Inception/Mysterious Skin - Every me and Every You (1/30)
Title: Every Me and Every You (1/30)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Fandom: Inception/Mysterious Skin fusion
Word count: 3,895
Pairing: Neil/Eames
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: language, allusions to rape,child molestation, and prostitution
Summary: Neil McCormick is fraying at the seams. Then he meets Eames, professional dreamer.
It was January. New York had been pelted with snow, but Neil began his trek home from the sub sandwich place anyway, wearing a threadbare coat he'd pilfered from a goodwill that didn't really keep out much of the cold. He didn't hunker down into the hood of the coat like most of the people on the streets would, instead choosing to let the temperature seep into his bones and numb him, comfortable in the feeling of absolute nothingness.
He chewed on his bottom lip, digging chapped skin off of it with his two front teeth until he could taste blood. He had a lot of things on his mind, but he chose not to address them directly, instead gazing over the few huddled forms moving quickly around him seeking out the closest, warmest shelter. He gave a momentary pause to a man in a black coat who was just leaving a nearby bar, waving goodbye to a couple of other folks before starting across the street only because he was headed in Neil's direction.
Neil turned his head away before the man could catch him staring and picked up his feet again. He only got about six steps before a hand was clapping onto his shoulder. "Hey, mate-" a voice said, but Neil had immediately gone into flight-or-fight mode, swinging around in a panic.
He never used to panic like this.
It was, of course, the man in the black coat, but this man was not the one Neil had imagined him to be in those few seconds nor was there any reason for him to be. He was just a man, a bit older than Neil, but not by much, snow peppering his dark hair and expression surprised. Even in the darkness Neil knew the guy was good looking (strictly in an aesthetic sense), that he'd never seen a mouth like that on a guy before, but that didn't mean he didn't consider him a threat.
He never used to consider anyone a threat.
"I'm… sorry," the man said, raising his hands in defense. Neil realized he had his fists ready in case he really did want to mug him (or worse, his brain automatically supplied, the damned thing). "Look, I was just looking for the nearest tube station. Could you help me?"
It took Neil several seconds to realize what he was talking about. "The subway?" he parroted dumbly. He wanted to run away, but it felt like his feet had been nailed to the ground.
"Yeah, yeah, that, sorry," the man in the coat replied, smiling crooked teeth that just caught the light of the nearby streetlamp. "I forget what you Americans call things sometimes."
Neil didn't respond to that, but he did take note of the accent. Somewhere in Europe, he guessed, kind of James Bond-y.
"So, ah…" he said, and Neil remembered that the guy had been asking him for directions.
"I'm going there now," Neil automatically said. "You can follow or… whatever…"
It seemed like a pretty stupid idea as soon as it escaped his lips, but Neil had been all kinds of stupid lately, so he figured he might as well. This person would be following him down dark streets and they'd be alone, so really he could do anything and no one would know. He was bigger than Neil (though not taller) so he could probably overwhelm him. Sure, Neil had a switchblade in his pocket (a Christmas gift from Eric), but for all Neil knew this guy had a gun.
Manic, he momentarily entertained the idea that he wanted this man to do something to him, to throw him against a brick wall of a back alley, fuck him until he bled, throw him down on the ground and fire bullets into his head, chest, and dick. Pop. Pop. Pop. He wasn't sure why he thought of it, or why it nearly caused a nervous laugher to bubble out of him, but he crammed the thought down into the deepening abyss in his brain, the place where he kept the aliens and coach and the shower in Brighton Beach.
Mr. Black Coat followed Neil the whole time but never did a thing, only coming up to stand next to him when they'd gotten to the subway station. There Neil could see him in the light, could see his gray eyes and brown hair and plush lips and cheekbones and stubble all in full. Neil momentarily watched him, wary, while the other man stared up at the subway train map, jolting a little when his eyes turned on him.
"Mate, are you all right?" he asked.
"Fine," Neil replied, "and I'm not your mate."
"Fair enough," he shrugged. "Thanks anyway for leading me here then. I'm afraid this is my first job stateside, so I'm a bit bollocksed over getting from A to B."
"Whatever," Neil mumbled, looking at the floor. A quick glance at his watch revealed that his particular train didn't depart for another ten minutes.
"You sure you're all right then?"
Neil looked back up, eyebrows furrowing a little, and he asked, "Why?"
"You're shivering terribly," the man said.
"I'm fine," Neil replied, wrapping his arms around himself as if just now remembering he was cold. "It's none of your business anyway."
