Fic: Just A Dream
Title: Just A Dream (And that title's not blatantly stolen from that song with the Nelly guy, oh no)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Words: 1298
Disclaimer: These boys are not mine.
Summary: In which Arthur doesn’t quite know what’s real.
A/N: I felt it was high time I actually wrote something in the Inceptiondom. It’s a short thinky-feely sort of a thing. Because midnight fic writing calls for thinky-feely sorts of stuff.
It was the scraps of things that Arthur remembered. The spaces in between the dreams, when Eames would nudge a foot against his as they were sitting in the warehouse listening to Cobb, or when he would brush a finger against Arthur’s hand as they set up the PASIV. It was a fragile thing, this relationship of theirs. They’d built it on dreams - not in the way that other men and women did, imagining the ways in which they would spend their days, but rather in the only way that they knew how. They’d stumbled across this thing - knowing each other; loving each other - while they wandered through their dreams, and somehow it hadn’t bridged the gap that separated that world from reality. They’d left it there, uncertain and new, and when they awoke they hadn’t spoken of it. It was walled in by their subconscious, hidden away inside their minds.
Arthur knew that Cobb and Mal’s love had been solid; a tangible thing that had survived even when their dreams did not. It had been the link keeping them together, even when their world was collapsing about them. But this thing he had with Eames wasn’t like that. It wasn’t that it was a casual thing, but simply that they’d never discovered how to push it out into the world.
They’d grown soft through years of dreaming - not physically, but mentally. They found that things were easier to protect when they were inside a head, and that reality was too harsh upon those things that you loved. Things faded in reality - whether it was a suit, or a pair of shoes, or a relationship. Time wore away at them all.
But inside the dream, there was nothing that could tug at the edges of their love and spread it thin. There was nothing that could break their relationship into pieces, the way Arthur’s relationships in the past had done. Arthur was afraid of what the world would do to them, if they let themselves become real within it. So he hadn’t spoken to Eames of it after that first time, when they’d woken slow and uncertain, with their fingers running over their own bodies, feeling for bruises that were no longer there.
Eames hadn’t mentioned it either, just looked at Arthur and called him darling in that low voice, and Arthur had shivered, because he knew how that voice sounded when it was begging for him. And then, somehow, the days slipped away and they were more focused on the job and when they awoke and left the warehouse each evening, with tired minds and stiff bodies, Arthur had gone to his flat alone, and had sat on his leather couch and wondered what exactly he was doing.
It had happened again in the backstreets of some dreamt-up town. Eames’ mouth had been eager against his and Arthur had dug his fingers hard into Eames’ back, because he’d wanted Eames to feel it this time. But he knew that they weren’t permanent, those marks, and when it had ended, Arthur had woken with a slight sense of disappointment that he couldn’t quite understand.
--
Sometimes it was different. Sometimes they walked beside the river afterwards, with their fingers entwined because there was no one but themselves to see. Sometimes, Eames would point out a restaurant and they’d go and have dinner, with Eames ordering dishes that they could share between them. Arthur would frown then, because that seemed all romantic and romance wasn’t what he did. But Eames would just pout at him and wave breadsticks under Arthur’s nose, and Arthur would give up in the end, like always, because he couldn’t hold up against Eames’ puppy-dog face and a breadstick assault all at once.
They’d usually end up in a bar afterwards, and in the river soon after that, and Arthur could never tell whether they slipped beneath the surface of the waves and from there into consciousness, or whether they simply ran out of time and awoke without ever submerging their heads. He felt that it should matter, somehow - that whether they’d sunk to the bottom of the river with their bodies full of water made a difference. But no matter how he tried, he could never quite remember which it was.
Arthur knew, as the months went by, that he had built a life that no one could see. He wanted more than anything else to point it out to the others - to grab Eames and kiss him in front of the whole team, just to prove that Eames would let him. To prove that it was real. They’d kept it safe from the world, but that had its drawbacks. How sure could Arthur be of their relationship if they’d never tried anything hard; if the only house that they’d owned together was one that he could mould with his mind? He wondered about telling Eames, but their conscious conversations all throughout the job had been limited to prickly jabs at each other and in the face of that Arthur didn’t know where to start.
