut the door to the room, the only exit.
"You're snooping," Eames said darkly. "Why are you going through my things, Arthur?"
"I'm sorry, I just thought-"
Eames shoved Arthur, and he stumbled backwards. He shoved him again, and then Arthur's back met the wall. Eames planted his hand on Arthur's chest, making it impossible for him to move. "What were you thinking, exactly?" Eames asked, leaning in closely, and Arthur could see from the proximity that Eames was sweating and looking somewhat crazed, as if he hadn't slept.
"Your pupils are dilated," Arthur said quietly.
"I don't go through your things," Eames continued irritably and then tacked on desperately, "Do you hate me? Why do you hate me?"
"I don't hate you," Arthur replied, horrified, shoving at Eames. "Let go of me."
"Don't… Don't lie to me," Eames growled, and his voice cracked as he said it. "I've seen the way you look at me. This is all just a big fucking game to you, isn't it? You're trying to get me attached so you can leave me in the dust, aren't you? You are!"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Arthur said back, voice rising a half-octave in his panic. "You're out of your mind-"
I don't bloody deserve you.
Arthur wasn't sure why he thought it, but then Eames was slamming his fist on Arthur's chest, babbling about how he was a liar.
"Bloody liar… bloody, fucking liar," Eames said, and there were tears but no sobs, and Arthur was confused and alarmed and being held against the wall this way was way too similar to that one time five years ago when…
"Get the fuck off of me!" he shouted, and he punched Eames in the nose.
Eames gave way a lot quicker than Arthur expected, crumpling to the floor with his hands over his nose.
Arthur stared in shock at what he'd done, fist still extended in front of him, a smear of blood across his knuckles.
Eames looked up at Arthur, and the hatred and irritability was gone, replaced with a stunned, brokenhearted silence, as if Arthur had just confirmed what Eames had been saying. His nose was gushing blood, and the redness made his skin only look more washed out, and it was like that red was the only color in the room.
"Oh, my God…" Arthur stammered, taking a cautious step forward. "I… I'm so sorry-I-"
"Get out!" Eames spat. "Leave me alone!"
"Eames-"
"Get the fuck out or I'll bloody-I'll…" he lowered his head to his knees. "I'll fucking kill you."
There was a side of Arthur that knew he didn't mean it, but the sentence still made his blood run cold. He turned on his heel, swinging the door open and leaving as quickly as he could, heatedly walking each step to find everyone else in the cabin on their way up to find out where the shouting had come from.
"Arthur, what's wrong?" Cobb asked.
Arthur never stopped his stride as he passed him, mumbling, "Eames is sick."
He didn't stop until he was a mile down the road, standing and shivering in the snow because the adrenaline had made him forget his jacket… and then he cried.
Author: osaki_nana_707
Word count: ~4,200
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 Seven
Eames was lounging on his bed and making a great effort not to scratch his infected spot when Arthur came in. It was evening, and everyone had gone off to bed. Eames had assumed Arthur would be unconscious for the night, snoozing on the couch and only pissy and complaining in the morning when he was hungover and sore.
"Are you hungover?" Eames asked, removing the cigarette from between his lips and putting it out in the ashtray.
Arthur shook his head, leaning against the doorjamb. "No… I'm still a little drunk, honestly."
"Well, at least you're coherent," Eames said. "Come to bed. Sleep it off."
Arthur stumbled across the room and collapsed onto the mattress next to Eames. He mumbled into the pillow for a moment before raising his head. "What did I come in here for?"
"Sex?" Eames queried.
Arthur furrowed his brow, thinking, and then shook his head. "No… I… Oh, yeah..." He dug in his pocket until he produced a small, wrapped box. "Merry Christmas, Eames."
"You got me a gift?" Eames asked, smiling delightedly, unable to help himself. He had felt a little left out during the exchange earlier. "Why didn't you give it to me earlier?"
"I just wanted it to be us," Arthur replied, sitting cross-legged with his hands on his ankles. "Go ahead and open it."
Eames undid the wrapping, laughing lightly. "It's a little box. It's not an engagement ring, is it?"
"No, it isn't," Arthur deadpanned, ears tinting just a little.
Eames opened the box and found inside a pair of dog tags on a chain. "Ooh," he said, tossing aside the box to examine them more closely.
One of them had his name, THOMAS EAMES, engraved across it while the other had Arthur's name on it.