Neil recieved in response a nod and shrug before the gray eyes were turning back to the map as he searched out the right train. "I'm Eames, by the way," he said idly.
Neil blinked, rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip to swipe away any extra blood blooming where he'd gnawed on it and said, "Neil."
A moment of silence passed between them and Neil thought that it should have been his cue to haul himself away from there, get on the train, go home, and crawl in bed with Wendy, but for some reason he just kept standing there, waiting for something to happen.
"So where are you going then?" Neil asked suddenly and had to resist the urge to clamp his hands over his mouth for being an idiot.
"Back to my hotel," Eames said. "Why, is that where you're heading? You don't sound like you're from New York."
"I live here," Neil said, all the while thinking stupid, stupid, stupid. It was like he was asking this man to follow him home and do worse than mug him. Again he thought that perhaps he wanted it, no…
He…
He looked up, eyes wide and wild when he realized he was being wrapped in something. Eames had pulled off his coat and put it over Neil's shoulders and was staring at him as if waiting for something. "You're shaking like a leaf," he said.
The warmth caught Neil off guard, instantly switching his brain back on. He hadn't realized just how numbed he was until the warmth seeped back in, causing his extremities to ache a little. He looked at Eames, Eames in the striped shirt the color of raspberries and his gator shoes, Eames whose coat had a vague tracing of an unrecognizable cologne and the scent of cigarettes, Eames who was showing him some kindness for no reason at all, and Neil grew frustrated. It frustrated him because he couldn't find Eames's angle in all of this or what he wanted out of Neil because men always wanted something out of Neil.
"There, that's a bit better," Eames said, a smile working its way onto his face. "You've got a bit of your color back now."
"What hotel are you staying at?" Neil asked, meeting his gaze with an intensity that caused Eames's grin to falter.
"Why?" Eames asked.
"I want to come too."
Neil figured that nothing could be taken that was given out willingly. Eames wasn't typically his type (way too young), but he wasn't going to allow the man the upper hand here.
It was Neil's job to stay in control.
Neil had settled in across from Eames on the train, still burrowed into the warm black coat, and Eames stared at him with a vexed expression, as if trying to figure out some sort of problem etched on his forehead. The train car was empty save for the two of them and a homeless man snoozing at the other end, so it seemed like Eames was willing to venture out and make conversation.
"You know… I only let you come along because there wasn't much of a way to stop you from getting on the tube… and there is the fact that you haven't returned my coat yet, but ah… what exactly is taking place here? What are we doing?"
Neil scoffed. "Are you really that stupid?"
Eames sat back, crossing his legs. His socks were red. "I don't recall propositioning you for sex, or anything for that matter I might add. That's not to say you're not an attractive bloke, but it's not normally my habit to take home strangers I met on the street for a little fooling around."
"Do you normally let strangers lead you places?" Neil asked.
"Okay, you got me there, but I didn't exactly ask you to lead me here. I was just looking for directions. Besides, I wasn't too worried because you look so frightened-"
"I wasn't frightened," Neil interrupted with a sneer. "You can't just expect me to trust you aren't going to do something to me, coming up to me in the street in the middle of the night."
"You can't trust me," Eames said flatly, "yet you've invited yourself back to my room for sex."
"Do you honestly not want to fuck me?" Neil asked as if the answer was obvious, looking about a moment away from rolling his eyes. "Honestly."
Eames looked at Neil, and for a moment Neil felt the urge to sit up straight, to let his legs fall open in the attempt to give off the airs he was supposed to. He figured he didn't look quite like the hustler he was supposed to be, curled up in another man's jacket like it was the only thing keeping him on the train. At that moment he couldn't figure out just why he was there at all. He hadn't hustled since the night before Christmas Eve, the night before Brian, and surprisingly enough hadn't really wanted to… and yet, here he was, with a guy that wasn't even his type, going back to his hotel room after having invited himself.
Eames cleared his throat and looked off to the side, checking to make sure no one was listening to them. Neil could see a tint of pink on his cheeks that wasn't caused by the cold. "Is there somebody I can call to come and get you?" he asked, and Neil nearly fell out of his seat.
"What the fuck?" he asked, standing up, grabbing hold of the rail to keep from toppling over.
"Look, I don't mean to cause offense," Eames said, raising his hands again as if Neil was going to jump him. "I'm just not in the business of bringing home prostitutes, especially when I'm on the job and especially when I didn't ask to start with. You understand that, don't you?"