--
Arthur didn’t see the team for an entire month after the job finished, because Cobb had his children and Saito had his company and he didn’t want to know what Ariadne and Yusuf were doing, and he tried not to think of Eames.
But he nevertheless felt relieved when they all met up again. He’d missed them more than he’d expected to, and he’d missed dreaming, because when it came down to it, if he had to choose between dreaming with Eames and nothing at all he’d still pick the dream every time.
But when they were finally hooked into the PASIV, Eames stood there and looked at him and said I’ve missed you, darling, right in front of the team. There was a moment of silence where Arthur had looked around, slightly panicked, because that wasn’t how they usually talked to each other in front of the team. Ariadne stared between the two of them knowingly, but Yusuf had been staring at Ariadne, and Cobb was too busy looking at the landscape to notice, and Saito just looked bored. It hadn’t surprised anyone. But even so, Arthur didn’t know what to say in reply, so he’d just frowned and built himself a staircase because stairs were straightforward and logical and easy to understand. Stairs were good.
And when they woke up, Eames hadn’t stood as far away from Arthur as he usually did, and he’d brushed his fingers against Arthur’s every so often as though he was marking Arthur out as his own. And it was at that moment that Arthur realised that perhaps Eames had gotten sick of the dream world as well. It seemed real enough while they were in it, but while they were there they couldn’t create anything lasting. And Arthur wanted something lasting - he just hadn’t known that Eames did, too.
Arthur knew that it would take time to learn how to touch each other when there were other people around, and how to work though problems together in a world where they had limits. So for now, he just treasured those looks Eames gave him, and the brief moments when he felt Eames’ skin against his, or the times when Ariadne looked between him and Eames like she knew exactly what was going on. They were trying to pull their reality from within their dreams, and Arthur knew that that was a hard thing to do. So he savoured those moments, because they were fragments of a relationship they’d buried somewhere within their minds, and because they were proof that that relationship wasn’t merely a dream. They could make it real, and Arthur found that he was okay with that.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Words: 1298
Disclaimer: These boys are not mine.
Summary: In which Arthur doesn’t quite know what’s real.
A/N: I felt it was high time I actually wrote something in the Inceptiondom. It’s a short thinky-feely sort of a thing. Because midnight fic writing calls for thinky-feely sorts of stuff.
It was the scraps of things that Arthur remembered. The spaces in between the dreams, when Eames would nudge a foot against his as they were sitting in the warehouse listening to Cobb, or when he would brush a finger against Arthur’s hand as they set up the PASIV. It was a fragile thing, this relationship of theirs. They’d built it on dreams - not in the way that other men and women did, imagining the ways in which they would spend their days, but rather in the only way that they knew how. They’d stumbled across this thing - knowing each other; loving each other - while they wandered through their dreams, and somehow it hadn’t bridged the gap that separated that world from reality. They’d left it there, uncertain and new, and when they awoke they hadn’t spoken of it. It was walled in by their subconscious, hidden away inside their minds.
Arthur knew that Cobb and Mal’s love had been solid; a tangible thing that had survived even when their dreams did not. It had been the link keeping them together, even when their world was collapsing about them. But this thing he had with Eames wasn’t like that. It wasn’t that it was a casual thing, but simply that they’d never discovered how to push it out into the world.
They’d grown soft through years of dreaming - not physically, but mentally. They found that things were easier to protect when they were inside a head, and that reality was too harsh upon those things that you loved. Things faded in reality - whether it was a suit, or a pair of shoes, or a relationship. Time wore away at them all.
But inside the dream, there was nothing that could tug at the edges of their love and spread it thin. There was nothing that could break their relationship into pieces, the way Arthur’s relationships in the past had done. Arthur was afraid of what the world would do to them, if they let themselves become real within it. So he hadn’t spoken to Eames of it after that first time, when they’d woken slow and uncertain, with their fingers running over their own bodies, feeling for bruises that were no longer there.