On the back of the Eames tag were the words: Fell in your opinion
On the back of the Arthur tag were the words: when I fell in love with you.
"Do you remember?" Arthur asked quietly.
Eames clutched the dog tags in his hand and looked up at Arthur, touched. "Of course I do."
"I… I didn't really know what to get you. I mean, if you don't like it-"
Eames shut him up with a kiss. "I love them, darling. It's the best thing you could have ever given me. Thank you…" he slipped them over his neck and admired them glinting in the dim light of the room. "I feel like such a tosser because I haven't gotten you anything. Fuck, I should have-I'm the worst boyfriend ever."
"You didn't need to get me anything," Arthur said, fiddling with the chain. "I know you don't have a lot of money. Besides, you've already given me so much… I mean, you made me the person I am. You helped me live again, and now I'm happy and following my dreams. I'm having dreams. What more could I ask of you other than to be here with me?"
"…and you thought I was cheesy," Eames said, but he actually had tears in his eyes. He didn't know why it hit him so hard, but it did, right to his heart… and as he leaned in to kiss Arthur again, he whispered, "You're too bloody good for me."
"It's too bad I don't want anyone else," Arthur said back, and Eames shoved him down onto the bed, kissing him fiercely. He didn't let up until Arthur was writhing underneath him, moaning between Eames's lips.
"What would you like for me to do, darling? I'll fuck you however which way you like. I'll even let you fuck me. Tell me what you want."
Arthur shook his head, signaling that he either no longer remembered how to speak or no longer cared what Eames did as long as he did something. With the awkward bulge in his pants and keening sounds, Eames had a feeling it was a bit of both.
Eames slowly lifted Arthur up off the mattress, pulling his shirt off of him and tossing it to the floor. He worked Arthur's pants and underwear off of him and added them to the pile and pecked his lips again.
"Tell me what you want, love," he said again, combing a hand through Arthur's hair, admiring the way the light jumped off of his skin.
Arthur swallowed hard and took a deep breath, calming himself, and his eyes sparked with nervousness. "Just fuck-Eames, please."
Eames grinned, kissing him again before crawling off of the mattress to get the supplies from his bag.
Arthur sat back on the mattress, watching him, and he demanded, just as Eames was crawling back onto the bed, "Take off your clothes."
Eames raised his eyebrows at Arthur. "So direct," he said.
Something unreadable glinted in Arthur's eyes behind the heavy clouds of lust.
Eames shrugged and pulled his shirt off, scrubbing his head with his hand once he was free. "Any other demands, darling?" he asked as he unbuttoned his pants. It was only as he was pulling them down, the fabric scraping against the back of his knee, that he remembered the infected area.
"Is something wrong?" Arthur asked. His voice sounded more suspicious than concerned.
"Not at all," Eames lied easily, dropping his pants and stepping out of them. He crept back onto the bed, pushing Arthur back down, pinning his hands down while he layered kisses over his torso. Arthur arched, trying to get some sort of friction, but Eames held him down with his good knee, smiling teasingly against the skin before sitting back on his haunches.
Pain burned behind his knee, but he did his best not to let it show on his face. He grabbed the lubricant off of the bedspread and squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers, and Arthur just lay there open-mouthed when Eames reached around behind and slipped one inside himself rather than inside Arthur.
"What are you doing?" Arthur asked, confused but intrigued by the shift in Eames's expression as he slipped another finger inside.
"Thought we'd try something new," Eames said, wincing at the pleasurable burn and the not-so-pleasurable one. He stretched himself for a little bit longer before removing his hand and ripping open the condom wrapper with his teeth. He'd been behaving himself when it came to Arthur wanting protection, at least most of the time, and he figured he'd keep it up since it was Christmas and all, and Arthur deserved to get what he wanted.
"Wait, you're going to-" Arthur stammered as Eames rolled the condom onto Arthur's prick, kissing just below his bellybutton. "…but… I've never…"
"Love, what did I tell you about worrying too much?" Eames gently chastised. "You're going to enjoy this, I promise."
…and, before Arthur could say anything else, Eames lined himself up with Arthur's member and dropped down, taking it all in one go.
Arthur made a strangled sound, eyes bulging.
"How does it feel, darling?" Eames asked roughly. It had been a long time since he'd found himself on the receiving end.
"Holy shit," Arthur gasped.