"It's never stopped anyone before," Neil growled, feeling his face screw up into something ugly. He didn't even know why he was mad, at least not at first. It struck him a moment or two later though that he'd never not been wanted before. "Who said I'm a prostitute? And who said I needed you to proposition me first? Maybe I was propositioning you and was under the impression you were for it!"
"I just asked you for directions!" Eames cried as if Neil was the one acting insane. Maybe he was, but he didn't care.
The train screeched as it pulled to a stop and Neil threw Eames's coat into his face. "Fine. Go fuck yourself," he spat, turning on his heel and grabbing hold of the doors as if to push them open more quickly.
"Wait, wait!" Eames shouted after him, but Neil went up the steps two at a time, escaping the smell of piss and Eames in the terminal below. The cold practically ripped through his thin jacket, and if he had been a weaker person he might have cried out. As it was, he started pushing forward, trying to get as far from Eames and his failure as possible. He wanted to go curl up next to Wendy, next to anybody really, feel a body against his, and to forget that anyone had ever taken away his control.
He wanted to forget that he'd ever been hurt, to forget that he'd recognized that brokenhearted expression Brian had worn that night while the carolers sang.
He didn't get far.
Eames, he knew it was Eames because he recognized the grip, grabbed hold of his wrist, and he was shouting, "For the love of God, stop! Jesus Christ, what is the matter with you?"
Neil turned around, and through the blur in his eyes he realized that a blizzard had blown in, and he was standing in it. "What's the matter with you?" he yelled back, voice feeling like it was ripped out of him rather than offered up freely. "Leave me alone!"
"You'll freeze to death if I let you go," Eames said, holding his wrist just a little tighter. "Come back to the hotel and I'll call you a cab if you want to leave so badly."
"You're the one who wants me to leave!" Neil kept screaming just because it felt so good to scream at someone. "Fuck you! Fuck!"
"Calm down."
"Fuck off, I am calm!" he shrieked, and it almost felt like a good hit off of a good drug to be able to shout like this, to not care who heard, to not care how it cut. He savored in the burn of his throat, in the way his voice came out raw, as if it had been crawling over shards of glass before. "I don't give a shit if you want me to be calm! You don't know me! I don't give a fuck!"
"Please," Eames begged, and he let go of his wrist, cupping Neil's face in his hands for some reason.
…and then he said… "It's all right. It's okay."
"Wh… what…" Neil tried to say, and that was when he realized it.
He was crying.
He hadn't cried since that night after…
Neil tried to force it back, but it only seemed to come out more adamantly, and he started to sob and shake. He had no idea where it was coming from or why it was happening, but he couldn't stop it and that made it even worse because he had never been so out of control by his own volition before. When Eames took him into his arms, he tried to push him away, but it was halfhearted at best.
"Come on," Eames said softly, "tell me what's going on, yeah? What's hurting you?"
Neil felt like he was melting into Eames's body, the heat of it consuming him and his tears, and he hated it because it made him want to answer the man when he didn't actually have one. Eames turned him slowly so that he was next to him, keeping one arm wrapped around him as he led him back down the sidewalk until they reached the hotel entryway.
"Let's just get you inside for a few minutes, see if you feel better," Eames said, and Neil didn't know what else to do but follow.
The hotel room was typical of its kind if not a little nicer than Neil was used to. By the time they'd gotten up the elevator and inside he had stopped crying at least, but he felt drained from it, exhausted and dried up.
Eames set down the briefcase he'd been carrying on the table in the corner, tossing his coat on top of it. Neil could appreciate that the room was warm at least.
There was a beat where they just stood there staring at each other, and then Eames offered a tight half-smile, brushing away one last stray tear. "Do you feel a bit better now?" he asked.
Neil looked at the floor because he wasn't sure how to answer that question.
"Okay," Eames said when he realized he wasn't getting a response. "Are you hungry? I can order up some room service."
Neil looked up at Eames through his lashes and mumbled, "Okay…"
Eames nodded awkwardly and went to pick up the phone. Neil shrugged off his bag, digging out a cigarette and lighter before tossing it on the floor. He lit one up and shoved the lighter into the pocket of his jeans and turned around to find Eames hanging up the phone. "Should be a few minutes," he told Neil, staring not at him but at the cigarette. After a beat, he asked, "Mind if I…?"
Neil took a drag off of it then handed it over to let Eames take one too. "Mm, thanks," he said, smiling. "Needed that. Haven't had one since before the plane ride, you know?"