Eames hadn’t mentioned it either, just looked at Arthur and called him darling in that low voice, and Arthur had shivered, because he knew how that voice sounded when it was begging for him. And then, somehow, the days slipped away and they were more focused on the job and when they awoke and left the warehouse each evening, with tired minds and stiff bodies, Arthur had gone to his flat alone, and had sat on his leather couch and wondered what exactly he was doing.
It had happened again in the backstreets of some dreamt-up town. Eames’ mouth had been eager against his and Arthur had dug his fingers hard into Eames’ back, because he’d wanted Eames to feel it this time. But he knew that they weren’t permanent, those marks, and when it had ended, Arthur had woken with a slight sense of disappointment that he couldn’t quite understand.
--
Sometimes it was different. Sometimes they walked beside the river afterwards, with their fingers entwined because there was no one but themselves to see. Sometimes, Eames would point out a restaurant and they’d go and have dinner, with Eames ordering dishes that they could share between them. Arthur would frown then, because that seemed all romantic and romance wasn’t what he did. But Eames would just pout at him and wave breadsticks under Arthur’s nose, and Arthur would give up in the end, like always, because he couldn’t hold up against Eames’ puppy-dog face and a breadstick assault all at once.
They’d usually end up in a bar afterwards, and in the river soon after that, and Arthur could never tell whether they slipped beneath the surface of the waves and from there into consciousness, or whether they simply ran out of time and awoke without ever submerging their heads. He felt that it should matter, somehow - that whether they’d sunk to the bottom of the river with their bodies full of water made a difference. But no matter how he tried, he could never quite remember which it was.
Arthur knew, as the months went by, that he had built a life that no one could see. He wanted more than anything else to point it out to the others - to grab Eames and kiss him in front of the whole team, just to prove that Eames would let him. To prove that it was real. They’d kept it safe from the world, but that had its drawbacks. How sure could Arthur be of their relationship if they’d never tried anything hard; if the only house that they’d owned together was one that he could mould with his mind? He wondered about telling Eames, but their conscious conversations all throughout the job had been limited to prickly jabs at each other and in the face of that Arthur didn’t know where to start.
--
Arthur didn’t see the team for an entire month after the job finished, because Cobb had his children and Saito had his company and he didn’t want to know what Ariadne and Yusuf were doing, and he tried not to think of Eames.
But he nevertheless felt relieved when they all met up again. He’d missed them more than he’d expected to, and he’d missed dreaming, because when it came down to it, if he had to choose between dreaming with Eames and nothing at all he’d still pick the dream every time.
But when they were finally hooked into the PASIV, Eames stood there and looked at him and said I’ve missed you, darling, right in front of the team. There was a moment of silence where Arthur had looked around, slightly panicked, because that wasn’t how they usually talked to each other in front of the team. Ariadne stared between the two of them knowingly, but Yusuf had been staring at Ariadne, and Cobb was too busy looking at the landscape to notice, and Saito just looked bored. It hadn’t surprised anyone. But even so, Arthur didn’t know what to say in reply, so he’d just frowned and built himself a staircase because stairs were straightforward and logical and easy to understand. Stairs were good.
And when they woke up, Eames hadn’t stood as far away from Arthur as he usually did, and he’d brushed his fingers against Arthur’s every so often as though he was marking Arthur out as his own. And it was at that moment that Arthur realised that perhaps Eames had gotten sick of the dream world as well. It seemed real enough while they were in it, but while they were there they couldn’t create anything lasting. And Arthur wanted something lasting - he just hadn’t known that Eames did, too.
Arthur knew that it would take time to learn how to touch each other when there were other people around, and how to work though problems together in a world where they had limits. So for now, he just treasured those looks Eames gave him, and the brief moments when he felt Eames’ skin against his, or the times when Ariadne looked between him and Eames like she knew exactly what was going on. They were trying to pull their reality from within their dreams, and Arthur knew that that was a hard thing to do. So he savoured those moments, because they were fragments of a relationship they’d buried somewhere within their minds, and because they were proof that that relationship wasn’t merely a dream. They could make it real, and Arthur found that he was okay with that.