"I thought you might-nn-like that." He lifted himself and dropped himself again, and it caused Eames to growl, blinking back stars from the pain. It really hurt to bend his knee.
Eames rode Arthur for a few more moments, getting noises out of Arthur that he'd never heard from him before, and then Arthur scrambled to shove Eames over so he could get a better angle and have control. Eames fell upon the mattress and moaned while Arthur slammed into him, hands gripping desperately to his forearms, bruising with his thumbs and-
Wait, why was he doing that?
He didn't really have time to think about it because he could tell by the way Arthur was becoming more frantic that he was close to falling over the edge. Arthur had already been close when they started, dizzy with alcohol, and Eames pulled at least one of his arms away from Arthur's grip to stroke himself, panting as he felt it rising in him too, quickly. He was happy he hadn't shot up since the day before, since the heroin usually put a damper on his sex drive (usually, but not always), and fuck, it just felt good. It didn't feel as good as it did fucking into Arthur, but it still felt fantastic…
…It certainly felt better than the pathetic little high he got from the drugs that went away far too soon to be of any sort of quality…
It was another one of those weird thoughts that just popped up in his head randomly, but oddly enough, this one didn't depress him like so many of them did.
He didn't dwell on it, instead choosing to watch Arthur as his hips stuttered, his mouth hanging open, his eyes squeezing shut, and then he was climaxing, trembling as wave after wave crashed against him. It was enough to make Eames fall off of the edge as well, and the next thing he knew, he was clearing the fuzziness from his body to find Arthur collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily, slick with sweat and sticky with Eames's come.
"Not bad, yeah?" Eames asked, and Arthur smacked his pectoral playfully. "We can switch it up now and then from now on if you like."
Arthur rolled off of him, chest still heaving, and stared up at the ceiling. "I… prefer it when you fuck me, actually," he admitted.
Eames propped himself up on an elbow, looking at Arthur curiously. "Is that so?"
Arthur nodded, eyes sliding shut. "Yeah… I like that… I like the way you make such an effort to please me… Actually, it's kind of like dancing, you know? Hear me out, I'm not that drunk-" he paused to let Eames laugh. "Like… okay, yeah, I am that drunk, but anyway, it's like dancing 'cause, like, the guy is the one who gets to lead, but really it's the girl in the dance that has all the control. Right?"
"Darling, you don't even dance," Eames chuckled, kissing his cheek.
"I could if I wanted to. We should take dance classes… No wait… that would suck. Would I have to wear heels? I'd look really dumb in heels."
"I think you'd look delectable in heels. Go to sleep, pet. You are drunk off your arse."
"Eames," Arthur slurred, clearly well on his way to sleeping. "You wouldn't lie to me, would you?"
Eames combed a hair behind Arthur's ear like he had earlier, and his knee ached. His heart ached more, guilt blossoming in his chest. "Why do you keep asking me that?" he asked quietly, and he didn't like the way his voice cracked a bit in the middle.
…but Arthur didn't respond.
He was already asleep.
Arthur woke up in the middle of the night to find himself cleaned up and tucked in next to Eames, who was snoring rather loudly since his nose was clogged up (as per usual these days).
Arthur pulled himself out of the warmth of the covers almost regrettably and grabbed his glasses off of the side table. There were no lights on in the room, but the snow outside was bright, its soft white surface reflecting the light of the moon to cast a cool blue glow across the floor, making it easy enough to see.
He lightly touched Eames, to see if there was any response. He only snorted, swallowed, smacked his lips, and went back to snoring.
Arthur looked at the door, paranoid, and turned back, grabbing Eames by the arm.
His arm was clear. He checked the other one, and there was also nothing.
He sighed, crawling out of bed, pulled on his underwear and a t-shirt, and made his way to his bedroom.
He dug his laptop out of his bag and opened a browser.
"Okay," he said to himself, taking a deep breath and letting it out. "Don't panic… Just… okay…"
He typed into Google: symptoms of heroin abuse
He was just scanning an article when there was a light knock on his door, startling him into closing the website and slamming the laptop shut.
His mother stood in the doorway with slept in hair, squinting at him in the dim light. "Couldn't sleep, baby?" she asked.
"Oh… um…" he stammered, heart still hammering against his chest from the fear that he'd almost been discovered. "Yeah. I guess. What are you doing up?"