Neil nodded, taking it back. For a moment he entertained the idea that he could taste Eames's saliva on the end of it, but he couldn't really.
"So, ah… you want to tell me what that was all about?" Eames asked hesitantly, as if his words were traipsing across mine fields.
Neil shrugged his shoulders a little. "I don't know…" It wasn't much of an answer, but it was all he had. He took another drag on the cigarette before saying, "Why'd you chase after me?"
Eames sniffed. "Honestly? No idea. I guess I noticed how… upset you were and I felt bad. I didn't mean to make you feel rejected or slighted. I didn't realize I was giving off any signals to you. It was my mistake."
"You weren't," Neil said, handing back the cigarette. It made his lungs sting. "I just haven't had a good fuck in a while. I'm beginning to feel like no one wants me anymore." He wandered over to the window, parting the curtains to stare at the city skyline as snow ravaged it. He remembered how it had fallen that night when Wendy and he had stood before the drive-in theater screen and pretended to hear the voice of God. Neil wondered what that pretend voice had been saying then, those years ago. Perhaps it was chastising Neil or even warning him.
"I… I didn't mean to mistake you for a prostitute."
"Oh, that's fine too," Neil sighed. "It's one of the ways I've made money in the past. Haven't been doing it since Christmas though."
"T'is the season," Eames snorted. Neil thought that should have enraged him, but for some reason he was a little charmed. He looked over his shoulder at the man, grinning a little.
"You know… I do think I know why I chased after you," Eames said. Neil turned to face him, pressing his shoulder blades against the glass behind him, intrigued by the cold on his back versus the heat from his front. It was almost like being wrapped in Eames's arms again.
"I do believe I let you come along, that I chased you, all that for the same reason. It's those eyes of yours."
"You're not going to start waxing poetic, are you?" Neil huffed, grin widening a little. Eames's expression seemed to warm from watching him smile.
"Not at all," Eames assured him. "It's just… there's something so sad there, you know? I was worried about you. Someone with eyes like that has been hurt by someone, and you looked like you were about to let it bubble over. I just… I had to make sure you were somewhere safe or my conscience would never let me sleep again."
Neil shoved off from the window and came closer to Eames, but he didn't remember walking there. It was as though he'd been pulled. Still, when he got close to him, he opened his mouth to say something and nothing would come out. He didn't even know why he was there.
"You know," Eames said, voice low as he stared at Neil, reaching up to brush a stray hair aside, "I suppose I can see why you sold your body. You are quite beautiful… with a face like that though, I would have thought you'd have found something better."
"I sold myself because I wanted to," Neil said quietly. It almost felt like if they were to talk any louder, the room would swallow them up.
"Surely you're better than that, darling."
"Not really," Neil said and leaned in to kiss him just because he wanted to. It took a few moments, but Eames tilted his head and let him, kissing back in a surprisingly gentle way. Neil had been in the habit of hooking up with men who A) were incredibly quick and rough about everything, or B) slow because they had no idea what the fuck they were doing. The way Eames kissed lended to experience but didn't have the heat or desperation in it that Neil was used to, so he wasn't quite sure where to take it.
Eames pulled away after a few minutes, breathing just the slightest bit labored, and Neil blinked as if waking up from a dream. "What…" he started to say, wondering why he was teasing him now, why he stopped, and then Eames was going to the door and opening it, pulling in a cart with food on it.
Neil hadn't even heard them knock. Had that ever happened before?
Neil picked at his food while Eames finished his rather quickly, and neither of them talked about the kiss. It seemed like one was waiting for the other to mention it, and so they sat in silence for the entirety of the late dinner. Afterwards, Eames excused himself to take a shower, and Neil definitely was not going to go into any bathroom with any man, so he stayed in the main room, snooping through Eames's stuff while the man was gone.
At one point, he popped open Eames's briefcase to find, oddly enough, another briefcase inside. The briefcase was silver and polished and looked almost to be out of an alien spaceship. He didn't let that thought carry to far, considering the connotations, but he did open it and find and an even more alien contraption inside of it. Wires and plastic and buttons and screws. He had no idea what any of it did.
The shower shut off.
He shut the case and then the second one and threw himself onto the bed. He wasn't about to let himself get caught looking through Eames's things. He didn't want Eames to get angry because then he might do something.
Still, he must have had some odd form of trust in Eames, because when his body connected with the mattress, sleep overwhelmed him and he drifted off right there in the room. He certainly had never slept in the hotel rooms he'd frequented with other men in the past…
…then again, Eames was pretty different from them, wasn't he?
