fic: Habits
Title: Habits
Pairing/Characters: Arthur/Eames
Vitals: PG, 500 words, unbeta’d
Summary: A part of his mind tells him that you can’t quit a person the same way you can quit nicotine
There are various ill-conceived uses for PASIV technology and Eames thinks that this is probably one such dangerous road to go down. Eames has done this before. Being able to blaze through an entire pack of fags on dream time did wonders for his topside smoking habit. He’d quit cold turkey five years ago, but in dream space he smokes like a chimney.
A part of his mind tells him that you can’t quit a person the same way you can quit nicotine, but the rest of his body craves the touch, taste, and smell of Arthur so badly that he’s setting an hour on the clock and slipping an IV in before he can talk himself down.
Arthur is as warm and as pliant in bed as Eames remembers. The spot just behind his ear tastes the same. There’s the familiar mix of cologne and starch on his skin. Eames leans into Arthur and inhales deeply, over and over again. He spends an entire afternoon with Arthur this way, throwing his senses into overdrive and consuming everything. This Arthur laughs at his desperation just the same way he always would, but Eames can forgive him this just as long as he’ll stay, stay, stay. Everything beyond the borders of the bed is hazy and indistinct, but Arthur is so sharp and clear and beautiful that Eames can almost-
Eames keeps his eyes closed when awareness returns to him. He clings to the last hint of cologne in the air, swallows one last taste of Arthur, ignores the weight of the totem in his pocket. Dusk is settling on Mombasa and Eames opens his eyes to a room filled with long shadows and distorted shapes. He should feel more alarmed that his reality feels more unreal than his dream, but he can’t feel much of anything. He wonders if he can lose the use of the his senses from abuse the same way he’s lost the ability to naturally dream.
Eames packs up the PASIV in the fading light and pulls the totem from his pocket. He rolls the red die and it comes up four, four, four. Even this small piece of Arthur has mocking Eames written into its nature. At the end of the table, his phone lights up and rattles. It’s Yusuf calling to say that he’s taken the night off from the dream den, would Eames want to join him for a drink? Eames pockets the die and stretches before leaving his apartment.
He haggles with a shopkeeper for a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. Eames lights up for the first time in five years, knowing this is real when his lungs rebel against the smoke. Before long, he’s gotten into the rhythm of it again. Eames takes long drags, pulling the taste deep into his lungs and watching as the smoke curls towards the sky.
Notes: (1) I’m sorry! Pretend there are another 3000 words of backstory and happy resolution. I’m a sucker for them, I just don’t really have time to plot it out and write it. (2) I was jumpstarted in the middle of the night by a few references to Eames smoking, so this is hastily and messily written, but it's decent enough to post publicly. Typos/concrit welcomed and appreciated!