"I couldn't sleep either," she replied, padding inside to sit down on the mattress next to him. "I didn't shake you up too badly, did I?"
"Ah, sorry, you-It's no big deal. I was just-I thought I was the only one awake in the house, and I was startled."
If she knew that he blabbered when he was nervous, she didn't call him on it. Instead, she said, "So… Is something keeping you awake? Bad dreams?"
It's reality that's freaking me out, actually.
"Ah… I guess. I don't know."
"Is it Eames? You guys seemed a little uncomfortable around each other this week, or is it always like that?"
No, it wasn't always like that. Eames used to be the only person he could be comfortable around. Arthur remembered how he hadn't felt awkward in his skin five years ago, wandering around the man's apartment stark naked, how he'd bared himself both physically and mentally to him without an ounce of regret.
"I think we're just kind of awkward right now," Arthur decided to say, staring at his hands in his lap so he wouldn't have to look at her. "This relationship's still pretty new, and I've been insecure about him meeting my friends and family. I think he must have been kind of nervous too, so we've been walking on eggshells mostly."
"He seems like the kind of guy who's always walking on eggshells."
Arthur glanced at her sidelong, suddenly defensive. "What's that supposed to mean?"
She shrugged, shaking her head. "I don't know, Arthur. I like Eames, I really do, but something about him just hasn't been sitting right with me. The longer I'm around him, the more I'm beginning to wonder what's going on."
Arthur sighed. "I know what you mean…" he mumbled, carding a hand through his hair. "Something's not right, but… don't worry about it. He's probably just going through some stuff right now. Maybe he just has issues with the holidays. He hasn't seen his family in over five years, you know. Maybe it has something to do with that."
She nodded, the answer seeming to satisfy her. Arthur just wished he'd felt the same.
"He doesn't hurt you, does he?" she asked then.
Arthur blinked, surprise washing over his features, and he almost laughed. "What? No… I mean, we've argued before, but he doesn't hurt me physically or anything like that. That's ridiculous."
She smiled, relieved. "Good. I just felt like I needed to make sure. I gotta look out for you, you know?"
"No, you don't," Arthur said with a half-smile. "I'm an adult now."
"You'll always be a kid to me, babe," she chuckled, smacking his shoulder. "It's part of the whole 'Mom' thing."
Arthur pretended to be comforted by the shoulder hug and the kiss on the cheek, and he waited for her to get up and wander back to her room with a sleepy goodnight before opening his laptop again and searching.
In the end, he ended up bookmarking some websites, but nothing he found led to solid answers. The possibility that Eames really did just have the flu made just as much sense as the idea that he might be using again. The sites on the internet just weren't conclusive enough, especially when he knew how unreliable the internet could be. He didn't know what to believe or not to believe, and it left him just as confused as before, if not even more unsure.
By the time morning arrived, he'd fallen asleep sideways on his mattress with his laptop on his stomach.
He only knew one thing.
To confirm his suspicions, he'd have to find Eames's stash.
It was the day that they were leaving. The snowstorms had cleared out, making it sunny and melting the inches already on the ground. Arthur had kept his eyes peeled for two days trying to find any suspicious (well more suspicious) activity on Eames's end, but it seemed that Eames was doing just fine. Arthur hadn't caught him sneaking away to be by himself at all, and while that didn't mean he wasn't doing it, it put some of Arthur's thoughts to rest.
Maybe he really was imagining things.
Still, he needed to be sure.
What Arthur didn't know was that Eames was down to the last dwindling bits of his stash and was trying to make it last. Arthur didn't know that Eames hadn't actually been sleeping for the past two nights because he was sweating and restless, and his legs kept spasming, and he swore he kept seeing things in the shadows. He was a hell of an actor, so he put on his best face and pretended it wasn't happening, and Arthur fell for it. For some reason, that didn't make him feel good. He wasn't even relieved when the infection behind his knee had mostly moved out, only leaving a slightly red, itchy spot in its wake.
Arthur didn't know that Eames was panicking just a little because he was almost out of heroin not just because he wanted more but because it should have been enough to last him. It should have been more than enough.
Eames was scared to know what that meant, and that didn't help him sleep either.
He was dozing on the couch, sitting up, hand still curled into some of Mal's hair while she sat next to him, sewing, when Arthur excused himself to go to the bathroom.