Author: osaki_nana_707
Fandom: Inception/Mysterious Skin fusion
Word count: 3,895
Pairing: Neil/Eames
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: language, allusions to rape,child molestation, and prostitution
Summary: Neil McCormick is fraying at the seams. Then he meets Eames, professional dreamer.
It was January. New York had been pelted with snow, but Neil began his trek home from the sub sandwich place anyway, wearing a threadbare coat he'd pilfered from a goodwill that didn't really keep out much of the cold. He didn't hunker down into the hood of the coat like most of the people on the streets would, instead choosing to let the temperature seep into his bones and numb him, comfortable in the feeling of absolute nothingness.
He chewed on his bottom lip, digging chapped skin off of it with his two front teeth until he could taste blood. He had a lot of things on his mind, but he chose not to address them directly, instead gazing over the few huddled forms moving quickly around him seeking out the closest, warmest shelter. He gave a momentary pause to a man in a black coat who was just leaving a nearby bar, waving goodbye to a couple of other folks before starting across the street only because he was headed in Neil's direction.
Neil turned his head away before the man could catch him staring and picked up his feet again. He only got about six steps before a hand was clapping onto his shoulder. "Hey, mate-" a voice said, but Neil had immediately gone into flight-or-fight mode, swinging around in a panic.
He never used to panic like this.
It was, of course, the man in the black coat, but this man was not the one Neil had imagined him to be in those few seconds nor was there any reason for him to be. He was just a man, a bit older than Neil, but not by much, snow peppering his dark hair and expression surprised. Even in the darkness Neil knew the guy was good looking (strictly in an aesthetic sense), that he'd never seen a mouth like that on a guy before, but that didn't mean he didn't consider him a threat.
He never used to consider anyone a threat.
"I'm… sorry," the man said, raising his hands in defense. Neil realized he had his fists ready in case he really did want to mug him (or worse, his brain automatically supplied, the damned thing). "Look, I was just looking for the nearest tube station. Could you help me?"
It took Neil several seconds to realize what he was talking about. "The subway?" he parroted dumbly. He wanted to run away, but it felt like his feet had been nailed to the ground.
"Yeah, yeah, that, sorry," the man in the coat replied, smiling crooked teeth that just caught the light of the nearby streetlamp. "I forget what you Americans call things sometimes."
Neil didn't respond to that, but he did take note of the accent. Somewhere in Europe, he guessed, kind of James Bond-y.
"So, ah…" he said, and Neil remembered that the guy had been asking him for directions.
"I'm going there now," Neil automatically said. "You can follow or… whatever…"
It seemed like a pretty stupid idea as soon as it escaped his lips, but Neil had been all kinds of stupid lately, so he figured he might as well. This person would be following him down dark streets and they'd be alone, so really he could do anything and no one would know. He was bigger than Neil (though not taller) so he could probably overwhelm him. Sure, Neil had a switchblade in his pocket (a Christmas gift from Eric), but for all Neil knew this guy had a gun.
Manic, he momentarily entertained the idea that he wanted this man to do something to him, to throw him against a brick wall of a back alley, fuck him until he bled, throw him down on the ground and fire bullets into his head, chest, and dick. Pop. Pop. Pop. He wasn't sure why he thought of it, or why it nearly caused a nervous laugher to bubble out of him, but he crammed the thought down into the deepening abyss in his brain, the place where he kept the aliens and coach and the shower in Brighton Beach.
Mr. Black Coat followed Neil the whole time but never did a thing, only coming up to stand next to him when they'd gotten to the subway station. There Neil could see him in the light, could see his gray eyes and brown hair and plush lips and cheekbones and stubble all in full. Neil momentarily watched him, wary, while the other man stared up at the subway train map, jolting a little when his eyes turned on him.
"Mate, are you all right?" he asked.
"Fine," Neil replied, "and I'm not your mate."
"Fair enough," he shrugged. "Thanks anyway for leading me here then. I'm afraid this is my first job stateside, so I'm a bit bollocksed over getting from A to B."
"Whatever," Neil mumbled, looking at the floor. A quick glance at his watch revealed that his particular train didn't depart for another ten minutes.
"You sure you're all right then?"
Neil looked back up, eyebrows furrowing a little, and he asked, "Why?"
"You're shivering terribly," the man said.
"I'm fine," Neil replied, wrapping his arms around himself as if just now remembering he was cold. "It's none of your business anyway."
Neil recieved in response a nod and shrug before the gray eyes were turning back to the map as he searched out the right train. "I'm Eames, by the way," he said idly.
Neil blinked, rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip to swipe away any extra blood blooming where he'd gnawed on it and said, "Neil."
A moment of silence passed between them and Neil thought that it should have been his cue to haul himself away from there, get on the train, go home, and crawl in bed with Wendy, but for some reason he just kept standing there, waiting for something to happen.
"So where are you going then?" Neil asked suddenly and had to resist the urge to clamp his hands over his mouth for being an idiot.
"Back to my hotel," Eames said. "Why, is that where you're heading? You don't sound like you're from New York."
"I live here," Neil said, all the while thinking stupid, stupid, stupid. It was like he was asking this man to follow him home and do worse than mug him. Again he thought that perhaps he wanted it, no…
He…
He looked up, eyes wide and wild when he realized he was being wrapped in something. Eames had pulled off his coat and put it over Neil's shoulders and was staring at him as if waiting for something. "You're shaking like a leaf," he said.
The warmth caught Neil off guard, instantly switching his brain back on. He hadn't realized just how numbed he was until the warmth seeped back in, causing his extremities to ache a little. He looked at Eames, Eames in the striped shirt the color of raspberries and his gator shoes, Eames whose coat had a vague tracing of an unrecognizable cologne and the scent of cigarettes, Eames who was showing him some kindness for no reason at all, and Neil grew frustrated. It frustrated him because he couldn't find Eames's angle in all of this or what he wanted out of Neil because men always wanted something out of Neil.
"There, that's a bit better," Eames said, a smile working its way onto his face. "You've got a bit of your color back now."
"What hotel are you staying at?" Neil asked, meeting his gaze with an intensity that caused Eames's grin to falter.
"Why?" Eames asked.
"I want to come too."
Neil figured that nothing could be taken that was given out willingly. Eames wasn't typically his type (way too young), but he wasn't going to allow the man the upper hand here.
It was Neil's job to stay in control.
Neil had settled in across from Eames on the train, still burrowed into the warm black coat, and Eames stared at him with a vexed expression, as if trying to figure out some sort of problem etched on his forehead. The train car was empty save for the two of them and a homeless man snoozing at the other end, so it seemed like Eames was willing to venture out and make conversation.
"You know… I only let you come along because there wasn't much of a way to stop you from getting on the tube… and there is the fact that you haven't returned my coat yet, but ah… what exactly is taking place here? What are we doing?"
Neil scoffed. "Are you really that stupid?"
Eames sat back, crossing his legs. His socks were red. "I don't recall propositioning you for sex, or anything for that matter I might add. That's not to say you're not an attractive bloke, but it's not normally my habit to take home strangers I met on the street for a little fooling around."
"Do you normally let strangers lead you places?" Neil asked.
"Okay, you got me there, but I didn't exactly ask you to lead me here. I was just looking for directions. Besides, I wasn't too worried because you look so frightened-"
"I wasn't frightened," Neil interrupted with a sneer. "You can't just expect me to trust you aren't going to do something to me, coming up to me in the street in the middle of the night."
"You can't trust me," Eames said flatly, "yet you've invited yourself back to my room for sex."
"Do you honestly not want to fuck me?" Neil asked as if the answer was obvious, looking about a moment away from rolling his eyes. "Honestly."
Eames looked at Neil, and for a moment Neil felt the urge to sit up straight, to let his legs fall open in the attempt to give off the airs he was supposed to. He figured he didn't look quite like the hustler he was supposed to be, curled up in another man's jacket like it was the only thing keeping him on the train. At that moment he couldn't figure out just why he was there at all. He hadn't hustled since the night before Christmas Eve, the night before Brian, and surprisingly enough hadn't really wanted to… and yet, here he was, with a guy that wasn't even his type, going back to his hotel room after having invited himself.
Eames cleared his throat and looked off to the side, checking to make sure no one was listening to them. Neil could see a tint of pink on his cheeks that wasn't caused by the cold. "Is there somebody I can call to come and get you?" he asked, and Neil nearly fell out of his seat.
"What the fuck?" he asked, standing up, grabbing hold of the rail to keep from toppling over.
"Look, I don't mean to cause offense," Eames said, raising his hands again as if Neil was going to jump him. "I'm just not in the business of bringing home prostitutes, especially when I'm on the job and especially when I didn't ask to start with. You understand that, don't you?"