He climbed the stairs as silently as he could and then immediately darted to Eames's room. His hands trembled, but he found his resolve, and started searching. He dug through his pile of dirty clothes, flipped through page after page of his sketchbooks. All he found there were some rather horrifying sketches of screaming faces, completely scribbled out pages, and drawings of wounded or lopped off body parts, all in between pretty portraits of everyone in the house. Even his sketchbook was bipolar, apparently.
He opened Eames's suitcase, hands trembling, and looked through the few "clean" (they certainly didn't appear that clean but at least cleaner than the others) clothes left. He opened Eames's shampoo bottle and then his conditioner bottle and found nothing. "Fuck," he whispered, searching the clothes again. He shut the suitcase, ready to open the smaller pouch on the front when-
"What are you doing?"
Arthur completely froze. His heart leapt up into his throat, rendering him momentarily speechless.
"I said what are you doing?" Eames asked from the doorway, and his voice was unrecognizably low.
"I…" Arthur began after swallowing. "I was just… uh…"
"Why are you going through my things?" he asked, taking a step into the room, and Arthur felt a shred of panic start bubbling in his stomach.
"I-I wasn't," Arthur said, shaking his head, smiling nervously as he stood, stepping away from the bag. "I was just uh… I was looking for a shirt to wear-"
"You're already wearing a shirt."
"Ah… but um… yeah, but this one's uncomfortable."
Arthur really was a terrible liar.
…but really, it'd be difficult to not sound frantic with Eames standing there looking the way he did. His eyes were so dark they looked black, his mouth curled into a sneer, the dark shadows around his eyes making him appear more dangerous. Arthur could practically feel hatred emanating off of him, and he wasn't sure what to do. Eames had shut the door to the room, the only exit.
"You're snooping," Eames said darkly. "Why are you going through my things, Arthur?"
"I'm sorry, I just thought-"
Eames shoved Arthur, and he stumbled backwards. He shoved him again, and then Arthur's back met the wall. Eames planted his hand on Arthur's chest, making it impossible for him to move. "What were you thinking, exactly?" Eames asked, leaning in closely, and Arthur could see from the proximity that Eames was sweating and looking somewhat crazed, as if he hadn't slept.
"Your pupils are dilated," Arthur said quietly.
"I don't go through your things," Eames continued irritably and then tacked on desperately, "Do you hate me? Why do you hate me?"
"I don't hate you," Arthur replied, horrified, shoving at Eames. "Let go of me."
"Don't… Don't lie to me," Eames growled, and his voice cracked as he said it. "I've seen the way you look at me. This is all just a big fucking game to you, isn't it? You're trying to get me attached so you can leave me in the dust, aren't you? You are!"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Arthur said back, voice rising a half-octave in his panic. "You're out of your mind-"
I don't bloody deserve you.
Arthur wasn't sure why he thought it, but then Eames was slamming his fist on Arthur's chest, babbling about how he was a liar.
"Bloody liar… bloody, fucking liar," Eames said, and there were tears but no sobs, and Arthur was confused and alarmed and being held against the wall this way was way too similar to that one time five years ago when…
"Get the fuck off of me!" he shouted, and he punched Eames in the nose.
Eames gave way a lot quicker than Arthur expected, crumpling to the floor with his hands over his nose.
Arthur stared in shock at what he'd done, fist still extended in front of him, a smear of blood across his knuckles.
Eames looked up at Arthur, and the hatred and irritability was gone, replaced with a stunned, brokenhearted silence, as if Arthur had just confirmed what Eames had been saying. His nose was gushing blood, and the redness made his skin only look more washed out, and it was like that red was the only color in the room.
"Oh, my God…" Arthur stammered, taking a cautious step forward. "I… I'm so sorry-I-"
"Get out!" Eames spat. "Leave me alone!"
"Eames-"
"Get the fuck out or I'll bloody-I'll…" he lowered his head to his knees. "I'll fucking kill you."
There was a side of Arthur that knew he didn't mean it, but the sentence still made his blood run cold. He turned on his heel, swinging the door open and leaving as quickly as he could, heatedly walking each step to find everyone else in the cabin on their way up to find out where the shouting had come from.
"Arthur, what's wrong?" Cobb asked.
Arthur never stopped his stride as he passed him, mumbling, "Eames is sick."
He didn't stop until he was a mile down the road, standing and shivering in the snow because the adrenaline had made him forget his jacket… and then he cried.