"It's never stopped anyone before," Neil growled, feeling his face screw up into something ugly. He didn't even know why he was mad, at least not at first. It struck him a moment or two later though that he'd never not been wanted before. "Who said I'm a prostitute? And who said I needed you to proposition me first? Maybe I was propositioning you and was under the impression you were for it!"
"I just asked you for directions!" Eames cried as if Neil was the one acting insane. Maybe he was, but he didn't care.
The train screeched as it pulled to a stop and Neil threw Eames's coat into his face. "Fine. Go fuck yourself," he spat, turning on his heel and grabbing hold of the doors as if to push them open more quickly.
"Wait, wait!" Eames shouted after him, but Neil went up the steps two at a time, escaping the smell of piss and Eames in the terminal below. The cold practically ripped through his thin jacket, and if he had been a weaker person he might have cried out. As it was, he started pushing forward, trying to get as far from Eames and his failure as possible. He wanted to go curl up next to Wendy, next to anybody really, feel a body against his, and to forget that anyone had ever taken away his control.
He wanted to forget that he'd ever been hurt, to forget that he'd recognized that brokenhearted expression Brian had worn that night while the carolers sang.
He didn't get far.
Eames, he knew it was Eames because he recognized the grip, grabbed hold of his wrist, and he was shouting, "For the love of God, stop! Jesus Christ, what is the matter with you?"
Neil turned around, and through the blur in his eyes he realized that a blizzard had blown in, and he was standing in it. "What's the matter with you?" he yelled back, voice feeling like it was ripped out of him rather than offered up freely. "Leave me alone!"
"You'll freeze to death if I let you go," Eames said, holding his wrist just a little tighter. "Come back to the hotel and I'll call you a cab if you want to leave so badly."
"You're the one who wants me to leave!" Neil kept screaming just because it felt so good to scream at someone. "Fuck you! Fuck!"
"Calm down."
"Fuck off, I am calm!" he shrieked, and it almost felt like a good hit off of a good drug to be able to shout like this, to not care who heard, to not care how it cut. He savored in the burn of his throat, in the way his voice came out raw, as if it had been crawling over shards of glass before. "I don't give a shit if you want me to be calm! You don't know me! I don't give a fuck!"
"Please," Eames begged, and he let go of his wrist, cupping Neil's face in his hands for some reason.
…and then he said… "It's all right. It's okay."
"Wh… what…" Neil tried to say, and that was when he realized it.
He was crying.
He hadn't cried since that night after…
Neil tried to force it back, but it only seemed to come out more adamantly, and he started to sob and shake. He had no idea where it was coming from or why it was happening, but he couldn't stop it and that made it even worse because he had never been so out of control by his own volition before. When Eames took him into his arms, he tried to push him away, but it was halfhearted at best.
"Come on," Eames said softly, "tell me what's going on, yeah? What's hurting you?"
Neil felt like he was melting into Eames's body, the heat of it consuming him and his tears, and he hated it because it made him want to answer the man when he didn't actually have one. Eames turned him slowly so that he was next to him, keeping one arm wrapped around him as he led him back down the sidewalk until they reached the hotel entryway.
"Let's just get you inside for a few minutes, see if you feel better," Eames said, and Neil didn't know what else to do but follow.
The hotel room was typical of its kind if not a little nicer than Neil was used to. By the time they'd gotten up the elevator and inside he had stopped crying at least, but he felt drained from it, exhausted and dried up.
Eames set down the briefcase he'd been carrying on the table in the corner, tossing his coat on top of it. Neil could appreciate that the room was warm at least.
There was a beat where they just stood there staring at each other, and then Eames offered a tight half-smile, brushing away one last stray tear. "Do you feel a bit better now?" he asked.
Neil looked at the floor because he wasn't sure how to answer that question.
"Okay," Eames said when he realized he wasn't getting a response. "Are you hungry? I can order up some room service."
Neil looked up at Eames through his lashes and mumbled, "Okay…"
Eames nodded awkwardly and went to pick up the phone. Neil shrugged off his bag, digging out a cigarette and lighter before tossing it on the floor. He lit one up and shoved the lighter into the pocket of his jeans and turned around to find Eames hanging up the phone. "Should be a few minutes," he told Neil, staring not at him but at the cigarette. After a beat, he asked, "Mind if I…?"
Neil took a drag off of it then handed it over to let Eames take one too. "Mm, thanks," he said, smiling. "Needed that. Haven't had one since before the plane ride, you know?"
Neil nodded, taking it back. For a moment he entertained the idea that he could taste Eames's saliva on the end of it, but he couldn't really.
"So, ah… you want to tell me what that was all about?" Eames asked hesitantly, as if his words were traipsing across mine fields.
Neil shrugged his shoulders a little. "I don't know…" It wasn't much of an answer, but it was all he had. He took another drag on the cigarette before saying, "Why'd you chase after me?"
Eames sniffed. "Honestly? No idea. I guess I noticed how… upset you were and I felt bad. I didn't mean to make you feel rejected or slighted. I didn't realize I was giving off any signals to you. It was my mistake."
"You weren't," Neil said, handing back the cigarette. It made his lungs sting. "I just haven't had a good fuck in a while. I'm beginning to feel like no one wants me anymore." He wandered over to the window, parting the curtains to stare at the city skyline as snow ravaged it. He remembered how it had fallen that night when Wendy and he had stood before the drive-in theater screen and pretended to hear the voice of God. Neil wondered what that pretend voice had been saying then, those years ago. Perhaps it was chastising Neil or even warning him.
"I… I didn't mean to mistake you for a prostitute."
"Oh, that's fine too," Neil sighed. "It's one of the ways I've made money in the past. Haven't been doing it since Christmas though."
"T'is the season," Eames snorted. Neil thought that should have enraged him, but for some reason he was a little charmed. He looked over his shoulder at the man, grinning a little.
"You know… I do think I know why I chased after you," Eames said. Neil turned to face him, pressing his shoulder blades against the glass behind him, intrigued by the cold on his back versus the heat from his front. It was almost like being wrapped in Eames's arms again.
"I do believe I let you come along, that I chased you, all that for the same reason. It's those eyes of yours."
"You're not going to start waxing poetic, are you?" Neil huffed, grin widening a little. Eames's expression seemed to warm from watching him smile.
"Not at all," Eames assured him. "It's just… there's something so sad there, you know? I was worried about you. Someone with eyes like that has been hurt by someone, and you looked like you were about to let it bubble over. I just… I had to make sure you were somewhere safe or my conscience would never let me sleep again."
Neil shoved off from the window and came closer to Eames, but he didn't remember walking there. It was as though he'd been pulled. Still, when he got close to him, he opened his mouth to say something and nothing would come out. He didn't even know why he was there.
"You know," Eames said, voice low as he stared at Neil, reaching up to brush a stray hair aside, "I suppose I can see why you sold your body. You are quite beautiful… with a face like that though, I would have thought you'd have found something better."
"I sold myself because I wanted to," Neil said quietly. It almost felt like if they were to talk any louder, the room would swallow them up.
"Surely you're better than that, darling."
"Not really," Neil said and leaned in to kiss him just because he wanted to. It took a few moments, but Eames tilted his head and let him, kissing back in a surprisingly gentle way. Neil had been in the habit of hooking up with men who A) were incredibly quick and rough about everything, or B) slow because they had no idea what the fuck they were doing. The way Eames kissed lended to experience but didn't have the heat or desperation in it that Neil was used to, so he wasn't quite sure where to take it.
Eames pulled away after a few minutes, breathing just the slightest bit labored, and Neil blinked as if waking up from a dream. "What…" he started to say, wondering why he was teasing him now, why he stopped, and then Eames was going to the door and opening it, pulling in a cart with food on it.
Neil hadn't even heard them knock. Had that ever happened before?
Neil picked at his food while Eames finished his rather quickly, and neither of them talked about the kiss. It seemed like one was waiting for the other to mention it, and so they sat in silence for the entirety of the late dinner. Afterwards, Eames excused himself to take a shower, and Neil definitely was not going to go into any bathroom with any man, so he stayed in the main room, snooping through Eames's stuff while the man was gone.
At one point, he popped open Eames's briefcase to find, oddly enough, another briefcase inside. The briefcase was silver and polished and looked almost to be out of an alien spaceship. He didn't let that thought carry to far, considering the connotations, but he did open it and find and an even more alien contraption inside of it. Wires and plastic and buttons and screws. He had no idea what any of it did.
The shower shut off.
He shut the case and then the second one and threw himself onto the bed. He wasn't about to let himself get caught looking through Eames's things. He didn't want Eames to get angry because then he might do something.
Still, he must have had some odd form of trust in Eames, because when his body connected with the mattress, sleep overwhelmed him and he drifted off right there in the room. He certainly had never slept in the hotel rooms he'd frequented with other men in the past…
…then again, Eames was pretty different from them, wasn't he?